Caldwell, Idaho
11:58 PM

“We’re going to be late!”

“Calm down.  We’ll be fine.”

The blonde girl halted in her sprint and spun around to the boy she had met two weeks ago.  “You don’t understand!  You’ve only been here for a few days.  He punishes those who are late.  He makes an example of us!”

“Eve, he’s not going to rip our heads off for being five minutes late,” the boy hardly a man responded, gripping the girl by the arm.  “He doesn’t strike me as the kind to overreact.”

“You don’t know him like I do, Anthony,” Eve replied, her body visibly shaking in the moonlight.  “We have to run.”

They did just that though Anthony hesitated for just a moment.  Eve’s reaction had startled him.  He had been in the Master’s camp for days now and believed he had the leader pegged.  However, seeing Eve’s intense fear had awoken a doubt inside of him.

The light of the Moon lit their path as they ran across the nine acres that made up their home.  Eve, never a fan of dark places, put on her blinders and ran as fast as her legs would take her.  If she stopped for any reason, she figured she would breakdown.  That would only make the situation worse.

“There it is!” Anthony called from behind her.  “I told you, Eve, we’re going to be fine!”

Eve saw the barn about a thousand yards away.  It wasn’t the nicest place on the acres, but it was definitely the biggest and it was for that reason alone that all gatherings took place there.  A smile spread across Eve’s face as the yards melted away beneath her feet.  She spared a momentary glance to look back at Anthony.  He appeared tired, which wasn’t surprising for they had been full out sprinting for the better part of five minutes.

Turning back around, Eve hardly had time to dodge the shadowed figure that had appeared in her path.  Eve shifted on her feet, throwing all of her weight on her right leg.  She stepped on a patch of wet leaves and knew she was going down before her legs went flying out from under her.  Eve collapsed, her momentum carrying her forward before she rolled to a stop.

“Eve!”

Adrenaline pumping, Eve shrugged off the fall and jumped up to her feet.  Anthony had stopped running and was facing the figure that had caused her to fall.  The figure turned, its face being revealed by the moonlight.  Eve gasped.

It was the Master.  He was draped in a flowing white gown.  He resembled an angelic messenger but that didn’t take away from the look of utter hatred etched on his face.

“Master,” Eve said, moving down to her knees.  “I’m sorry that we’re late.  We came as fast as we could.”  Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

The Master cocked his head to the side, studying Eve as she spoke.

“She’s telling the truth,” Anthony added.  “Honest.”

The Master looked to the boy next and snared.  “Honesty is a tricky thing, boy.  You honestly think you did everything to get here almost on time.  I think you are honestly full of shit.  If you’re definition of ‘as fast as we could’ constitutes making out and feeling each other up behind the dormitory, then you have another thing coming.”

Anthony took a step back.  “H-How did you know that?”

“I know everything, boy,” the Master replied, taking a step toward Anthony for every step that he moved away.  “I was worried about your influence when you arrived here.  My disciples have a certain mentality that you didn’t seem to share.  I’ve been watching you carefully and thus far I have had no reason to complain.  Now, however…”  His words died away, leaving the statement open ended.

“What are you going to do?” Anthony asked.  His head was moving in every direction, his eyes searching for a way out.  He didn’t know how far he could expect to get.  Another thing about the Master that he had gathered was the powers in his possession.

The Master stretched out one of his hands and suddenly Anthony could move no further.  The boy, barely a teenager, struggled and was about to scream when he found he couldn’t do that either.  It was as if his body had lost complete control of itself.  “What am I going to do, Anthony?” the Master asked, repeating the boy’s own question.  “I’m going to do what needs to be done to maintain the sanctity of my home.  I can’t have your hormones corrupting the girls.  They are so impressionable.”

“Master?” Eve asked.  “Please, don’t hurt him.  I love him.”

The Master shook his head.  “Love is a fluid concept, Eve.  You’ll get over it and move on.”

He turned back to Anthony and snapped his fingers.  The boy’s body pivoted and spun in a tight circle.  Unfortunately, his head did not go along for the journey.  There was an intense crack.  Though he was still propped up, there was no semblance of life left in Anthony.  The Master blinked and his control over Anthony faded.  The boy’s corpse collapsed to the ground.

“No!”

The Master whirled around at Eve’s exclamation.  “Eve, it’s alright.”

“No, don’t tell me it’s alright, you bastard!”  She kneeled down next to Anthony, taking his head in her hands.  His skull moved so easily now that his necks bones had been crushed.  “You didn’t need to do this.”

The Master laid a hand on Eve’s shoulder and the girl immediately went limp.  Her eyes felt heavy and before she knew it, she was asleep.  The Master knelt down and picked up the girl’s body, cradling it like a baby.  “Don’t worry, Eve.  When you wake up, you won’t remember any of this.  Things will go back to normal.”

They moved into the barn, the body of Anthony lying forgotten in their wake.


Nebraska
The Next Morning

The smell of fresh coffee was a welcome greeting as Patrick Dugan stepped into the kitchen of his Blue Valley home.  He spotted his wife standing before the stove, the crackling of oil signifying the bacon she was cooking.  He wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling her jump lightly in surprise.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Pat whispered in her ear.  He kissed her lightly on the neck, eliciting a shiver.

“Good morning yourself,” Barbara Dugan responded, nuzzling into her husband’s imposing frame.  “You’re in a good mood.”

“That’s because I’m home,” Pat replied.  “This whole government gig doesn’t sit well with me.”

“And I’m sure you show it too,” Barbara replied.  She moved the skillet of bacon from the stove to the countertop.  The sizzling continued nonetheless.  “How long did this Waller woman say you had to do this?”

Pat shrugged his broad shoulders.  “She said my involvement would be limited to a few months, but who’s to stop her from keeping me longer?  As long as Mike and Courtney are running around crime fighting, I’ve got my hands tied.  I’m not going to throw them to the wolves.”

“And that’s why I love you.”  Barbara kissed him lightly.

“I don’t want to talk about work anymore,” Pat said.  He sat down at the kitchen table.  “I just want to enjoy my time here.  How are the kids?”

“Michael called yesterday.  He and Courtney are fitting in well with Young Justice.  Apparently they had a run in with…with…”

“Barbara?”

“Um, I know you wanted to enjoy your time at home, baby,” Barbara replied, leaning over the sink to look outside, “but I don’t think you’re going to get the chance.”

Pat was going to ask what she meant, but it was then that he heard the approaching helicopter.  He jumped to his feet and moved to the window.  Sure enough, a charcoal gray Blackhawk helicopter was in the process of landing upon his lawn.  The rudders of the helicopter blew with such a force that the lines of laundry that Barbara had put up earlier in the morning were blown away out of the backyard.  The Blackhawk lowered slowly but surely.

Once the helicopter had landed, sufficiently drawing the eyes of everyone in the neighborhood, the rudders and propellers began to slow to a stop.  The side of the Blackhawk open and she stepped from the belly of the beast.

“Son of a bitch,” Patrick Dugan muttered before moving out on the lawn to meet Amanda Waller.


He had to restrain himself from punching her in the jaw.  “What the fuck are you doing here?  I’m on weekend leave.”

“Not anymore you’re not,” the Wall replied without a pleasantry.  “We’ve had a situation come up in Idaho.”

“And it couldn’t wait until I was back in D.C. on Monday?”

“I wouldn’t be here if it could,” Waller replied.  “I need you ready to go in ten minutes.”

“Hold the phone!” Dugan explained.  “How dare you do this to me?  I have not seen my wife in nearly a month and now you blow in here?  Do you really need me for this assignment?  Why don’t you send Captain Atom?  Or Emerson?”

“I’m sending you because I’m sending you.  I don’t need to explain my actions.  You go where I tell you to and you do what needs to be done.  That’s what being a part of Task Force X means.”

“You blackmailed me on to Task Force X!  I don’t give a damn what you want me to do!”

Waller crossed her arms.  “You will care when you have every Meta villain in the country gunning for the lives of your son and daughter-in-law.  I’ve been keeping tabs on Michael and Courtney.  They have grown into their roles as heroes and protectors, but they will not survive the onslaught that will be thrown up against them if their identities become public knowledge.”

“You would really put the safety of my kids in danger just so you can keep me on a leash?” Dugan asked.  The veins in his neck were protruding in anger.

Waller nodded.  “I really would.  Now suit up.  You’re taking down a cult today.  It should be exciting.”

Dugan moved back toward the house where a spare S.T.R.I.P.E. suit was waiting for him.  He stopped halfway to the back door and looked over his shoulder.  “You should dread the day we’re not in our positions anymore, Amanda, because it will come.  I can wait.  I’m a very patient person.”

“I’m shaking, Patrick,” she shot back.  She looked down at her watch.  “You’re down to seven minutes.”

Dugan flipped Waller the bird and moved into his house, any dreams of a peaceful weekend shattered.

stripe America's Personal Meta-Team...

“Cult Classic”
Task Force X #6 - May, Year Five by Matt Hrubey


The Blackhawk had taken back to the air once Dugan was inside.  He sat, sans helmet, reading through a file that Waller had passed to him.  “So you weren’t kidding when you said this was a cult.  How does this fit into our jurisdiction?”

“Intelligence tells us that the cult leader is a meta,” the Wall responded.  “The government has been watching him for months now.  He goes by ‘the Master’ but we believe him to be Stephen Duffy, a failed insurance agent from Boise.  He discovered not too long ago that he had the mutually beneficial gifts of telepathy and telekinesis.  He’s been a pain in our ass since then.”

“How do you know all this?  Where’s the proof?”

“You worked for the military,” Waller replied, throwing a pile of pictures at Dugan.  “You know the kind of technology at my disposal.”

Patrick flipped through the pictures, each showing a middle aged man in various stages of the day.  The first was Duffy at the market, buying groceries.  The next was Duffy walking in the park.  It only continued from there.  “You had him followed.  Obviously.  But pictures of this man in the park and the barber shop aren’t probable cause to send me in.”

“True, but the growing number of missing children from the area Duffy relocated to is,” Waller replied.

Sure enough, Dugan flipped a page and was greeted by dozens of faces of young children, barely into their teens.  He swallowed hard, imagining what he would do if his children were taken from him.  It was that fear that had gotten Dugan back into the S.T.R.I.P.E. armor in the first place.

“One of the children showed up in a ditch outside Caldwell, Idaho,” Amanda continued on, noticing the look that Dugan was affording the pictures of the missing kids.  “The ditch happened to be a mile away from several acres that Duffy happened to buy about a year ago.  I sent in a pair of agents from my department to follow up, but Duffy knew they were there.  I lost contact with them about eighteen hours ago.  They are missing and presumed dead.”

“I can see you are broken up about that.”

“Terribly,” the Wall said.  She flipped open another folder, one holding a set of blueprints.  “Memorize the grounds of Duffy’s compound.  You’re going to be thinking on your feet so you need to know the layout.”

Dugan closed the file.  “And what are the orders?  Dead?  Alive?  Broken bones?”

“I leave that to your discretion.  Just bring us back a body.”

“Understood.  When am I meeting up with the others?”

“You’re not,” Waller replied.  “There’s some issues going on back at the Citadel and I need Emerson and Captain Atom to help me out.  You’re playing this one solo.”

“What?”

The phone in the Wall’s breast pocket rang.  The Director of Meta-Human Affairs reached for it, grabbed it, and flipped it open in one fluid motion.  “Waller,” was all she said.

Dugan couldn’t believe the day he was having.  First, Waller invades his home and his privacy.  Then, she sends him on a mission with so many unknown quantities that the term ‘suicide’ doesn’t seem that far of a stretch.  And the nonchalance that she was doing it all with was angering.

“Thank you,” Waller said after listening for some time.  “I’ll be on my way back momentarily.”  She shut her phone and replaced it in her pocket.  She turned to Dugan.  “Get out.”

Dugan’s jaw dropped.  “Are you serious?”

“I’m needed back in D.C.  You can fly the rest of the way to Idaho on your own.”

“You really are serious,” Dugan muttered, rubbing his eyes of a sudden exhaustion.  “You hate me.  You really hate me.”

“I do,” Amanda Waller replied.  “Now get out.  Radio the Citadel if you run into trouble.”

Dugan clicked the S.T.R.I.P.E. helmet into place and stood.  The shift in weight caused the Blackhawk to lurch, but the pilot immediately compensated for the shift.  Dugan opened up the side panel of the helicopter.  {{I hope your plane crashes, Amanda.  I mean that from the bottom of my heart.}}

“Have a good time.”

S.T.R.I.P.E. stepped out into the open air, gravity taking effect instantaneously.  He began to plummet, faster and faster with each passing second.  It was only when Dugan activated his boot thrusters that his momentum began to slow to a stop.

He spotted the Blackhawk, moving fiercely out of view.  {{Bitch,}} he muttered under his breath. 

It took but a moment for the S.T.R.I.P.E. computer system to lock a path to Caldwell.  Patrick Dugan was flying through the air toward his destination another moment later.


Caldwell, Idaho

It was always the same.  It was actually starting to become a game of sorts; one that only he could take pleasure in.  After all, his actions would be viewed as psychotic by society.  But in his mind, he was undefeatable.

He strolled down the street, his eyes flitting about behind his sunglasses.  He gazed upon each and every individual that passed by, his focus resting primarily on the young and vital.

Caldwell was a city much smaller than what he was used to.  However, he preferred it that way.  In a city where everybody knew everybody else, nobody knew who he was but he knew them all.  That was a side effect of telepathy.  He could read any thought that he wanted.  He could discover the secrets of any person, getting to know them intimately without ever saying a word to them.  And he used it to his advantage.

That was how he had gathered his followers.

When he walked through the city like this, he preferred to think of it as grazing.  It took a specific kind of personality to be susceptible to the mental instructions that he used to maintain his organization.  It took a special kind of child.  Those that had given up all hope in the world and were looking for any kind of support they could find.  Support he would offer them.

There were more of these children than one would suspect.  And now Stephen Duffy was seeking one more.

Telepathy definitely came in handy when kidnapping children.  They tended to have ties to others that drew unwanted attention to him.  Thus far, whenever someone had gotten too close to discovering his ties to the growing number of missing children in Idaho, a subtle telepathic instruction had saved his hide. 

It was shame he couldn’t just wipe the minds of every person one his children had ever met.  It would have made things much easier.  Too bad he didn’t have anywhere near the power necessary to pull off a feat like that.  Duffy shrugged his shoulders.  He made good use out of the assets at his disposal.

A young girl passed by, drawing his attention.  Her thoughts were screaming out in anger.  Unfortunately, she had strong ties and a full assortment of ambitions to guide her through life.  She definitely wasn’t right for him.

But what exactly was right?  That definition seemed to be changing more and more recently.  The last child Duffy had approached had seemed the perfect candidate for his cult.  Looks were deceiving, however, and now Anthony had apparently been found in the ditch he had been left in.

Stephen Duffy felt something that caused him to stop in mid-step.  It was a thought that caused him sorrow.  Someone around him, close in proximity was aching, silently calling out for someone, anyone, to fill the void that had until recently been filled by their parents.  Duffy could see the accident that had stolen the parents from their child.  It was a gruesome car accident.  No survivors.

Duffy found the child sitting alone in an alley a few hundred feet from where he had received the mental image.  It was young girl, about fifteen-years-old.  Her cheeks were streaked with tears.  When Duffy stepped up to her, blotting out the sun that had been beating down on the girl’s body, she looked up, her eyes fearful of what would come next.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” Stephen Duffy said, kneeling down next to the girl.  “What is your name?”

“J-Jenny.”

“Well, hello, Jenny, it’s nice to meet you.  I believe that we can help each other out.  Would you like that?”

Jenny cocked her head to the side.  “My mommy and daddy told me not to talk to strangers.”

Duffy ushered the girl to her feet.  “I’m only a stranger because we haven’t met until today.  Jenny, I’m going to be your new best friend.  Now, why don’t you come with me?  I have something I would like to show you.”

“What is it?”

Spinning the girl around, Duffy looked deep into Jenny’s eyes.  The girl’s body went slack for a moment, her eyes glazing over.  It was a simple matter to turn the girl into a mental slave, breaking her will and self-control.  When she returned to normal, Jenny followed behind Duffy without even being asked.

“Your new home, Jennifer,” Stephen Duffy replied, answering the girl’s question.  “I’m taking you to your new home.  I know you’ll love it.”

The eyes followed Duffy’s every moment.  They watched carefully as he made contact with the little girl named Jenny, trapping her into an alleyway corner.  They watched intently as Stephen Duffy kidnapped the girl and took her away from the place she called home.

The eyes, and the man they belonged to, watched carefully, but did nothing to stop it.  After all, those weren’t his orders.  He was only to observe and track.  Agent Simon Reagan of the Department of Meta-Human Affairs shivered with the thought of what Duffy would do to the girl, but he knew how to follow his orders and thus remained immobile.

The ear piece Reagan wore sparked to life.  “Progress report, Agent Reagan,” Amanda Waller spoke into the man’s ear.  She was on her way back to D.C. as the agent risked his life trying to covertly follow a telepath.  Talk about micromanaging.  To him, the mission seemed like an oxymoron.  Who in their right mind would try to sneak up on a telepath?  But he kept his reservations to himself and didn’t say a word in protest.

“The subject is still in Caldwell,” the agent from the Department of Meta-Human Affairs responded to his superior, “but it looks like he got what he came from.  He’ll be heading back to his home soon.”

“Stay on him, agent,” Waller replied, “and don’t let him out of your sight.”  The earpiece died once more, just like that.

Agent Reagan shook his head.  The woman knew how to do her job, but her salty, coarse attitude tended to rub off on others, himself included.  Whenever he spoke with her, he always felt the slightest bit more cynical and angry.

Rubbing the moisture from the eye slots of his binoculars, Reagan looked through them once more.  He was astonished to find that both kidnapper and girl were gone.  He searched up and down the alleyway for good measure but found nothing.  Reagan silently chided himself for failing in his mission already, right after Waller had told him explicitly not to lose the target.  He threw the binoculars to the ground and sat upon the rooftop.  He was going to get an ear full.

“Why are you following me?”

Reagan couldn’t stop the yelp that came from his mouth.  He jumped to his feet, his hand pulling his weapon from its harness.  The action took but a moment.  Reagan found Duffy standing within an arm’s length distance from his person.  How had the telepath snuck up on him, a trained officer, so easily?

“Why are you following me?” Duffy asked again.  This time the question was asked more in anger than curiosity.

“I’m following orders,” Reagan responded.  That was all Duffy got.

“From who exactly?”

Reagan knew Duffy wouldn’t wait to hear the answer.  He had begun to rifle from the government agent’s memory, skimming from thought to thought.  Reagan reached up to the ear not holding the earpiece and found a very different piece of technology.  It was tiny; what some would consider far too miniscule to make any real difference.  Reagan flipped the device on and Duffy immediately found himself locked out of Agent Reagan’s mind.

Wincing in the pain at the backlash, Duffy took a step back, his body shielding the girl, Jennifer, from view.  “A psionic blocker.  Whoever sent you here has money and information.  You obviously know who I am and what I do.  That’s make you dangerous to me.”

“Stand down,” Agent Reagan said, weapon trained on Duffy’s forehead.  “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”

Duffy shook his head.  “Why do people with guns always say that?  Of course you want to hurt me, that’s why you have the gun.  That’s why you have that blocker in your ear.  But you know what the problem is with using such an expensive toy to protect yourself?”

“Enlighten me.”

With a hand almost too fast to see, Duffy pulled a gun from his back pants pocket and shot Reagan between the eyes.  The Meta-Human Affairs agent was dead before he hit the ground.

“The problem is that you think yourself invulnerable and overlook the most archaic forms of murder.”  Duffy looked down into the lifeless eyes of Simon Reagan and added, “That will be your undoing.”


He came upon the compound sooner than he had expected.  It was well hidden within the countryside, but Dugan supposed that was the point.  Duffy was good; he knew how to avoid unwanted attention.  But even the best slipped from time to time.  Failing to successfully do away with a teenage corpse counted as one such mistake.  In this instance, it was a doozy.

Many would have been surprised at the lack of noise the S.T.R.I.P.E. gave off as it was landed upon the private land of Stephen Duffy.  For such a large piece of technology, it descended with the sound of a pin dropping.  Pat Dugan had been at the top of his game when he had constructed the latest rendition of S.T.R.I.P.E. 

He moved from the edge of the forest where he had set down to the nearest building he could find.  Dugan was not happy with the overwhelming amount of open space, but he had yet to see anyone walking around the compound. 

Something strange was definitely going on.  Waller had said the number of missing children from the area was enormous and that he would find them on Duffy’s property, but so far it was no dice.  As far as Dugan could tell, he was all alone.

He stepped up to the window of the building he stood next to.  The systems in his armor ran a general diagnostic over the building, but found nothing.  No heat signatures; nothing suspicious.  A quick once over with his own eyes told S.T.R.I.P.E. the same thing.  The interior of the building looked straight out of a summer camp.  There were books littering the shelved walls, ping-pong tables set up though seemingly never used, and a television in the corner sporting a substantial layer of dust.

Dugan shivered.  He continued on, the weight of the armor leaving footprints in the fresh earth.  This compound was growing more and more eerie with each passing moment.

“Dugan, come in.”

He sighed.  What now?  {{What do you want, Amanda?}}

“I’ve lost contact with the agent following Duffy.  He’s M.I.A. and probably heading back in your direction.”

{{What should I do?  I haven’t found the missing children or any evidence connecting Duffy to the murder.}}

“Then find it!  You’re on a deadline, Patrick.  Waller out.”

Dugan sighed; a sudden weight pressed down on his chest.  He was no detective and he shouldn’t be out here.  At least, not by himself.  Dugan was ready to give up hope when the HUD system inside the S.T.R.I.P.E. armor lit up before Patrick’s eyes, alerting him to the presence of a heat signature within range.  However, as he studied the readout, he discovered not just a single signature, but several all located inside the same place.  S.T.R.I.P.E. strode across the grass, moving to the next building of the compound.  He tried the doorknob and found it locked.  Rearing back his arm, Dugan punched through the door, eliciting screams from inside.  He ripped the door from its hinges and moved inside.

The sight of an armored monster caused the children inside to scream even louder.  There were so many of them, boys and girls of various ages, living within this one bunker.  It was by no means sanitary and urine and feces littered the walls and floor.  The children rushed to the opposite end of the compound, struggling against the brick to escape.  They were panicked, reacting out of fear and not thinking clearly.

{{Kids, I’m not here to hurt you,}} S.T.R.I.P.E. said.  He lifted his hands to his helmet and pulled it off.  “I’m not a monster,” he told them.  “I’m a person, just like all of you.  You need to calm down and tell me what’s going on here.”

The revelation of Dugan’s identity seemed to calm some of the children, but others were still futilely scratching at the brick.  The screams, however, were all but gone.

“Who are you?” one of the boys asked.  Compared to the others, he seemed to be the oldest.  The alpha male of the group.

“I’m an agent of the federal government,” Dugan replied, kneeling before the boy.  “I’m here investigating Stephen Duffy.  Do you know who that is?  He owns this property.”

“The Master?”

“Yes, the Master.  The man who kidnapped you all.”

The boy cocked his head to the side.  “Kidnapped?  He didn’t kidnap anybody.  We all came because we wanted to.”

“Wanted to?” Dugan asked, looking around.  “This place is unlivable.  You want to live like this?”

“The Master says we have to give up the comforts of home if we want the comforts of the Great Beyond,” the boy explained.  “We have to prove our devotion to the Master or he won’t take us with him to the next life.”

“And how exactly does this prove devotion?  You sleep in your own filth,” Dugan replied.  “Nobody should have to be exposed to that.  What else does he make you do?”

“We give of our flesh.”

Dugan bit into his lower lip.  “That sick bastard.”  His gauntleted hands became fists.  In his mind, he saw his own children being violated.  “Why do you let him do that to you?”

“We must prove our devotion.”

Nodding his head, Dugan rose up to his full height.  “Yeah, I got that.  I’m getting you all out of here now.  You don’t have to live like this anymore.”

“We don’t want to leave,” the alpha boy said.

“Yeah, we want to stay,” another girl added.

“Please, don’t take us away from here.”

“I’m sorry,” Dugan said, “but this…all of this…it’s illegal.  I’m taking you all to safety.”  He placed the S.T.R.I.P.E. helmet back on his head and opened a channel to the Citadel.  {{This is Dugan.  I need extraction for about four-dozen minors.  Send some emergency care as well.  Some of these kids have seen better days.}}  When he received an affirmative response, Dugan turned to the alpha boy.  {{I’m going to need your help getting everyone out of here now.}}

“NO!”  The boy hollered at the top of his lungs and lunged at S.T.R.I.P.E., revealing a shard of glass he had hidden behind his back.  “You won’t take us away from here!”  The boy slammed the glass against Dugan’s armor.  The shard shattered without causing any damage to Dugan.  The boy, however, received a deep cut to the palm of his hand.  He recoiled in pain, taking solace in the bodies of the other children.

{{Let me help you with that cut.}}

“No,” a young girl said, rising to stand between Dugan and the alpha boy.  “You are not taking us away!”

A wave of children ran for Dugan, grabbing onto various parts of his armor.  The truly adventurous climbed up his back, seeking to yank the helmet from his head.  Dugan didn’t fear for himself; the armor would protect him.  However, he couldn’t move in any direction without potentially harming one of the kidnapped kids.  He was stuck.

{{Kids, you have to understand…}}

“I believe they do understand,” a voice from behind said, “and they don’t want to go.”

Dugan turned at the waist and found a middle-aged white man standing in the doorway of the building.  {{You must be Duffy.}}

“The one and only,” Duffy replied.  He frowned.  “Who the hell are you?”

{{The man who’s going to arrest you, you sick perv.  Get down on the ground and put your hands behind your head.}}

“I’ll take option B.”

{{That would be me kicking your ass and taking the children out of here.}}

Duffy crossed his arms.  “They don’t want to go.”

{{They’re children.  They don’t get to make those kinds of decisions.  They’re leaving.}}

“No,” Duffy replied, “they’re not.”  He winked at S.T.R.I.P.E.

Dugan was going to reply when he realized that the wave of attacking children had subsided.  In fact, each boy and girl had taken a step back as if preparing for—

{{What is--}}

S.T.R.I.P.E. was suddenly yanked from his standing position and launched out of the building through the wall opposite Duffy.  The remains of the wall crumbled in his wake.  The children’s screaming began anew.

“Children, calm down,” he ordered both verbally and telepathically.  They became quiet and looked up to Duffy as if awaiting instructions.  “Stay inside while I take care of this intruder.  Then everything can go back to normal.”

Stephen Duffy ignored the cheering at his back as he set out to murder once more.

The wall crumbled at his back, but S.T.R.I.P.E’s momentum didn’t stop there.  He flew through the air, unable to right himself.  All he could do was brace himself as he struck the ground, leaving a crater in his wake.  When the dust settled from the impact, Dugan rose to his feet, shaky from the attack.

{{Ouch,}} he muttered, rotating his shoulder to alleviate the pain there.  Dugan looked back toward the building he had come from and found Duffy making his way toward him, levitating the whole way.  He would have smacked himself had he not been wearing the armor.  {{He’s a telekinetic, genius.  That explains a lot.}}

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Duffy shouted.

{{I’m sorry to cut into your busy child molesting schedule.  Last chance, ass hole.  Stand down or I’ll put you down.}}

Duffy threw his head back, a hearty laugh coming from his throat.  “You sound imposing, but I know better.”  He tapped his forehead.  “At least, you came prepared.  Psi-shielding in your helmet?”

{{You know it.  You’re not under the radar, Duffy, contrary to what you may think.  People know who you are and have suspected what you do here.  The only reason you haven’t been taken down already is because there wasn’t reasonable suspicion to search your land.  When the boy’s body was found less than a mile from here, you gave us that reasonable suspicion.}}  S.T.R.I.P.E. crossed his arms.  {{You’re going to jail forever.}}

“You may have compensated for my telepathy, but I’m much more than that.  I’m going to rip you apart.”

The gauntlets of Dugan’s armor flashed and twin repulsor rays shot toward Duffy.  The cult leader remained still, merely putting out his hand in front of him.  The repulsors struck an invisible barrier and deflected away.

“You’re going to have to do a lot better than that,” Duffy said.

S.T.R.I.P.E. was going to attack once more but found the armor locked up and unable to move.  {{What?}}  His legs and arms were suddenly, forcibly pulled apart, stretched as far as they would go.  And under the invisible manipulation of Duffy’s mind, Dugan’s limbs continued to stretch even further.

“I wonder what’s going to crack first,” Duffy said, taking a few steps toward his victim, “your armor or your bones?”

Inside the armor, Dugan winced in pain.  The trick with telekinesis was that anyone who possessed the ability could do virtually whatever they wanted.  If they could think it, it could happen.  That meant that Duffy didn’t have to stop this torture until Dugan had literally been torn to pieces.  He had to get himself out of this now or his family was going to be fatherless.

“Hurting yet?”

{{Close your eyes.}}

Duffy cocked his head to the side.  “What did you say?”

{{I said,}} Dugan replied, {{close your eyes.}}  The chest plate of the S.T.R.I.P.E. armor clicked to life and flashed brightly.  The sight was like that of a camera magnified.  The entire area lit up for the briefest of moments.

Crying out, Duffy grabbed for his eyes, his retinas burning from the attack.  S.T.R.I.P.E. fell to the earth, Duffy’s concentration broken and unable to hold onto the Task Force X member.  Dugan jumped to his feet as fast as he was able.  Before Duffy was able to see again, S.T.R.I.P.E. pounced.  A single punch and Duffy was finished.

The telepath crumbled to the ground.  For the briefest of moments, Dugan thought that the man was dead for his chest refused to rise and fall.  However, his fears were unfounded as Duffy suck in a breath.

Dugan sat down on the ground and took a deep breath; what felt like his first since he had arrived in Idaho.  He looked over to Duffy and smirked.  {{You lose, ass hole.}}

Next Issue:  IN TASK FORCE X #7:  An EARTH 2 tie-in!  Check out JLA #39 first and then be back here as Task Force X and the JLA battle an enemy from within!

Story © 2007 Matt Hrubey and may not be reproduced without permission.