The Samaritan Project (superheroes, government conspiracies, spies and mystery) - Writers Forum

The Cloaked Stranger · 11-12-2007, 08:38 AM

Here's the beginning of a serial, tying together some of my favourite things: comics, mysteries, thrillers, conspiracies, the supernatural. Let me know what you think.
************************************************** ************

It’s all lies.

People say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die, but how could anyone find that out? The world once believed the world was flat. Now scientists tell you that Earth is an insignificant sphere around a tiny star, far from the centre of the universe. Mothers tell their children that babies come from storks. Politicians say they do things for the good of the country. They said I was your enemy. They said I was dead.

I’m the only one who’s going to tell you the truth.

It’s all lies.

stuvw

Part One: The Omicron Incident

Spring 2004

A figure raced across a city rooftop, the stars lighting his way like icy candles. His heart fired like a racecar’s engine in his chest, propelling him forward at phenomenal speed. The sweat on his brow came, not from exertion, but from knowing it was not enough. He could not outrun them.

SWOOSH! The quick one knocked him over, a hurtling blur of speed at the corner of his eye. He rolled on the hard surface of the roof, feeling the air leave his lungs. It wasn’t helpful that the speedy assailant delivered a dozen swift kicks to his ribs, either.

“Kicking a man when he’s down, that’s just not proper.” He grunted, rising to his knees, finding his breath and his sense of humour.

WHACK! He got a kick to the head for his efforts, spilling him onto his backside like a trapped turtle. He heard the soft hum of their chopper, designed for clandestine operations and invisible to radar. Dark figures dropped down onto the roof. It seemed that they had deployed some of the big guns. A compliment, really.

“Nice work, Boost,” boomed a large silhouette. In the dim starlight, he could make out the gleam on the armoured suit. One of the SABREs, then: Strategic Armoured Brigade for Response to Emergencies. A mercy, for he had feared that they would despatch the Scorpions instead. But it was still bad.

A really big one heaved him to his feet by the scruff of his neck like he was just a toy. He’d never felt such strength. He knew struggling wouldn’t do him any good. A few moments later, he’d wish that he had fought.

“You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble in a very short amount of time.” The first big one said, standing in front of him. The helmet distorted his voice. The leader, he supposed.

“I figured I had to do the best I could with the time I had.” He answered snidely.

“Well, they’re displeased. Now they have to start over. Bring her down.” This last remark was said to the side, as he activated his helmet radio.

The chopper circled back, almost landing. Two more armoured thugs got out and helped someone down, like they were valets. This one was in restraints, head covered by some kind of heavy helmet. They led this figure forward. The strong one pushed him to his knees, holding him as they approached. The lumbering hulk’s fingers were like steel grips on his shoulders. As they approached, he started to shake. It seemed that they had risked bringing a Scorpion after all.

The leader held up a remote control and pushed a button. It glowed, and so did a display on the restrained figure’s helmet. The light went from red to green in a blink, and the restraints fell to the ground, taking the helmet with them. He could see that the hand restraints had been connected to the helmet by draping cords down behind the figure they imprisoned.

“Ahhhhh!” The lithe, sensuous figure sighed, stretching like a cat. “Much better.”

She was wearing an outlandish costume consisting of thigh high boots and leather. Her dark, curly hair framed a face equally beautiful and cruel. She grinned, and her eyes sparkled violet in the darkness, glowing.

He shivered as a matching glow emanated from her fingertips. A purple whip manifested in the dark, a tangled tendril of energy, sparkling like a lightning bolt. He gulped, knowing what was coming.

“My, my, my. What have we here? Someone’s been a naughty boy!” She chided, circling him like a cat playing with its food.

“Make it quick, Leash.” The leader snapped. “You have your orders.”

She laughed. It was a sound lacking in kindness or humour, but laced with
deadly amusement and disdain. She knew that they feared her. However, she also knew whom they worked for.

“Very well.” She shrugged. “All work and no play.”

She snapped her wrist with a vicious grin, and the whip struck out. He could feel the crackling energy approach. It was a split second, but in the last nanoseconds of the time it took for her to move and the whip to approach his throat, he gathered his will and resisted. The result was remarkable and completely unexpected.

He felt the whip coil around his neck, physically choking him even as he felt her presence in his mind, choking his thoughts, taking over. And then his eyes were filled with blue fire and she was screaming… There was a bright flash, and then everything was gone.

Just gone.

Cefor · 11-12-2007, 02:21 PM

Interesting concept you have here. I'm going to read it again at a later date when I don't have as much distraction.

Good work

The Cloaked Stranger · 11-14-2007, 09:26 AM

The Samaritan Project went public in October of 2001. It had existed for quite some time prior to that, but the public didn’t need to know. The public wasn’t all that interested in details, because the project was so vitally necessary. Questions about its origins wouldn’t be asked for years to come.

In the aftermath of September Eleventh’s terrorist attacks, the President promised decisive action. But he faced an unconventional enemy. Talbot Crandall provided him with an unconventional solution.

“Armies can wage war. But they can’t fight individuals.” He said to the President in the oval office. To an observer, it would have seemed odd that the President stood through this speech, while Crandall sat at his desk. “A single man can be anywhere.”

“How does the Air Force launch a counter strike? How could the Navy deploy the Fleet? How can conventional warfare stop one man with a mission of terror?” The President would repeat in his televised speech the following day.

“It can’t.” Political commentators would agree on CNN and the news. “Armies cannot stop a madman on a bus with a bomb. They can’t invade a schoolroom holding a sniper. The Navy can’t torpedo a rogue city employee who’s poisoning a water supply.”

“That’s why the United States of America needs the Samaritan Project.” Common folk would enthuse in bars, coffee houses and offices across the nation.

“Picture it.” Talbot Crandall continued, fanning out his hands to illustrate. “Everyday Americans chosen for their love of their country, trained to defend it.”

“Their extraordinary hearts and spirits will be supported by the best science our military and industries have to offer.” The President parroted for the cameras. “Genetically enhanced, scientifically armoured, futuristically empowered.”

“One good Samaritan will have the strength of an army, and be able to engage our enemies wherever they hide.” Everyone pronounced. It seemed like a public relations godsend. The nation ate it up.

They were, of course, grossly misled.

stuvw

The Project made headlines immediately.

“Samaritan Project promises to change the face of warfare!”

“Director Nicholas Shade appointed to Samaritan Project, promises to screen for best candidates.”

“NASA, the military, FBI and CIA volunteer for Samaritan Project in tremendous numbers.”

“First test subject a former Marine.”

With each headline came pictures of the new facility, the director, volunteers lining up for testing, and the man waiting to become America’s first one-man army.

Director Shade had black hair and dark eyes, and was always immaculately styled and impeccably dressed. He was dark and charming, yet oddly mysterious. His final selection for the First Samaritan was code-named Paragon. He was clean-cut, blue-eyed and naturally media-savvy. The picture in the paper showed him shaking hands with Nicholas Shade and the marketing people marvelled at how well the two represented the Project.

Paragon came across as the All-American quarterback out to fight for Truth, Justice, Mom and Apple Pie. Shade was the dashing charmer at the edge of the limelight. “The Boy Scout and the Bad Boy” was how one reporter summed the pair up, casting them as the two ideal male stereotypes from everyone’s high school experience.

In January 2002 the headline was “Paragon apprehends terrorists!” The photographs under the banner displayed the burly hero crashing into a building’s wall and then dragging out two suspects. He wore a costume patterned on the American flag and sported a movie-star smile for the cameras. He was so immensely popular, and so immediately successful, that no one thought to question what else the Project was doing.

No one seemed to realize that every mission carried with it investigative work by a secret RAPIER team: Rapid Assault Personnel for Intelligence, Espionage and Reconnaissance. They were spies, informants, technicians proficient with wiretaps and homing devices. They were assassins.

And they were hardly the worst.

Coiled Flame · 11-16-2007, 10:11 PM

Nice story, it's a cool concept. I'm assuming that more information about the SABREs and Scorpions will be revealed later?
Other than that, nice work. Looking forward to reading more.

LadyKawaii<3 · 11-16-2007, 10:19 PM

Omg Your Good Lol I Could Image Leash Then And There...I Could See Him Jumping And The Men In The Suits..Wow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Cloaked Stranger · 11-16-2007, 11:46 PM

Thanks to Lady Kawaii, Cefor and Coiled Flame for your support. There's more to come

.

The Cloaked Stranger · 11-16-2007, 11:47 PM

0600. Director Shade put the newspaper down on his enormous black desk. He stood up and looked out over the cityscape behind his tall windows. He clasped his hands behind his back and sighed, looking at the gap in the skyline where a building had stood the day before, just a few blocks away.

His telephone buzzed. He turned and pushed a button.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Crandall is here to see you, sir.”

“Send him in.”

The door opened immediately. Shade doubted Talbot had even given his secretary time to think, as her desk was on the opposite side of the adjoining room. The older man strode purposefully into the office, his grey hair and wrinkled face a familiar sight to the Director. They faced each other for a brief moment of silence: one man young, slender, dark; the other greyed but incredibly fit, made of iron. Wills silently wrestled. Then the silence broke.

“Hello sir, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Can the pleasantries, Nick. What happened?”

Shade glanced out the window again.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“It’s three streets away! Are you telling me that you can get surveillance footage of enemy leaders in their bathrooms, and can’t figure out what happened down the block?”

“No, sir. We just don’t know yet. I have my best people on it. I’m impressed you heard, it’s only been two hours. They woke me up to tell me.”

“I want an update in twenty-four hours.” Crandall said, not caring for details.

“Yes, sir.” Shade agreed, but Crandall was already on the move, out the door as quickly as he had entered.

Nicholas Shade was glad to see him go.

LadyKawaii<3 · 11-16-2007, 11:49 PM

Damn...................................Lol

im Starting Mirage Check It Out Please

The Cloaked Stranger · 11-18-2007, 07:08 AM

Meet Apex. He’s about to be run over by a tank.

Or so it would seem. Like a juggernaut, the massive vehicle rolled towards the young man. Its thick treads churned up dust from the desert floor in clouds. Its mighty cannon faced forward, but they never intended to use it. Not when their target was standing so conveniently still, apparently frozen by fear. They planned to just run him over.

Why else would he just stand there, other than sheer terror, a deer in headlights? His face, lit up by the hot sun, gave away nothing but his youth. His golden hair ruffled in the wind, the only movement. He didn’t even twitch as the tank rolled closer, just inches away. Apex was as still as a statue of a Greek god.

At the last instant before impact, his eyes flared red. He made a glowing fist out of his hand and swung it down on the front end of the tank. Impossibly, it buckled as if a giant had splattered it into the ground like a bug, its treads collapsing, the metal crumpling. The tank was stopped in its tracks.

Apex grinned. He looked up and shaded his eyes against the hot sun, watching an indigo blur zip across the sky. His brother Zenith flew into a second tank, crashing into its side like a vengeful meteor. It flipped over with a crash, kicking up more dust. Zenith hovered over it, smiling to himself, his eyes glowing a blue so dark they were almost purple.

The rest of the military column came to a stop. Soldiers huddled together, raising machine guns. The jeeps attempted to create a defensive formation, the one remaining tank swivelled its cannon to point at the floating man in blue. Though this was a useless gesture, they hadn’t realized that yet.

They got the point a moment later when Paragon arrived. He swooped in, sprinting on foot, and propelled himself into the front of the tank, lifting with his hands. It flipped over onto its back, crushing an adjacent jeep with a scream of metal and men. Paragon stood where once the tank had been, and bellowed at the soldiers.

“Put your weapons down!”

Instead, the crowd opened fire, sending a hail of bullets in his direction. They blasted away, and it took them a moment to register that the bullets weren’t hitting him. Instead, they stopped in midair, hovering like a swarm of bees.

The soldiers looked around at each other, completely mystified. A young woman floated down from above, her long blonde hair rippling in the wind. She wore a white uniform trimmed in blue and red, her eyes glowing. Summit, they called her. She telekinetically commanded the bullets, causing them to shape themselves in an arrow formation, pointed directly at the soldiers.

“Put your weapons DOWN!” Paragon yelled. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Every man there dropped their guns and held up their hands.

Coiled Flame · 11-19-2007, 06:14 PM

Holy crap. I LOVE the first sentence of that part. Writing action sequences can really people off, but this is pretty damn good.
I like the entrance of what I'm assuming are soldiers made by the Samaritan Project.

The Cloaked Stranger · 11-20-2007, 07:59 AM

The team returned to the American military base and were immediately swarmed by the press. Used to this response, Paragon took the lead, opening his arms in greeting.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Patriots have returned victorious!” He said warmly. He was interrupted by a flurry of questions.

“Do you know who’s behind it?”

“Any comment about the Omicron building?”

“Has Director Shade recalled you to the States?”

“Any fears of a new terrorist attack?”

“Have you heard about the explosion?”

Apex looked at his brother, who shrugged and asked Summit a question with his eyes. She glanced towards their leader, who looked stupefied.

“Explosion?” He asked the reporters.

stuvw

Footage played on a monitor: a still photograph of the Omicron building followed by the vacant lot now in its place. Director Shade appeared.

“This is what we know: Late last night, or early this morning, depending on how you look at it, the building was destroyed. Eyewitnesses claim a blue flash of light ignited the top of the building before the collapse. We believe that it imploded, as there was no residual damage to surrounding buildings. The lack of physical evidence suggests that either an energy weapon was used, or the bio-energies of an individual.”

“You mean like us.” Zenith said. “Someone has powers, like us.”

“That is one theory.” Shade agreed via satellite.

“There’s no one like us!” Zenith almost snapped.

“So we believed.”

“Hold on, you said it could also be a weapon?” Summit asked.

“It’s possible. We have our Rapier teams on the case. If it is a weapon, we need to locate it and destroy it. If it is a person, it is more than likely that they were killed in the ensuing destruction.”

“Likely.” Paragon said. “But we don’t know for sure yet.”

“No.”

“Do you want us to come back to the States?” Apex asked.

“Not yet. We don’t know what we’re dealing with and we don’t have a target for you. You are vital to the success of the Iraq mission. Keep up the good work. We have the Sabre team in case of emergencies, and you can always come back later if needed.”

“Vital? How much longer do we need to stay in this dump?” Zenith asked, bristling. “We captured the general today, and brought in Saddam months ago.”

“The insurrection has not ended, and likely will not until his trial is concluded. We need to stay put.” Paragon said. “We have our orders.”

RyeCatcher24 · 11-20-2007, 12:50 PM

Very, very cool. I like the concept and the execution is great. I can definitely see the different genres that you're drawing from, and you're putting in the right doses of each.

Looking forward to more

The Cloaked Stranger · 11-21-2007, 07:13 AM

They were the PATRIOTs: Powered Anti-Terrorist Response for Intelligence Operations and Tactics. They captured terrorists, won wars, and had video games and action figures.

Paragon was the first, and the leader. He was bigger now, enhanced to have tremendous strength and speed. He was extremely durable and healed amazingly fast. He still wore his Marine-style blond crew cut. His face was lined with age, as he was in his forties. But he oozed power and charm. He wore the red, white and blue proudly.

Apex and Zenith were twins, wearing red and dark blue respectively. They were physically the same, except for Zenith’s longer hairstyle. Their powers were also identical: surrounded by a mental energy field, whatever they touched could be manipulated telekinetically. Essentially, their powers made them appear extremely strong and bulletproof, when in reality they used their minds to move objects and repel attacks. They could fly themselves, or anything they carried, but not distant objects.

Their sister Summit was nearly the opposite: her telekinesis was fine-tuned for separate objects, indicated by her stunt with the bullets. However, she had no physical power: bullets she didn’t stop in mid-air could hurt her, her hands exerted normal physical force. But she could crash jet planes using her mind alone, which her team-mates could never dream of. She wore a white uniform with red and blue trim.

Individually they were impressive. Together, they seemed unbeatable. The entire world either loved or feared them.

But they wouldn’t be enough.

The Cloaked Stranger · 11-25-2007, 11:23 AM

The news was playing on a television set.

“The explosion took place late last night. Officials are still trying to piece together events, with no word yet on the cause. There has been a great deal of speculation about what could cause an entire building to collapse while leaving no traces of fire.

“Unidentified eyewitnesses claim that a blue light, like lightning, flared from the top of the structure seconds before the explosion, but city officials will not confirm reports.”

The television was abruptly cut off.

A young woman with short blonde hair and a serious expression put the remote control back on the living room table. She stood slowly and walked to the open doorway behind the couch.

“They don’t have any footage.” She said. “And I doubt the police know anything.”

“I don’t think that the police will be looking for him.” Another woman emerged from the dim interior of the next room. She had wavy black hair down her back, and deep, wistful eyes. “The people who did this to him are a lot more dangerous than the police.”

The blonde nodded. “Then they won’t just assume he died in the explosion. They’ll come looking for him eventually.”

“I think he’ll surprise them. Remember how we found him? Bleeding, broken bones…”

“Yeah?”

“Come see.”

They entered the bedroom as unobtrusively as possible. A young man lay sprawled on the bed, sweating and occasionally moaning. His skin showed only a few purple bruises, which were fading before their eyes.

stuvw

“…city officials will not confirm reports. Citizens across the city are panicking, however, worried that their homes could be next.”

It was 0900 hours in the briefing room; sublevel 2 of the Samaritan Facility. A collection of department heads gathered, led by Nicholas Shade. They sat around a large black oval table with small personal computer screens. Outside a large bulletproof window was a balcony overlooking a busy operations centre.

“What do we have, people?” Shade asked. He was standing in his characteristic pose, hands behind his back, pacing. He muted the various television monitors on the walls, cutting off news commentators.

“We obtained security camera footage from several surrounding buildings this morning.” Lester Crawford answered. He was one of the Project’s public relations people. “We sent them over to the Ops Centre for analysis.”

“My people have been working on the films,” said June Mullen, an Ops shift supervisor. “We isolated the time period from 0200 to the incident at 0317, and then continued viewing the next hour. Police arrived on the scene at 0400.”

“And?” Shade asked.

“There were nineteen vehicles in that time span. There is an ATM machine with a camera inside the lobby of the bank next door to the east and a security camera in the building to the west. The majority of vehicles pass between the three buildings within six seconds, based on these two cameras. One vehicle took three minutes.”

Mullen pushed a button on her computer and everyone’s monitors showed an image of a dark, four-door car. The footage was black and white, so colour was indeterminate. The license plate could not be seen because of the angles involved.

“That’s our vehicle.” Shade said, pleased. “They stopped and picked him up.”

“We used the various angles of the cameras to compose a computer model. We’re comparing the design of the car with DMV records. Lack of a license plate or colour will slow identification, but we’re narrowing things down.” June finished.

“Nice work. Next, Crawford, I want you to obtain more footage from surrounding blocks. See if you can narrow down the direction this car took. Mullen, provide a Rapier team with the composite picture and have them do surveillance at the site. He might return to the scene of the crime.”

“Already on it, sir.” She smiled.

The Cloaked Stranger · 11-27-2007, 06:25 PM

“We have a car matching the computer image. Third one today.” A man sub-vocalized, standing in line for the ATM.

“I have the visual.” A second man said, selling hot dogs on the corner across the street. “This one is black in colour, license plate to follow.”

“Roger that. Transmit to Ops for DMV cross-referencing. Let’s see if we can get an address.” A man said from an apartment in the next building, watching the street with binoculars.

“Should we engage?” A cab driver asked, circling the block.

“No. We can follow up using the address and watch to see if they return. Too many variables.” The hot dog vendor answered. “Return to standby.”

They each returned to surveying the street. The man at the bank visited a few stores, always close to a window. They tracked eight vehicles that day that could possibly be the one from the video. Ops processed the data overnight.

stuvw

The next morning Shade stood on the sidewalk, staring at a virtually empty lot. His shadow spread onto the lot, as black as his suit. Police tape surrounded the scene. Samaritan Project scientists surveyed the rubble with an array of equipment.

“A jumble of stray bricks. A few shards of broken glass. Powdery dust.” He said to the darker shadow behind him, Damon Ball. “It’s as if the building didn’t just explode: it was vaporized.”

Damon Ball was Shade’s personal bodyguard. He had ebony skin and was perhaps seven feet tall, and over three hundred pounds, Ball intimidated just by showing up. Shade turned from the scene, looking up and down the street. He turned again to Ball.

“So much for telling Talbot we’re searching the wreckage. Unless he’s three inches tall, he’s not in there. The energy output must have been incredible. And expertly controlled. The other buildings weren’t even singed. He survived this.”

Ball looked at him, tilting his head and asking a question with his eyes.

“Think about it. He vaporizes an entire building, explodes a helicopter, cripples a Sabre team. But no one dies. He puts them into stasis and prevents serious harm. That’s control.”

Ball nodded. They walked back to their car. Shade opened the door, pressing his hand against the frame.

“I want him found.”