Crossover Earth '98

"Isn’t this a wonderful party?" the Countess Lamont asked, tugging on the tall man’s arm.

"I suppose so, Countess." The man’s voice was disinterested, though he looked at her intensely out of the corner of his eye. She was a young woman, and quite beautiful.

"Let’s dance." The Countess said, pulling on him hard. He relented.

The Countess’s body was soft but athletic, and the waltz was a jaunty tune. It was a fine ball. Two hundred people danced in the great hall of a fine New York hotel, violins playing a somber song. A beautiful young woman - a Countess - in your arms, her eyes glinting, her smile a dead ringer for Audrey Hepburn’s. Sometimes, David Spector thought, life manages to rise above its usual squalor. Sometimes it’s even worth living.

Except for the broken glass.

The picture window broke into large pieces, that settled in almost a slow motion on the floor. A large blond man, dressed in a dirty white T-shirt and ragged blue jeans, piled into the room.

"Spector! You’re dogmeat, Spector!"

The violins stopped, as did the dancing. David Spector nudged the countess aside to confront the intruder. The dance floor parted like the Red Sea under the command of Moses.

"What’s the problem, Mr. Battle?" David Spector asked in a polite, clipped tone.

Mark Battle took a deep breath and eyed the room. They were moving to the edge, clearing the floor for this new dance, but not leaving. Damn lookie-loos.

He took a swing. Spector pivoted, and blocked a blow that could have taken his head off. They were nose to nose now; for some reason, Spector thought Battle would be taller. It was odd that he wasn’t receiving a premonition of imminent danger, given Battle’s obvious intentions. Maybe this could be resolved peacefully "One more time, Battle. State your problem."

"You know what you did, you son of a bitch." Mark Battle snarled, his knee making a flashing motion for Spector’s groin.

David Spector did an athletic dodge. The room let out a collective gasp. Battle took another swing. Spector dodged the blow easily, and gauged his opponent, removing the jacket of his tuxedo. Battle was strong, swift, and superhumanly fast. But compared to Spector, he was slow and awkward. The bounty hunter had good combat instincts, and some training, but he wasn’t in Spector’s league. He’d be dancing all night.

David Spector let Mark Battle take swings at him for close to thirty seconds. Battle never tagged him once. "You getting tired?" Spector finally asked.

"This is just the warm up." Battle smiled. Spector’s observations confirmed Battle’s statement. There was no hesitation in the swing, no heaving in the chest, his arms were still carried tall, and just a slight, athletic sweat trickle on his forehead. Spector’s hopes faded. He had hoped to exhaust his opponent - end the fight without having to do too much damage.

"Fine." Spector shrugged. "Let’s end this."

David Spector carefully analyzed Battle’s body, looking for a weak spot. He couldn’t find any. It certainly wasn’t from lack of mass - Battle was as huge as his reputation suggested. But he was also quite solid.

"You got it, scumbag." Battle stated.

Suddenly Spector found himself unable to move. There was something trapping him to the floor - an invisible force field, perhaps? Blast it… can’t dodge…

Battle wound up and caught Spector’s face with a fierce looking uppercut. He tried to block, but the force field enveloped his hands… The impact was less than Spector expected, but it was enough to shatter his jaw.

"Shoot." Battle said, his voice suddenly free of the adversarial tone. "You’re a lot more brittle than I thought you’d be."

For one of the few times in his life, David Spector realized he was dead in the water. He tried to shake off the effects of Battle’s blow. Battle’s eyes narrowed, and he caught Spector in the stomach with a punch that made a thunderous crack. My ribs… Spector thought, but no, no broken ribs. There wasn’t the fire that he was expecting, nor did his eyes flash red from the pain. Battle’s own force field had shielded him, spreading the impact over his entire torso. The punch had made a wicked sound, but had done no real damage. How sloppy of him.

Spector gave an effort, and managed to pry his leg out of the force field, and gave an acrobatic leap away as Battle struck his back with a clubbing blow. There was a sound like a snapping spine, but again, it was the impact of a punch on Battle’s force field that caused the crunch, not the impact on his body. What was going on here?

Battle moved in close, trying to grab him, managing only to wrench off Spector’s shirt. Spector, finding himself bare-chested, nodded at the Countess gallantly and then turned back to his opponent. Aside from the picture window, there had been no damage to property or people. At least Battle had enough presence of mind not to endanger the bystanders. This probably ruled out mind control. Could this be a distraction? No sign of any other intruders.

Battle moved in again. David Spector, looking for signs of another force field trap, decided to nimbly move aside and catch his opponent with a well placed blow to the throat. This blow finally managed to hurt the behemoth, who shook his head, focused past the pain and smiled. Odd reaction for a berserker. Spector swung around again, caught Battle’s arm, struck a pressure point hard, then threw him to the ground.

"Would you please like to end this?" Spector asked, snarling through a broken jaw and a swollen face.

"Sure, rock jaw." Battle smiled, and suddenly Spector found himself enveloped in a force field and was sent hurtling into the ceiling. Spector hit hard, but not as hard as he was expecting - no broken bones. It was a long way down from the ceiling, but not far enough that he couldn’t break his fall.

A line of police suddenly made the scene, barking orders at the crowd, barking orders at Battle, barking orders at Spector. New York’s finest, the Sultans of SWAT. Battle threw his hands into the air and allowed himself to be cuffed without a struggle.

"What on earth is this all about?" Spector made his way to Battle and threw himself into his face.

"You’ll get yours later, that’s a promise." Battle smiled. The SWAT team led the bruiser away, leaving Spector as puzzled as he’d ever been.

The party had broken up, dignitaries scattering in a most undignified manner. "You look hurt." The Countess Lamont said, hurrying to his side.

"Looks can be deceiving… but not this time." Spector groaned. "But I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s why I get hazard pay."

The police scanned the area. No bystanders hurt. Not much in the way of property damage, either. This wasn’t a fight, David Spector thought, it was a riddle.

"And we continue to follow the tragedy of Apocalypse Now’s attack on New York City. We’re into our fifteenth hour of continuous coverage, and we’re joined now by Duke Barren, for his unique perspective on the crisis."

"Well Steve, I have to wonder where all the metas were…"

David Spector turned off the television set. It had been an exhausting day, the day after his fight with Battle. Poison gas, looters, Apocalypse Now, Quartz agents in full combat regalia on the streets. David had never imagined they had so much hardware, and he’d worked for them.

It was time for another patrol. David passed by the police precinct, and suddenly he remembered the events of the previous night, almost lost in the chaos of the day of Laughing Death. He entered the precinct house.

"This is where you’re holding Mark Battle?" he asked the woman at the front desk.

"Oh, yes!" the woman replied, juggling phone lines. David showed her his credentials. She quickly summoned a guard.

"David Spector."

"Tully Fenwick," the officer answered. "Rotten day."

"That’s the understatement of the year. You were under the flight path. How many did you lose?"

"Nobody." Fenwick answered. "Battle saved us. He got everyone together - criminals, cops, and staff - put up some force field filter, and managed to keep us breathing clean air. It was a nightmare, but we lived through it."

Spector raised an eyebrow and was seated in a heavily guarded interview room. He spent an uncomfortable minute alone before Battle was brought in. Despite the power collar, the power cuff harness and the hydraulic leg irons, he looked frightening in his power and confidence.

"Thanks for coming." Mark said with a smile.

David shook his head. "What was yesterday all about?"

"Last week in Tampa, somebody attacked my mom. Your card was left in the wreckage."

"And you think *I* did it?" Spector exclaimed.

Mark laughed. "Of course not. Whoever planted it must think I’m a real idiot. But if they’re that stupid, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to play along with it. They’ll become so convinced that I can be manipulated that they’ll do something really stupid. Then they’re mine."

"That’s the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard." Spector said.

"Perhaps. Sorry about the ribs. I was trying to pull my punches without making it look like pro wrassling."

"Well, that explains a lot of things. I wish you’d been around for the crisis."

"I was. I got out for six hours on a Good Samaritan law. Helping these boys with their gas problem made them trust me a little bit. It was a real zoo out there."

"They’ve declared martial law." Spector said.

"They’ve got to be joking!" Battle shook his head.

"Why? It’s obviously a crisis situation."

"They’ll bring in Quartz. And then New York will become more fascist than anything dreamed by Giuliani."

"They could use you out there." Spector stated. "I’ll see about getting the charges dropped."

"Good." Battle said. "You don’t mind if I continue this phony animosity-on-the-edge of becoming a supervillain ploy?"

Spector laughed. "Who says it’s phony? But sure, if you’re going ahead with this farce, go all the way. And when I get time - I’ll look into whoever attacked your mother. Could it be Mastiff?"

"I doubt it." Battle said. "Jake would have left a corpse."

"Mastiff’s name is Jake?" David Spector wondered. "What do you know about him?"

Mark Battle smiled and rose to his feet. "You see, there was this little genetic engineering experiment conducted by…"

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