The March Conspiracy

[Kane]

"Death marches forward!" The front guards of the Asylum only had a moment to register the battle cry before a rocket erupted from the evening landscape. About halfway towards the unlucky squad, the rocket erupted and delivered its' deadly payload on a terminal velocity course to Hell. Shards of metal, each as long as a grown mans forearm and sharpened to almost molecule width, speared the entire front of the building. The guards were dead before they knew what had happened, but the some of the spears continued into windows and doors. Screams began to erupt from the wounded and maimed, and the assault team of Phantom terrorists moved in.

With the panic of the old man abducting one of the patients and this new attack, organized resistance was nonexistent. The Phantom Slayers lived up to their namesake. The chatter of the Phantoms trade-mark Flechette Cannons echoed throughout the Asylum, soon silencing the discordinant chorus of cries, and Crystal Oni made sure not a single signal got outside the building. The Phantoms didn't even bother with trying to find Tannick; Crystal Oni had seen the old man appear, watched the resulting confusion, and determined that their target had been taken within a 99% probability. Thus, it was just time to slay.

Blood coated the walls and floors, pooling in garish and gruesome patterns on the floor as people slipped, slid, and died in the crimson innocence. Those who were lucky died instantly, others died slowly, bleeding to death and writhing in pain. And one unlucky fellow...

"No! Please, you can't do this!" Dr. Fraltdorf pleaded with the 4 Phantoms holding him down. All of them had worn light combat armor, suitable for Black Operations and reconnaissance. Coupled with the white faceless masks they wore, some now spattered with red gems even more precious then rubies, they proved to be quite the terrors. They never heeded the cried of those they butchered, claiming the lives of all within; even the insane patients held inside the Asylum-turned-slaughter house. A fifth arrived on the scene, and looked down at the struggling doctor. His struggles ceased for a moment, and he stared up at the new arrival. That was, until the fifth pulled out a scalpel and advanced. Then the doctor began to scream all the louder.

"No! NO! NOOOOOO! AAAAAIIIIIIII-" His cries continued much in the same vein, rising to an unhealthy pitch within a few moments. And then... Silence.

****

"Jesus H. Christ..." One of the LPI officers finally spoke what each of them was thinking. A second suddenly became violently sick. The press officials, for once, were silent as well. The cameramen panned across the slicked corridor, the reporters staring on with abject terror. The recordings went direct to the broadcast tower, so the whole world and soon the universe would see the blood bath, in real time no less! Cautiously, the LPI and press began to move forward. Deeper and deeper into the Hell on earth they ventured, fortunately the ones responsible seemed to have left. Not that it made things much better. The officers would need psychiatric help after this blood bath. Shell Shock had nothing on this.

One of the officers heard a noise, a soft whimper, and peaked his head into the Directors' officer. There, amidst a pool of his own blood, lay a shirtless and bleeding Doctor Fraltdorf.

"Sweet Mary... Someone get a medic in here!" The officer rushed over to the dying man, trying to find out what had happened to him. A large slit bisected his belly, a wire running out of it and into a closet. Two paramedics ran in and began trying to save the doctor on the table. The officer, meanwhile, slowly followed the wire.

"Somethings inside. Dope him and get me the extractors!" The second medic nodded and opened up the kit each paramedic lived with. A shot was administered to the man to erase the pain, indeed most conscious thoughts, and they next began to open the wound. Carefully, so as not to cause further damage. Soon, the LPI man got to the door, and opened it. Inside the large closet lay an almost as large box. The letters "AMB" were printed on the side in big bold stencil. A slightly smaller stencil lay below the primary letters, reading "WARNING! EXTREAMLY VOLITILE! HANDLE WITH CARE!" Gears churned, electrical impulses raced, and the light bulb in the officers head clicked on as one of the medics spoke.

"What the heck is this thing?"

"It's a-"

****

The light could be seen from space. A rather large orb of light ballooned on the surface of Denver, extinguishing untold numbers of lives and injuring even more. Only a small amount of Antimatter could be contained, even in a bomb that size, but even a small amount of anti-matter was more then enough to wipe out the Asylum and a good chunk of the surface of Planet Denver around it.

Dark Star smiled, the insane glint in his eyes even more apparent now. With a tap of the fingers, he sent the next message away.

***

INCOMMING TRANSMISSION:
DESTINATION: All DoD Offices
COMM ID: -UNKNOWN-
ENCRYPTION: -NA-

Now you know what happens when you disobey me. Fail again, and this will happen on every planet. Can you find them all? Can you stop them all? Can you let more of Liberty die?

It is because of you that this happened. The dead are thus because -you- failed to deliver. You had twelve hours, and you squandered them away. Dillied and dallied until zero hour. And then you had nothing to offer. You had a shield to ward off the hammer stroke, but brought it up too late only to find it gone.

Poor men. Poor, poor, men. Sad little kings of the sad little hill. Do you still see yourselves mighty, or have you suddenly been reminded of your mortality?

Oh, and you can use the crater to rebuild. Anti-matter doesn't leave behind radiation, so the ground is just fine. Perhaps a little hot, temperature-wise, but still useable.

With all due respect,
Mr.Mortifera

MESSAGE ENDS:

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This is the real true story of rock and roll; it was not about anything more then, how to live your life, as a gangster, in sartorial splendor, and turning the world into a place where normality would never return again...- Malcolm McLaren