Crossover Earth '98

by Paul Cocker

If anyone recognized him, they were too wise to say so. Not only was Mastiff a tall man, he was a beefy man too, with a muscular build that attested itself even beneath the billowing drape of his leather trench coat. While he was known to frequent bars and underground hangouts in the seedier parts of Hell’s Kitchen, Mastiff had matters to attend to elsewhere in New York. And by the silent recognition of the passers-by, his reputation wasn’t just bound to his neck of the woods.

Mastiff had never met Kristi Carmichael before. He had a few run-ins with her cronies while ransacking some of her establishments; he even tussled with her hired security, an amazonian meta named Magnetta. But today he was actually going to meet the mob boss.

Carmichael occasionally stashed herself forty minutes north of Manhattan in a quaint little town in Westchester County. She owned many properties, both business and residential, and many of them were in fact legitimate. The place he suspected her to be was a quiet pub called the Angry Pelican. It served countless brands of draft beer and excellent club sandwiches. The building’s second and third floor were once inn suites, but the third floor had been vacated and turned into offices.

Mastiff stood in the sleet, as unmindful of the afternoon’s freezing air as the pedestrians who shared the slushy sidewalks with him. He was across the street from the pub, looking at its front window with a sort of grim fixity. He watched as a waitress served a large plate of nachos to a table, along with a pitcher of beer. His arms hung loose at his sides and a forgotten cigar smoked behind his thick fingers.

He stepped off the curb and moved slowly toward the pub. He opened the door of the pub, cast a stern glance up and down the street, and moved inside. Before the door even closed, a man crashed through it in a spray of glass and splinters. He slammed into a snowbank across the street, his body twisted in an unnatural position.

Inside, a waitress screamed and dropped her tray of drinks. The bartender’s face whitened, and she started to reach under the bar, obviously going for a weapon.

"Do it and die," Mastiff barked, water dripping off the end of his nose.

Mastiff marched towards the two no-necks standing by a spiral staircase, immediately pegging them as stone-cold killers. Though he had to have known running away would have been his only chance of survival, one of the goons cocked back a fist and swung very hard. A sigh went out across the room. It was a good punch, with the shoulder dropping and the body swinging behind it. There was a lot of power in that punch and the muscleman had obvious practice throwing it. Mastiff didn’t move his head, didn’t even try blocking the punch, and took it cleanly on the jaw.

He smiled, revealing his sharp incisors.

Mastiff took hold of the goon’s throat and forced him off balance, shifting his other hand for his belt. The belt snapped as Mastiff put his hands flat against the goon’s spine and heaved. He threw the goon clear across the room, spinning and staggering and flailing with his arms. A couple jumped out of their booth as the goon crashed through their table. His legs twitched. Then he was still.

"Some guys just look stupid tryin to be tough," Mastiff said. He whirled to face the other muscleman. "Your turn, Schwarzenegger."

The second goon hesitated, swallowing down on pent up saliva, then went for his shoulder holster. Mastiff let him unleather his piece and point it. With a growl, Mastiff suddenly stiff-armed him, the palm impacting with the enforcer’s nose, shattering the bridge and sending bone shards to the brain. The second goon was dead before he even hit the floor.

Mastiff looked around the pub. The few lunchtime customers hid under their tables or ran to the restroom. Two waitresses had scurried to the kitchen, and he’d thought one of them looked dippy enough to come back with a shotgun, but she didn’t. That left another waitress and the bartender, both of whom stood riveted by the bar.

He smiled again.

He then grabbed a mug of ale from a nearby table, downed the frothing amber liquid in what seemed like a gulp, and marched up the spiral staircase.

Mastiff raced through the corridor of the third floor, heading for the offices in the back. With a kick, his leg snapping out in a sudden, explosive release of power, he busted open a door at the end of the hall.

Sitting behind the big desk was Kristi Carmichael. She looked up, her glasses creeping down the bridge of her nose, twin circles of glass turning silver in the glare from the window. Her neat little hand cupped her chin, her eyes dark and shadowy under the corkscrews of her gray hair. She looked worried. Lounging on a chair on the other side of the desk was a slim brunette woman dressed in a leather miniskirt and leather jacket. She had a full set of curves. She seemed as if she smiled easily, but her eyes had a still glance, as if they were aware and calculating. Her lips were pursed like a cupid’s.

"Job interview’s over," Mastiff asserted. "Look for a waitering job elsewhere, chicky-poo."

"Listen to this guy," the woman remarked, forcing a laugh.

Carmichael didn’t seem to see the humor in this situation. "You said you were told to help me against the Truant," she said to the woman. "Here's your chance."

The woman looked Mastiff up and down and smiled like a cat who just saw a mouse. "My pleasure."

Mastiff shook his head. "Listen, sweets. Whatever they’re payin ya, it ain’t worth it. Ya get in my way and it’ll hurt. Bad. I’m not soft on women, not even cute ones like you."

Without another word, he leapt for Carmichael, bringing a gasp from the crime lord. Halfway through his flight across the room, Mastiff dropped short of his target with a deafening thud, his chin clacking against the oak floor.

Carmichael took the hint and scrambled toward a bookshelf. As she pulled on one of the books, a dark slab of aged oak slid on hidden tracks, revealing a dimly lit, narrow hallway. She ran through the secret portal, the paneled wall sliding back to its original place, and was gone.

"Naughty, naughty," the woman purred.

Mastiff’s eyes darted to the woman’s face, and he gathered that she was responsible for his surprising collapse. She simpered as she stepped towards him. Before she could coo or boast, Mastiff lunged for her pair of pretty legs with such animal quickness, and her sidestep was to no avail. He crashed into her, jolting her backwards, stretching her out on the floor, rending her skirt to the waist, revealing perfect legs and the clamps of her garters.

He grabbed for her flailing hands and felt her trim body twisting under him, saw her free hand come at his face, trying to scratch. She didn’t make a sound. In fact, she was smiling.

"Ya like the rough stuff, eh?" Mastiff asked.

"Yes," she replied, her fist hitting him with tremendous force, "I do."

The woman’s punch rocked Mastiff off her and forced him to skid into the wall, plaster raining down on him, spots fluttering about his eyes. She left him dazed and slack-jawed. He couldn’t believe the immense weight in her punch, like a wrecking ball just hit him, a punch far more solid than the goon’s downstairs.

"Ouch...," Mastiff said under his breath.

He did his best to mask the wave of dizziness that momentarily assailed him. If the woman realized just how rocky he was, she might simply decide to knock him flat out with another punch. He needed her to believe that her attack didn’t faze him.

"I’m impressed, toots," Mastiff sneered. "So what’s your name anyway?"

"Singularity," the woman replied.

"Stupid name."

"Ha! This coming from a guy who’s named after a dog with a flabby muzzle and a serious drooling problem."

Mastiff laughed. He was grateful that Singularity hadn’t tried to overwhelm him with an attack. Every second that passed restored a bit of his coordination. When she finally did engage the large man, thrusting out a sidekick, he managed to evade, and to throw his shoulder into her.

The tackle was feeble, however, for there seemed to be no force in it. Somehow the very air around him negated the momentum in his blow, as if he tried to hit her through a body of water. Then he realized he was airborne. He felt weightless.

Mastiff recalled his recent fray with a crazed man-shaped phantom, an ominous, shadowy phenomenon that the Dog Pack referred to as Anchorman. He recalled how the thing toyed with his body weight much like Singularity was doing now.

"You’re messin with gravity, ain’t ya?" Now, as he remained suspended above his curvaceous assailant, Mastiff had to fleetingly wonder how he was ever to ground himself.

As if in response, the air then whistled in Mastiff’s ears as he crashed through a nearby window and plummeted three stories down to the frozen boulevard outside. Splinters of wood and shards of glass followed behind, showering about him, slicing him with fine nicks and cuts. The fall would have broken or dislocated any other man’s bones. As it was, it drove the air from his lungs. Half rattled with the impact of the fall, he barely managed to recover in time to meet Singularity floating down behind him.

The two fought on. Mastiff ducked, parried, tumbled wildly, doing his best to avoid the brunt of her uncanny powers. Singularity launched a garbage can into his midsection, forcing a low moan out of him. His dense bones wouldn’t be enough to keep him balanced if her attacks concussed him, or ruptured one of his internal organs.

Determined to deny her the opportunity to pin or suspend him again, the large man dug his fingers into the street, ripped up a huge chunk of asphalt, and hurled it at her. The piece of roadway lost its momentum, falling to the ground like a feather. Mastiff then darted this way and that, continuing to throw objects at Singularity. His fists bashed telephone poles down on her, but they might as well have been balloons for they floated away from her.

Singularity leaned against the wall of a nearby building. She stood model-like, with her hands behind her, hips turned. Her smile seemed strained though.

Moving with superhuman speed, Mastiff leapt at Singularity. But his attack wasn’t aimed for her, rather for the building itself. The large man crashed through the wall. Brick and mortar shattered easily beneath his strength, bringing the walls of the building tumbling down. More precisely, what was left of the building collapsed, the roof with it. An avalanche of wood, steel and concrete cascaded onto Singularity. Surely enough structural material fell on her to kill her. If not, at least it should pin her for a good while.

But that wasn’t the case. As the dust and debris settled, Singularity stood in the center of the devastation, with only the slightest of grazes and scratches. She wiped some blood off her pout lower lip with a finger and licked it. She then let out a delightful sigh.

"You’re one hard broad, ya know that?" Mastiff said, panting.

His heart pounded, and the breath rasped in his throat. Singularity was toying with his stamina and strength, making his efforts sap him of much needed physical prowess. She was merely keeping him occupied to make sure Kristi Carmichael retreated somewhere far away and safe.

After a few more minutes, Singularity floated into the air, drawn by a gravity source above her.

"Tell your boss that I'm coming after him. And him, I won't let off so easy. See you soon, handsome."

"Man," Mastiff cursed quietly, his massive chest swelling in and out, "whadda hard broad."

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