Rotten to the C.O.R.E.

January 15^th, 2007
Clubhouse of C.O.R.E. in the tunnels under Beck Library

It was an interesting collection of rooms.  It was nicely furnished, but no more so than any other clubhouse or meeting room throughout the Academy.  The central room possessed the obligatory meeting table, oval in shape that faced a wall dominated by a viewing screen and a bank of computers that seemed both archaic and futuristic at the same time.  There was a kitchenette, a library, a workshop and a lounge, any organization on the campus would have been thrilled to get space like this, but despite that there was nothing to indicate which club owned the rooms.

The meeting table had no logo or plaques with names to show whose place was whose, no banners or heraldry, but for the food being unspoiled in the kitchen it might be an open room, waiting to be claimed.  The rooms were extremely well protected with force fields, multiple locks of different styles, false walls and secret panels and hidden cameras watching every possible access way.  If anyone was aware of the rooms the lengths that had been gone to for security would advertise that the owners valued their privacy.

Unfortunately, no one but the room’s owners knew about it.

In this darkened room, a dark skinned young man appeared.  He was a very handsome youth, with a hard physique in the full flower of his youth, but his mouth was set in an angry frown and his eyes were cold and uncaring.  He would not have been noticed on any street corner in America, save for the notice of the local constabulary as his halter top tee shirt, baggy jeans worn low to show off his boxers and yellow work boots would have marked him as a potential trouble maker.  This look was only aggravated by the red and white bandanna he wore to hold his medium afro in place with.

He walked over to the view screen and pressed the single flashing red button which brought up the lights and activated the screen before him.  In it, an obviously computer generated shadowy figure appeared, back lit so as to hide his features.  The shadow’s face was split into a grin of perfectly white teeth and the sinister expression, such as could be seen was so spot on as to make one wonder if the image was computer generated or not.  “Good Evening, Peter,” the shadow greeted the youth.  “I trust you’re having a pleasant day?”

The frown on Peter’s face deepened.  “If you’re going to call me something, make it Mokele’,” the boy snapped.  “You know how much I hate that name.”

“Yes, fate has dealt you a cruel hand, my boy,” the Shadow agreed.  “Still, with so many Changelings this year, I would have thought you’d make new friends?”

“The Kimbettes?” snapped Mokele’ in anger, making his frown deepen even further.  “Why would I want to hang out with a bunch of Crackers or freshmen for that matter?”

  The Shadow shrugged his indifference.  “Having someone who’s going through what you have is supposed to be bonding, or so I told my students back in my flesh and blood days.”

“The only one of them like me is Lancer, and that whack bitch likes turning into a guy!”

“Pity,” the Shadow replied.  “Still, at some point we’ll have to have a session to decide what we’re going to do about Team Kimba.  We should probably strike while they’re still young and unsure of their powers.”

Mokele’ crossed his arms over his hard, flat chest.  “That better not be what this is about, CORE!”

“Oh, no, my boy, nothing so trivial,” the Shadow assured him.  “It was merely a passing observation.  Would you be so kind as to summon the others?  The time has become right to put the next phase of our operations into motion.”

It was obvious Peter didn’t think so, but he pressed another series of buttons on the console as instructed.

January 15^th, 2007
Bio-Devisor Labs, Kane Hall Tunnels, Whateley Academy

The dog snapped and growled in it’s cage, biting at the bars with it’s hackles up, but the human who it directed it’s fury against remained aloof, watching impassively as he took notes with a hand held voice recorder.  Despite being completely bald, the human was a young man, only eighteen or so, who affected a full back goatee around his thin lipped mouth.  A hawkish nose gave a perch for a pair of round, dark glasses that hid eyes that were just as dark and uncaring.  A Whateley Lab Coat concealed a thin, pot bellied body as his weedy voice spoke into the recorder over the dog’s threats.

“Sample 43X series seven, at injection plus five minutes the aggression level of the subject rose remarkably.  Subject began to show a lethal threat display, teeth bared and hackles up.  Mass of the subject has risen three kilos in the past minute and the subject’s teeth have become strong enough to begin to bend the steel wire of the cage.”

The boy calmly picked up a complicated looking pistol from his work bench and made sure of it as a soft pop preceded a howl of pain and increased anger from the dog.  “Subject’s testicles burst, probably from increased blood pressure at injection plus seven minutes twenty two seconds.  Subject is still trying to work its way from the cage and has caused severe damage to it.  Notations on vascular damage to await autopsy results,” he said as he raised the pistol and leveled it at the now insane German Sheppard that was slowly but surely forcing his way out of his cage.

The room was lit by a flash of reddish hued light as a pencil thin beam burned through the dog’s forehead, just between his eyes and exited the back of his skull to begin to scorch the back of the cage.  The dog went limp like a puppet with its strings cut and silence fell on the lab as the boy returned the pistol to a desk drawer.  “Despite blood pressure issues, series seven continues to show promise.  End of notes until after post-mortem.”

The corpse twitched and soiled itself, adding to the faint odors of ozone from the LASER and burning dog hair.  The boy merely reached over and flipped on a fan before his back molar began to vibrate softly.

(<Mokele’> Keystone, you busy?)

(<Keystone> Just finishing up a test, Mokele’.  What do you need?)

(<Mokele’> Our club sponsor wants a meeting.)

(<Keystone> Well, I shall be right there.)

The senior shucked off his lab coat and placed the recorder in a well hidden safe.  A press of a concealed button lowered the damaged cage and its dead occupant into the floor to be replaced with a pair of live guinea pigs that were happily munching pellets, unaware of what had happened below them.  “You’re next,” the senior threatened them with a chuckle to himself as he left the room.

January 15^th, 2007
Dickenson Cottage, Room 506, Whateley Academy

In her private room at the top of Dickenson Cottage, Tatiana Markov was listening to one of her cronies report on the happenings of the day while brushing her hair.  The raven haired Amazon stood an imposing six foot three in her bare feet and was rarely seen without heels that added to her impressive height, yet for all her strength, Tatiana was vain about her hair.  She spent more in a week on hair care products than some families did in a month on food and as far as she was concerned it was money well spent. 

Her toady, Rachel ‘Free Wing’ Michaels was blathering on and on about how Tansy had lost her control of the Alpha’s to a sophomore and what this would mean to the social circle of the school.  Tatiana listened with half an ear while her own mind was preoccupied with other concerns.  Yes, Loophole helping Kodiak’s coup d'etat of the schools so called A list would have repercussions, and there was opportunity there, however, Tatiana was more concerned with the ‘Angel of Hell’s Kitchen’ being placed in her dorm and how she would turn that to her advantage.   She was determined to have the girl under her thumb one way or the other before summer.

Yes, the Romanian girl thought to herself as she admired heart shaped face, draped with its usual haughty expression in her mirror.  Sea foam green eyes danced back at her gaze in ill humor.  There is a great deal of opportunity to those who know how to seize it.

(<Mokele’> Nightshade?  It’s Mokele’.)

Nightshade carefully placed her brush down on her vanity, letting her eyes take in the scattering of jewelry there, some of it her own, some trophies of soundly defeated foes who knew their place at her feet now.  (<Nightshade> Yes, dear boy, what is it?) She purred, even sub-vocally rolling her r’s in her strong Romanian accent.

The subspace communicator tended to give the users a flat, artificial tone to their voice, part of it due to the technology, part of it due to the necessity of sub-vocalization in its use.  Never the less, Tatiana heard the anger in the other end of the line and knew her barb had found its mark.  (<Mokele’> How many times have I told you…?)

(<Nightshade> Get yourself a man if you can’t decide to be one on your own, comrade.  Either way is of no difference to me.  Now, why do you disturb me?)

(<Mokele’> You’re summoned, CORE wants a meeting.)

Markov frowned but stood, selecting a three caret diamond necklace that had once belonged to Tansy Walcutt to set off her décolleté.   “That’s enough for now, Rachel,” she commanded as she stood and allowed the girl to help her into her favorite leather coat.  “I’ll be going out for a bit.  See that my room is ready for bed when I return.”

“Yes ma’am,” Michaels replied, eyes down cast.

Tatiana smirked and congratulated herself once more.  It had taken the better part of last year to break Rachel’s spirit and most of the fall to bend her into the perfect servant.  She’d proven the Don wasn’t the only fearsome opponent on this campus, and while he had depended on sorcery or his quaint little mental tricks, Tatiana knew there was nothing like good old fashioned brain washing to get the best results.  Rachel was broken and now believed, heart and soul that the only person who truly cared for her was the woman who had destroyed her spirit, much to the dismay of her so-called friends who cowered in fear of reprisal and did nothing.  “That’s a good girl.”

January 15^th, 2007
Poe Cottage, 1^st Floor Common Room, Whateley Academy

There were plenty of people that avoided the first floor common room in Poe due to the claiming of one corner of it that was now cottage wide referred to as Kimba Corner.   Alika Faletagola found it refreshing in its own way to do his studies in more ways than one.  The freshmen boys were forced to use this room and in this way he got his pick of the new litter.  More to the point, it let him keep an eye on the Kimbas and see what they were up to. 

For their part, they ignored the junior who sometimes shared their room, making judicious use of the charm their mage made for them and thinking their conversations very discrete.  The dark skinned Pacific Islander smiled to himself as he flipped through the text book of Shakespeare’s Sonnets he was reading, wondering vaguely what it would be like to have someone that deeply in love with him.  As he read with one part of his mind, he noticed the last member of the Kimba circle, the Goodkind arrive and, noticing him, walked over.  “Sa moce, Alika.”

“Good evening yourself, Ayla!” he greeted with a wide, warm smile.  “Your Fijian is getting better.”

“Sega na lega,” he replied with a smile.  “What brings you down here my festively attired friend?”

Faletagola looked down at the island print shirt he was wearing open to show off his bronzed, washboard abs and the matching shorts that did nothing to conceal his well built figure there either, both in an obnoxious flora pattern in a riot of color.  Smiling, the junior shrugged and held up the book.  “If you can’t be in paradise, at least look like you belong there,” he replied.  “Besides, I left my copy in my locker over in Schuster and you know how Mrs. Horton is about people taking books from the library.”

Phase looked over at a pair of the freshman boys who were lusting after the Polynesian god come to life with naked admiration.  “Somehow I don’t think it’s the reading that draws you.”

The wining smile broadened.  “You of all people should know you can mix business and pleasure.”

“Don’t be such a tease,” Goodkind scolded without venom.

(<Nightshade> Omega?  Are you online comrade?)

“It’s only teasing if you don’t follow through,” Alika shot back.  (<Omega> I’m here, what’s the problem?)

Phase’s glance became somewhat questioning, the retort dieing on his lips.  “Are you alright?”

(<Nightshade> We’re called to a meeting my Fijian Fiend.  Have whatever little man whore is servicing you finish and meet us at the club house.)

Alika thought for a moment before smiling once more and closing the book.  Standing, he returned it to his place and winked at Ayla.  “Perhaps you’re right.  No sense getting them too excited.”  (<Omega> You dearly love to play the dominatrix, don’t you?  Very well, I’m coming.)  Faletagola walked out, a wave of greeting for everyone, feeling the inter-sexed business mogul’s eyes on his back as he went.

January 15^th, 2007
Fabrication Lab, basement of Kane Hall

The school’s fabrication lab took up an entire floor of the basement of Kane Hall.  It was the size of a small warehouse but there wasn’t much in the way of free space due to the size of the eight General Electric 1500 CAD/CAM Fabricators that took up most of the open floor space.   What space was left was taken up by robot arms that loaded raw materials into the Fabricators from the end of elevator chutes that brought the stock pieces from holding warehouses throughout the campus. 

The Fabricators themselves were large, boxy creations, like something out of a science fiction movie with multiple arms whittling away at various bits of metal, turning the raw blocks into finished, machined parts.  There were a handful of gadgeteers that still preferred to do things by hand, but for the most part, the machines took over the grunt work of making the bits, leaving the final assembly to the students.  It was a lab that was constantly humming with activity with anxious students watching the machines mill like kids breathlessly waiting for Christmas morning. 

Atticus Martin was one such student, eagerly watching unit two mill out the housing for his latest invention.  The device itself was simple enough; an improved GPS receiver that had the built in restrictions cracked so it would in rapid sequence talk to twelve satellites instead of the government approved three.  Illegal as all get out, it wasn’t something he could sell to the invention happy Goodkind, but there were all kinds of uses for a GPS receiver that was accurate to three inches instead of the military approved three hundred feet. 

It was also a transmitter that could talk back to the satellites in orbit and thus confuse them and every receiver currently talking to them, but that was an added feature he was keeping to himself. 

Finally the arms retracted and the carving shield opened, delivering the casing to his eager hands.  It was still in it’s sparkling stainless steel rough state, a large hole in the top for where the screen would go, and Atticus still wasn’t sure what color he was going to paint the unit, otherwise the fabricator would have done that for him as well.  A puckish grin pulled at the corners of his lips.

“Oh, the mayhem you and I are going to cause…” he whispered in anticipatory glee.

“New project?” asked a voice from behind him.  Atticus turned and felt his stomach roll in protest.  Being prepared for Jericho’s wardrobe was one thing, to be taken by surprise by it was something else altogether.   Scrambling, Atticus reached up and pulled the sunglasses on his forehead down for the little bit of help they’d offer.

“Just a toy, really,” he said off handedly.  “A little side project I’ve been putzing with on and off.  How’s the Rafe armor coming?”

“Not bad,” the blind boy admitted with a grin.  “Loophole was going to give me one of her experimental power plants, but we found out the hard way that they can’t get too  close without…boom!”

“Pity,” Martin replied.  “Seems like that was the answer to your big problem.”

Jericho shrugged.  “I’ll get it figured out.  What are you working on?”

“I’ll lay you three to one she won’t ever tell anyone how that back pack of hers actually works.  And five to three she won’t sell it to the Goodkind no matter how much money it offers.”

Jericho chuckled darkly.  “No bet.  I don’t need your Vegas parents to know a sucker bet when I hear one.  Still she’s given me a couple of nice ideas I mean to follow through on.  You done with the Fabber?  I’ve got some pieces I need to machine…?”

Atticus quickly stepped to one side, taking the casement with him.  “Knock yourself out.  I’ve got to go put the guts in this anyway.”

“Brainflash?” demanded a somewhat imperious voice from the door to the lab.  Both boys looked to find the reedy figure of Keystone standing there, nose in the air in disgust at what he found a lower form of devisory.  Jericho leaned in to the sophomore next to him.

“And people wonder why I don’t hang with the bio-devisors.  Between Key and Jobe it’s not like they get a nice rap.”

Atticus kept his humor to himself.  “What can I do for you, Keystone?”

“I find myself in need of a new containment grid,” the senior replied with a beckoning gesture.  Perhaps I could discuss my specifications with you if you’re not otherwise engaged?”

Jericho waved off the hanging question.  “Got my fabber time, so I’m all set,” he replied, plugging in a thumb drive to the control console.  “Ya’ll have fun.”

(<Keystone> Our presence is requested for a meeting.)

(<Brainflash> Lead on.)

January 15^th, 2007
Whitman Cottage, Room 213, Whateley Academy

April seethed as she paced back and forth, at times cursing fate, or God, or whoever else might have had a hand in keeping Seraphim away from her.  She hadn’t thought it such a big deal when she’d returned from Christmas break and the group had talked about her.  It turned out she’d be rooming in Dickenson and that was fine, Tatiana could keep an eye on her there. 

It hadn’t been a big deal until April had just happened to be walking through the hallways at Kirby Hall when the little Jersey tramp had summoned one of her ‘angels’ for the magic faculty and the premier students.  April had nearly fallen when so much pure and raw feelings of reverence had blown out of the room like a shotgun blast.  Nearly drunk with so much power she wasn’t expecting all at once, she’d staggered to the doorway and seen what had offered up this meal on wheels. 

Then she realized just how cheated she had been. 

April ‘Glitter’ Madison was a package deal psychic and shape shifter, while also being something of a psychic vampire.  Her powers, finding out what her victim thought of as a holy icon and to be able to shape shift into it so as to better feed on their feelings of awe and reverence, would be perfect if she just controlled the little slut and what’s worse, she was certain the others had known what Seraphim’s powers were and had done this deliberately.

The thought startled her and pulled her back from her rage while allowing her to master herself.  No, the group had proven more than once that CORE wasn’t some kind of dodge or hustle on Keystone’s part.  This was the real deal and if she stuck with it, Keystone was right.  They would rule the world and April liked that thought very, very much. 

(<Nightshade> Glitter darling?)

(<Glitter> What?)

(<Nightshade> How many times must I tell you don’t shout?  Do you need a reminder?)

(<Glitter> Sorry.  What is it?)

(<Nightshade> We have a meeting.  Come to the clubhouse.)

April glanced quickly at her clock.  (<Glitter> It’s curfew in two hours.)  A long moment passed before it became obvious that Nightshade would not be dignifying that with a response.  (<Glitter> I’m on my way.)

January 15^th, 2007
Clubhouse of C.O.R.E. in the tunnels under Beck Library

“This better be important,” growled Paparazzi as she was the last to arrive at the clubhouse and flung herself down into her chair at the table.

“What were you doing?” asked Brainflash innocently from the kitchenette and the PBJ he was making.

“Not what, who,” the multihued vixen purred.  “Things were getting rather hot and heavy with Corporal Simpkins.  It seemed like a good idea to tighten our hold on security and 3^rd Platoon is the weakest link.  Still, this bit of work up and leave might be just the thing to get what I want from him next time.”

“Excellent thinking, Abigail,” the figure on the monitor complimented her.  “We’ll need all the inroads we can get for our next little adventure.  But, my students, this will be the score of scores and set our plans ahead by decades.”

“More than the ten million Abby netted us?” demanded Atticus around his first mouthful of sandwich as he returned to the table.

“Not to disparage Paparazzi or her excellent work, yes,” CORE continued. 

“Core, darling,” drawled Nightshade.  “You haven’t been a teacher here for years.  Ever since Palm killed you and dumped what was left here in the school’s network.  You should stop thinking like one.”

The shadow on the screen smiled.  “Oh, believe me, Miss Markov, I have.  Now, let me make you acquainted with this.”  A device that was half camcorder, half power tool grip began to rotate slowly next to his head.  “This is the Deep Imaging Portable Scanner, or DIPS for short.  And you’re going to steal it.”

“Wait,” choked Atticus around a mouthful that set off a coughing fit.  He hastily drank most of the glass of milk he’d come to the table with and finally mastered it.  “Wait,” he repeated.  “DIPS is one of Jericho’s failures!  It was meant to be a medical scanner, but it only works well on inorganic materials.”

“Exactly!” chuckled the Shadow. 

“Another student’s failure will advance our plans by decades?” drawled Keystone, his voice heavy with sarcasm. 

“DIPS isn’t the goal, it’s the key,” soothed CORE.  “Trust me, my pupils, if we play our cards correctly, not only will the world be an open book to us, but we will be untraceable as well as having a built in fall guy that leads away us.  Now, DIPS is held somewhere in Jericho’s private work area.  We’ll need…”

“Stop, stop!” ordered Atticus while shaking his head.  Drawing the others attention he glared at them all.  “You’re all seriously thinking about pulling a job, on campus that could expose us, against Jericho?  Jericho?  For heaven’s sake!  Abby, go to the store room and pull out fifty thousand of our new resources, would you?”

The porn star blinked in confusion.  “Why?”

“It’s Jericho!” laughed Atticus.  “He’s always over budget and short on cash.  We’ll just buy the damned thing.”

January 15^th, 2007
Fabrication Lab, basement of Kane Hall

“Jericho!  Can I interrupt you a minute?”

The blind boy ‘looked’ up from the fabber that was busily cranking out his parts.  “Hey, I waited my turn fair and square,” he cautioned Atticus with a good natured smile.

“No, no, I’m done there.  But I find I’m going to need some really good deep imaging for that project Keystone wants me to work on for him.  Could I buy your DIPS?  How does forty thousand sound?”

“Dollars?!” choked Jericho in disbelief.  “Deal!  You, ah, you got that with you?”

Brainflash smiled.  “In cash, baby.  In cash.”

January 15^th, 2007
Clubhouse of C.O.R.E. in the tunnels under Beck Library

“Alright, I’ll bite,” announced April after several moments of looking at the odd shaped imager on the table.  “What makes this thing so important?”

“Because,” the Shadow declared.  “In the rear of the range ammunition locker, inside the back cage, is a vault.  In this vault rests one of two known Palm Jackers, the ultimate hardware hacker tool.  With it, I can open any network we like.  The world is an open book.  NYSE, the Federal Reserve System, NORAD, there is nothing that can stand up to it.”

“And,” murmured Tatiana, “since it would leave Dr. Palm’s signature, all the authorities would think it was a new incursion.  They’d be searching for him, not us.”

The shadow grinned.  “Exactly.”

“But, even if we get away clean,” Atticus mused, “once they discover it’s missing they’ll tear the campus apart….”

“They would,” the shadow agreed.  “If it was missing; but it won’t be.  With DIPS scans, Atticus, you’ll have a perfect blue print to follow.  And no one will think there is now a third Palm Jacker.”

The members of C.O.R.E. looked about the room at each other and realized they had struck super villain gold.

*                                  fin                                *