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Thread
:
The Rise of Serpentor
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04-29-2017, 12:28 PM
DerStahlhelm
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
I've reached a bit of writer's block on my Corps! story, so I thought I might work on one of my other ideas for a bit until I can figure out how to continue the other story. I know that this story incorporates some of the more unpopular elements of Joe lore, but I'm going to do my best to do them some justice here. (Besides, my other idea was a Hector Ramirez mystery)
PROLOGUE
The road from Gesh-Kur, south of Pteion, Stygia, the Hyborian Age
This is a begining, not an end. Gol-Lobulas assured himself.
His mood had not lightened, these last two days on the rut in the earth that was the road south from Gesh-Kur. Once it been the main road between Pteion and Suhkmet, now it was hardly worth being called so, its fortune tied to the fading glory that had been Stygia.
The temple to Set in Gesh-Kur, built in the shadow of the cursed city of Pteion, now lay in ash. Its' priests and warriors massacred, its riches stolen, and all of Gol-Lobulas' work destroyed by the fury of a barbarian pirate from the North.
Time and again, we have underestimated the race of Men, the
Sorcerer-priest thought.
Such had it been in Valusia, where he had been born of a heretical mingling of the blood of Man and Serpent Man. Such had it been in Lemuria, both land and the Serpent Crown now lost beneath the waves. Perhaps the time of the Serpent Men was at an end and this world, the rightful dominion of Set, would pass forever to the mongrel race of Man.
Gol-Lobulas' mind turned as the wheels of the caravan in which he rode.
If only a man such as this Northman could be yoked to the will of the Serpent God.
The thought that followed came upon him so suddenly that it could only be inspiration. The sorcerer-priest touched his fingers to his forehead in obeisance.
His purpose was now clear. The caravan will turn to the east and cross the Styx. Across the great desert and the steppe to the spine of the world. Deep in those mountains lay the hidden sanctuary of Koh Buru Lah. There Gol-Lobulas would wait. Wait and search for the one who will finally return the world to reign of Set.
And if such a man cannot be found, perhaps he can be made...
CHAPTER ONE: The Iron Gardener
"I say, bring back the Circus Maximus
For starters
Unless these weeds are dealt with
They'll poison everything
They are poisoning everything
We need a gardener
A brutal gardener
A thorough, thoughtful gardener
An iron gardener"
-Boyd Rice, "People"
May 15, 1974, South Ataria Island, the Pacific Ocean
Dr. Archibald Monev poured himself a cup of coffee. The dreams had come again, and with them the command to continue his work. He normally drank tea, but the dreams had given him a fitful night of sleep, and the the island base's commissary didn't stock it in any case. He scowled at the black and gold serpent head sigil emblazoned on the side of his mug.
I have to bow and scrape for every penny to continue my work, but we have money to brand our dishes...
Bowing and scraping would be his task today. He needed to convince the council to increase his funding, both for his main project, the brainwave scanner, and for his other project. The work brainwave scanner was progressing well, but the other project had been a hard sell to the council, and he'd had to fight for every bit of bit of funding and resources he'd gotten, so much more difficult that he couldn't reveal the true nature of his work.
He'd taken his coffee and a piece of buttered toast and headed off to the council chamber. Hopefully most of those fools would be gone today, and he'd only have to deal with the actual decision makers.
The council chamber's design had been lifted from a high school auditorium, Monev was certain. A half circle of steep theatre seating was bisected by an entry way. The area that would have been the orchestra pit held several long tables where the council itself sat, and all of this before a low stage backed by screens and display monitors.
He entered the chamber from the side entrance directly onto the stage. He was pleasantly surprised to find only three people there.
"Ah, Doctor Venom, we were beginning to wonder if you'd stood us up!" General Zadar called.
Monev grimaced inwardly. The General, pompous, blustering fool that he was, insisted on these tedious code names, and had gifted him with this terribly un-clever play on his surname.
Next to Zadar, in an dark blue uniform of identical cut but slightly less garish ornamentation, sat his Aide de Camp, Colonel Varna. A rather handsome woman with her bob of jet black hair, Monev thought, and possessed of a stern and ruthless competence that should have made her Zadar's superior. She met the Doctor's gaze and nodded politely.
The room's third occupant had come as a surprise to Monev. Sitting at the furthest table, clad in tweed and looking every inch the Princeton professor he once was, was the only other man on the island that the Doctor actually respected, Dr. Morris Hix.
He was the architect of the philosophy that lay underneath everything Monev had dedicated his life to. Hix was the father of COBRA and his works, "The Iron Gardener" first among them, were its bible. Monev knew that he was still on the island but he couldn't remember the last time he had seen the man in the council chamber, or anywhere else on the island, for that matter.
The tall man didn't immediately move to acknowledge the the Doctor, but he did close his battered copy of "Ride the Tiger" and tuck his spectacles into his jacket's inside pocket. Only then did he look towards him, stroking his neat salt and pepper beard as he did so.
"Doctor Venom, we're here to discuss your recent funding request." Zadar began. "It has been decided to fund your project immediately and in full, including your little archaeological jaunts."
The Doctor opened his mouth ready to voice his objection before he could fully process what he had heard.
The General chuckled. "I think we've surprised the good doctor!", he said to Varna and Hix.
"It's true," Zadar continued "that when you first proposed the idea of genetically engineered super soldiers, I found it unnecessary and wasteful. We have hundreds of men on this island, ready to die at my command. However, Professor Hix was able to persuade me otherwise."
Morris Hix stood now. He was tall, perhaps six foot three, and clearly well built even for a man in his mid fifties.
"Dr. Venom.. I salute you. An army of perfect soldiers, crafted from the stuff of history's great men, able to carry out their orders free from sentimentality, or remorse, or false morality....This notion of yours couldn't be more perfectly attuned to our ultimate goal. Humanity needs our guidance, and sometimes our harsh correction, if we are to excise the rot that has set in to Man's soul. We are the surgeons, and your soldiers shall be our scalpel. We shall proceed with your project at once.", he said, his deep and sonorous voice trained by years of classroom lecture.
It was now Varna's turn to speak, apparently. "As you know, we are just a few weeks away from beginning the operational phase of the anti-satellite missile project. Therefor we are moving your work stateside. We have a safe facility available that should meet your requirements. It will also be easier for you to acquire the materials you need, and not needing to arrange for export will lessen our risk of exposure"
Dr. Venom beamed. Total funding! And that fool Zadar doesn't realise he's just ensured his own obsolescence
Perhaps, now that his project was going to proceed, the dreams would stop.
July 2, 1974, ARBCO Dry Cleaning, Springfield, Indiana
I hate this place, Dr. Monev thought to himself.
Even getting to Springfield had been difficult, as the state of Indiana apparently held three cities by that name. His Springfield was a run down mill town in Madison county, set on the White river. What industry the town had once held was gone now, leaving the town to wither. Over half the storefronts on Main Street were empty, this dry cleaning shop was the only business left on this block. Despair permeated the air here, and even the Doctor wasn't immune from its effects.
Monev had furthermore not been prepared for the realities of having to operate a functioning cover business in addition in addition to his project. Between the two he was working almost 18 hours a day even with the two assistants he had been given. Everything had been delayed, funding, materials, even the arrival of his help. The absurd, sprawling distances between everything in America and lack of public transit had forced him to get an American driver's license and purchase an automobile, the first he had ever needed to own.
He had been lucky with the help at least, where he had expected to get a few barely qualified lab assistants, one of them had turned out to be a real scientist, a balding, moustachioed East German defector who had even come with his own code name: Dr. Brain-Wave.
The economic reality however, was that since one could not realistically live on the wages of a part time dry cleaner, his cover demanded that Dr. Brain-Wave was at his second job, working as a dental hygienist. This left Dr. Archibald Monev, Doctor of neuroscience and genetics, to tend the counter of ARBCO cleaners by himself this afternoon.
Monev passed passed Mrs. Murphy's husband's shirts over the counter to her, deposited her $1.50 into the till and wrote out her receipt.
"Thank you, Mrs. Murphy", he said, lacing his received pronunciation with saccharine charm, "Until next week, then."
Mrs. Murphy, for her part, had a thing for accents, and the older woman almost blushed as she said
"You betcha, honey"
Two men entered the store as Mrs. Murphy departed. Both tall and appearing to be in their early thirties, one wore mirrored aviator style sunglasses and a moustache, the other had a dead eye surrounded by what looked to be a very fresh and very extensive scar.
Sunglasses spoke. "We need to talk." He reached into the pocket of his safari style jacket and produced a worn paperback edition of Morris Hix's "The Iron Gardener". A coiled cobra was embossed in red on the book's black cover.
Monev snatched the book from the man and covered it with a nearby shirt.
"Who are you?! Why are you contacting me this way?" He asked, glancing around for anyone that may have observed the exchange through the shop's windows.
"Like I said, we need to talk." The man said. "It's gone, its all gone."
The Doctor came around the counter, twisted the doors deadbolt closed, and hung the "Out to Lunch" sign.
A short while later, Sunglasses had finished his tale
"I'm not sure I believe any of this." The Doctor said.
"Believe it, Doctor. The entire island is destroyed. We barely escaped with our lives." One-eye said, the first words he had uttered since coming through the door.
"So, Zadar, Varna, Hix, all dead?" Monev asked. His stomach dropped. Zadar was an idiot, but a useful one. Hix however.. his words were the driving force in his life.
"No, Dr. Hix wasn't on the island. I don't know where he is. We'll find him, though." Sunglasses replied. "As for now, Doctor, I'm the Cobra Commander."
__________________
Needs : AOCI Lamprey Vests, (or similar), ROC Flash helmets, ROC Shipwreck flippers, 25th Dusty Torsos (or similar), BBTS Bull (Taurus) head, Snake Eyes V.52 forearms.
Last edited by DerStahlhelm; 04-29-2017 at
12:57 PM
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