HUMAN TORCH CREATED BY CARL BURGOS
#11:
DECEMBER, YEAR FOUR
“Homecoming!”
Jim Hammond walks into the office of Oracle, Inc., passing by the receptionist, who looks up at him in surprise. When he looks her way, she quickly turns away. She’s always felt ill at odds with his position, and doesn’t want to take a chance of getting fired. After all, Rebekah told her just last week that he was a real hothead.
“Good morning, Debbie,” Jim says, as he walks by.
Hearing her name nearly makes the young receptionist
jump out of her skin, but she manages to make a weak reply: “Uh, good morning,
sir,” she manages. Although Jim makes no response, and there is no indication
that he even heard her, she begins
to mentally chastise herself for how badly she handled her first chance for any
meaningful interaction with the “big boss”.
Jim walks into his office without a look back. He
opens the door and walks in, closing it behind him. It takes a few moments
before the young receptionist realizes that he has gone into her office. When
she realizes this, her eyes grow larger, and she decides to return to her work.
The sight that greets his eyes forces him to take a
few steps back. He sees his inbox piled with numerous tasks that he has to perform,
including reports and stacks of paperwork that requires his signature—after he
reads it, of course. Although he can process things far faster than can humans,
he has never been the type of man who enjoys sitting down and going through
paperwork. He thought Namor had really lost his mind when he asked Jim to take
this job, but he’s tried to live up to Namor’s expectations…
…Except for times like the weeks he has spent
fighting his evil brother, fighting Toro, and looking for Toro’s wife.* And now
he’s paying the price for it with plenty of paperwork.
[*A
brief recap of #3-9.]
As he walks over to his desk, however, he sees the
morning paper placed neatly in the middle of his desk, the way he likes it. “I guess they do like me, after all,” he
thinks to himself, smiling. “Maybe I’m
more than just a work horse around here.”
________________________________________________________________________
INTERLUDE:
Marion, North Carolina is a small town of
approximately 5200, nestled at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The streets are filled with small shops that
have been around for decades, and harkens back to simpler times.
It is in the midst of this environment that a tall
man, brandishing a sword, finds himself.
He is strangely dressed for the time, looking like he walked out of 18th
century France. His long blond hair blows slightly in the breeze, and his
large, dark hat threatens to leave his head in the cool mountain breezes.
As he walks down the road, drawing strange looks
from the citizens of Marion, Blue Blade is too distracted by his surroundings
to notice, even as his blue cape whips around in the cold air behind him. If he
is effected by the cold, in his short pants, he gives no indication of it.
He looks around, trying to get his bearings, behind
his black domino mask. “Where am I?”
he asks himself silently. “My memories
are so jumbled, but I don’t remember this place...and don’t know how I got
here.”
“Blue Blade!”
the call rings out from a dark alley. It is a woman’s voice, and there is terror
echoing from it. “HELP!”
Although he has not been seen for decades, he has
not forgotten his name. When he hears a cry for help from a deserted alley, the
Blue Blade rushes down the alley, seeking the young lady who uttered his name.
Blue Blade looks around in the alley. The brick
walls house the outer walls of two old stores. On the left is an appliance
store, and on the right is an electronics repair store. He walks down the
alley, looking for signs of the young woman, but finding none. He shakes his
head, as he reaches the back of the alley, starting to go through the other end
of the alley, after passing an old metal trash can.
“I don’t understand,” he says to himself. “I know I
heard a cry for help, but there is no one here.”
“Nein, my friend,” a voice with a strong German
accent reaches his ears a split-second before a thundering blow from a metallic
fist strikes across his jaw, bringing him down to the ground, where he crashes
against the tin trash can, bending it around its base and sending its contents
strewing out on the concrete. “Not ‘no one’!”
“A Fifth Columnist?” Blue Blade asks, as he pushes
against his elbows, trying to rise to his feet. The strong blow from his
assailant, however, has caused more damage than he could have thought, and his
head seems to be spinning, even as he looks up to see a black boot slamming
into his face, knocking him out.
“No, the war is long over,” his assailant replies,
as he looks down at his vanquished foe. “But there are amends to be made.” As
he steps into the dim light, his metal hand is clearly visible. His eyes are
dark, betraying a burning hatred within them.
He pulls a small
communicator out of his shirt pocket, flicking it open. “Black Claw to base,”
he says into it. “Blue Blade is down. I will be returning shortly. Tell the
doctor that his sound device worked perfectly. Black Claw out.”
Jim
Hammond steps from his plane, looking around at the Brussels airport. As he
catches a cab to his hotel, he cannot help but notice the changes in the
scenery from his last trip to Belgium. There are things that he would not have imagined in those days—billboards that
would have even made Bucky blush. Then, he shakes his head. Or maybe not.
<”Where do you want to go, sir?”> the cab driver asks, this time in German. Like all Belgians, he has learned to speak more than one language. After getting no response to his inquiry in French, he decided that he would try the language of their other neighbors.
<”When does the concert start tonight?”>, Jim asks, ignoring the cab driver’s question for the moment. Although a several hour time difference, Jim has made allowances for the differences much better than any human could.
<”Which one?”>, the driver asks. <”There
are many such concerts this time of year. Which one do you want to attend?”>
<”I am interested in the violinist who has been
touring all of Europe,”> the Human
Torch responds. <”Johann Strausburgh.”>
<”Are you certain you want to attend his
show?”> the cab driver asks, shaking his head. <”It is said that his
concerts are cursed. During the last five shows, there has been a
catastrophe—all of the attendees have been robbed. Strausburgh himself was
robbed of one of his Stradivariuses during the last such show. And to make
matters worse...”> the cab driver starts to continue.
<”...none of them remember what happened,”>
the Torch finishes the cab driver’s sentence, <”or who their assailant
was.”> “There are certain similarities
of all cab drivers,” Human Torch muses, “no matter what the city.”
<”Yes, so you know?”> the cab driver asks.
<”Of course,”> Human
Torch replies, nodding his head softly. <”I follow the classical circuit
very closely. I am eager to meet this virtuoso I have heard so much about.”>
The Torch looks over at his driver in the mirror, smiling. <”Perhaps one
good thing has come of all of this: The tickets should not be too difficult to
obtain.”>
Later that evening, Jim Hammond is dressed in a tuxedo as he walks into
the Brussels Opera House. He looks around, noting the hundred-year old chandeliers
on the ceilings at even intervals. There is a beautiful circular staircase
that leads to the upper level, where he managed to get a ticket. American
businessmen can be very successful at convincing the otherwise stuffy ticket
office to make exceptions, particularly when the notion of a large contribution
is discussed at some future point.
As he is seated by the usher, he takes his seat at
the end of his aisle. The opera house is very crowded, although not to
capacity.
“The rumors may
have kept some people away,” Jim silently muses, “but there is still quite a crowed out tonight. I wonder if my hunch
will pay off.”
Even as Jim Hammond finds his seat and glances at
his program, the orchestra starts to play its intro music and the conductor
comes up to the stage, speaking with a strong British accent.
“Tonight, we have a special talent that we would
like to introduce to you,” the conductor offers, even as the orchestra
continues to play the intro music, although they tone it down somewhat so that
it does not interfere with his comments. “This fine fiddler from Germany has
been performing for sold-out crowds throughout Europe, and now has come to
Brussels for the final leg of his European tour. And now, let us welcome Johann
Strausburgh.”
A middle-aged man with dark blond hair comes onto
the stage. He is wearing a tuxedo and carrying a fiddle. His eyes are dark, and
his hair is parted down the middle, but not combed particularly well and gives
him a very wild look. As he bows to the audience, the rest of the orchestra
starts up once again, giving him musical accompaniment as he starts to play his
fiddle..
Jim watched with mute appreciation at the fine
playing on the stage before him. “Well,
there is no denying that this guy is good,” Jim thinks to himself, while
looking around at others, whose eyes are glued to the stage in front of them. “It’s been decades since I’ve heard such an
accomplished fiddler.”
As the Fiddler’s playing continues, his eyes grow
darker and a sinister smile crosses his face. Jim quickly notices that there is
no longer any musical accompaniment to his fiddling. He takes a quick glance at
the program and realizes, to no surprise, that there is no fiddle solo
scheduled at this point in the performance.
“What’s going
on?” Jim asks himself silently, looking around. He sees that there is a
very good reason why there is no musical accompaniment—they are all entranced. Looking
around to his left and his right, he finds that the crowd is likewise
entranced! “So! This is a scam after all!”
From the stage, there is movement from only one
person—the Fiddler! He walks to the front of the stage, even as three thugs
come from each of the two main entrances, rushing into the auditorium, carrying
large canvas bags.
“Hurry, fools!” the Fiddler commands. He has an
unmistakable German accent, and his tone is a mixture of anger and authority.
His minions quickly respond, as they move towards the crowd, grabbing at
valuables to fill their bags. “The crowd will only be entranced for so long!
And I think many are concerned about the ‘curse’ on my appearances. It will not
be long before the authorities begin to get suspicious.”
“Some of us are a little more than suspicious!” the Human Torch responds, taking to the air,
as flames trail behind him. The thugs—and the Fiddler—all act with shock at the
sight of the Human Torch in their midst. “And I used to be one of the
‘authorities’!”*
[*The Human Torch served as an honorary police officer for a time during the 40’s.]
The Human Torch quickly flies down the aisle closest
to his seat, using his great strength to knock out all of the thugs who were
making their way down that aisle. “Not that I need to be to put a stop to this
little ring!”
“It is not wise to under-estimate your opponent,”
the Fiddler remarks, taking his bow in his hand again and starting to play the
fiddle. “I do not understand why you’re not entranced like the others, but
perhaps I need to try to reach you on a different
frequency.”
The Fiddler reaches a high note that causes the
Human Torch to raise his hands over his ears, as his flight path grows shaky!
He crashes into the stage, managing to avoid the other musicians, but taking
out the podium, and scorching a large section of the hardwood floors when he
hits.
“I was not expecting interference from your kind,”
the Fiddler remarks. “However, it is fortuitous that you decided to interrupt
my final performance. My father, the original Fiddler, was killed by your ally,
Captain America and his partner Bucky.** I have been giving great thought to
destroying that star-clad interloper myself! My father’s death caused great
hardship for my family...and brought about the Fuhrer’s wrath upon us for his
failure! I have long sought to pay back those most responsible for those dark
days....and the many years that followed!”
[**Actually, he brought about his own death by trying to kill Bucky with a particularly high note, but who am I to argue with a madman?]
“That sound wave...!” the Human Torch manages, while struggling to his feet. “I don’t know a fiddle can cause such an effect.”
“In the hands of a master,” the Fiddler replies,
standing over the Torch, even as he starts to play his fiddle once more,
louder, and striking an even higher note, “all things are possible.”
As the Human Torch kneels in front of the Fiddler,
who continues to play his fiddle even as he grins a large, sinister grin, some
of his men get up again (re-energized by the thought that the Human Torch is
incapacitated) and look for their dropped bags.
"There were a lot of lives lost in the war,
Fiddler!" the Human Torch yells out, while trying to set aside the pain
caused in his head by the intense high-pitched sounds the Fiddler's playing is
causing. "Your father made his decision to follow that madman Hitler! He
should have known what he was getting into!"
"You did not live in my home, fool!" the
Fiddler remarks bitterly. "You did not see the effect of my father's death
on my mother. She was institutionalized due to her grief. I have no use for
Hitler, who punished my family severely for my father's 'failure', but it was
your friend Captain America who caused the suffering--and he will pay for his
crimes as well!"
"It looks like insanity runs in the
family," the Human Torch replies, but his words are not heard by the Fiddler,
whose eyes are set upon his work, as his fingers glide across the fiddle, even
as the blow strikes with an eerie intensity.
Suddenly, the Human Torch feels his density
changing. Soon, he has turned intangible and has slipped through the stage,
disappearing completely from sight.
The Fiddler stops his playing, looking around for
the Torch, a shocked look on his face. "Where did he go?" he demands.
One of his hired thugs looks at the spot where the
Torch had been mere moments before, then back at Fiddler. Deciding that he
would rather face the Fiddler's wrath than deal with an apparent ghost, he
grabs his bag from the floor where he dropped it, and runs through the double
doors, never looking back.
"Come
back you fool!" the Fiddler demands, seething with rage. There are
only two of his hired thugs left in the room, and he turns on them quickly,
eyeing them with his insane, murderous look.
"D-do you want us to get him, boss?" one
of the thugs asks. He has always been spooked by the Fiddler, but has always
been able to put that aside, because of the money he's been raking in. But, he
has just decided that this will be his last job.
"No, there is no time," the Fiddler
returns, holding his fiddle in his hands. "Soon, the effects of my lullaby
will wear off on the crowd, and the authorities will soon be here. We will find
the coward soon…and deal with him
then."
The Fiddler does not understand why his hired thug
suddenly develops a look of abject horror. He has grown annoyed with these
unprofessional hoodlums and would like to find more competent help. "What
is the matter, fool?" the Fiddler demands. "Did I not tell you that we must not tarry? We do
not have time for you to stand there agape?"
Before the Fiddler can turn around, he can feel the
heat on his back. He soon realizes the reason for his hireling's reaction, and
quickly whirls around to face the Human Torch, who has quickly re-materialized
from under the floor, and is throwing twin fireballs directly at him!
One of the fireballs strike the Fiddler on the tails
of his tuxedo, catching it afire! The other strikes the ground, igniting some
papers that had spilled over from one of the podiums! The Fiddler falls on the
ground, rolling on his tuxedo to put out the fire there, but not before he
suffers first and second-degree burns on his backside.
As the stage ignites in flames, the Fiddler falls
through a floor weakened by the flames, falling several feet into the basement.
The Torch starts to follow after him, but more of the floor collapses before he
can get over there, falling on top of the Fiddler, who is cloaked in the
darkness of the basement.
For a moment, the Torch weighs his options, but soon
realizes that he has to stop the flames before they can harm the sleeping
symphony--or even reach the concert-goers, who are also still unconscious and
helpless. The Torch takes no notice of the two thugs who are even now rushing
through the doors. Little do they realize that the authorities have already arrived,
and are waiting for them in the hallway leading to the concert room.
The Torch leans back in the air, drawing all of the
flames into his body. The flames appear to be living objects, as if they were
small children returning with a will of their own to their parent's waiting
arms.
As the Torch puts an end to the fire threat, the
audience and the symphony are both starting to wake up. The Torch leaves a
trail in his wake, as he flies down into the basement, his flames instantly
bringing light to the dark, dank basement. He looks around the room, where he
finds rubble from the collapsed floor, but there is no sign of his foe.
Turning up, the Torch starts to return to the ground
level, but soon thinks better of it, realizing that he would much rather be one
of the crowd. The authorities can handle things from here, he realizes, and he
does not want to deal with the barrage of questions that always accompany such
things.
So, moments later, it is Jim Hammond who appears
amid the chaotic throng of people, who are rushing to get out of the concert
hall.
"I have a
lot to think about," the Torch silently considers, as he walks through
the double doors. "I didn't even try
to turn immaterial. My body has never reacted that way before. I'll have to look
into this further…"
_____________________________________________________________________
EPILOGUE
_____________________________________________________________________
Moments earlier, the Fiddler lies under the rubble, struggling
to remain conscious. He hears a crackling sound of energy blasting through the rubble.
Soon, he sees a hand reaching through the darkness. It
belongs to a large man who appears to be dressed in red, but in the darkness,
it is difficult to tell. He can see a metallic object that appears to be attached
to his benefactor's other hand, but he takes the offered hand, which pulls him
up from the rubble.
"Come, my friend," his benefactor offers, pulling
him up and supporting him. "We have much to discuss."
Wondering
what's going on? Find out more next issue!
_______________________________________________________________________
ÕÕÕF L A M I N G F I R E B A L L S ÕÕÕ
_______________________________________________________________________
Welcome to the 11th---and seriously
overdue--issue of Human Torch. I'd like to first apologize for not getting this
one out sooner. The usual real life stuff getting in the way. L Hopefully, there won't be
this kind of wait between issues in the future.
I wanted this issue, particularly the Fiddler
portion of the issue, to have a Golden Age feel to it. So, it was intentionally
simplistic. Let me know how this worked out. As always, I'm glad to hear any
comments, suggestions, or critiques at jx2melton@hotmail.com.
This issue, we meet a couple of villains that might
be familiar to some of you, and maybe not, so I'll give you a run-down of who
they are. Fair enough?
BLUE BLADE: Blue Blade is a Musketeer
type, set in modern times (at least it was modern in the 40s when he first
appeared). As for where he's been since the 40s, well that's another story
entirely…
BLACK CLAW:
A World War Two era villain and a Nazi who
fought Captain Terror. He has a steel hand, as Blue Blade found out this issue.
He is a highly-skilled hand-to-hand combatant as well.
THE FIDDLER: Amazingly, Timely Comics
had their own Fiddler, who appeared in Captain
America Comics #7. Of course, this is the
original's son, who is carrying on the name. The original Fiddler died in his
only appearance. Contrary to his version of the story, the Fiddler's father
died by playing "the highest note ever played by man" while trying to
kill Bucky. The original's actual name was never given, so I took care of that
in this issue.
Naturally, there will be to come with these
characters in future issues, but I wanted to give you a little groundwork so
you could at least get an idea of who we're dealing with.
NEXT ISSUE: Challenger and the boys return--but what are
they up to? More on the hero abductions--including a couple of clues as to who
is behind it. Be here next time for HUMAN TORCH #12!
Jeff Melton