The Global Protectors – Dawn of the Millennium
By Marcus_Lycus@hotmail.com
Hello and welcome to what should be my sixth Global Protectors story (unless I miscounted somewhere).
This one is a historical story going back to the beginning of the team to tell their origin, their first battle in costume, their subsequent capture and loss of costumes… y'know the usual.
In case anyone is wondering the Global Protectors stories I've finished so far (in order of occurrence) are:
Global Protectors - Dawn of the Millennium:
Global Protectors - Strip Mall
Global Protectors - Their First Time
Global Protectors - Global Protectors vs. The Wraithlord
Global Protectors - The Seduction of Shamrock
Global Protectors - 7 days
The other stories should be available on the site where you found this one.
As always I remind everyone that the Global Protectors, Ultra Woman and Doctor Droid were created by none other than Doctor Droid (www.superstories.net/droidzone) and as such are copyright Doctor Droid. Check out his site for a rich library of images. Other characters and text are copyright Marcus Lycus.
What does that legal gibberish mean? It means that if you want to use the Global Protectors in another story you need Doctor Droid’s permission (not mine). It also means that you can’t repost this story without my permission.
And since this story is meant for people over the age of 18, please don’t read it if you are younger than that. Any resemblance between characters in this story and any actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental of course.
And finally, please e-mail me with any comments, complaints or suggestions. Remember feedback leads to more stories!
Marcus Lycus
August 2004
Chapter 1 – Death and Rebirth
It was the year 1999, a time of innocence and naiveté. The Internet Economy ensured we would enjoy unlimited growth and prosperity forever. Microsoft was about to be broken up by the Justice Department. Digital effects meant that Star Wars movies would be better than ever. The collapse of communism meant that everyone in the whole world loved freedom and America. Everything was perfect except for the looming threat of the dreaded Y2K bug which threatened to bring civilization crashing down.
Ah… we were so young and foolish…
And in the frigid artic wastes of Canada, a new heroine was about to be born…
***
Smiling ear to ear, Jillian Havre walked down the steps of the Toronto courthouse enjoying the chilly wind on her face. Kent, ace reporter for the Daily Star trotted behind her trying not to stare too much at her ass.
Jillian knew one of these days she’d have to give him some action before the poor boy exploded.
"Miss Havre, do you think convicting Joey "The Rock" Kubert will impact organized crime in Toronto?"
Well that was a nice question, exactly what she needed. That Kent kid was getting pretty accommodating.
"Let me say that with today's conviction the mob is finished in this city. Two years ago I promised the people of Toronto I would crack down on these mobsters and now the last of the big-time mafia kingpins is behind bars."
Jillian turned to face him, bending slightly so Kent could see that bit of cleavage she left ‘accidentally’ showing for the jury. Even though she was on the far side of 30, Jillian Havre could still turn heads and she knew how to use that advantage. As she likes to put it, 'you have to sell the merchandise'.
"Is it true you plan to run for higher office after these high-profile convictions?"
Jillian thought carefully about her answer, she knew what she wanted to say of course, and so did Kent, but she had to be very careful about how she said it.
"The people of Toronto have chosen me to defend their rights in court and I will continue to do so unless they choose to have me fight for their rights somewhere else."
Kent smiled, if he played his cards right he might just have an exclusive. And maybe something more.
"That’s certainly an interesting answer Miss Havre, perhaps you could expand on it later, say tonight, about eight?"
Jillian smiled back, she’d played this game before, the up-and-coming politician and the eager reporter, it made for some real fireworks in bed. But she wasn’t going to let him off that easy. "Oh I’m sorry Mr. Kent, but I have a meeting tonight. Perhaps some other time…" She waited for his reply. "Kent? Kent? Hello? Look at me here!" The moron was staring off at something behind her!
"Say Jillian, am I nuts or does that guy have a gun?"
"Huh?" She said turning around.
Out of the clear sky, Jillian heard thunder…
***
Pain.
Darkness.
Voices…
***
"I’m sorry Mr. Kent there’s nothing more we can do… May never come out of that coma…"
"You mentioned that doctor in Megapolis…"
"Experimental treatment… can’t recommend it."
"It's not like you’re doing any good…"
***
Strange feelings. Floating, but not in water, something thicker.
Something was stuck in her nose. She couldn’t breath right.
More pain.
Needles entering her body.
Electricity surging through her!
More voices… a man and woman.
"Potential psychic energy up 24%."
"Getting brainwave activity."
More needles, more pain.
"Engaging psychokinetic catalyst."
Jillian screamed.
Everything went black.
***
Jillian sat up with a scream.
Her chest heaved from the memory of her nightmares and a cold sweat soaked through her gown.
Gunshots, pain, blood, torture, experiments, needles, shocks, pain.
Strange people probing her like some kind science experiment. But it was all a bad dream. Wasn’t it?
Her eyes hurt from the light, they weren’t focusing right. But the big white spot in her vision slowly faded to a simple florescent light and she could see her surroundings.
At first glance it seemed to be an ordinary hospital room. She was in an adjustable bed, hooked up to all sorts of mysterious monitors beeping and humming away. A chart hanging from the wall identified her as a patient of Dr. Boyd. (Who?)
Had she been shot after all? She felt her chest but there were no scars.
Looking around the room she saw some strange things. Her door was a thick metal one with a small window of bullet proof glass. There were heavy leather straps on her bed, torn when she woke up. (How had she done that? Adrenaline?)
She was wearing a thin pink hospital gown open in the back and stamped ‘Property of Mega University Hospital’ throughout.
Mega University? She’d never even heard of it.
A glance outside showed her an unfamiliar skyline. Where ever Jillian was she was definitely not in Toronto. And she was clearly supposed to be someone’s prisoner. Someone who had been hurting her.
If these monitors were working whoever was in charge must know she was awake. She figured she had only minutes to get away before her captor arrived.
Pulling out wires she stumbled towards the window. She was a bit shaky, (how long had she been out?) but actually felt pretty good. She pulled up on window and it rose easily. (She thought she heard a lock break but that was impossible.)
Sticking her head out she saw things were not going to be easy. It looked like she was ten stories up. There was a thin ledge outside the window though and maybe with luck she could make her way to another room and slip out. Looking over her shoulder she didn’t see anyone at the door but now that she’d removed her wires all the monitors were beeping and flashing red lights. She knew it was only a matter of time.
She looked out again at the street far below. She tried not to think about how narrow and icy the ledge was. She lifted her leg.
The first step is always the hardest...
***
Vendla Alborg, Ph.D. sat in the staff lounge wishing for a cigarette. (Stupid American hospitals with their absurd rules, don’t they know cigarettes relieve stress?). She leafed through the only magazine in the lounge for the twelfth time (stupid American ‘news’ magazines, sex and violence and celebrities but nothing that any intelligent person could even mistake for news) and sighed. What a way to spend the biggest party night in the world. Not that she had planned on going to a party...
Time to go for a walk.
The Swedish woman rose to her commanding height of 5’11" and made sure her long blond hair was still safe in its tight bun. She wore a baby blue miniskirt and blazer with a tight yellow turtleneck. White stockings covered her long shapely legs. The effect was a confusing mixed message, professional and modest but sexy as all hell. Look but don’t touch. A classic career woman ice queen.
Her low-heeled practical shoes padded softly in the quiet ward. Any patient that could walk or crawl had insisted on being discharged and even offers of double time-and-a-half hadn’t persuaded more than a handful of nurses and orderlies to come in that night. She nodded to the one nurse on duty and stole a glance at the bank of monitors. She didn’t expect to see anything of course. She and her partner had been watching their charge for more than a week now and nothing had happened. Despite the initial positive signs, it looked like Jillian Havre was going to be another disappointment.
Then the monitors went dead!
"Come with me!" She yelled to the nurse and took off at a run towards Jillian’s private room. Through the bulletproof glass she could see the Canadian’s bare bottom sticking out the window. (Was the woman insane?) Vendla accelerated and winced as she bounced off the locked metal door. Grunting in frustration she leaned against it pushing until the lock shattered.
(She had to smile, who ever thought quiet little Vendla would be smashing through steel?)
***
Jillian crawled out the window onto the thin ledge. Cold winds lashed her through the thin hospital gown and patches of ice threatened to send her falling to her doom. Below she could see crowds of people milling around shouting, dancing and drinking in some kind of citywide party. (What the hell is this? And isn’t it a bit cold for September?)
Looking down had been a mistake. Overcome by a wave of vertigo Jillian grabbed a leering gargoyle carved into the building’s façade. She felt her fingers sink into the granite like it was styrofoam. (Weakened by pollution?) She put her bare feet on the ledge (Cold! Cold! Cold!) and stood up.
So far so good.
She managed one hesitant step to the left, then another. Grabbing bricks and stone protrusions (all of them as soft and crumbly as that gargoyle) she started to make some progress. She smiled; she was starting to feel like she might make it.
"Funny," she thought, feeling the cold wind blow between her legs and seeing her nipples rise up beneath the thin gown "back in law school I used to dream about having adventures like in some John Gresham novel and now here I am."
"Adventures suck."
Then she heard the thud come from her room.
***
Vendla stuck her head out the window. Now only was her patient up and about, she was trying to escape on the ledge. Vendla looked down and worried. Even if the process had worked, that fall could still kill her.
"Jillian listen to me, I’m here to help you."
***
A crazy blond girl was yelling at her from the window. She couldn’t hear the words but recognized something about the voice. Low, husky with a trace of a foreign accent, it was the voice she’d heard before, the woman who’d tortured her!
"N-no!" She yelled trying to move faster along the ledge, if only someone would look up and see her! If only someone would help!
The wind picked up, the panicked woman’s steps became less sure, there was another patch of ice…
In short… Jillian fell.
***
She screamed on the way down carried by her momentum across the street towards another roof. That one was only 5 stories away, but still enough to kill her.
But somehow, amazingly, she landed in a crouch unharmed.
(Caught in an updraft?)
She didn’t have much time to marvel at her luck. Her blond pursuer had climbed out the window and was jumping after her.
Jillian started to run, crossing the rooftops faster than she’d ever moved before even on her high school track team. She leapt across street and up 20’ walls without thinking, without stopping to wonder how. All she knew was the blond was matching her and she did not dare stop.
She jumped across a four-lane street and kept going.
***
Vendla fumed as she chased her errant charge. Her expensive shoes had been ruined when she hit the roof and her favorite skirt had torn down the seam. The blazer was torn by a TV antenna and the strain from her jiggling breasts was going to ruin her new bra.
She muttered a curse.
Her forcefield was supposed to make her invulnerable but right now the only thing her powers were protecting were her stockings and panties.
Crap.
She’d just bought a new wardrobe too.
Hearing a thud she stopped for a second to fish her cell phone out of a puddle. Ruined. Great. Looking around she caught sight of Jillian’s bare butt again and tried to find the energy for another burst of speed.
All around her the sounds of partying people had condensed into a single chant.
TEN!
NINE!
***
Jillian noted the chant but didn’t give it much heed. It was strange. She had been so scared, so nervous, so tired but now after running she was feeling better and better, more alive than she had felt in years. She felt like she could run forever.
Crossing a major avenue she jumped higher and farther than ever before, practically flying above the city.
EIGHT!
SEVEN!
***
Vendla was panting by then. She thought of comic book characters who could spend the whole night prowling a city and not get tired. But this is the real world and even with her improvements Vendla still has limits.
She saw Jillian jump over Simon Boulevard arching slowly, almost hovering.
She noted it in the back of her mind, it was possible in theory but she had never done it, nor had Kanika as far as she knew. But in the front of her mind she just cared that if offered her a chance.
She jumped.
SIX!
FIVE!
***
Out of the corner of her eye Jillian saw the blond jumping after her on a course to intercept her in midair. The blonde's superhuman abilities no longer surprised her; they seemed no more unnatural than her own. But she still had no desire to be taken. Desperately she turned her head, willing herself to change course and avoid her hunter.
FOUR!
THREE!
***
The Canadian was practically in reach.
Almost.
Almost.
But somehow, impossibly the woman started to rise straight up!
Vendla reached for her foot but…
TWO!
ONE!
Thousands of fireworks rose throughout the city as cries of "HAPPY NEW YEAR!" and drunken renditions of "Auld Lang Syne" rose up.
A bright explosion flashed in front of Val’s cold blue eyes blinding her.
Her arc carried her across the street, below her prey and into a trash-filled alley.
Spitting out a mouthful of wet trash Vendla looked at the sky. Jillian was gone, lost in the flowering explosions above.
"Happy fucking new millennium" she swore in gutter Swedish.
***
It was a dream.
A wonderful, wonderful dream that she never wanted to wake up from.
Jillian Havre’s whole life had been stress. Pushed by her successful father into law, raised to always be the best she had never let up the pressure on herself rising to the top of her undergrad class, the top of her law school and finally the top of her profession.
And now…
She drifted calmly among the bursting rockets and sprinkling lights, turning pirouettes in midair. Below her lay a huge city, an endless collection of skyscrapers, neighborhoods and alleyways and she was its queen, its goddess, rising above it all.
She didn’t know how long she floated, long enough for the fireworks to end and the crowds to start to thin. Long enough to start to notice the cold and to realize how tired she was.
Slowly she sank towards the Earth, settling down on a dirty street corner littered with discarded hats, noise makers and oversized glasses shaped like the number 2000.
Wow.
New Years Eve 2000, THE New Years Eve everyone had been waiting for.
And she’d missed it.
But looking up at the starry sky she didn’t feel that disappointed.
"Best New Year's ever..." She muttered.
She felt good. Not just good but great. But a little tired, and hungry and more than anything she felt…
(She blushed even to think the word.)
…horny.
***
After ten minutes of desperate searching Vendla finally found a pay phone that had not been vandalized or stolen (stupid American cities) and called Kanika's cell phone. She hoped her fellow success story was still awake.
A drunk whistled at her from across the street and waved a fist full of $20s. The Swede hissed at him and sent him on his way but she realized with her torn skirt and jiggling breasts she probably didn't look at all like a physicist.
As the phone was ringing another drunk called out to her… Vendla cursed again.
***
Parker wandered the streets alone. Once the fireworks had ended his buddies had taken off with their girls. Flash was off somewhere with Mary Jane and Harry had taken Gwen back to his loft leaving nerdy old Parker to spend the first few hours of the new millennium alone.
Of course he knew that the year 2000 wasn’t REALLY the start of the new millennium, the millennium wouldn’t start until 2001 since there had never been a year zero. But somehow that knowledge just didn’t cheer him up.
Kicking an empty beer can down Ditko Boulevard he headed towards the subway stop. His part-time job at the paper didn't leave enough money for a cab, what with school and his aunt's medical bills.
Of course the subway entrance on Ditko was filled by a crowd of obnoxious drunks. Parker decided to slip down McFarlaine Alley and try the entrance on Romita.
That's when he saw her. A total beauty, long toned legs, red lips and a nice rack just standing there in the cold wearing nothing but a thin wet hospital gown. Through it he could see… everything.
He took off his thick glasses wiping them clean in case this was some illusion but she was still there when he put them back on.
"No way… no way this is happening to me, not to me, no way. And it's not even the real start of the millennium…"
He felt his blood rushing down, to that spot between legs.
She looked at him and smiled.
A hungry, scary smile.
He took a step back.
She pounced.
***
Wearing a tight green strapless dress Kanika Ngala looked over the assembled academics with a mixture of envy and contempt. Here were hundreds of Americans who talked forever about human rights and poverty but had never had to see the real hardship and oppression that millions suffered everyday in her native Africa. She knew they meant well, but even these so-called experts were naïve in many ways.
But Dr. Boyd had insisted she attend and it was certainly more interesting than spending New Year's Eve in a deserted hospital waiting for a white woman to wake up. The doctor had left early, barely staying for the countdown but Kanika had been ambushed by a drunken professor with a bad case of jungle fever.
"Excuse me Doctor Johnson, I have to take this call, I'll be back in just one second…"
"Vendla! Finally! Are you coming to the party? Most of the university is still here and I swear if that anthropology professor tries one more time to 'show me his research' in the broom closet I'm going to crush his little-"
"What?"
"OK, let me call a cab and I'll meet you there."
***
Jillian grabbed the boy's jeans in her hands; the brass zipper teeth of his fly tore like paper. The prize within it was already hot and hard.
"Oh God… oh God" Parker repeated stunned.
"Come to momma" she muttered as she straddled the nervous college boy feeling him slip into her tight wet snatch. She grabbed his hands and put them on her breasts until he got the idea and squeezed. Not much but at least it was something. She let out a sigh of contentment and began riding him slowly at first but then picking up speed, going faster and faster, feeling hotter and hotter until…
"What the FUCK!" She screamed in his face. "Is that all you got?! Are you fucking gay or something?"
The kid stuttered something and wiggled out from under her. Holding up his ruined pants he fled into the night.
"You… you better run, fucking wimp… lousy five minute fuck…"
Jillian got up and tried to stumble after him but felt exhaustion catch with her. She made it halfway down the alley before collapsing face down into a puddle and enjoying some blissful sleep.
She never even saw the two figures walking up behind her or felt their hands on her body.