The Scarman Enigma

[|Scarecrow|]

Starwood Hotel, Landing Platform Terminal, Floor 75

Tyrant Scarman attacked Scarecrow with both his hands, chopping down hard on either side of his neck. Marcus tensed his shoulders, absorbing as much of the blow as he could. Still, the strike jolted him, sending pain lancing throughout his upper torso. The Tyrant grabbed at Scarecrow’s neck, but he managed to shrug free, pushing his open hand up into the Tyrant’s face. He was losing the fight, and he knew it. The Tyrant’s physicality and stamina were simply too great for him. The Tyrant grabbed Marcus’ outstretched wrist and used it along with his free hand to twist his opponent around. Marcus grunted in pain as his arm folded and was forced behind his back. He was spun until he was facing away from the Tyrant and felt the man’s powerful forearm snake around his neck. The grip tightened, and Marcus gulped for air.

“I wonder how it will feel-” The Tyrant snarled into Marcus’ ear, “As I slowly crush your neck.”
On the edge of his blurring periphery, Marcus could just make out the still form of a body on the floor. Victoria. She wasn’t moving. Tears began to well in the corners of his eyes. He’d made such a mess of everything. He had told himself repeatedly that he didn’t understand the feelings he had for her. He had been lying all along. Victoria had instantly been special, the moment he had first set eyes on her. And now he may well have lost his chance to tell her. Tell her everything. Tell her exactly how much she meant to him. His thoughts then travelled to his wife Tomoko, and his son Matthew. And the guilt.
Maybe this is it. Maybe I should just let go. Maybe I deserve it.

“Scarecrow!” The call cut through his dark thoughts. “Scarecrow!”
The voice was distant and nullified, as if he was hearing it underwater. Marcus gritted his teeth against the headlock, screwing his eyes shut.
“You- kill- her-” He managed to grunt through the crushing pain, focusing the last of his energy at his captor. The Tyrant released his grip enough for Marcus to draw in a lungful of air.
“What did you say?”
“You- killed her-” Marcus spluttered, still grasping at the Tyrant’s thick forearm. “Again- You did it again- Victoria- It’s your fault- She’s dying! Let me- help her!”

It was as if Tyrant Scarman had woken from a dream. No, not a dream, a nightmare. His awareness bubbled back up from some deep, hidden, subconscious trench. He felt like he had been lying at the bottom of a deep, cold lake, and the words he heard suddenly brought him up through the water to the surface. The top of the lake was oddly calm and still. The unbound fury that had possessed him was fading. Whilst down at the bottom, he had been able to make out the shapes of the surface, but little else. He hadn’t been able to speak or move, only watch. He had slowly taken in the hazy outlines and sounds that made up the past few minutes, his fugue state making them difficult to process. However, slowly but surely, the scattered edges were forming a pattern. He knew what he had done. First Kurt, then Victoria.

Now, he was back in control. He looked down to find that he had trapped his alternate self in a headlock.
“You- What-” Confused, he looked around. “Where is she?”
He forced the man in his grasp into a kneeling position, his arm still wrapped tightly around his neck. He looked across the tiles in front of him to see Victoria lying battered and broken, unconscious. A pool of dark red blood had formed around her.
“Wha- What-” The Tyrant’s voice was reedy, hollow.
It can’t be- There’s no way- It can’t be!

Jolts of memory from his home dimension flashed through his mind like lightning bolts. The arid dunes of the planet Kabul. Victoria Wade, an alternate Fleet Admiral of the Freedom Fighters. Robert Merlow… That bastard!
In his mind, the blaster pistol screeched as he pulled the trigger, aiming for Merlow. But Wade stepped into the path of the blast. Why!? Why would she do that!?
The screech of the blaster pistol was paired with a dull thunk and the feeling that he had been punched in the chest. Then, the faint smell of burning reached Tyrant Scarman’s nostrils. Slowly, he looked down to see that a gaping, burned hole had appeared in the middle of his solar plexus.

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| S C A R E C R O W |

"See you space cowboy..."