The Shoebox Pursuit - Part 3 - Poppies and Warpaint Page 2

CHAPTER ONE

  ‘I don’t like it. Seems too easy,’ whispered Billy to the Captain, thinking out loud and stating something rather obvious. Charlie heard the words. He even agreed with them. But that didn’t change anything. Suspicions aside, he was eager to end things, one way or another.

  Charlie gave the signal - a quick whip of his hand - and the boys knew it was time for action. Without uttering a thing he and Billy burst from their hiding places, and charged forward, their boots crunching through the snow. At once the guards caught sight of the rampaging pair, swinging their rifles round from their shoulders. But before either of them could take aim, two almost silent bullets, a big, yet oddly subtle hello from the American brothers, whizzed through the air and put the bad guys down instantly. Charlie and Billy caught the deceased limp bodies, before they had the chance to hit the ground and cause a ruckus. Silently they rested them down, before tucking themselves up tight either side of the doorway, Charlie - gun in hand, Billy - Quick Shield at the ready. Mutely, they counted down from three and opened the door.

  They rushed in expecting the worst. A big finale. An epic showdown. A fight to end all fights. But what they found was not what they had expected. There was no one in sight. No helicopter. No army of soldiers. And definitely no master villain. The room was sparse, large metal girders stemmed from the floor to ceiling, blank and bland walls stretched four ways, with no windows or exits of any kind. It was immediately obvious to them both that the metal exterior they had been studying from outside was merely a disguise to cover up a square-shaped, brick-built structure. But for what purpose? The hangar was virtually empty, yet with a somewhat strange setup in the middle of the space. A single glamorous rug lay in the centre, with pompous decorations and long tassels. Upon the rug sat a red leather chair, which was facing away from them in a considered manner, whilst next to it on a small wooden table was an old gramophone.

  Charlie stayed low, edging towards the chair with swift and silent steps, risking the moment but not daring to waste a second. Billy followed closely, bringing up the rear. Within a few brief steps they were upon the chair. All too fervently Charlie spun it round, ready to pull the trigger, and shoot to kill - but the chair was empty. Instead all there was, was a small device taped to the backrest - to be more precise, it was the tracking device Charlie had planted on Shoebox’s helicopter all those months ago, during their last clash. The mood quickly deteriorated.

  Exasperated, with a belly full of fire, Charlie ripped the device from the chair, twisted Billy’s arm around, took out the makeshift compass and put the two items together. The twelfth and final light stopped flashing, and glowed constant, meaning only one thing - target acquired. Charlie threw the two now utterly useless contraptions to the ground and stamped on them repeatedly until they were in pieces, before immediately erupting into a full scale rant.

  Specks entered the building quietly and stood with Billy, who retracted his Quick Shield. Both silently watched their Captain demonstrating irrational behaviour that they had seen more and more of over the passing months. He angrily stomped around the room, conflicted by his wants and needs. Both Billy and Specks thought about saying something, intervening in some way, but neither bothered. Billy wasn’t one to get involved, his almost teenage attitude getting the better of him, and Specks was just plain scared! Besides, they had grown accustomed to it. Instead Specks’ eyes began scanning the room, his gaze eventually falling on some wires that seemed to be connected to the door. He began to investigate, scurrying off on his own. Meanwhile, whilst Charlie calmed himself down and took a moment, apparently attempting to reason on the situation with himself, Billy made his way over to the oddly placed gramophone.

  The music player was very old, and very grand. The wood of the base was dark and hand crafted. The horn looked ridiculously over the top - shiny gold metal, encrusted with what appeared to be diamonds along the edges, laid out in a beautiful fashion. Next to the gramophone sat a single black record with a note stuck to it.

  ‘Play me,’ read Billy aloud, as he pulled the note off and picked up the record.

  Charlie turned, his hand in his mouth, camouflaging the last of his agitated words, and watched Billy turning the record over in his hands, looking rather perplexed at the offering.

  ‘These wires seem to have unknown purpose…’ spoke Specks, in consideration. ‘They aren’t connected to the light switches.’ He moved along the length of the building, following the wires as they led away from the door. ‘And they are very large… as if designed to pass an extremely high voltage…’ But no one was paying attention to the small man. ‘In fact…’ Specks moved further still, as the wires led him towards the gramophone, more specifically running up the leg of the table. But his deductions would not come in time.

  Curious rather than suspicious, Billy put the record on the turntable, picked up the tone-arm and placed the needle, flicking a rather obvious power switch without thought.

  ‘No, don’t turn it on,’ exclaimed Specks in a fluster, noticing the action. But Billy looked at him in bewilderment. ‘I think… I think you may have…’

  Yet all that happened was what would be expected - the record began to turn.

  ‘You worry too much,’ said Billy, slapping the geek on the back a little too hard. ‘Take it easy.’

  ‘Taking it easy is an impossible act,’ he muttered in reply. ‘The complex brain activity required to merely stand here… the constant pumping of our heart, the immeasurable amount of blood running through our veins, breathing without consciously thinking to do so… the constant regeneration of our cells… the mere idea that a person can take any moment easy, at any point is simply… is simply…’ But Billy’s rather cantankerous face suggested the man should quickly finish his speech.

  Specks silenced himself, pushed his glasses up his nose, and stepped closer, his eyes watching the record as it slowly turned, a crackle emerging from the horn. But then a loud, ear-splitting noise erupted from the thing, causing all three men to cover their ears. A clank, a boom and a shudder drew their attention to the doorway of the hangar, and all they could do was watch as a large metal shutter suddenly dropped down, slamming down into the floor without mercy - sealing them inside. Outside, Yankee and Doodle, who had remained hidden in their spot, under orders from their Captain as lookouts, now looked rather concerned at the sudden change of circumstance. With a quick glance of concern at each other, each began to gather their things together in a great hurry. Whilst back inside, the noise from the record had subsided and the men now looked confounded at the sealed door. Yet before any of them could react, before any of them could swear or deduce or order, a distinct voice, a crackling voice of evil incarnate began to unravel from the gramophone behind them. It was he they hated the most. It was Shoebox Stone.

  ‘Good evening, dear gentlemen. And welcome… to your tomb.’ Charlie’s eyes lit up with the fire of a thousand suns as the words pierced his soul. The three trapped men slowly circled the gramophone, almost hypnotised by the record as it slowly turned around. ‘I express the most sincere regret for the insolence of my absence. But… please understand, I just could not justify the excursion.’ The voice was casual and irritating. Charlie lifted his fist to smash the contraption, already tired of the fiend’s games. But the recording pre-empted his actions. ‘I would think it prudent that you don’t do anything irrational. Your circumstances are far more delicate than you may yet perceive. Permit me to give explanation.’ The group looked to each other as the record began to read them their fate. ‘As you may or may not be able to see, this music box has a series of wires running to and from it. Firstly, the door. Playing the record triggered the signal, and caused lockdown of the building.’ Charlie threw a glare in Billy’s direction. ‘Secondly, the bomb.’ The group’s eyes widened. ‘The wires running down the leg of the table and into the floor below, lead directly to a bomb of considerable size, capable of extensive damage, located immediately beneath the building you are currently tra
pped in. Heed my warning. Any interruption of the record playing will cause the bomb to explode instantaneously. So, Charlie and friends, unless you want to die right now, I would suggest you relax, be quiet, and listen to my words very carefully.’

  Charlie, Billy and Specks all looked to one another as the distinct sound of Yankee and Doodle hammering on the locked-down door bounced all around them. None of them dared to move or call back or do anything other than listen. The clatter had been going on for a while, yet none of them had noticed. The record continued:

  ‘The fact, dear Charlie, that you thought your simple tracking device would go unnoticed by a being such as myself, shows just how little you know me, and it greatly insults my intelligence! Such a mundane, basic contraption is a considerable joke! But… perhaps I am being overly demanding. You are, after all, only human.’ Charlie took a few steps backwards, resorting to a pace of the rug. Specks was quickly jotting down the patronising monologue, word for word, whilst Billy collapsed himself into the leather chair and listened. ‘Your little scavenge has amused me to the highest degree. And you have thwarted my trivial projects many times over. But don’t praise yourself too soon. My modest ventures are but hobbies, experiments if you will, a means of examination to see what the human pests are capable of.’ A sly laughter cackled from the gramophone for an indulgent amount of time. ‘Do not consider your endeavours as any kind of success. All you have done is educate me, if such a thing is possible. I have learnt far more about you by the decisions you have made when faced with my distractions, than you could ever hope to learn about me.’ Charlie was struggling to contain himself. He could barely even hear the calls from Yankee and Doodle outside anymore. ‘Nevertheless, I sense I have digressed. Charlie, old boy, I thank you for your unremitting interest in me. I am flattered. And I thank you for keeping Mr Random so closely involved. He’s fascinating. Wouldn’t you agree? The lost boy following the great hero, for the poignant and simple reason that he has nowhere else to go. His life seems a waste in the eyes of myself. And perhaps, even his death at your side is a shame.’ Billy looked down at the carpet, ensuring he made no eye contact with anyone. ‘But for now I must go. For while I record this in a secret location that you had hoped to find today, and instead you find yourself entrapped in my little snare, I will tell you two things.’ The record crackled momentarily. ‘As you are all such big fans of my work, I have left you with a little farewell gift. A gesture of gratitude, if you will. One last old romp.’

  A loud crank sounded as a piece of the floor to their left slowly began to slide away, the stone slabs grinding on one another. Slowly, a platform elevated from beneath, raising from the depths of Shoebox Stone’s latest design. It was a man of sorts, or at least once it was. The basic human form remained, but it was deformed by some kind of insane surgery. All its limbs were enlarged beyond belief, with stitches running all over its exposed muscular form. The facial features were cemented in place, with any sense of self-awareness wiped clean long ago, all encased in a permanent helmet. The being towered in height, with metal boots and various implants pushing its extremities in unnatural ways. The man was armoured with flat pieces of metal that looked grafted directly onto the body, whilst clear plastic tubing ran in and out of the flesh, pumping what appeared to be blood, and a strange blue liquid. Like a twisted conglomeration of abnormal, the being was waiting for them.

  ‘It’s a prototype… of sorts,’ continued the recording. ‘I call him - the Manipulated Man.’ Charlie repeated the title under his breath, cursing the man’s love for dramatic flare. ‘In the meantime, just to ensure everyone is taken care of, a group of Hitler’s soldiers have been alerted, and are now on their way to your location. I imagine the building will be surrounded in mere minutes.’ Charlie clenched his fists in fury. ‘So, I bid you farewell, my sour annoyance. There are things brewing on the horizon, and my thoughts are required elsewhere. As always, one is pressed for time. Enjoy yourself Charlie. It has been a pleasure to mislead you.’ The record crackled for a moment, until one last token was relayed. ‘Oh, one final detail. You have until the end of the song before the bomb goes off.’

  As the speech ended an eerie song began playing. A clanking piano performed the same pattern over and over again, until a female vocalist began. Her beautiful tones fell on deaf ears, but the rather accurate words she wept about cast a dreary atmosphere among the men. All the group could do was imagine what kind of torture that poor woman had suffered at the hands of Shoebox Stone.

  Charlie snapped himself out of his own self-pity, looking from the gramophone to the Manipulated Man to the locked down door, and repeating the process many times.

  ‘We played right into his hands,’ he said through gritted teeth, annoyed at his own stupidity.

  ‘We?’ spurted Billy, undoubtedly irritated at the remark.

  Out of the blue, the sound of surging power resonated around the room. All eyes fell on the Manipulated Man, as slowly but surely he began to come to life. His head raised. His stature straightened. His fists clenched. His stance spread, the metal boots clanking on the floor beneath. And lastly, the pupils in its eyes sparked with a pale blue light. Charlie wasted no time in organising their escape plan.

  ‘Specks. Get inside this gramophone and defuse the bomb. By my guess, you’ve got about three minutes.’ The science officer nodded, putting his pencil and pad away and pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘I’m going to get the door open,’ he said, marching towards his mission.

  ‘Well, what do you want me to do?’ asked Billy in haste.

  ‘You? You’re taking care of Tiny there,’ Charlie replied, pointing at the Manipulated Man without even bothering to look.

  ‘But this things got ten inches on me!’

  ‘Yeah, but you’ve got a great personality. And don’t let anyone tell you any different.’

  ‘But… why me?’

  ‘Because you played the record. Idiot boy,’ snapped Charlie, raising his voice, his tone deadly serious. Billy glared at the man as he walked away from him, angered by the truth. ‘Here,’ Charlie pulled his pistol from its holster and emptied the entire barrel into the thing’s head without a glance. ‘That should help.’ But the bullets had barely even pierced the man’s protective helmet.

  ‘Yeah? Well… it doesn’t,’ replied Billy in a slightly elevated voice, as he eyed up his overwhelming undertaking.

  Charlie slammed his fist on the door and shouted out to his men. ‘Boys. You’re going to have company out there very soon. Prepare yourselves.’

  ‘What kinda company, Cap?’ the brothers asked in unison from the other side of the door.

  ‘The kind you shoot at.’

  The information brought both worry and excitement to the boys, as they stewed on their Captain’s words. Yankee and Doodle quickly registered the problems the oncoming threat would bring, shoving their backs up against the wall of the hangar and scanning the snowy horizon for any sign of movement. There was none.

  Meanwhile, inside the chaos of the lockdown, the trapped men were working with speed, whilst the tragic record played out their destiny with distressing tones. Charlie ran his fingers along the seams of the door, hopeful of a gap or weakness or overlook of any kind that might be helpful. But there was none. Behind him, Specks had already removed the front panel of the gramophone and was investigating a conglomeration of wiring and mechanics with shaky, nerve-wrecked hands. His typical mutterings and mumbles sifted him through the mess, all the while ensuring he didn’t interrupt the playing of the record. At the same time, in the centre of the room, Billy and the Manipulated Man very slowly paced around, circling each other like an extreme version of David and Goliath. Billy didn’t know what the thing was waiting for, but he was happy for the stall. But time was short, and all too soon the fight began.

  The mutated thing lunged forward, but Billy was small in comparison, and fast with it, dodging the attack with ease. The latest project seemed slow and clunky. Billy spun round and wasted no t
ime moving close, jumping high, and cracking the thing across the back of the skull. His metal fist collided against its metal armoured head. The blow was powerful: any other recipient would have been killed instantly. The impact resonated around the room, denting the thing’s head. The Manipulated Man crumpled, falling to a knee and seemingly powering down.

  ‘Ha. Well, you’re a big disappointment! Easy work,’ sparked Billy, brushing his hands off, turning his back on the thing and walking away condescendingly. ‘Hey, Charlie. I’m all done here. Need a hand?’ he offered. But a rather loud noise behind him stopped him dead in his tracks.

  ‘No. I think you’ve got your hands full for the moment,’ replied Charlie, who was looking beyond Billy.

  The anti-hero spun around to see what Charlie was gawping at. The Manipulated Man was glowing from all cracks and crevices. Then a strange mechanical voice, that was once human, sounded. ‘Grade one insufficient. Upgrading to grade two.’

  ‘Grade two? What’s grade two?’ asked Billy. ’Grade one was good. Why don’t we go back to grade one? I love grade one. Grade one is totally fun. But grade two makes me need a…’ his voice trailed into a pathetic nothingness.

  The Manipulated Man didn’t speak again. Instead it got off his knee, and found its footing. Very slowly it turned on the spot and faced Billy, who was looking sheepish. The blue liquid running through its tubing illuminated, and ran faster as it pumped through the being’s deformities. The padding on its boots extended, giving the man even more height. Its armour stretched out across its chest and torso even more so than it already was. Lastly, a pair of goggles emerged from its helmet, covering its glazed-over eyes and glowing red as they targeted the young man.

  Without further warning it sped forward with swiftness, catching Billy unawares, punching him square in the chest, and sending him flying across the room. Billy smacked his side into one of the metal girders, spinning him round, before he smashed into the far wall, collapsing to the floor in a cloud of dust and pain and anger. For the briefest of moments nobody moved. Charlie and Specks stopped what they were doing and watched, waiting for Billy’s limp body to budge.

  ‘Ouch,’ came Billy’s injured response. ‘Anyone get the license plate? I think I got hit by a truck!’ Billy winced and swore and spat, picking himself up and glaring across the room at the Manipulated Man. ‘Finally. A challenge.’

  Outside, Yankee and Doodle were almost about to give up on the surprise attack, when the distant sound of charging men came into earshot. A grin began to spread across each of their faces.

  ‘A buck says I kill more than you,’ declared Yankee.

  ‘Make it a buck fifty,’ replied Doodle, nodding his helmet to his brother.

  All of a sudden the attackers appeared. They were a typical group of Nazi soldiers. They looked tired, but experienced, and despite the weather conditions, they were charging at an alarming rate. Their rifles were raised, bayonet blades jutting out, and the boys counted eight in total.

  ‘I tell you what. Let’s make it two dollars. And for that… I reckon I can kill my half with no more than three shots,’ stated Yankee, swapping his sub-machine gun for his rifle.

  ‘What? Are you insane?’ exclaimed Doodle, looking at the oncoming assault. Quickly he considered the bet against the oncoming attack, before turning back to his brother. ‘Make it two shots and you’ve got yourself a deal!’

  The brothers grinned at each other, shaking hands.

  BANG. BANG. They both took their first shots. Yankee sent a bullet straight into the torso of the first soldier, whilst Doodle, with his shotgun, sent a nearby bad guy ten paces backward. Instinctively they shot again, BANG, BANG, taking out the next two without trouble or anything too flashy. Yankee took a few brave steps forward, snatching a helmet that had rolled from the last dead soldier and threw it like a Frisbee at the next foe. It spun through the air with grace and accuracy, straight into the closest Nazi’s neck, dropping him instantly. Doodle, not liking the idea of being bested by his brother, picked up a dead Nazi’s rifle, and threw it like a javelin straight into the chest of the next unfortunate fellow. He fell to his knees, clutching at the thing and screaming in agony, rather dramatically.

  The boys looked all too pleased with themselves, but they still had two soldiers left, and no bullets to dispose of them with. They rapidly took cover around the side of the building as a spray of bullets came their way, and ricocheted into the brick wall instead.

  ‘Do you ever think we should take these things more seriously, bro?’ asked Yankee, peering round the side of the building, and catching his breath.

  ‘Na. Where would the fun be in that?’ replied Doodle.

  Back inside the hangar the disheartening song was getting dangerously close to its end. Charlie had not yet had any luck with the door, nor the room, which with its basic design and simplicity had allowed for zero error, boasting perfect containment. Specks was still fumbling his way through untold amounts of wires, which he had now learnt had been riddled with a wealth of dummy wires to keep him busy, as he anxiously tried to work out which would disarm the bomb. As for Billy and the Manipulated Man...

  The fight was epic, yet all the while enclosed. Billy bounced around the room, using the walls and girders like a playground, leaping, swinging and striking the thing like a ninja soldier, appearing here, there and everywhere with deadly blows. But the Manipulated Man was much stronger and much quicker than before, and every time it managed to hit Billy - it really hurt! Billy couldn’t keep this up for long. He wasted no time bothering to use his ‘normal’ arm, instead opting to fast hits with his bionic armoured right instead. He ducked left, and dodged right, before moving in beneath the thing’s enlarged frame and punching its gut tens times a second. Disgruntled, the Manipulated Man whipped the annoyance away with a simple swing of its huge arm, sending the young man backwards a few feet, who skidded himself to a halt and headed straight back in. Billy was nimble and swift, flicking out his Quick Shield and thwarting a sudden punch, as the attacker’s gigantic fist collided against the metal, causing Billy to struggle to stand his ground as the thing pushed the blocked hit down on him with great weight and power.

  But then something strange happened. The Manipulated Man raised his right fist, and a series of syringes emerged from the knuckles. Inside the clear shells he could see the same blue liquid that ran through the thing’s tubing. Without warning it started trying to jab Billy in his left arm.

  ‘What. The. Heck. Is. Going. On,’ said Billy, confused by the change of approach, dodging the attacks. ‘What are you trying to do to me?’

  The punch came close, the syringes missing Billy’s arm by a hair’s breadth, instead embedding themselves into the wall behind him. The man was momentarily stuck, and Billy seized the opportunity. He lifted his bionic arm and came down hard on the thing, destroying the syringes, but releasing the man from the wall. The fight was back on.

  ‘Specks. Any luck?’ called out Charlie, finally giving up on his search.

  ‘No, sir,’ he replied, all too quickly, still working his way through the wiring.

  ‘Yeah. Me neither.’ He watched the fight playing out in the room. The beast took a huge swipe at Billy, who jumped into the air and vaulted over the mountainous hulk. He landed on his feet, smiling at his own brilliance. ‘But I’ve got an idea,’ said Charlie, suddenly realising their only solution. He called out, ‘Billy.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he replied as the Manipulated Man smacked him round the back and sent him to the floor. He rolled over, just in time to see a humungous clenched fist coming for him. Swiftly he dragged himself backwards, missing the strike by mere inches, and witnessing the floor crack instead of his bones.

  ‘I want you to get that thing as far away from this door as possible.’

  ‘What? Why?’ replied Billy, as the thing finally managed to get its hands on him, pulling him into a painful and intense bear grip. ‘You know, I’m pretty busy here, Charlie.’ The grip squeezed tighte
r and tighter, Billy struggled to breath. ‘And you really are distracting me from my work!’ he wheezed.

  ‘Just do it, Son.’ The order was firm and unyielding.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Billy wasted no time, head-butting the thing square in the face, causing it to release its grip, dropping Billy to the floor.

  ‘Specks. Stop what you’re doing and get yourself over here right now,’ ordered Charlie.

  The geek didn’t need telling twice, dropping the wires and hurrying over to the Captain, as across the room Billy threw a dozen rapid punches into the Manipulated Man’s chest, the blood dripping down his left hand, as each blow against its armour ripped into his skin. But he didn’t care.

  ‘You know, as far as Shoebox’s projects go… you’re pretty tough.’ He punched it. ‘Yeah. Think I’d give you a seven out of ten, based on sheer irritation value.’ He booted it. ‘That being said, I much preferred the Tiny People of Village Zero.’ He pushed it. ‘The black whirlpool of White Wall Cave.’ He dragged it. ‘And maybe even the Demon Birds of No-Mans-Land!’ Until step by step, thump by thump, he had the thing right where he wanted it, in the far corner of the room, dropping down to its knees from the attack.

  ‘Good lad. Now get yourself over here.’

  Billy hustled back, joining Charlie and Specks at the doorway.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ he asked, rather breathless.

  As the last few lines of the haunting song echoed around the hangar, Charlie turned Billy around to watch. The Manipulated Man rapidly picked itself up, grunting. All too quickly its cogs turned, its systems rebooted and it repaired its damage. Menacingly it turned around and locked eyes on Billy across the room. Its stance changed, hunching, jutting its head forward, and bending its legs.

  ‘Target acquired,’ said the Manipulated Man in an indifferent voice.

  Abruptly it broke into a full-out charge, heading straight towards them all. Billy and Specks went to move, but Charlie snapped them straight back.

  ‘On my signal, boys,’ he ordered in barely a whisper.

  The tank of a man raced towards them, its pace fierce, its speed daunting, and only when it was right upon them did Charlie and the boys jump out of the way. The man smashed into the doors, obliterating them into pieces, and thrusting forwards into the outside world, creating a much needed escape route for the group. Charlie, Billy and Specks followed with haste as they heard the record nearing its dangerous climax. As the woman’s trailing voice faded into nothingness and the final clanking chord of the piano played on the song, the needle reached the centre of the record, a signal was sent from the gramophone through the wires to the bomb below, and with that, the hangar exploded, sending a huge volume of flames and debris in all directions, and scattering the boys, who were barely a few yards from the building, like they were paper aeroplanes. The three escapees were lifted into the air against their will and thrown along the ground at great momentum. Coming to a stop, all three of them were in bad shape, but Billy lifted himself up and locked eyes with the Manipulated Man, who was standing unaffected by the explosion, and glaring right back at him.

  The young man wasted no time. He picked himself up, burst into a run, jumped into the air and landed on the thing, placing a beautiful punch with his armour plated fist square in its deformed face, repeating the process over and over again. The Manipulated Man manoeuvred around, trying to free itself of Billy, but it couldn’t. Finally, perhaps by mistake, Billy grabbed hold of some of the tubing running in and out of its body and ripped it out - that was the answer. Instantly the Manipulated Man went senseless, lashing out without direction, and falling onto its back. It clutched at its throat like it was struggling to breath, coughing and spluttering up the blue liquid, mixed with its own blood. Billy took a step back, both disgusted and surprised by what was going on, until at long last the Manipulated Man stopped coughing, stopped moving and died, his mechanical and fleshy parts going limp by his side.

  ‘Nice show,’ said Yankee, who was sitting on a stacked up pile of the entire group of Nazi soldiers, passing two screwed-up dollar bills to his brother.

  ‘Yeah. Good job,’ added Doodle, who was leaning against the heap, accepting his brother’s money, before passing it straight back.

  Charlie stood over the latest of Shoebox’s creations and pushed its face to one side with his boot, getting a close look at the thing.

  ‘Damn. That guy sure is ugly,’ commented Yankee, peering at the downed man.

  ‘Cap’n. What the heck even is that?’ asked Doodle.

  Charlie stepped over the Manipulated Man and walked over to the flaming hangar, watching its remains burn to the ground. Gradually the rest of the squad joined him, quiet, pensive and cautious of their Captain.

  ‘So, what do we do now?’ asked Billy, with unusual sensitivity.

  But Charlie didn’t answer. He just shook his head, clenched his fist and stared.