Walter Skinner belongs to The X-Files.
Michael Wiseman belongs to Now & Again.
Jamie Sommers belongs to The Bionic Woman.
Darkman belongs to The Darkman.
Hellboy & Liz Sherman belong to Hellboy.
The Crow belongs to the Crow
Jake Foley belongs to Jake 2.0.
The Invisible Man belongs to the Invisible Man.
Painkiller Jane belongs to Painkiller Jane.
Ellen Harvelle, Gordon Walker, Ash, and Garth Fitzgerald all belong to Supernatural.
Donar Vadderung belongs to The Dresden Files.
The Magdalena & Witchblade belongs to Top Cow Productions.
FIC: The Armageddon Protocol (6/?)
“Damn it,” Skinner cursed as he looked down at his sweaty palms and shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was here. Some genius in higher management had decided his experience in over-seeing the X-Files with all its oddities would make him the perfect man to run the new and improved BPRD.
Not that he should be complaining really. Not when the new job came with a promotion and substantial pay rise. Rising, he made his way to the briefing room. His current ‘enhanced talent agents’ were already there – the hulking, red-skinned Hellboy sat alongside his main squeeze, Liz Sherman, the gothic Crow, the beautiful, lean brunette that was the Witchblade, the gawky Jake Foley, the playboyish Darien Fawkes, and the pretty Jane Vasko. “Thank you for meeting me here. As you’re all doubtless aware, the UN has pumped considerable funding into our organisation-.”
“So when are we gonna get some new equipment for the rec room?” rumbled Hellboy.
Director Skinner ignored the interruption. “And I’ve invested as much as possible of that money in finding and recruiting ‘Enhanced Talent Agents’ as possible. Unfortunately a lot of the candidates are either already working for the Council or aren’t interested. However I have found three candidates – Michael Wiseman, whose been genetically enhanced beyond peak normal, Jamie Sommers who was in an accident that caused her to have to two bionic legs, a bionic right arm, ear, and eye giving her superhuman speed, strength, and senses, and finally, Peyton Westlake who was in an accident that rendered him immune to pain and caused adrenaline to race constantly through his body, enhancing his strength, speed, agility, and stamina.” Director Skinner turned and opened the door he’d entered the room through to allow entrance to a good-looking man in his mid-thirties with an athletic build, a pretty doe-eyed brunette in her mid-twenties, and most strikingly, a tall man with glaring eyes and swathed in bandages underneath a long leather duster topped off by a fedora, then continued. “So, I’m sure you’ll join me in welcoming your new team-mates.”
There was a moment of tense silence as the seated veterans inspected the stood newcomers and vice versa. And then alarms erupted.
Skinner sighed. Why could things never be simple?
Harvelle’s Roadhouse, Nebraska
“I’m telling you, hunters like the Winchesters, Bobby Singer, Gecko, they sully our occupation by working with souled vampires, half-demons, and freaks! It doesn’t matter how effective they are, they’re tainted by association!”
Garth Fitzgerald IV shook his head as he sat at the bar and watched the African-American sat towards the rustic saloon’s back go into his well-worn rant. “It doesn’t matter to him that the Winchesters slayed more demons in a month than he did in a year?” Garth giggled as a cartoon in his paper caught his eye. “Marmaduke, you’re so crazy.”
Ash shook his head, mullet bouncing. “Dude doesn’t get the irony, guy his colour being so prejudiced.”
“Come on now you guys,” Ellen Harvelle reproved as she poured the two of them drinks, Ash a shot of whiskey and Garth a delicious soda pop, “Gordon might be an ass, but you know the club rules. All hunters welcome in here regardless of outside feuds.”
Garth’s Adam’s apple bobbled in his throat. “I know, it just burns me up, hearing him talk about good ol’ Bobby like that.”
Ash nodded. “Singer’s one cool cat.”
Ellen snorted. “Maybe you should hunt Singer down, tell him he you’re charter members of his fan club.”
Garth giggled then opened his mouth to reply. And then the windows on all four sides imploded inwards, spearing shards throughout the single-storey bar.
San Francisco, CA
“Coming, coming,” Paige shook her head as she made her downstairs to answer the knocking front door, “don’t you two stop bickering to answer the front door do you?” As completely expected her two half-sisters continued to bicker in the kitchen, leaving her shaking her head again.
Just an ordinary day in the Halliwell household. And then the front door exploded inwards and it was far from an ordinary day as one could get.
His ten thousand dollar suit was exceptionally tailored, made from the finest materials. And yet it utterly failed to mask he was a being of primordial power and unfettered savagery, a man built for killing. He was tall and powerfully built despite the deep lines on his face and steel grey hair that hinted at an age somewhere past sixty, and whatever battles he’d fought in the past, he hadn’t gotten through them all unscathed as evidenced by the eye-patch over his right eye as well as a vertical scar running from above the eyebrow, through the space where the eye would be and ending at mid-cheek.
But then as Director of Monoc Securities, one of the world’s private security companies, dabbling in both the mundane and the supernatural, he’d had more than a few hairy experiences.
Donar scowled. His missing eye was itching, itching like it always did before trouble. He didn’t know what was coming, just that it would be bad. His scowl deepened. He was a man who was very, very good at violence, however he didn’t enjoy it, didn’t enjoy the innocents and passer-bys who got hurt.
For the past month he’d been searching furiously for the cause of his foreboding, utilising not only his traditional legal and extra-legal sources of information but also the supernatural, but to no avail. His brow furrowed at the sound of fighting outside. Before he knew it he’d risen and started towards the door.
Perhaps now he’d find out.
Vatican City, Italy
The Cardinal listened as the Magdalena finished her report into her successful mission to retrieve several sacred books. The brunette was quite a bewitching beauty but she was also so much more.
A scandal was unearthed after the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, a crisis that shook the fledging church to its foundations. It was discovered that the former prostitute, Mary Magdalene had supposedly married the first son of God. Worse, she gave birth to his daughter, Sarah. But then a miracle, from this child descended a line of paranormal power, the Magdalena, a bloodline passing great power and honour down the female line, the Magdalena becoming the Catholic Church’s foremost warrior and protector.
In addition to amazing physical abilities, the Magdalena had still other skills, the ability to see into a sinner’s heart and show them the error of their ways. The Magdalena was somewhat similar to the old rules governing the Slayer in that there was only one in a generation. Since the Middle Ages, the Roman Catholic Church had raised and trained the Magdalena from childhood until she was ready to fulfill her destiny.
And now the most recent of her long line was sat in his office, giving a report on a thesis discussing the possible intrinsic powers of the first disciples. A book he could hardly wait to get his hands on but it was unfortunately promised to the research department. Sister Patience was a tall, leggy brunette with cascades of rich, raven-dark hair framing a heart-shaped face upon with a pair of pool-like green eyes and a pair of rosy, bee-stung lips with deep dimples on either side.
In another life she might have been a movie star or a model, but fate had another path in mind for her.
The Cardinal opened his mouth to offer some banality, a thanks for a mission competently completed. Then froze as something crashed to the floor in the corridor outside his office, a blood-chilling scream following a split-second later.
The Deeper Well, Cotswolds, England
“Why are we here?”
Cowl glanced through the darkness, the shadows leaping through the sprawling forest, the violent wind brushed at his clothes as he led his group towards their destination. And yet as dark as this was, the place was noisy in ways his world never was, vehicles growling in the distance, other vehicles in the air. It was most disquieting.
However nothing like as irritating as the rodent featured mage that had accompanied his team along with several other Earth-based wizards. “Because Kallor identified this as being a repository of powerful beings, the sort that could be a threat if not pre-emptively dealt with.”
“That’s fine, I understand all that,” Rayne sniffed. “But let me rephrase it, why am I here?”
“You magicians are meant to dissipate their essences so they can never escape to become a problem,” Cowl hissed. “Now quiet, your questions bore me!”