Crossover Earth '98
Just Desserts Jay Shaffstall
The man known as Michael Douglas relaxed in the small living room of his apartment in Toronto. While it wasn't New York, it was pretty darn close to the same sort of town.
Or at least the sort of town New York used to be, Douglas thought.
Michael Douglas wasn't the man's real name, but he'd been using it for so long he'd decided to keep it. Paco, the head of Apocalpyse Now, had a thing for calling his agents Michael Douglas. Douglas has never been able to figure it out, but the man had been handpicked by the Earth Mother to cleanse herself of the vermin called humanity. You could forgive him minor eccentricities.
Douglas had some interesting times with Apocalpyse Now. The LAX bombing had been his first action with them. Even with the interference of that Blur, they'd still done some decent damage. Oh, Paco'd been furious. He claimed they'd never cleanse the Earth at this rate. That was probably the inspiration for the attack on New York, since it had been shortly afterward he'd ordered Dr. Singh kidnapped.
Once he was converted to the Earth Mother's cause, Dr. Singh started to work on a poison gas to be used against New York. That work took six months, during which Douglas participated in yet more missions. He'd been remarkably lucky, to have survived. So many agents gave their lives in the Earth Mother's service. Yet he'd not only come through, but been selected as one of the pilots for the attack against New York.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Douglas frowned. One thing about apartment buildings, you always heard people going by in the hallway.
Anyway, the signal for the New York attack had come a bit early, but Douglas figured he'd dumped his load pretty much where he was supposed to...right over Central Park. One more greenspace delivered back to the Earth Mother, free of vermin.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
That sounded like it was just outside the doorway. Douglas rose and approached the doorway cautiously. He didn't think it was possible for Quartz to trace him here, but you learned to be careful in his business. He reached out and gripped the doorknob firmly.
It wouldn't turn. He twisted the lock, but the knob was still stuck. A hissing sound started, and Douglas saw a greenish gas flow from under the door. It smelled slightly of roses.
That's Singh's gas, Douglas thought. He backed away from the door in a panic, falling backward over an end table. He cracked his head on the floor and lay dazed for a second. He almost thought he could hear the laughing of dying people. When he regained his senses, the gas had covered the floor of his apartment to several inches.
Douglas leapt to his feet and ran to the window. Stuck. He picked up a chair and through it at the glass with the strength of panic.
The chair bounced back from the window and knocked the windo out of Douglas, throwing him to the floor. The gas now came up to his nostrils, and he reflexively took in a lungful of air. The smell of roses filled his senses, and he started to laugh. He continued to laugh until his heart gave out from the strain, his face stuck in a rictus of horrible laughter.
Tap. Tap. Tap.