The Scarman Enigma

[|Scarecrow|]

Starwood Hotel, Landing Platform Terminal, Floor 75

“Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air!” The leader of the LACPD team was now close enough to make demands. Merlow kept his head down, thinking quickly. There was little he could do. He needed to keep the SWAT unit from catching Scarecrow, at least until Heather Scarman was safe, and Sayne Jadyn was either dead or subdued.
“I can’t do that,” Merlow called back, “But my fight isn’t with you.”
“This is your last warning,” The police captain shouted back, “Put the gun down, or we’ll use lethal force.”
Merlow sighed deeply. He didn’t need to hurt the LACPD units but injuring them certainly wouldn’t do him any favours. His arrest was drawing nearer, but he wasn’t ready to surrender. Not yet.

Merlow stole a quick glance around his cover, looking through the already splintered woodwork of the ruined ferry security desk. The LACPD team appeared far more fearsome than any standard police force. They were scattered throughout the ferry dock’s waiting areas, primarily using the rows of seating for cover. Clad in robust, flexible combat armour, they were heavily armed with a uniform set of fearsome laser carbines. Merlow couldn’t place the make or model of the weapons, perhaps a novelty to the native dimension. However, he knew the type; highly precise, and no doubt deadly. Faint red marking lasers were sweeping across the ferry dock, ready to paint him should he make himself visible. He turned around and pressed his back up against the security desk. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold them off for long. Their numbers were too great.

As Merlow racked his brains to come up with a plan, a chaotic roar sounded to his right from further within the terminal. The roar was powerful but cracked; human and desperate.
“Merlow!” It was a shockingly familiar voice.
It was immediately succeeded by the violent chatter of a heavy rotolaser. The terminal beyond Merlow’s cover suddenly erupted with the terrifying clatter of multiple energy weapons. The pumping howl of the rotolaser rose above all, carving a streaming path across the ferry terminal seating areas. Merlow could see the lashing red laser strokes melt everything in their path; tearing through metal and glazing the thick panes of the large windows that hadn’t yet been smashed. He twisted around into a kneeling position and peered out in the direction of the gunfire. To his horror, he saw the mad Tyrant, the alternate Marcus Scarman. His injuries were gruesomely severe, but he was alive, seemingly borne by an inhuman strength. The Tyrant was flanked by a handful of ragged, battle-weary Black Flag pirates. He had presumably pulled the rotolaser from one of them and was leading the charge with a stream of devastation.
“Robert Merlow, show yourself!”

Scarman and his Black Flag pushed the LACPD unit in a fast and ruthless onslaught. The high-pitched screeches of energy weapon fire eclipsed the howling winds. Merlow watched as the police rallied against their new foe, readjusting their positions, and firing back in return. Three of them instantly fell to the rotolaser, their collapsing bodies sporting white hot cavities and deep burning lacerations. The others took up defensive positions and discharged their own high-energy laser fire back toward the pirates. One of the Black Flag corsairs twisted in a writhing dance of anguish before dropping to the ground, dead and smoldering. The rest dove for cover, taking up positions behind the various scattered objects of the terminal. Merlow counted a minimum of seven pirates, likely more. It seemed that the last of the loyal Black Flag had rallied and come to their Tyrant’s aid. Their goal may have been extraction, but the Tyrant clearly had only one objective remaining: revenge.

The skirmish was bitter and swift. The two sides, largely caught out in the open, depleted each other’s number in rapid succession. Tyrant Scarman stood, brazen against the attacks of his enemy. He held the rotolaser at waist height and mercilessly emptied the weapon’s charge packs. His face was contorted into an expression of pure, vengeful fury, and his bellows could be heard over the weapon’s heavy electric crackle. The Black Flag had spread out wide and picked their shots carefully before rotating to gain new positions. The police force had largely been caught out, but despite their disadvantage, they were able to quickly decimate the attacking force. With superior targeting equipment and visuals, they picked out the pirates as they relocated and gunned them down in the open. Likewise, the sheer brute force of the pirate’s attack quickly eroded what cover the ferry terminal had to offer, and even the tough LACPD SWAT armour was no match for their concentrated laser fire.

Without thinking, Merlow sided with the police, picking his shots carefully and downing a handful of the pirates as they attempted to reposition. His rail pistol simmered with the heat of combat as he adapted and moved across to aid the pinned police force. Much of the ferry seating area had been reduced to liquid pools of metal and superheated dust. Bodies littered the floor where the LACPD team had fallen. The police captain, the man who had shouted for him to down arms, trained his rifle as Merlow approached.
Merlow raised his arms, “Friendly!”
Robert ducked into cover beside the beleaguered captain, quickly noting a deep burn injury in the man’s side. The captain was still holding himself upright, but Merlow could tell his energy was fading.
“You have more teams throughout the building, bring them here.” Merlow grabbed the man’s shoulder.
“They- are- coming-” The man wheezed as he tried to turn his rifle back toward the Tyrant.
Before he could properly take aim, a stabbing beam of red light punched cleanly through his helmet, killing him instantly. He slumped backwards, out of Merlow’s grasp. Robert boiled over. This had gone on long enough. He stood up and aimed his rail pistol squarely at the Tyrant’s head.

Tyrant Scarman still had his finger pressed down on the rotolaser’s trigger when the charge pack finally depleted. The song of the weapon’s rotating quad-barrel suddenly ended, the riotous, dominating noise cutting out in an instant. The barrels still spun, illuminated by a deep, internal orange glow. He released his grip, and the mechanical spin of the heavy firearm began to slow. He saw Merlow stand and level his rail pistol. With reflexes that defied the extent of his injuries, he quickly dropped the rotolaser and dove for cover as Merlow fired repeatedly at him. The rail pistol whined and cracked with every shot, the high velocity projectiles whipping past just a hair’s length from where the Tyrant had been standing. The rounds decimated whatever they touched; chairs, tables, partition walls, billboards; each erupting in a cloud of plastic fragments, wooden shards, or sparking metal wreckage. Merlow walked purposefully toward his enemy, firing with almost every step. His anger began to dissipate as the pistol’s cracking came to a sudden stop. The gun clicked in his hand; the magazine spent. The barrel smoked gently as he lowered it. Tyrant Scarman arose from behind an overturned table, slowly drawing his bloodied combat knife.

Merlow quickly glanced around the shattered terminal. The Black Flag had lost, Scarman’s contingent had been the last. More LACPD units were approaching, their red tracer beams cutting through the air as they sought targets. Merlow stowed his rail pistol and placed a hand on the hilt of his sheathed katana. The Tyrant’s breathing was erratic, on the verge of hyperventilation. His injuries were catching up with him, it was only a matter of time.
“You’re going to lose,” Merlow’s statement was simple, truthful.
Through his heavy, broken breathing, the Tyrant uttered his own simple truth. “I don’t care any more.”
With an inhuman roar, he flicked the knife around in his hand and broke into a sprint, his injuries forgotten for one final push. He charged at Merlow, brandishing the blade with purpose. Merlow closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and drew his katana. The steel sang as it tasted the air.

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| S C A R E C R O W |

"See you space cowboy..."