TITLE: When Adventures Begin...
AUTHOR: The Chronicler
UNIVERSE: Aurora's M7 Adventures
RATING: PG-13 (for violence, language, and some sexual indications)
SUMMARY: The introduction of a brand new AU-- (I hope others will pick it up and run with it)
ARCHIVE: Yes, indeedy
COMMENTS: Pretty please.
When Adventures Begin...
By The Chronicler
The end of the Civil War and the assassination of President Lincoln has left the country in a disarray of paranoia, greed, and corruption. Seeing a rich land disarmed and unprepared, evil from around the world swoops down to pick at the remains. And, at the head of this invasion, is the infamous Count Gregory; half man, half man made, the evil Count, centuries old, survives on ticking and twirling components of modern and advance technology. To keep his tech at the highest, most advance, most deadly, Gregory will go to any lengths, destroy anything, or anyone, that gets in his way.
At order of the newly elected President Grant, the United States' Secret Service came into action to bring the country back to a time of peace and sanity. Under the guidance of Director Travis, they rooted out and fought back the hordes that threatened their country.
But the Count was not an ordinary evil, and he would not be rooted out. Count Gregory would conquer the country... and then the world... if there was nothing nor no one to stand in his way.
Thus, Team 7 was formed with one explicit purpose:
Stand in Count Gregory's way.
Agent Buck Wilmington laughed. His big hands grabbed the woman by her little waist and pulled her close so he could nuzzle into her ample breasts.
Giggling, she pushed him back across the bed, landing on top of him with such force that it knocked the air out of him.
"Ooof!" Buck gasped, his eyes going wide.
"Oh! Bucky!" she squealed. "Did I hurt you?"
Buck laughed again, bouncing the woman on his chest. Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled until he was on top. "Don't you worry your sweet little head. Ol' Bucky's strong as a bear!" With a playful growl, he buried his face in her neck to nibble on the tender, pink flesh.
"Oh?" The woman spoke with a suddenly calm, controlled voice. "Then this should prove interesting."
Suddenly, several large, rough hands grabbed Buck and threw him off the bed.
Stunned, he had no time to react before those same hands had dragged him to his feet and pinned his arms behind his back.
Instinct kicked in then, and the Agent reacted as any other bear caught in a trap.
With a growl, he slammed back against his assailants. Feeling them stumble, Buck twisted, braking free. Spinning about, he struck out at the first face he saw. Not waiting to evaluate the damage, he continued on to the second. Another quick strike, and he was moving onto the third.
But the third man was ready. Leaning to the side, he allowed Buck's fist to sail by his left ear. Then, with his left hand, he grabbed the extended wrist and, with his right, grabbed his victim's armpit. Spinning, he pulled the Agent with him and slammed him head first into the wall.
With a grunt, Buck Wilmington dropped to the floor, stunned and dazed.
The woman rose from the bed, wrapping the sheet around her as she went. She came to stand over their victim and looked down her nose at him.
When Buck looked up at her, she wore a strict, righteous expression. She stood tall and strong, her dark eyes hard and clear. Despite the lack of clothing, she was dressed in command.
"Agent Bucklin Wilmington of President Grant's Secret Service." she spoke. It was not a greeting, not an attention getter. She was simply stating a fact.
Buck braced himself up on his elbows. With a grin, he said "So, it was all business, huh?"
She crouched down so as to be eye level with him. "My lord, the Count Gregory, requests your presence." she informed him.
"Another man? my heart is wounded." he continued to joke. With a sigh, he shrugged. "Well, at least I didn't pay for your services... such as they were."
This time the woman smiled. "Oh, no worry. You will pay. And not just with your blood, but the blood of your so-called UNITED States."
Secret Service Agent Buck Wilmington's smile faded.
Satisfied, the woman rose up again and turned away. With a wave of her hand, she commanded her men.
The last thing Buck saw was a fist coming at him.
His pencil brushed across the paper with smooth and deliberate strokes, not immediately taking form, but with definite intentions.
A long, smooth body with a pair of solid wings and feet... wheels?
"Mister John Daniels Dunne!" snapped the teacher, slamming his crop down across the desk.
J.D. Dunne's head snapped up, his bright hazel eyes peering through his jet black bangs. "Sir?" he wondered at the interruption.
The Professor glared down at his student. "In case you did not notice, Mr. Dunne, you are sitting in MY class room at MY University of Massachusetts. There is line around the world of bright, young men who would gladly take your seat. Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't give it to them?"
J.D. frowned. He hesitated to point out to the man that his test scores were the highest in the entire university. But, he simply looked up at the man.
Seeing he wasn't going to get an answer to that question, the Professor turned his glare to the drawing. Snatching it up, he demanded "And what is this, Mr. Dunne?"
The boy's eyes brightened. Excitedly, he leaped at the opportunity to explain: "A mechanical bird. Someday people will fly through the skies in these mechanical birds, traveling across the country in a matter of a day... maybe even only hours."
The classroom erupted in laughter.
J.D. glanced around at his classmates, not understanding their amusement, though not entirely surprised by it.
The Professor looked down at his student with all the superiority and self righteousness humanly possible. "Really? Why not just lean a ladder against the moon and climb on up?" he asked sarcastically.
Again the students roared with laughter.
The Professor folded the paper and put it in his breast pocket. "When you return to the real world, Mr. Dunne, perhaps you would like to attend class." He straightened up and glanced around at the rest of the class. "In the meantime, gentlemen, you have your assignments. I expect to see them on my desk by the beginning of our next class. Dismiss."
When the classroom had emptied, the Professor sat back at his desk at the head of the room. He pulled out the picture once again and looked it over. "That just might work." he said after a long moment.
He glanced up at the black clad man who had seemingly appeared in front of his desk. He smiled. "General Coal." he greeted, coming to his feet.
"Is he worthy of our lord's attention?" asked the General. His one good eye scrutinized the Professor, while his blind eye narrowed, bringing the two ends of the ugly scar that ripped across his face together.
The teacher nodded. "The boy is exceptional. His imagination is wild, but, with the right guidance, he just might have the brilliance to make it happen." He held up the drawing. "Can you imagine? Armies, our armies, sweeping down out of the sky upon the unexpecting world. They savages would drop to their knees and pay homage to us as if we were gods!"
General Coal took the drawing and eyed it. "Correction: Count Gregory's army." He turned and started for the door. But he paused. Not bothering to look back, he said "By the way... Count Gregory is a god." And then he was gone.
Chris Larabee brushed the horse down with all the care as if it was a prized stallion. 'Course, in his eyes, all his horses were prized.
Chris sighed. He turned away from the horse and handed the lead rope to the young girl sitting on the fence beside him. "Put her away for me, will you, Casy?"
Grinning, she jumped down and started to lead the horse back to the paddock.
"Yes, Neddie, what can I do for you?" he asked, turning to face the elderly woman who called to him from the porch of his ranch house. He stopped when he saw who stood beside her. After a moment's hesitation, he said "Thanks, Neddie. I'll take care of it."
Neddie Wells throw the visitor a glare, then returned to the house.
The visitor, a graying man in a suit and over coat, crossed the yard to join Chris. "Agent Larabee. You seem to be doing well."
Chris glared at the man. "I take care of my own. And it isn't Agent any more. I'm retired... remember?!"
"President Grant is very fond of your work during the war. He'd like to see you return to service." Director Travis went on, ignoring the rancher's words.
"Yea?" Chris chuckled. "There's a lot of things I'd like to see. Guess we're both out of luck, eh?" He started walking.
Travis walked at his side. "I am putting together a special team of Secret Service agents which will have the mission of bringing down Count Gregory and his horde of evil doers." he informed him. "This team will have the complete backing of the government of the United States of America. They will be supplied with the best of everything, from weapons to transportation to men."
"And what does that have to do with me?" Chris wondered.
"I want you to lead this team." Travis answered.
Chuckling, the rancher shook his head. "I repeat: I'm retired." He stopped when they reached the back of the ranch. There was a small garden surrounded by a little white picket fence. In the middle of the garden were two head stones. "For good reason." his last words were growled out.
Travis looked at the two graves. With a sigh, he turned to face the man directly. "Sarah and Adam did not die because you weren't here. If you had been here, there would be three graves sitting there, and not two." he said softly. "Chris, you couldn't save them. But you can save others like them. Count Gregory doesn't care if who he is killing are men or women and children. He kills and kills and kills. And what he doesn't kill, he intends to enslave." He looked over to where Casy was giving grain to the horses. "No one is safe."
Chris followed his gaze. Licking his lips, he asked "Why me? Why not go to some one still in service? Like Buck Wilmington?"
"Agent Wilmington is missing."
Chris' head snapped about to stare at the man. "What do you mean?" he growled.
Again Travis faced him. "Agent Wilmington was sent to collect the transportation for the team. He never made contact." he explained.
"Damn it." Chris spun away and took a couple of steps. Angrily, he shook his head.
Buck was the closest thing he had to a brother. Pain in the ass, always in trouble, always draggin' him into trouble... The best man at his wedding, there the day Adam was born, took him home after Chris was wounded at Gettysburg, spent many sleepless nights keeping him from killing himself when they discovered Chris' family had been murdered...
"Damn it all to hell." Chris glanced at the graves of his wife and son. Sighing, he dropped his head. "I'm sorry, Sarah." he whispered. "I know I promised not to leave again, but, it's Buck. He's gone and gotten himself into trouble again."
He knew she'd understand. She always had.
Chris Larabee turned back to Travis. "I pick my own men. I stay only as long as it takes to get Buck back. Then the team goes to him. Agreed?"
Director Travis nodded once. "If that's your wish..."
Again, Chris sighed. "Well, damn."