MILLENNIUM MAN #12
"The Killing Moon"
(Siege Engine Act III)
By Jacob Milnestein
For Sylvia Plath...

The Engine turned a fraction of a second too late.

With all the force of a freight train, Millennium Man slammed into its side, propelling it backwards against its will and eventually down against the cracked pavement and exposed earth.

Aristotle clutched at his side, his face twisting in pain and concern. He tried to call out, tried to warn the younger man but found there was not enough breath in his lungs to facilitate such a concern. He staggered from the battered litterbin; his ashen garments turned a dark red as the internal bleeding increased.

Somehow Calohan-Smythe had known exactly how to hurt him. He faltered and fell towards the ground, the torn streets of the Paper District momentarily replaced by the black sands of that eternal and ethereal beach.

Quickly, he slammed the palm of his free hand down against the ground, taking most of the impact in his shoulder rather than his face. He wasn't certain how long he could endure the pain before he'd be forced to discontinue his physical presence. Surely they couldn't continue such afford such intense >efforts against both the city and the heroes that protected it? Surely soon enough they would be forced to turn their attention solely towards the heroes?

He slumped forwards, despite his best efforts, and felt his skin against the jagged warmth of the pavement as he felt the rising sun behind him combined with the solar energy inherent in Manly's aura.

His eyes closed and he tried not to listen to the struggle. It was better not to know the outcome - that way he wouldn't try planning for either eventuality. If he woke after this then maybe he'd be able to heal himself and work out how best to fight back against the measures the British ambassador had placed against him.

The world dulled.

* * *

He breathed in and felt sun warmed sand against his cheeks and, despite the chaos of his life outside that isolated and empty beach, Aristotle Licuan felt safe.

"I swear on my life that I'm not lying." He hissed as he moved a pawn forwards across the scarred black and white battlefield.

The other eyed him suspiciously.

"Cross your heart and hope to die?"

The bishop charged diagonally across the boards and prevented further progress of the pawn's journey.

Lord Omega sighed as the other removed his third pawn and dropped it back into the box beside them.

"Cross my heart and hope to die." He whispered in return with only the slightest roll of his eyes.

The other paused in his thought, his mind seemingly drawn more to the information that Omega had told him than the war that grew silent at his elbows. After a moment or two, his lip slowly curled up with distaste and he looked away in disgust.

"There's no way we'll get to see him. He'll be assigned to the higher levels for sure."

"Bah." Omega scowled. "He's not that powerful."

"He beat ShadowWraith. Anyone on that sort of level deserves to be on the higher levels."

"Correction: Winters beat ShadowWraith." Omega retorted, scowling as he spoke the name of the man who had originally ruined his plans for world domination.

There was a sudden outburst of noise and both men turned to see a large figure pushing his way through the quiet, drug addled patients that filled the communal lounge area they sat in.

Through the crowds moved an imposingly tall figure, his face hidden by an expressionless metal mask and a velvet green cloak hanging about his shoulders. Beneath the cloak he wore blue hospital regulation pyjamas and on his feet were a faded pair of red slippers.

The figure paused, looking down at them through the slits in his mask and then slammed his fist down on the table, causing all the chess pieces to jump from where the stood and make a mad dash for the floor.

"War Monger demands to know what is going on!" He bellowed loudly in his Eastern European accent.

Lord Omega put a hand to his forehead and covered his eyes.

"War Monger has heard rumours that Millennium Man is being brought to Alhazred!" Others began to turn and look, suddenly curious as to what the former European heir had to say. "War Monger thinks that perhaps Omega and Chimera know something about this!"

The orderlies exchanged glances.

"We don't know what you're talking about, Viktor, please go away." The man called Chimera muttered, trying to avoid eye contact.

"War Monger does not believe you!" The masked figure bellowed. "War Monger thinks that you are liars and that your mothers were both prostitutes!"

The orderlies quickly seized hold of the over excitable former prince and began to drag him from the room.

"War Monger will uncover the truth and have his revenge! War Monger does not take kindly to being lied to nor does he appreciate being dragged against his will! War Monger will not stand for this!" The villain shouted as they hauled him from the room.

Two more orderlies appeared in the doorway and instantly took the place of those who had departed.

The Eastern European prince's voice echoed down the hallway.

Chimera sighed and lit a cigarette with his blotchy purple skin.

"So much for secrecy." He murmured.

Omega turned and looked at the mutated features of his friend and nodded sadly.

"I suspect you're right anyhow. They'll probably keep him in the upper levels."

Chimera nodded sadly and both men looked blankly at the now empty chessboard.

"Fancy a game?" Omega said after a couple of minutes.

Chimera looked at his watch.

"Yeah. I don't think I've got anything else planned." He smiled.

Slowly they both set about rescuing the black and white soldiers from the furry abyss of the carpet.

* * *

Manly dug his hands deep into the machine's face, desperately trying to get a grip on the robot's features. He had never fought a robot before and, if he was honest, he'd never really expected to either.

Robots were something from his childhood, colourful and friendly guardians who puttered about the back lots of Hollywood studios and occasionally appeared on television adverts for beer.

If he had been informed that shortly after his thirty-fifth birthday he be fighting a robot unleashed on the city by the mayor's office with the express orders to capture all superheroes then it was very likely that he wouldn't have believed it.

Despite the machine's best efforts he was aware of Aristotle's presence on the torn ground behind him and he could sense the trails of imaginary fuel that hinted that the helicar had been present not so long ago. As for Winters' himself, there was no sign. Those questions, he told himself, would have to wait till after his scuffle with the robot was over.

In the corner of his eye he caught sight of the metal shifting beneath him. Quickly he turned just in time to see the Engine's arms transforming into two powerful mini cannons.

In his shock he allowed the machine to push him back and extend its gun-arms closer towards him.

In his mind he heard the hollow laughter of Joseph Liebowitz.

The Engine fired.

A second later and he would have been dead. As the hail of bullets crossed the short divide, Manly suddenly allowed a burst of solar energy to pass through his body, his whole being flaring suddenly with the ethereal ghost fire of his aura. The bullets were disrupted by the sudden blast of energy and thrown back into the Siege Engine's metal body.

It twisted and warped as he pushed off it, rising into the air and pulling his arms back, a ball of solar energy nurtured between his palms.

The damaged machine staggered to its feet, its cloak now shredded by its own bullets. It swayed, ill with the effort of focusing upon its surroundings.

The light between Manly's hands grew.

In desperation the Siege Engine engaged its camouflage device and faded beyond the spectrum of normal human sight.

Michael Manly smiled smugly to himself.

"I'm Millennium Man, you idiot." He announced to the machine as he watched it motionless before him. "My powers are solar based, I can see light that is completely invisible to the average human eye."

The Engine turned to slowly look at him.

Manly smiled and released the light from his hands.

* * *

"What the hell are you doing?" Lansing demanded, genuine anger now present in his voice.

Siefret kept his eyes focused upon the screen and the task of recalling the near crippled Siege Engine from within range of Millennium Man's attacks.

"We have to withdraw, Tom. There's no way the Engine can stand up to those kind of blasts." Siefret murmured through gritted teeth.

"Are you crazy?" Lansing shouted, his calm front suddenly shattering completely. "Millennium Man and his actions were one of the reasons we built the Engine, we can't back off now."

"Tom, I don't think you understand," Shelby said calmly as she reached out and touched his arm. "What Richard's trying to say is that Millennium Man is stronger than we originally thought."

Lansing shrugged her off, his eyes focused on the image before him.

"That's impossible." He shook his head, showing considerable effort to restrain himself. "We did the figures. Charlie Winters is stronger than Millennium Man, this shouldn't be a problem."

"That last attack of his was 24, 000 - at best Winters was only 18, 000." Siefret murmured through gritted teeth.

"But Millennium Man is only a level 5, 000 superhero!" Lansing cried, his voice rising once more.

Siefret turned abruptly.

"I know that and you know that, Tom but somehow he's channelling some kind of force that's giving him access to a whole variety of stronger attacks. Remember the fluctuation we recorded earlier? He >went up to 32, 000 at one point...like Winters, Majestic Man was 18, 000."

Lansing's face turned slowly pale.

"So he's stronger than Majestic Man now?" He whispered awed by how much their target had progressed in under a year.

"Not consistently. He's definitely on the right path though."

"Jesus." Lansing put a hand to his forehead.

The room descended into an uncomfortable silence, both Shelby and Siefret looking up at Lansing as he stood before the monitor.

"Get it out of there." Lansing finally whispered.

Siefret nodded but said nothing, turning to face his computer once more.

Lisa Shelby reached out to place a hand on his arm once more but Lansing stepped back, turned and left the room without a word. Awkwardly she sat about playing with the silver cross around her neck and watched the emptiness her employer had left behind him.

* * *

"Dude."

Jonathan Manly stared at the broken remnants of the door with hesitation. It looked as if something had hit it at a tremendous speed, something more determined than the average downtown burglar.

He waited a moment before slowly stepping through the broken wood and inside. His nostrils were instantly assaulted by the curious smell. It wasn't anything he could put his finger on but it was discomforting none the less.

He stepped cautiously inside. Another moment passed before he realised that he could see his own breath. With a shiver he began searching determinedly for his cigarettes. On the ground lay a discarded bottle of whiskey, the last of the amber liquid now a dull stain on the carpet. He shivered again, unable to adjust to how cold it was in the flat.

"Dude." He murmured beneath his breath, glancing around at the empty apartment. Just to make sure things were as empty as he believed he chanced calling out for his brother.

No reply was forthcoming and yet, despite assurances that the flat was empty of anyone but himself, Jonathan Manly still found himself unable to move. The last time he had been visited one of Manly's apartments he had been shot by a maniac for his trouble. He grimaced and tried not to think of Julia's suspicions. He knew his brother and he knew that he definitely didn't have the backbone to be a superhero...but Julia thought otherwise and Julia was, after all, the reason why he was here.

With a resigned sigh, he stepped forwards, moving languidly towards the bedroom.

Things were odd with Julia again. She was being nice. It wasn't that he was unaccustomed to her affection it was just that now there seemed a hint of sadness in her actions, as if she was feeling sorry for him. He snorted loudly and finally found his cigarettes. The last thing he needed or wanted was her pity, that he could live without...still, it would be nice to be a normal couple once in a while, to maybe do something more than go and stand in the same corner of the same club every Friday and Saturday night listening to the same god awful Sisters of Mercy and Mission records over and over again.

Jon had never understood the Goth thing. The most intelligent thought he had ever had was in drawing a comparison between the actions and desperate facades of his girlfriend's friends to the superheroes in the sky above the city. They were both like teenagers dressing up to try and express something they weren't comfortable with. However the chicks looked cool, both the heroines and the Goth girls and at any rate it was better than that awful nu-metal stuff they were playing on the radio nowadays. He sighed unhappily and thought that maybe, just maybe he was getting old.

It was then that he realised there was water beneath his feet. With a frown he looked down and then glanced at the bathroom. The door was closed but he could hear the taps running.

"Dude?" He frowned.

A terrible feeling of uncertainty settled over him as he stepped forwards, his feet splashing in the water as he did. Hesitantly he knocked on the door.

"Mikey? Dude, you in there?" He asked the door.

Without an answer, the door opened and granted him with a face full of steam. The warmth of the bathroom was astounding especially when compared to the almost sub-zero conditions of the rest of the apartment.

The roar of running water filled his ears and he blinked, unable to see within. Awkwardly, he stumbled forwards, making his way slowly towards the sink. Both the taps on the sink and the bath were running and water soaked the linoleum tiles that covered the floor.

Carefully he reached forwards and wiped the condensation from the mirror.

The door slammed shut behind him. With a cry of panic akin to that of a trapped animal, Jonathan Manly turned. His eyes widened and his mouth opened. The temperature dropped suddenly and the taps fell silent.

He blinked and discovered only one eye was working.

With cautious hands he reached up and discovered an icicle buried in his face. A moment later and he realised the icicle was in fact the arm of some unseen assailant.

"Dude." He murmured, blood running from his nose, and slumped forwards.

* * *

The warmth of the sunlight faded, dissolving into a picture of Michael Manly's concerned face.

He paused, blinked and smiled, revealing a full set of perfect white teeth.

"You're growing stronger." He whispered.

Manly nodded slowly.

"You can thank Master Ling for that, although somehow I don't think he would have approved of my >methods." Manly answered, lifting the fallen Bodhisattva from the torn pavement of the ruined Paper District.

"Style and technique are only as important as what they teach you. As soon as they restrain you then they become useless. The true fighter seeks to transcend style."

"The philosophy beyond Jeet Kune Do." He observed.

"Precisely." Aristotle agreed, turning sharply to look at his surroundings. "Where is the machine?"

"It fled." Manly remarked, a hint of pride seeping into his voice.

Aristotle's expression soured.

Manly watched the other, waiting for him to say something before finally blurting out the question that had been on his mind since he leapt from Regina's balcony:

"What happened to Charlie?"

Aristotle turned to look at him, his face softening.

"He's gone, Michael." The Bodhisattva whispered softly.

Fear crossed Manly's face, followed shortly by anger.

"He's dead?"

Aristotle shook his head. "No, he's been captured."

"Then we've got to save him!" Manly cried urgently.

"Michael, no!" Aristotle said with sudden authority. "You can't save him, the one responsible for his imprisonment is far too powerful, more powerful even than you."

"I don't care!" Manly protested. "He's a friend, I have to at least try."

Aristotle frowned once more and turned to look at his feet.

He could have sworn that the dry and dead plant roots in the exposed soil beneath moved.

"He's one of the only people that has stood by me, I can't abandon him, especially not now...especially not after I let Shirley die."

The dry roots shifted once again and Aristotle's eyes widened. Without warning, a thousand tentacles of dead flora suddenly burst through the ground and coiled about his limbs. He tried to cry out but found dead petals forced into his mouth and thorns digging into his flesh.

Manly turned instinctively and his hands opened like a lotus flower, revealing a ball of glowing light.

Standing before him was a beautiful green skinned woman, her white hair falling seductively over her shoulders and the swell of her exposed breasts.

'Hello, Michael,' She whispered inside his head. 'I do hope you don't mind me silencing your friend, its just he was such a bore and I've been ever so looking forwards to spending some time with you alone.'

Her lips curled up in a cruel smile as thorns slowly worked their way out from within her, breaking through her flesh and covering the entire length of her body.

Without a single word, Manly unleashed the ball of light between his palms. With terrifying speed, the light crossed the distance between them and engulfed the left side of the woman's head, forcibly knocking it backwards and nearly tearing her from the roots she had anchored into the soil beneath.

The light faded and her head slumped forwards, her one remaining eye spinning wildly in its socket.

Half of the left side of her face had been burnt away, the top of her skull destroyed and the scorched fungal mass of her brain revealed.

He grimaced, uncomfortable with the pain he had caused her but confident of the effectiveness of his attack.

The vines around Aristotle sagged and Manly began the relatively easy task of helping his friend loose of the dead plant roots.

A sudden sickening crack filled the air. Quickly he turned in time to see the fungus mass of the woman's brain push once more into its original shape and birth an awkward membrane of skull and skin over it. A small bud quickly opened and dispensed of its petals in the eye socket, revealing a dark orb within as also, the hair grew once more at an alarming rate.

'Now that was incredibly impolite of you, Michael.' She smiled, watching his expression of disgust. 'Didn't your mother ever tell you how rude it is to interrupt? But listen to me, I sound like a comic book character. Let's start again, shall we? Good morning, Michael, how are you today?'

Manly's mouth opened slowly.

"W-Who are you?" He whispered. "How do you know my name?"

'My name is Venus Mantrap.' She purred. 'I'm a superheroine now, one of the good girls.' She turned and looked at Aristotle. 'Which means that Mister Licuan here is obliged to let me get on with my work.'

Aristotle's face contorted in pain.

"Its true!" He gasped. "They've accepted you as a protector."

Manly reached out to his friend but the future Buddha shrugged free of his grasp. He turned and looked with wide, pained eyes.

"There's nothing I can do, Michael...they've made her a guardian and they've m-made you..."

'A villain.' Venus finished his sentence for him.

Aristotle staggered, falling backwards.

"Get out of here, Michael!" He cried. "I can't help you...I'm not allowed to help you!" His entire body shook violently, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"Aristotle!" Manly shouted, falling at his friend's side.

'Your presence is only hurting him more, Michael.' Venus continued, pulling her roots from the soil. 'The longer he spends in your presence, the closer he comes to writing himself out of existence.'

Manly turned and looked at her and then got to his feet, backing slowly away from the man who had saved his life.

'Don't look so hurt, sweetheart. Mother Venus is going to kiss it all better for you, I promise.' She pouted like a child. 'Did the big bad mayor change all the rules on poor Mikey-wikey?'

"What the hell is going on here?" Manly shouted, his fists clenched and his muscles tensed. "What's happening to Aristotle and who are you? How do you know my name?"

'Oh please, Michael. Really, you're making Henry Burke look intelligent. If you don't know what's happening now, then you never will. Didn't you stop to think where all the superheroes were going? Didn't you listen to the mayor's speech when the Siege Engine was introduced? You idiot. Were you that wrapped up in your ego in that you didn't notice the city around you or did you just think all of the other heroes packed their bags and went on holiday together? And you're Pacific City's guardian? >Don't make me laugh.'

Manly stepped backwards, that familiar old doubt plaguing him once more. After everything he had been through, everything he had been taught was he really a failure? Sudden determination settled over him. No, he wasn't a failure and he wasn't going to be let the woman's words demoralise him.

He quickly dropped into a stance and prepared to fight.

Venus Mantrap smiled darkly.

'Too late.' She whispered.

The vines tore through the group beneath him just as they had before and she darted forwards. From her thorn covered flesh erupted numerous additional vines, each one thrashing wildly against the wind.

Swiftly he let a burst of energy blast forth from within resulting in the familiar ghost fire that had surrounded him during his fight with both Demerite and the Siege Engine. The dead roots turned to ash moments before Venus slammed into him and the vines caught light as they both crashed to the ground.

Her expression twisted with glee as she saddled him, forcing him into the soil as her burning appendages wrapped about his throat, choking and burning him.

Despite the pain, she remained in control, holding him down whilst he struggled. With a smirk she licked her lips and his eyes widened in horror as he saw the single seed on the tip of her tongue.

With a second blast of energy he intensified the flames and knocked her off him, struggling to get to his feet.

Her body disintegrated on impact with the ground, ash and leaves gathering in the winds.

The ruined Paper District fell silent, his eyes darting about his surroundings as he struggled to locate her.

Seconds later he felt the pain in his chest. Clutching at his chest, Michael Manly collapsed once more, tearing at his costume and exposing the pale flesh beneath.

His jacket tore open and Venus Mantrap exploded from his back, born from the substances within him. Her thin body, now a ghastly white dripped with blood and her torso was connected with his own.

With hands born from his own flesh and the vegetable matter he had consumed she pushed him face down into the dirt.

'You didn't think you could win, did you, Michael?' She purred inside his head. 'You didn't think you could actually kill a goddess, did you? Oh, you pathetic little man. Really, if it wasn't quite so arrogant it might even be endearing.'

Her hands ignited with his stolen powers and his hair catch fire.

'I am everything, Michael!' She crowed. 'I am the Earth itself!'

Manly struggled to remain conscious but as the pain began to consume him he felt more and more distant from his surroundings.

The pain dulled, as if happening to someone else, someone far, far away and Michael Manly began to feel oddly at peace.

Beneath him, the beach stretched out for miles.

* * *

Thomas Lansing cautiously opened the door to the mayor's office, choosing not to dwell on the awards and honours that lined the walls and decorated the desk and instead focus on the shape of the mayor himself, standing with his hands clasped behind his back and facing the window.

Lansing coughed politely and after a moment ventured:

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes." Jerrod said sharply. "You're fired."

Lansing all but stepped back in shock.

"Excuse me?" He stammered.

"You're fired." Jerrod repeated, turning to look at him. "Pack up your things and go, your services are no longer required."

"B-But the Siege Engine..." Lansing began.

"Will remain here. We have more than enough staff to maintain its smooth operation. In fact, I believe you already know Mister Somers, he'll be relieving you of your position as chief of the Engine's maintenance team."

"Y-You can't do that!" Lansing protested.

"Lansing Technologies has been brought out by Burke Enterprises. Really, Thomas, if you're going to stay ahead in business then you really should pay attention to your company's financial status."

"You son of a bitch!" Lansing shouted. "You arranged this! You've bribed that heartless cow somehow and used her to take complete control over the Siege Engine. You're worse than any goddamn villain down there on the street."

Jerrod stepped menacingly forwards.

"Where's your proof?" He asked, his cold eyes glaring at Lansing from behind his spectacles.

Lansing shook his head slowly.

"Son of a bitch." He murmured. "I'll fight this, you know? This isn't over."

"You have no proof, Mister Lansing." Jerrod reiterated. "Lansing Technologies has been failing for the past year and the cost of constructing and maintaining your little robot was the final straw in many >of your share holders' eyes. They unanimously agreed to sell their shares to Burke Enterprises, which leaves Miss Burke with more than a controlling say in how your business is run. True, you still have a minor say in the company but nothing significant. I'm sure Miss Burke's office will be in touch with you soon to make you an offer that I advise you not to refuse. Now, if that is all I'd like to get on with my work. Good morning, Mister Lansing."

Lansing punched him square in the jaw. The moment his fist connected with the mayor's chin he felt the feeble bones of his hand crack. The mayor looked down at him as if a fly had just landed upon him.

"I said thank you, Mister Lansing, that will be all."

With a single punch, Jerrod knocked the shorter man through the closed double doors and sent him crashing into the reception desk outside his office.

The secretary screamed and jumped to her feet in surprise then froze as she caught sight of the stern look on her employer's face.

Nursing his broken hand, Thomas Lansing slowly picked himself up and headed for the elevator.

* * *

Somewhere he could hear voices.

The darkness gave way, blurred visions of faint strip lights, the hushed gabble of people with faces he couldn't quite see. He felt as if he was in motion though not of his own volition. He closed his eyes and when he opened them once more he had stopped.

The soft hum of a machine underlined the confused conversation of the faceless people around and he >felt a strange sensation in his scalp...the same sensation he had experienced when they had shaved his head before the operation on his brain.

Oh, he thought to himself and frowned inwardly.

Why would anyone want to cut his hair?

For a moment he stood on the beach again, wearing the old cape. It was drenched in Finnegan's blood.

His eyes flickered and he was in motion once more, the rattle of trolley wheels moving down long, darkened corridors. He tried to open his mouth to speak, to question the shadowy orderlies, ask where he was going but found himself too tired to speak.

The beach.

Again the corridor. How much time had passed?

The squeak of wheels as the trolley turned a corner reminded him of the sound crows make when disturbed.

For another moment he stood on the beach. A chill ran down his spine and he knew that if he turned around Henry Burke would be waiting for him.

But he didn't want to turn around. As long as he didn't look at Henry Burke then he wouldn't know he was there. Like Schrodinger and his cat, Burke remained both a hundred percent alive and a hundred percent dead.

Then there was light, terrible burning light. Not sunlight but the horrible drained paleness of moonlight. A million moons were bursting into existence in front of his eyes.

The faceless ones continued their murmuring and he felt rough, rubber-coated hands taking hold of his chin and pushing something plastic into his mouth. He wanted to cough it up and force it from him but the hands pushed it firmly in place.

He moved his head slightly and moaned but the hands roughly snapped his head back beneath the light of the moons.

After a while he realised that whatever the significance of this ritualised plastic eating he wasn't going to escape from the moonlight unless he complied and eventually he stopped moving.

The hands retreated and he was left alone with the plastic and the moon and the odd language of the faceless ones like a blanket over him.

They spoke in strange tongues; the rise and fall of a question, the flat return of an answer and then the curious hum of bass beneath every word.

What if, he asked himself, that hum isn't part of the language? What if it's another machine?

The plastic, the moon, the language and the machine.

Fear waited patiently in a corner of his mind.

The murmuring stopped and only the hum remained. Then there was a new dialect, a strange sharp, idealistic language with precise, one-word instructions. Like numbers, he thought suddenly.

The plastic, the moon, the language, the machine and the numbers.

The numbers ended and the world seeped into silence save for the machine. A moment later and the moons above him exploded, suddenly dancing. He closed his eyes and his teeth instinctively bit into the plastic but the light remained, even in shadow. Darkness bubbled and the light burnt through, like flame rupturing the surface of ancient negatives.

His jaw locked, indentations left in the plastic and the beach disappeared forever.

Without understanding, Michael Manly fell back into the burning embrace of the moon and watched as Millennium Man died before his very eyes.