[LNH/ACRA] Adventures Beyond Comprehension

[cabbagewielder at yahoo.com]

            Electra In:
	Adventures Beyond Comprehension  #1
	Invulnerable
	A Killfile Wars Tie-In Event
	By Jesse N. Willey
	Special Thanks to Tom Russell Jnr.

	I've been called a lot of things.  Cynic.  Murderer.   Coldhearted
bitch.   Most days I agree with that.  I have done some terrible
things.  They were wrong and that's that.  I won't even attempt to
rationalize them.  You can't change the past.
   	Well....


	Actually, you can.   If you couldn't, I wouldn't even exist.    I
used to wish the past was immutable.    That I never existed.  Or that
I had been deleted with the rest of my universe.    My sins wouldn't
be sins because they would never have happened.

	It'd be like 'It's A Wonderful Life'.  Only Jimmy Stewart
would arrive in Bedford Falls to discover his brother wouldn't have
even been in that sledding accident if it weren't for him.  Oh, and
his brother single handedly beat up all the soldiers in Japan.   Donna
Reed married the millionaire but got that old motel anyway.   And
everyone is happy.  Even Clarence the angel.   If George Bailey
hadn't been one of the people he had to look after he'd have had an
easier assignment and gotten his wings anyway.

	I'm past that depressing fantasy now.   Saving the entire multiverse
will do that to you.    But even that isn't enough.  It's a
step-by-step process.       No one act, no matter how cosmic, can
redeem you.   There are things in this world that make it easier to
swallow.

	Like Dalton.

 He's... he's a.... he's some guy I found on the roadside.
Claims to be an alien abductee.   Implants and tin foil hats and stuff.
  To tell the truth he's annoying as hell.   Dalton never shuts up.
Well there was this one time.

	___________________________________________

	We were in Baltimore.  It was a pit stop on our way to somewhere or
another.      Two or three blocks away from the gorgeous Inner Harbor.
 We could have gone to the Aquarium.   Taken a ride out on the water.
Hell, it was summer.   We could have gotten some hot dogs at one of the
nicest baseball stadiums in the country.   No... He's just so
focused.    He had us going to this small out of the way church a few
blocks away.  I don't like churches.

He crossed the iron gate that was no more than eighteen inches wide
into a cemetery only a few feet long and a few feet wide. He looked
around.   He found the first towering headstone with an ornate
statuette on it.    He just sat there silently.   For an hour.   Then
he reached into his backpack, pulled out a picnic lunch.   He quickly
scarfed it down.   Then he took out another sandwich and bottle of wine
and placed it on the grave.   Then, without saying a word stood up and
walked away.

	We crossed the metal gates and began walking away.

	"What was that about?" she said.
	"What was what about?" Dalton said.  "It's what I always do
when I'm back in my home town.  You'd probably like it.  Baltimore
grows on you.   Like a fungus."
	"You know what I mean.   The silence.  The leaving a sandwich and a
bottle of wine behind at that grave," I said.
	"It's just something I do.  A lot of people do."
	"People just leave food and wine at random graves in Baltimore.  And
I though Sig.ago had a weird side," she said.
	"It's not a random grave," he said.  "I hope Ed likes Peanut
Butter and Banana."
	"Ed?"

	I quickly turned my head.  I could still see the grave from where we
were standing.    I could barely make out the faded letters on the
grave.  POE.

	Then we drove.   And he didn't say a thing till the next morning
when we reached Cleveland.   And then it was like the whole thing never
happened.

	_____________________________________________________________

	A few weeks ago, I began to realize little bits and pieces of the
mystery of my existence.   I think I made a mistake: I told Dalton
about it. He said he could help.   He insisted on handling it alone.
We'd meet every week or so to exchange information.   He's late for
the rendezvous.    I'm worried about him.   I think he might in
trouble.

	Of course I didn't tell Carolyn that.   God, no I can't let her
see that I am capable of pain.   I'm the badass she could have been.
(And she's the princess I should have been.)
  	I've always been introduced as the alternative reality version of
Carolyn Forge.  Hell.  Even I've introduced myself as the alternative
reality version of Carolyn Forge.  It's like I'm not real.  Like I
don't exist.  Like I'm some extension of her.  The experiments
performed on me destroyed my nerve endings and only reinforced this
idea.
   And now...
   All of a sudden...
   I can feel.  Around Dalton, I can feel.  What does that mean?  Am I
my own person again?  Or just an extension of Dalton Asters?

__________________________________________________________


	Dalton is like a puppy.   Oh, he talks tough.   He thinks because he
knows things he can handle himself.   Of course what he knows is highly
suspect.   Case in point, he 'knows' that because nobody shoved a
wooden steak through Richard Nixon's heart the former president is
alive and well and devouring human flesh.

	But, Dalton is a wuss.  Wouldn't hurt a fly.  Now... I don't doubt
he has some powerful enemies.   He has a way of pissing people off.
He's only trying to help me.

  	If something happened to him...

 I'd-I'd-okay I'd probably feel real bad about it for a few
days and then get over it.    I watched my world die and I shrugged.
I didn't feel bad when my father raped me.

I didn't even cry for Roxie.

	And yet here I am in some cheesy motel with a wet pillow, loosing
sleep over a son of bitch that I can't even stand.   I feel like I
should be out there doing something but I don't even know where to
start.

	Damn you, Dalton!  If you aren't dead, I'll maim you while you
sleep.   Wait no... you might enjoy it.

	__________________________________________________________

	The only person I know who knows Dalton as well as I do is Doctor
Crompton.
The catch is that Crompton is an agent of an organization known as the
Regal 13.   One of those groups of top secret spooks that Dalton is
always ranting about.   Not all of them could possibly be real.  I mean
for that to be true more than three quarters of the population would
have to be in on it and then what's the point of even keeping the
secret?   The Regal 13 is real though.    I've dealt with them
before.   They aren't friendly people.   They are some of the most
deceitful people I've ever worked with.

I've driven out to this abandoned building in the middle of nowhere.
 Several months ago, he treated my injuries at this abandoned building
in the middle of nowhere.  I expect they'd abandon this building after
they brought me here; the fact that I knew where it was made it a
security liability.  (Makes me wonder why the LNH doesn't do the same
thing.)


	As long as I can trust them to be untrustworthy they should be easy to
deal with.

	My electric blasts make quick work of their locking system.
Hopefully Crompton and his people will be just as easy to take care of.

	The entrance is dark  The rooms are deserted.   There is one lone desk
with a computer in the middle of the room.   Crompton's face appears
on the screen.

	"Ah... Miss Forge.   Or do you prefer Miss Joy?  Or Electra?" he
says.  "We never clarified that, did we?"
	"Where's Dalton?"
	"Tsk, tsk, you're in no place to make demands.   I have
information that you want.  You on the other hand have nothing that I
want.   After that incident at the Cracker Jack warehouse I could kill
you without a second thought," he says.
	"Where's Dalton?"
	"He is headed to a safe house run by Canadian Intelligence."

	Oxymoron.

	"Which one?"
	"Think Electra, think.  If it were that simple I'd have gone and
gotten him myself.  After all, his safety means a great deal to me."
	"Somehow, I find that harder to believe than the story I heard about
Nixon."
	"Blood."
	"Excuse me?"
	"He doesn't eat flesh.  He drinks blood."
	"Huh?"
	"The KFC at the corner of third and Daugherty.   Twenty minutes.
I'll meet you there in twenty minutes to discuss the terms."
	"The terms for what?  I didn't agree to anything!"
	"You will..."

	As I walk out of the building I expect the building to catch fire or
explode or some other cheesy noiresque nonsense.    No... it was doing
something a lot more sensible in our ultratech world.  The building
shifted form, becoming a pile of nanites that burrowed into the dirt.
It was as if it had
never been there.

	      __________________________________________________________


	I'm getting hungry.  I've realized I haven't had a bite since I
talked to Carolyn hours ago.   I pass a dry cleaner, a dollar store,
and Chinese restaurant.  The sign was a do-it-yourself job.  I can't
trust it.  Finally I spot a fast food joint.

	"Hmmph," I muttered.  "A KFC.   Where am I?   Third and
Daugherty."

	I trust that even less.

	I park the car and head inside.   I walk up to the counter.   There is
a big fat guy in the check out line.   He blocks my view of the menu.
I've been here a million times though.   I get my usual.   Three
pieces of extra crispy and a Pepsi.   I get my food and head to a
booth.

	And there he is.  That smug jackass.

	"Crompton, how did you know..."
	"Please... it's a simple matter for me to know how much you have
in your bank account.  I like this city.   I know where almost every
eatery is.   I know where the best places you can afford to eat are.
Sad too... before you met Mister Asters you had been keeping a steady
job.   Sure... it didn't pay as much as saving the universe but it
was steady work. He's reduced you to a savage," Crompton says.
"Granted, given your previous existence you didn't have far to
go."


	I spit in his face and begin to walk away.

	"Hey!  Lady!  You can't do that!" shouted the pimply clerk at
the counter.
	"It's not like you don't do it to the food," I say.
	"You'll never find him on your own you know," says Crompton.
	"And he'd never speak to me again if I turn to you for help," I
say.

	Funny, a few hours ago I thought of that as a blessing.

	"Besides, there is always luck," I continue.


	See, some people call me a cynic.  Most days I agree with that. Today
is not one of those days.  Today I think of myself as an optimist.  A
woman of principle.   Maybe, just maybe, someone who can be redeemed.
(I'm still a cold hearted bitch.)

	As for Dalton.... I'll find him.

 He's my friend.

		The End

       But look for more about Dalton's fate throughout the Killfile
Wars series.
________________________________________________________________________
Electra created by Tom Russell Jnr.   Dalton Asters and Doctor Crompton
created by Jesse N. Willey.   Document created by Jesse N. Willey