Post by Bonnie Blue on May 21, 2016 19:54:01 GMT -6
Her phone was ringing.
Again.
Bonnie Blue picked it up, glanced at the screen, and put it back down with a sigh. Two weeks since that wild night in Mexico City; since the morning she'd awakened in the arms of a close friend. She'd known then it had been a mistake -- but what a mistake! -- and one she wasn't inclined to repeat.
So why can't I just tell him that? DeMarcus would understand. I can't keep brushing him off like this...
If she were honest with herself, Bonnie would admit that she was afraid. The chemistry between them was undeniable, but that wasn't what she feared. Once before -- in another time and place -- she'd seen him bloodied and broken. The details were hazy, like a lot of things since the Mexico Incident, but she sensed that their bond of camaraderie had been a big part of the reason the Enemy had selected DeMarcus Jordan. As if, perhaps, he had known something the two of them had scarcely suspected.
Bonnie shook her head. It was too confusing. Old reality; new reality. Memories that didn't seem to fit either one, or seeped through into both. It didn't matter. The important thing was that her destiny left no room for matters of the heart, not with the kind of attention Bonnie Blue seemed to draw.
Better to call him up now. Get it over with. Lie my ass off and say it was all in good fun, but that's it.
She dressed and brushed her teeth, then sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress and picked up her phone.
No. Not yet. I'll go for a run first. Collect my thoughts.
Satisfied with that line of reasoning, Bonnie laced up her blue Chuck Taylors and headed out the door.
Transmission begins: Dressed in sapphire yoga pants, white tank top, and azure hoodie, Bonnie Blue faces the viewer. Behind her looms the dark bulk of the UCI Warehouse, still shaded from the rising sun. A confident smile asserts itself on her lips.
United. Championship. Infinite. Who better to stand tall, to lead this company into the new age as World Champion, than the Daughter of Time herself? I am not simply from the future -- I am the future!
That's why the UCI recruiters came to me. Hell, every Cartel in the Northern tier took note when I -- an' others, to be fair -- suddenly became free agents, in the wake of ...well, nevermind that. Point is, my phone blew up with proposals, some lucrative enough that it was a shame to refuse. But what UCI offers is somethin' worth more'n cold, hard cash: it's an opportunity to forge our own legacy. To step out of the shadows of the past an' into the light.
Y'all are wonderin', though, what it is that put Bonnie Blue on the shortlist. Why I was chosen, when veterans an' mainstays were passed over. There might even be some hints that maybe I'm... connected. Let me put that notion to rest right now. Nothin's ever been given to me 'cause of who I am -- 'cept for my father's car. Aside from that, I have had to fight for ev'rythin' I got. Ev'ry opportunity. Ev'ry title shot. An' yeah... ev'ry post-match or backstage ass-whoopin' -- I earned those, too.
Was a time, I stood alone against the dark tide risin'. I fought monsters -- sometimes two at once -- an' defeated them. Over an' over, I humiliated the shadow-demon, Scathe -- until he ran off with his tail between his legs. Dark gods, madmen, immortal fiends alike have all tried, an' failed, to put me down.
I weathered the fury of the Sea itself an' I'm still standin'. I withstood the poisoned fang of the Serpent. Ain't nothin' Alex Richards or Erin Fausse can do worse than that.
Which ain't to say that I'm not doin' my homework. Erin Fausse may be somethin' of an enigma to me, but I'm certain we'll come to terms soon enough. The Archduke of Mass Confusion, on th'other hand -- well, I know all about you, of course. One of the most respected wrestlers of this generation. Famous for bein' utterly unpredictable from one moment to the next. Devoted fanbase, an' I count myself among 'em.
It's an honor to be makin' my UCI debut alongside -- and against -- you, Mr. Richards. Sunday night, Overload will mark a definin' moment in both our careers. I wish you luck, Mr. Richards -- you're damn sure gonna need it.
Transmission ends.
Eschewing the antique elevator, Bonnie Blue took the stairs at a moderate pace, rounding out her morning training session. At the third floor, she slowed to a cooldown walk. The shabby little hotel had five floors, in total, each with a half-dozen cramped rooms that overlooked the busy street on one side, and an abandoned parking lot on the other. Strips of the original wallpaper clung loosely to flaking plaster; lights flickered, pipes groaned, and there was an underlying smell of mildew and bleach. But rooms were cheap, and Bonnie had chosen the place specifically for anonymity.
So it was with some surprise that she arrived at her room on the fifth floor to find the door halfway open, the lock savagely wrenched off -- likely with a crowbar -- and the entire room ransacked. The mattress had been overturned, the contents of her duffel bag strewn about. Bonnie checked behind the door before she entered, alert for any sign of movement; but whoever had broken in was long gone.
The only thing that hadn't been touched was her electric-blue laptop. It sat on the nightstand, the only item of monetary value she owned, reassuringly undisturbed. Not a robbery, then. A quick check revealed that nothing had been taken; simply tossed around in a sort of casual vandalism.
Why?
Bonnie righted the mattress and cleaned up the scattered items. She called down to the front desk to ask a few questions, the answers to which failed utterly to clarify matters. No one had stopped by asking after her, and nobody else in the motel had complained of burglary. There was, however, a note awaiting her that none of the staff could recall having received.
As it turned out, the contents were nearly as vexing as the delivery method. On unbleached parchment was a sigil drawn in blood-red ink. It appeared to be an overlapping combination of symbols, but ones so ancient -- or so alien -- that Bonnie didn't recognize any of it. Looking at it gave her a headache, so she folded the parchment into fourths and shoved it in her pocket.
Her phone was ringing again.
She couldn't keep ignoring him. Swiping the screen, Bonnie answered.
"Hey, DeMarcus. I was just fixin' to call. What's up?"
It was clear from his tone that he was hurt by her avoidance.
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. Just been real busy, is all."
Her brow furrowed at his next words.
"Tonight? I dunno, DeMarcus... Somethin's come up -- "
He wasn't buying it, and she couldn't entirely blame him. Pointed words flew like arrows.
"What? No! Of course I ain't ashamed! How could you even think -- ? Look, I don't regret what happened between us that night, but... It can't be any more than that."
There was real pain in his voice; her resolve began to weaken.
"It ain't that I don't like ya, DeMarcus. Maybe I like ya a little too much. Bottom line is, we work together. Sooner or later, that's gonna be a problem. An' my money's on sooner. This tournament -- that world title -- I'm gonna do my damnedest to win. When we find ourselves across the ring from each other, I don't want no complications, ya feel me?"
His reply was short and terse; a halfhearted agreement followed by an abrupt disconnection. Bonnie's heart was like a stone in her chest, heavy with regret.
That... could have gone better....
Two texts and a half hour later, the three Guardians were gathered around Bonnie's emerald-green Ford Ranchero, staring at the piece of parchment by the light of the afternoon sun. Wind, ever-present, plucked at the paper and threatened to tear it from the young woman's grip. The sigil burned a baleful crimson.
"So," Bonnie began, "what do y'all reckon? Ever seen anything like it before?"
Her eyes sought Jay Omega. While none of them were exactly strangers -- nor even passing acquaintances -- to things classified as "paranormal," Jay's experience had the broadest range. He scowled at the image, shaking his head.
"I don't know what it is," he stated flatly, "but I don't like it."
"Yeah. Salt that shit and then burn it," Polar said. "Why does looking at it hurt?"
"More importantly, what does it mean? And who sent it?" Jay rubbed his chin, thoughtful.
"Maybe whoever trashed my room. But I dunno why they wouldn't'a -- "
"Hold on. Back up." The Polar Phantasm arched an arctic eyebrow at Bonnie. "Somebody trashed your room? You neglected to mention that."
She shrugged. "Figured it was prob'ly someone's idea of a prank."
"At the same time a suspicious note containing weird, esoteric symbols is mysteriously delivered without anyone at the front desk noticing?"
"Well, when ya say it like that...."
"I don't think the same person is responsible for both incidents," Omega said. "But I do think they're related. I'd be willing to bet that whoever trashed Bonnie's room was looking for that."
He pointed at the parchment. For the barest instant, the sigil appeared to flare in response. The other two didn't seem to notice, each wrapped up in their own thoughts; neither entirely convinced by Jay's reasoning. All three of them, however, ended up at the same conclusion.
"Reckon I know who might have a few answers," Bonnie said at last, as she opened the driver's side door. "Let's go see the Timekeeper."
Omega and Polar hesitated. It looked like it would be a tight squeeze for all three of them. Nevertheless, Jay slipped in first, consciously putting several inches between himself and Bonnie. When Polar followed, the car's interior shifted, expanding to accommodate him. The young woman smiled knowingly at his astonishment and turned the key. A loud whine came from the engine before it coughed once and died. She tried again, with the same result. By the fifth attempt, the chronostatic interface wouldn't turn over at all.
With a frown, Bonnie got out and popped the hood. "Aw, shit."
Together, the Guardians stared at a tangled mess of sparking wires and frayed hoses. A dark tarnish stained every inch of exposed metal. Bonnie reached forward to prod at a single intact cable, when there was a hint of movement. She drew back as a dark, serpentine shape rose out of the engine and shot past them with a screech of defiance, and vanished in the distance. Uncertain what he'd just witnessed -- or if he'd witnessed anything at all -- Cam Bankston, Jr. gazed in the direction the thing had gone, scratching his head.
Jay and Bonnie, on the other hand, exchanged a worried glance.
"Was that what I think it was?" she asked, the barest hint of apprehension in her voice.
"Yep. Chronovore."
"But that ain't possible," Bonnie protested. "They were destroyed along with the Dark Timekeeper."
Jay nodded, his expression grim. Trashed hotel room, mysterious letter, and now this. Things were starting to add up, and he didn't like where the answer was pointing.
"We need to get to the Rock of Ages. Can we fix this?" He swept a hand across the mess in the engine compartment.
Bonnie nodded. "Looks like the damage is all superficial. Good thing we caught it before the thing could do worse. We can be up an' runnin' in fifteen, twenty minutes."
"Guys?" Polar interjected. "You wanna fill me in on some details, here? Like... what's a chronovore?"
"A tool of the Dark Timekeeper." Omega spat the name out like poison. "Mindless creatures, nearly indestructible and almost impossible to contain. They feed on temporal energy; anything they touch begins to age -- the longer the contact, the faster it happens. They can reduce a human being to dust in a matter of seconds. Where there's one, there are usually more."
"But not this time," Bonnie said. "Just the one, and it's like... the damn thing allowed us to see it."
"Anybody else smell a setup?" The Polar Phantasm looked at his companions.
"Oh, yeah. Big time. The question is, what kind of setup?" Jay shrugged. "Hopefully Reb can give us a few clues before we spring the trap."
Something gnawed at the back of Cam's mind; not enough to edify, but sufficient to fill him with unease. It felt like they were being shepherded onto a carefully laid-out path; but then again, they were talking about immortal Time Gods... not to mention still coping with the aftermath of a full-scale reality transition. Things were bound to be a little weird, even by Polar Phantasm standards. He decided to change the subject, and effected the change by producing a generously proportioned spliff from a coat pocket.
"If ever there was a time for this," he said, sparking a lighter, "it's now."
He took a hit and passed it to Omega while Bonnie made an adjustment to something with a sonic impact wrench. The mood mellowed as they passed the spliff, and their conversation turned to more immediate matters.
"How crazy is this tournament, though?" Polar said.
"Right?" Bonnie agreed. "Andre Holmes, he's good people. But you're gonna wanna watch your back with Kemp, 'cause he ain't."
Jay Omega nodded. "She's right about that. At least you've only got two opponents to worry about."
"Yeah, but I've got almost nothing on these guys."
"But they got hist'ry," Bonnie said. "Known 'em both for over six months, an' I've personally trained with Dre, so I can help you out there. I'm only familiar with one of mine, and him I'm not entirely sure about. You know Alex Richards, Jay. Got any pointers?"
He looked thoughtful, considering his words before he replied, "Pointers on Alex? Number one, don't hold back; that'll just piss him off. And you don't want Alex Richards mad at you. Obviously you should go for the knees, but you should also know that he'll expect that. He's not the fastest, but he can soak up a ton of damage, so your speed advantage isn't going to be as much help as you'd think. He's a good guy at heart, though, so as long as you don't cross any lines you should be fine."
Omega paused to take another draw from the spliff before handing it to Bonnie. He held his breath for several seconds, then continued. "I don't know a whole lot about this Erin chick that's also in the match, but from what I gather, she's the spice to your sugar. Keep her between you and Alex, and let her take most of the punishment; you only want to deal with Alex directly when you have no other choice."
"And what if that's her gameplan, too?" Bonnie asked, exhaling a puff of smoke. "What if she leaves me no other choice?"
"Stick and move, go for the vulnerable spots, and for Xor's sake, don't let him get a hold of ya. Dude's got a grip like iron, and hits like a fuckin' freight train. Don't bother with submission holds unless you're just trying to buy yourself time; his pain threshold is through the roof, so he ain't likely to tap out. Not likely to knock him out either, so don't bother focusing on the head. Work his legs, work his sternum; keep him down and winded. And even with all this knowledge?" Omega shrugged. "You're still better off trying to pin Erin Fausse."
"That shouldn't be a problem." Bonnie's grin radiated confidence. "Aha! Got it!"
She dropped the Ranchero's hood and shoved the key back in the ignition. When she gave it a turn, the engine roared to life. A soft tangerine glow poured from the exhaust pipe; swiftly dissippated by the strong Chicago winds. The Daughter of Time made a mental note to have Tesla check her tachyon emissions sometime. Omega and Polar climbed back in, and once more, the car's interior widened enough to make them comfortable. Bonnie threw it in gear and stepped on the accelerator. Before them, a tunnel of swirling, multihued irridescence opened up as the Ranchero was swallowed in a flash of brilliant white.
"Next stop," she announced, "the Rock of Ages!"
What they crashed into was not, in actuality, rock, nor stone, nor even especially solid. As a matter of fact, it was less of a crash, and more of an acceleration into an endless field of soft, yielding marshmallow. The Ranchero refused to move any further. All around them, the dancing colors of the Timespace Matrix faded, replaced by an intricate and ever-shifting series of geometric patterns; a monochrome kaleidoscope.
"What the fuck...?" asked Polar.
"That's my question," said Omega, gazing out the window in bewilderment.
The shifting patterns began to lose their cohesion, melting like clocks in a surrealist painting as the lines stretched out toward them. A slow, steady vibration began rumbling through the Ranchero's frame. On the dashboard, the odometer dials spun in different directions, the numbers a blur. The radio powered on with a high-pitched squeal that rose in intensity when the jagged black and white lines ruptured against the car, shaking it violently. Bonnie shifted into reverse and tried to back out, but to no avail. The car was stuck, and the shields were failing.
"Irrational space!" she said in a belated, breathless reply. "It's an adjunct function of the Rock's inherent defenses. When unwanted contact is made, the intruder is sent here. On the bright side, we'll probably go insane before we die."
"That's the bright side?!" The Polar Phantasm was incredulous. "How do we leave?"
"We don't," Omega told him. "This is where the Timekeeper banishes the worst of his adversaries. The ones he wants to dispose of permanently."
"Yeah, but they usually don't have a time traveling car," Bonnie pointed out. "I got an idea. Quick, hand me one of them tapes!"
"Will this work?" Polar held up one marked Best of Foreigner.
The pretty blonde took the cassette from him, smiling. "Perfect."
She dropped the transmission into neutral and slid the tape into the 8-track player, selected a track, and jabbed the play button. "Cold as Ice" filtered through the speakers while Bonnie applied steady pressure to the accelerator; the tach needle climbed as the RPMs rose. It edged toward the red, and suddenly, she shifted into gear. The Ranchero broke free and shot forward to be engulfed in a flare of light.
The white blaze gave way to a dusty yellow. Hard-packed dirt crunched under the tires as the car rolled to a stop among the foothills of an ancient mountain range. Tall, woody grasses grew in unkempt clumps around a stonework edifice. Everything in the area was suffused with a subaural hum, felt rather than heard. With some apprehension, the three Guardians got out of the car to have a look around.
"This is weird," said Bonnie, puzzled. "I thought sure we'd'a ended up someplace, y'know... cold. Like the North Pole or Antarctica."
Cameron Bankston, Jr. chuckled at that. Bonnie shot him a curious glance, which he ignored. Instead, he started running his hands across the surface of the stone structure, obviously searching for something he knew had to be there. Omega came to stand by the young woman's side, watching.
"Ok, I give up," Jay said. "What's going on?"
Polar absently put up one hand in a gesture to wait as he continued scanning the seams in the rock. Then, all at once, he backed off -- and a slab of stone began to sink into the ground.
"What did you do?" Bonnie asked, alarmed.
"Nothing," Polar replied. "Yet. It's been activated from the inside..."
The stone facade disappeared to reveal a set of gleaming metal blast doors, which slid aside in turn; from the shadows within stepped a slender man of average height, with curly dark hair, a benevolent gaze, and a mischievous smile beneath a neatly-trimmed mustache. He was wearing a high-collared labcoat that fastened at one shoulder and a pair of thick rubber gloves, welder's goggles perched on top of his head. Nikola Tesla beamed when he saw the trio, and threw his arms wide.
"Ah! My friends, you've made it safe and sound, I see!" he exclaimed, hugging them each effusively. "Excellent! Come, there is much to discuss... and time, as always, is running short."
And he herded them all inside. Bonnie hesitated, reluctant to leave the Ranchero, but Tesla was way ahead of her. From his pocket, he produced a small remote control and pressed a button. A rectangle of ground beneath the car began to withdraw into the earth, as the heavy blast doors slowly closed behind them. They stood inside a broad tunnel that angled downward. Pipes, conduits, and thick cables ran the length of the rough-hewn walls. From the entrance, other tunnels split off at apparently random intervals -- miles of them, Tesla explained. While Jay and Bonnie trailed along behind, each committing to memory the various turnings as they were led deeper within, Polar strode confidently ahead with a dreamy half-smile on his lips.
Tesla led them, at last, to a cavernous chamber that housed an elaborate array of scientific equipment, including an enormous arch that looked as if it had been constructed primarily from random junk. Bonnie recognized the contents of Tesla's laboratory, if not the location. The Polar Phantasm walked right over to the massive arch and began to examine it with loving care. Meanwhile, Nikola Tesla clapped a hand on Jay Omega's shoulder.
"It is most gratifying to see you alive, again, my friend," he said, smiling.
"Let me tell ya, Nicky," Omega replied, grinning as Tesla winced, "it's good to be alive -- again..."
There was still the nagging question of where they actually were. It wasn't the metaspace adjacent to the Timekeeper's abode within the Rock of Ages, as Tesla was quick to point out. He had grown accustomed to the offset timestreams, the convenience of having multiple instances of himself to carry out the thousands of tasks he simply couldn't leave to anyone else's less-capable hands. He couldn't explain precisely how it had happened -- though he had a number of hypotheses -- but the lab had been cast off from extradimensionality into the universe they now inhabited.
"The continuity shift," he explained, "has been rather disruptive. I'm not even precisely sure where we've ended up."
"I am." They all turned to face Polar, who was wearing an expression somewhere between surprise and satisfaction. "Used to run ops out of here under the designation Cryogenix -- back when I worked for the government. I don't see any reason we can't use it now."
NEXT: The Guardians begin occupying their new headquarters, and check out some new 'toys'... but not everyone is glad to see them move into the neighborhood! Coming soon, the Polar Phantasm brings us 'Up, Up and Away'... part 2 of this week's thrilling Guardians adventure!
[(c) United Championship Infinite 2016. All rights reserved.]
Again.
Bonnie Blue picked it up, glanced at the screen, and put it back down with a sigh. Two weeks since that wild night in Mexico City; since the morning she'd awakened in the arms of a close friend. She'd known then it had been a mistake -- but what a mistake! -- and one she wasn't inclined to repeat.
So why can't I just tell him that? DeMarcus would understand. I can't keep brushing him off like this...
If she were honest with herself, Bonnie would admit that she was afraid. The chemistry between them was undeniable, but that wasn't what she feared. Once before -- in another time and place -- she'd seen him bloodied and broken. The details were hazy, like a lot of things since the Mexico Incident, but she sensed that their bond of camaraderie had been a big part of the reason the Enemy had selected DeMarcus Jordan. As if, perhaps, he had known something the two of them had scarcely suspected.
Bonnie shook her head. It was too confusing. Old reality; new reality. Memories that didn't seem to fit either one, or seeped through into both. It didn't matter. The important thing was that her destiny left no room for matters of the heart, not with the kind of attention Bonnie Blue seemed to draw.
Better to call him up now. Get it over with. Lie my ass off and say it was all in good fun, but that's it.
She dressed and brushed her teeth, then sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress and picked up her phone.
No. Not yet. I'll go for a run first. Collect my thoughts.
Satisfied with that line of reasoning, Bonnie laced up her blue Chuck Taylors and headed out the door.
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Loading video.... Complete.
Transmission begins: Dressed in sapphire yoga pants, white tank top, and azure hoodie, Bonnie Blue faces the viewer. Behind her looms the dark bulk of the UCI Warehouse, still shaded from the rising sun. A confident smile asserts itself on her lips.
United. Championship. Infinite. Who better to stand tall, to lead this company into the new age as World Champion, than the Daughter of Time herself? I am not simply from the future -- I am the future!
That's why the UCI recruiters came to me. Hell, every Cartel in the Northern tier took note when I -- an' others, to be fair -- suddenly became free agents, in the wake of ...well, nevermind that. Point is, my phone blew up with proposals, some lucrative enough that it was a shame to refuse. But what UCI offers is somethin' worth more'n cold, hard cash: it's an opportunity to forge our own legacy. To step out of the shadows of the past an' into the light.
Y'all are wonderin', though, what it is that put Bonnie Blue on the shortlist. Why I was chosen, when veterans an' mainstays were passed over. There might even be some hints that maybe I'm... connected. Let me put that notion to rest right now. Nothin's ever been given to me 'cause of who I am -- 'cept for my father's car. Aside from that, I have had to fight for ev'rythin' I got. Ev'ry opportunity. Ev'ry title shot. An' yeah... ev'ry post-match or backstage ass-whoopin' -- I earned those, too.
Was a time, I stood alone against the dark tide risin'. I fought monsters -- sometimes two at once -- an' defeated them. Over an' over, I humiliated the shadow-demon, Scathe -- until he ran off with his tail between his legs. Dark gods, madmen, immortal fiends alike have all tried, an' failed, to put me down.
I weathered the fury of the Sea itself an' I'm still standin'. I withstood the poisoned fang of the Serpent. Ain't nothin' Alex Richards or Erin Fausse can do worse than that.
Which ain't to say that I'm not doin' my homework. Erin Fausse may be somethin' of an enigma to me, but I'm certain we'll come to terms soon enough. The Archduke of Mass Confusion, on th'other hand -- well, I know all about you, of course. One of the most respected wrestlers of this generation. Famous for bein' utterly unpredictable from one moment to the next. Devoted fanbase, an' I count myself among 'em.
It's an honor to be makin' my UCI debut alongside -- and against -- you, Mr. Richards. Sunday night, Overload will mark a definin' moment in both our careers. I wish you luck, Mr. Richards -- you're damn sure gonna need it.
Transmission ends.
=================================================================
Eschewing the antique elevator, Bonnie Blue took the stairs at a moderate pace, rounding out her morning training session. At the third floor, she slowed to a cooldown walk. The shabby little hotel had five floors, in total, each with a half-dozen cramped rooms that overlooked the busy street on one side, and an abandoned parking lot on the other. Strips of the original wallpaper clung loosely to flaking plaster; lights flickered, pipes groaned, and there was an underlying smell of mildew and bleach. But rooms were cheap, and Bonnie had chosen the place specifically for anonymity.
So it was with some surprise that she arrived at her room on the fifth floor to find the door halfway open, the lock savagely wrenched off -- likely with a crowbar -- and the entire room ransacked. The mattress had been overturned, the contents of her duffel bag strewn about. Bonnie checked behind the door before she entered, alert for any sign of movement; but whoever had broken in was long gone.
The only thing that hadn't been touched was her electric-blue laptop. It sat on the nightstand, the only item of monetary value she owned, reassuringly undisturbed. Not a robbery, then. A quick check revealed that nothing had been taken; simply tossed around in a sort of casual vandalism.
Why?
Bonnie righted the mattress and cleaned up the scattered items. She called down to the front desk to ask a few questions, the answers to which failed utterly to clarify matters. No one had stopped by asking after her, and nobody else in the motel had complained of burglary. There was, however, a note awaiting her that none of the staff could recall having received.
As it turned out, the contents were nearly as vexing as the delivery method. On unbleached parchment was a sigil drawn in blood-red ink. It appeared to be an overlapping combination of symbols, but ones so ancient -- or so alien -- that Bonnie didn't recognize any of it. Looking at it gave her a headache, so she folded the parchment into fourths and shoved it in her pocket.
Her phone was ringing again.
She couldn't keep ignoring him. Swiping the screen, Bonnie answered.
"Hey, DeMarcus. I was just fixin' to call. What's up?"
It was clear from his tone that he was hurt by her avoidance.
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. Just been real busy, is all."
Her brow furrowed at his next words.
"Tonight? I dunno, DeMarcus... Somethin's come up -- "
He wasn't buying it, and she couldn't entirely blame him. Pointed words flew like arrows.
"What? No! Of course I ain't ashamed! How could you even think -- ? Look, I don't regret what happened between us that night, but... It can't be any more than that."
There was real pain in his voice; her resolve began to weaken.
"It ain't that I don't like ya, DeMarcus. Maybe I like ya a little too much. Bottom line is, we work together. Sooner or later, that's gonna be a problem. An' my money's on sooner. This tournament -- that world title -- I'm gonna do my damnedest to win. When we find ourselves across the ring from each other, I don't want no complications, ya feel me?"
His reply was short and terse; a halfhearted agreement followed by an abrupt disconnection. Bonnie's heart was like a stone in her chest, heavy with regret.
That... could have gone better....
================================================================
Two texts and a half hour later, the three Guardians were gathered around Bonnie's emerald-green Ford Ranchero, staring at the piece of parchment by the light of the afternoon sun. Wind, ever-present, plucked at the paper and threatened to tear it from the young woman's grip. The sigil burned a baleful crimson.
"So," Bonnie began, "what do y'all reckon? Ever seen anything like it before?"
Her eyes sought Jay Omega. While none of them were exactly strangers -- nor even passing acquaintances -- to things classified as "paranormal," Jay's experience had the broadest range. He scowled at the image, shaking his head.
"I don't know what it is," he stated flatly, "but I don't like it."
"Yeah. Salt that shit and then burn it," Polar said. "Why does looking at it hurt?"
"More importantly, what does it mean? And who sent it?" Jay rubbed his chin, thoughtful.
"Maybe whoever trashed my room. But I dunno why they wouldn't'a -- "
"Hold on. Back up." The Polar Phantasm arched an arctic eyebrow at Bonnie. "Somebody trashed your room? You neglected to mention that."
She shrugged. "Figured it was prob'ly someone's idea of a prank."
"At the same time a suspicious note containing weird, esoteric symbols is mysteriously delivered without anyone at the front desk noticing?"
"Well, when ya say it like that...."
"I don't think the same person is responsible for both incidents," Omega said. "But I do think they're related. I'd be willing to bet that whoever trashed Bonnie's room was looking for that."
He pointed at the parchment. For the barest instant, the sigil appeared to flare in response. The other two didn't seem to notice, each wrapped up in their own thoughts; neither entirely convinced by Jay's reasoning. All three of them, however, ended up at the same conclusion.
"Reckon I know who might have a few answers," Bonnie said at last, as she opened the driver's side door. "Let's go see the Timekeeper."
Omega and Polar hesitated. It looked like it would be a tight squeeze for all three of them. Nevertheless, Jay slipped in first, consciously putting several inches between himself and Bonnie. When Polar followed, the car's interior shifted, expanding to accommodate him. The young woman smiled knowingly at his astonishment and turned the key. A loud whine came from the engine before it coughed once and died. She tried again, with the same result. By the fifth attempt, the chronostatic interface wouldn't turn over at all.
With a frown, Bonnie got out and popped the hood. "Aw, shit."
Together, the Guardians stared at a tangled mess of sparking wires and frayed hoses. A dark tarnish stained every inch of exposed metal. Bonnie reached forward to prod at a single intact cable, when there was a hint of movement. She drew back as a dark, serpentine shape rose out of the engine and shot past them with a screech of defiance, and vanished in the distance. Uncertain what he'd just witnessed -- or if he'd witnessed anything at all -- Cam Bankston, Jr. gazed in the direction the thing had gone, scratching his head.
Jay and Bonnie, on the other hand, exchanged a worried glance.
"Was that what I think it was?" she asked, the barest hint of apprehension in her voice.
"Yep. Chronovore."
"But that ain't possible," Bonnie protested. "They were destroyed along with the Dark Timekeeper."
Jay nodded, his expression grim. Trashed hotel room, mysterious letter, and now this. Things were starting to add up, and he didn't like where the answer was pointing.
"We need to get to the Rock of Ages. Can we fix this?" He swept a hand across the mess in the engine compartment.
Bonnie nodded. "Looks like the damage is all superficial. Good thing we caught it before the thing could do worse. We can be up an' runnin' in fifteen, twenty minutes."
"Guys?" Polar interjected. "You wanna fill me in on some details, here? Like... what's a chronovore?"
"A tool of the Dark Timekeeper." Omega spat the name out like poison. "Mindless creatures, nearly indestructible and almost impossible to contain. They feed on temporal energy; anything they touch begins to age -- the longer the contact, the faster it happens. They can reduce a human being to dust in a matter of seconds. Where there's one, there are usually more."
"But not this time," Bonnie said. "Just the one, and it's like... the damn thing allowed us to see it."
"Anybody else smell a setup?" The Polar Phantasm looked at his companions.
"Oh, yeah. Big time. The question is, what kind of setup?" Jay shrugged. "Hopefully Reb can give us a few clues before we spring the trap."
Something gnawed at the back of Cam's mind; not enough to edify, but sufficient to fill him with unease. It felt like they were being shepherded onto a carefully laid-out path; but then again, they were talking about immortal Time Gods... not to mention still coping with the aftermath of a full-scale reality transition. Things were bound to be a little weird, even by Polar Phantasm standards. He decided to change the subject, and effected the change by producing a generously proportioned spliff from a coat pocket.
"If ever there was a time for this," he said, sparking a lighter, "it's now."
He took a hit and passed it to Omega while Bonnie made an adjustment to something with a sonic impact wrench. The mood mellowed as they passed the spliff, and their conversation turned to more immediate matters.
"How crazy is this tournament, though?" Polar said.
"Right?" Bonnie agreed. "Andre Holmes, he's good people. But you're gonna wanna watch your back with Kemp, 'cause he ain't."
Jay Omega nodded. "She's right about that. At least you've only got two opponents to worry about."
"Yeah, but I've got almost nothing on these guys."
"But they got hist'ry," Bonnie said. "Known 'em both for over six months, an' I've personally trained with Dre, so I can help you out there. I'm only familiar with one of mine, and him I'm not entirely sure about. You know Alex Richards, Jay. Got any pointers?"
He looked thoughtful, considering his words before he replied, "Pointers on Alex? Number one, don't hold back; that'll just piss him off. And you don't want Alex Richards mad at you. Obviously you should go for the knees, but you should also know that he'll expect that. He's not the fastest, but he can soak up a ton of damage, so your speed advantage isn't going to be as much help as you'd think. He's a good guy at heart, though, so as long as you don't cross any lines you should be fine."
Omega paused to take another draw from the spliff before handing it to Bonnie. He held his breath for several seconds, then continued. "I don't know a whole lot about this Erin chick that's also in the match, but from what I gather, she's the spice to your sugar. Keep her between you and Alex, and let her take most of the punishment; you only want to deal with Alex directly when you have no other choice."
"And what if that's her gameplan, too?" Bonnie asked, exhaling a puff of smoke. "What if she leaves me no other choice?"
"Stick and move, go for the vulnerable spots, and for Xor's sake, don't let him get a hold of ya. Dude's got a grip like iron, and hits like a fuckin' freight train. Don't bother with submission holds unless you're just trying to buy yourself time; his pain threshold is through the roof, so he ain't likely to tap out. Not likely to knock him out either, so don't bother focusing on the head. Work his legs, work his sternum; keep him down and winded. And even with all this knowledge?" Omega shrugged. "You're still better off trying to pin Erin Fausse."
"That shouldn't be a problem." Bonnie's grin radiated confidence. "Aha! Got it!"
She dropped the Ranchero's hood and shoved the key back in the ignition. When she gave it a turn, the engine roared to life. A soft tangerine glow poured from the exhaust pipe; swiftly dissippated by the strong Chicago winds. The Daughter of Time made a mental note to have Tesla check her tachyon emissions sometime. Omega and Polar climbed back in, and once more, the car's interior widened enough to make them comfortable. Bonnie threw it in gear and stepped on the accelerator. Before them, a tunnel of swirling, multihued irridescence opened up as the Ranchero was swallowed in a flash of brilliant white.
"Next stop," she announced, "the Rock of Ages!"
===========================================================
What they crashed into was not, in actuality, rock, nor stone, nor even especially solid. As a matter of fact, it was less of a crash, and more of an acceleration into an endless field of soft, yielding marshmallow. The Ranchero refused to move any further. All around them, the dancing colors of the Timespace Matrix faded, replaced by an intricate and ever-shifting series of geometric patterns; a monochrome kaleidoscope.
"What the fuck...?" asked Polar.
"That's my question," said Omega, gazing out the window in bewilderment.
The shifting patterns began to lose their cohesion, melting like clocks in a surrealist painting as the lines stretched out toward them. A slow, steady vibration began rumbling through the Ranchero's frame. On the dashboard, the odometer dials spun in different directions, the numbers a blur. The radio powered on with a high-pitched squeal that rose in intensity when the jagged black and white lines ruptured against the car, shaking it violently. Bonnie shifted into reverse and tried to back out, but to no avail. The car was stuck, and the shields were failing.
"Irrational space!" she said in a belated, breathless reply. "It's an adjunct function of the Rock's inherent defenses. When unwanted contact is made, the intruder is sent here. On the bright side, we'll probably go insane before we die."
"That's the bright side?!" The Polar Phantasm was incredulous. "How do we leave?"
"We don't," Omega told him. "This is where the Timekeeper banishes the worst of his adversaries. The ones he wants to dispose of permanently."
"Yeah, but they usually don't have a time traveling car," Bonnie pointed out. "I got an idea. Quick, hand me one of them tapes!"
"Will this work?" Polar held up one marked Best of Foreigner.
The pretty blonde took the cassette from him, smiling. "Perfect."
She dropped the transmission into neutral and slid the tape into the 8-track player, selected a track, and jabbed the play button. "Cold as Ice" filtered through the speakers while Bonnie applied steady pressure to the accelerator; the tach needle climbed as the RPMs rose. It edged toward the red, and suddenly, she shifted into gear. The Ranchero broke free and shot forward to be engulfed in a flare of light.
The white blaze gave way to a dusty yellow. Hard-packed dirt crunched under the tires as the car rolled to a stop among the foothills of an ancient mountain range. Tall, woody grasses grew in unkempt clumps around a stonework edifice. Everything in the area was suffused with a subaural hum, felt rather than heard. With some apprehension, the three Guardians got out of the car to have a look around.
"This is weird," said Bonnie, puzzled. "I thought sure we'd'a ended up someplace, y'know... cold. Like the North Pole or Antarctica."
Cameron Bankston, Jr. chuckled at that. Bonnie shot him a curious glance, which he ignored. Instead, he started running his hands across the surface of the stone structure, obviously searching for something he knew had to be there. Omega came to stand by the young woman's side, watching.
"Ok, I give up," Jay said. "What's going on?"
Polar absently put up one hand in a gesture to wait as he continued scanning the seams in the rock. Then, all at once, he backed off -- and a slab of stone began to sink into the ground.
"What did you do?" Bonnie asked, alarmed.
"Nothing," Polar replied. "Yet. It's been activated from the inside..."
The stone facade disappeared to reveal a set of gleaming metal blast doors, which slid aside in turn; from the shadows within stepped a slender man of average height, with curly dark hair, a benevolent gaze, and a mischievous smile beneath a neatly-trimmed mustache. He was wearing a high-collared labcoat that fastened at one shoulder and a pair of thick rubber gloves, welder's goggles perched on top of his head. Nikola Tesla beamed when he saw the trio, and threw his arms wide.
"Ah! My friends, you've made it safe and sound, I see!" he exclaimed, hugging them each effusively. "Excellent! Come, there is much to discuss... and time, as always, is running short."
And he herded them all inside. Bonnie hesitated, reluctant to leave the Ranchero, but Tesla was way ahead of her. From his pocket, he produced a small remote control and pressed a button. A rectangle of ground beneath the car began to withdraw into the earth, as the heavy blast doors slowly closed behind them. They stood inside a broad tunnel that angled downward. Pipes, conduits, and thick cables ran the length of the rough-hewn walls. From the entrance, other tunnels split off at apparently random intervals -- miles of them, Tesla explained. While Jay and Bonnie trailed along behind, each committing to memory the various turnings as they were led deeper within, Polar strode confidently ahead with a dreamy half-smile on his lips.
Tesla led them, at last, to a cavernous chamber that housed an elaborate array of scientific equipment, including an enormous arch that looked as if it had been constructed primarily from random junk. Bonnie recognized the contents of Tesla's laboratory, if not the location. The Polar Phantasm walked right over to the massive arch and began to examine it with loving care. Meanwhile, Nikola Tesla clapped a hand on Jay Omega's shoulder.
"It is most gratifying to see you alive, again, my friend," he said, smiling.
"Let me tell ya, Nicky," Omega replied, grinning as Tesla winced, "it's good to be alive -- again..."
There was still the nagging question of where they actually were. It wasn't the metaspace adjacent to the Timekeeper's abode within the Rock of Ages, as Tesla was quick to point out. He had grown accustomed to the offset timestreams, the convenience of having multiple instances of himself to carry out the thousands of tasks he simply couldn't leave to anyone else's less-capable hands. He couldn't explain precisely how it had happened -- though he had a number of hypotheses -- but the lab had been cast off from extradimensionality into the universe they now inhabited.
"The continuity shift," he explained, "has been rather disruptive. I'm not even precisely sure where we've ended up."
"I am." They all turned to face Polar, who was wearing an expression somewhere between surprise and satisfaction. "Used to run ops out of here under the designation Cryogenix -- back when I worked for the government. I don't see any reason we can't use it now."
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NEXT: The Guardians begin occupying their new headquarters, and check out some new 'toys'... but not everyone is glad to see them move into the neighborhood! Coming soon, the Polar Phantasm brings us 'Up, Up and Away'... part 2 of this week's thrilling Guardians adventure!
[(c) United Championship Infinite 2016. All rights reserved.]
