A WolfPack's Epilogue

(All characters involved in sexual/romantic situations are over eighteen years old. Any resemblance to real persons is unintended and coincidental Please note that this story contains some elements of graphic violence against people of all ages, as well as severe medical issues and their unfortunate consequences. Most of the story is relatively happy, light, and hopefully nicely sexy... but not all of it.)

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It was my first Halloween in Cincinnati, and I won't lie -- I was pretty nervous. The Plex Corporation had set me up three months ago with a nice little house on North Cliff Lane, just a few minutes away from the hospital, and it turned out that this quiet little neighborhood was trick-or-treat ground zero. The sun was still out, if barely, and kids were starting to gather in little packs all up and down the street. Technically, trick or treating didn't "officially" start until six PM, half an hour from now, but you could tell these kids were chomping at the bit to get started.

I hadn't really spoken with any of my neighbors yet, so I figured I'd go all-out for the kids this year in an attempt to make a good first impression. In my living room, I had cases of supplies ready to deploy. No "fun-size" tiny morsels, no sir. What did Roland always say? "Go Big Or Go Home!" So I went REAL big. We're talking full-size candy bars, for every kid who came to my door. I had eight or nine different brands to choose from, stuff I would've killed for when I was trick-or-treating as a kid. I had made sure to get some nut-free kinds for kids with allergies, and bags of sugar-free gummi bears for any diabetic kids, just to make sure no one was left out. I'd tried some of those bears -- surprisingly good. Tasted just like the real thing, as far as I could tell.

Between that candy and yard decorations, I'd dropped a huge stack of money that would've horrified me as a poor college student, but now, years later? Between my service wages, generous Striker Reservist pension from the Plex Corporation, licensing/likeness fees, residuals, and some smart work on the part of Cousin Mandy (the smartest and most trustworthy accountant I'd ever met)... money was not an issue. "It's not like I'm going to spend it on hookers and blow," I muttered to myself as I filled a huge metal serving bowl with my giant-sized treats.

My laptop chimed, and I jogged over to hit the connect button. "Hey, sweetie!"

Melissa was still as beautiful as ever, even with her head carefully stabilized as she lay in her hospital bed. "Hey, Harrison. Can you see me okay?"

"Perfect angle, gorgeous. Who's on nurse duty for you tonight?"

"Jonas. He's been a real dear, already washed me and everything. I see you got the front door and foyer cameras set! I can't wait to see what the kids are dressed in."

"I'm even recording the feed, starting now, so if you need to turn in early, you can watch it later whenever you want. Trick or treating starts in..." I checked my ridiculously elaborate wristwatch. "...fifteen minutes."

Melissa gave me a wide but sleepy grin. "You're not greeting the kids like that, are you?"

I looked down at myself. A red golf shirt, black dockers, a nice leather belt, and comfortable running shoes -- a pretty typical outfit for me. "What, is there a stain on my shirt or something?"

"Harrison Michael Halloway, you utterly ridiculous goof! It's Halloween! You're telling me you tricked out the lawn with all those spooky little statues and lights, bought a bazillion giant candy bars, and you didn't spend a dime on a costume? Come on!" She stuck her tongue out at me and winked.

I gestured down at myself. "Oh come on. No one cares what the adults wear. As long as I'm not opening the door in my boxers, it's all good."

"Well, I care." She waggled her eyebrows at me. "If you really loved me, you'd wear your old Striker gear."

In the corner of my laptop, I could see my own eyebrows try to leap right off my head. "Where did that come from? C'mon, hon. Last thing I want to do is dredge up bad memories for you."

She clenched her jaw. If she could have, she would've been shaking her head and wagging a finger at me like old times, but nowadays, a stern look was the best she could manage. "It won't. If it wasn't for our making it into the Strike Force together, we never would have met -- and I don't want to hear another word. Besides. I love how your ass looks in that suit. Come on. Change for me. I want to see it again."

"You're serious."

"Serious as anything. You're my dashing hero, and I miss seeing you dress like one. And besides -- the kids will LOVE it."

I sighed in defeat. "Okay, fine. But only because you asked nicely." I stepped back, and brought up the wrist that held my Striker-Changer watch. "Voice Code! Halloway, Seven-Five-Alpha!"

The once-dormant appliance roared to life, the old familiar deep-voiced computer responding as always. "CONFIRMED. STRIKER-CHANGE, PRIMED."

I slid my finger across the smart-glass surface, providing the fingerprint key. "Striker-Change...GO!" I threw my arms out wide, and braced for impact.

***

SIX YEARS AGO

"STRIKER HALLOWAY! STAND AT ATTENTION!" Sandow's gravelly voice was an angry roar, glaring at me as he held up the weirdest-looking watch I'd ever even heard of. "Watch closely, Strikers, because what I'm about to tell you all could keep you all from killing yourselves on your first day in the field! Put this on, Halloway. You're first."

I noticed Takeshi rolling his eyes. "Like always," he muttered. I managed to ignore it. Nothing I did would ever convince him that I wasn't some suck-up "Teacher's Pet", he'd made that very clear these last few months. It used to really bother me, but now... I had bigger things to worry about.

Mister Sandow had also ceased to give a rat's ass about Takeshi's issues. "Shut it, Striker Wakamoto. Halloway beat you into the ground fair and square in the tournament last month, so wash that bitter bullshit out of your mouth, or I'll do it for you. With bleach." He turned back to me with an impatient look, and I slipped the device onto my left forearm.

"When you activate this, whatever you're wearing is going to get automatically converted into a unitard, thanks to the fun little miracle of dimensional nano-printing. However, the armored costume will gate in as unattached sections a few centimeters away from you, and then converge at speed, so stand ready when it hits. It might seem like it takes a few seconds for the armor to link up and fully activate because you're in the midst of that dimensional storm, but it's practically instantaneous. Good thing too, otherwise you'd be a sitting duck mid-transformation."

I stood back, activated it -- and got blown halfway across the room. I found myself crumpled against a bank of lockers, a pile of unassembled armor pieces lying around me, dissolving into the air back into nano-matter because of the failed link-up... and Takeshi was laughing his ass off.

"Awww, did the teacher's pet fuck up in front of everyone? Should've braced yourself, just like Sandow said. Okay, gimme mine, I'll show you all how it's done."

Five seconds later, there was a flash -- and Takeshi joined me on the floor, a dazed expression on his face. I held out a closed fist. "Welcome to my world, Mister Wakamoto." He gave me a glassy-eyed glare -- but then gently bumped his closed fist against mine. "Fuck you. Now let's help each other up, we look like chumps down here."

***

PRESENT DAY

Everyone blasted out on their first Striker-change, we learned later. It was practically a hazing ritual at this point. But here on Halloween Night, years after my own Striker tenure had ended, was far from my first change. I hit the proper bracing pose on pure reflex -- and one by one, the crimson, silver, and black armor sections slammed into me from out of nowhere, a swirling haze of color all around me. Lastly, the helmet closed around my head, and my field of vision suddenly filled with Heads-Up displays, targeting icons, and status readouts:

ARMOR LINK-UP: COMPLETE

POWER SYSTEMS: ONLINE

WEAPONS SYSTEMS: STANDING BY

VITAL SIGNS: STABLE

DEFENSES: ENGAGED

VEHICLE STATUS: WARNING! OFFLINE!

PERSONAL DIMENSIONAL-FLUX INFUSION STATUS: STABLE

COMBAT MODE: ENGAGED

I made a mental note to reach out to Plex Striker-Reserve tech support, let them know that I was still getting the Vehicle status warnings, even though WolfPack Mecha-Alpha (and all its component vehicles) had been destroyed during that last big dust-up with the Armada, and wasn't going to get rebuilt.

Looking back to my laptop, Melissa was giving me a huge smile. She started making little kissy-sounds with her mouth, the closest she could come to applauding in her state. "You look AMAZING, love. Now come on... do the ready pose!"

Behind my visor, I rolled my eyes. Long before I'd ever joined the Striker program, the Plex Corporation's public relations team had decided that every Striker would have to make a unique little stance and give their catch-phrase after donning their Gear, unless they were already in the midst of a heavy fight. "Helps the audience engage better", they always said, along with some buzzwords about viewers identifying with their favorites. With a muffled sigh, I stepped forward with one foot, raised my right fist next to my jaw, and reached out with my left, my hand flat like a knife-edge strike.

"Howling For Justice, Ready To Hunt! WOLFPACK RED!"

I was rewarded a new flurry of kissy-sounds from the love of my life. "Harrison, I damn near came from seeing you like that again, I'm serious. You'll always be my hero, even if you didn't still have those amazing washboard abs. God, that suit looks good on you. Turn around, show me the goods."

And that's when the doorbell rang, but I did a 180 turn as requested, which earned me a happy coo. "I'll take your word for it, love. Okay, I'll keep it on -- and it's showtime! Keep an eye on the camera feed!"

Sending a mental command through the helmet sensors -- Disengage Combat Mode -- the hum of power around the suit silenced, but the suit stayed on. I grabbed the big metal bowl of candy, and threw open the house's double doors.

"TRICK OR TREAT!!!"

This first batch of kids was absolutely adorable, and I could hear Melissa's squeal of delight from the laptop in the room behind me. A small child no more than six was in your classic bed-sheet ghost look, but she'd drawn all sorts of little designs all over the sheet, mostly of little ponies in pastel colors and funny hats, which I recalled hearing was a popular kid's show. The boy next to her was even smaller, but in a disturbingly well-done Captain Jack Sparrow outfit, right down to an empty rum bottle in his hand. The third was an older girl, maybe eleven, who had painted herself green and was holding up a sword. One of the Marvel heroes, I think, but the name escaped me... Gamma? Gon-something? "Oh, Gamora! Wow, nice job, all of you!"

Captain Jack stepped forward, brandishing the bottle in one hand and his momentarily-empty treat bag in the other. "The rum's gone -- so I need candy instead. Give us some candy, love?" He'd nailed Depp's voice exactly, and I couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"Nice costume, mister!" This was from the little ghost, who held out their bag as well. "I think I saw you on TV once!"

I held out my bowl. "Okay, feel free to grab one you like!"

Gamora gasped. "OH MY GOD! Full-size! Um, can I take two?"

"If your parents don't mind, I'm cool with it."

I glanced up, and the mother standing nearby had come forward to see, patting at her afro as she walked. She glanced down -- and her eyes widened in shock. "Oh my. Kids, yes, you can take two... sir, you're going to get every kid in town at your doorstep when word gets around. I'm just glad we got here before you ran out."

"Oh, I've got plenty, no worries there."

As the kids each grabbed a pair of their favorites, the mother gave me an appraising look. "Mmm-hmm. Looks like you got plenty indeed. Happy Halloween, big red."

If I hadn't still had my helmet on, she would've seen the mother of all blushes on my face as she flashed me a quick lick of her lips before herding the kids away.

I closed the door and picked up the laptop, carrying it over to a table closer to the door, so I could hear her better. She was giggling like a loon. "Momma wanted you to drop and give her twenty."

I laughed out loud at that. "Oh god. Now I'm imagining Mister Sandow flirting with me, I'm going to have nightmares for weeks!" That raspy old bastard was still working at Plex, helping train each new batch of Strikers as the need arose -- although he'd been slowing down, and Takeshi had become his new assistant coach as of last year. I thought they hated each other, but scuttlebutt had it that they worked really well together. Who'd have thought?

The doorbell rang again, and I greeted the next batch. A pair of twins both doing Captain America, one Frankenstein Monster, and one girl dressed as Supernova Pink, from the Striker team based out of Orlando that was active last year. Her eyes went wide as she saw me, but quickly forgot about it when I offered everyone their candy bounty. Their mom also gave me a warm smile, and when I turned away to set the bowl down on the foyer table, I heard her whisper to herself, "Now *that* is America's ass, oh yes." Well, good to know my helmet's audio sensors still work at top condition, I guess.

Melissa was giggling up a storm now. "I'm TELLING you, Harrison, you are prime cougar bait!"

The next few groups went by without incident. Word spread up and down the street like wildfire that the new guy in the corner house was giving out crazy big loot, and I had kids literally lined up halfway down the block. When the last family of that batch finished up, their dad flashed me an annoyed look. "Isn't that in bad taste?"

I glanced up. "I'm sorry?"

"You're cosplaying as 'Bloody Red Halloway'. Not exactly a positive role model for the kids, if you ask me."

I glanced down at myself, suddenly very glad that I'd ended up concealing my face tonight. "Umm...It was the only costume I could get on short notice. All they had left at the, ah, store."

He gave an annoyed harrumph, and followed his kids away and towards the next house.

"Just ignore him, Harrison." Melissa's voice echoed from the laptop. "We all know what happened wasn't your fault."

"...If you say so."

***

FIVE YEARS AGO

"MotherFUCK! HE CUT OFF MY GODDAMN ARM!" Roland was on his back in the dirt, while Chang-Ying worked frantically to stop him from bleeding out, bathing the stump in the experimental "healing rays" that had saved our asses more than once already, cleaning the wound and attempting to graft his severed arm back onto where it came from.

"We'll get him, Blue. Hey, look at the bright side. At least with Chang-Ying's help, you probably won't have to regrow the arm from scratch. Gotta love that cellular regeneration thing, eh?" I risked a glance around the corner -- and there he was, a hundred yards away, searching for us in all the rubble strewn across the field. Baron Khopesh -- by far the nastiest Elite that this Incursion had thrown at us yet, and the one rumored to be the true power behind the Diamond Throne Armada. That namesake sword of his cut through armor -- and Wolfpack Blue's arm -- like the proverbial hot knife through butter. Our D-Flux defensive screens didn't even slow it down, and that had given Striker Field Control serious pause. No Striker team had ever faced anything like this, not in any Dimensional Incursion to date, so my Wolfpack had the dubious honor of being the first. If we were smart, maybe we could survive this.

Which of course meant that D.J. Carter, our resident "Sixth Ranger" Wolfpack Green with the much-prized Overclocked powerset, decided this was the moment to swing his dick around. "I can take him. You pussies stand back and watch a REAL man, a REAL Striker, take care of business!" Before Takeshi or Melissa or myself could reach out to grab him, the moron jumped out into the open and started opening fire. Never mind that our sidearms were about as effective as water pistols against the Baron's body armor -- D.J. was either too stupid to remember that fact, or just thought he could somehow magically do better than anyone else.

Takeshi and I locked eyes, and gave each other a nod. Time to lay it all on the table. "Wolfpack White -- keep healing Blue, but give Black your and Blue's Plex-Pistols."

Chang-Ying looked up. "I'd say take my stealth-field generator too, but Khopesh spotted me immediately when I had it running. So much for invisibility. Sorry, boss."

"Don't sweat it, White. Just keep at what you're doing. Black -- I think we need to try the Sniper Rifle trick again."

Takeshi took the two unused guns, and merged them with his own, "modularizing" the combined hardware into a larger configuration -- a high-powered Sniper-style plasma-ribbon launcher. "Just keep him busy for ninety seconds, Red. Keep that blade away from you and our Green idiot, and I'll send a Max Charge right through his eye."

Melissa frowned. "What about me? You are *not* sidelining me."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Yellow, I need you to guard White and Blue. More likely than not, Khopesh has reinforcements coming."

"He doesn't have any reinforcements left. He's certainly not getting any help from ME." We looked up, and there was Baroness Naginata, perched just above where Roland was writhing on the ground. "Or do you really think my honor's oath has no value?" Her long dark hair floated around her like a halo in the blowing wind, her sharp and hauntingly beautiful features just human enough to almost make you forget that she was from another dimension. She had her signature pole-arm slung along her back. "My idiot husband slaughtered my retinue when he learned of my plan to defect. He's killed the Regent and nearly everyone back at the Throne, seeing traitors in every corner. If we take him down here, this war will end. Join with me, my handsome crimson warrior, and together we will destroy our common foe."

A scream of pain rang out -- D.J. was in over his head, as usual. Maybe Baron Khopesh would do us all a favor and cut his legs off so he couldn't get himself into any more trouble.

"Okay, new plan. Yellow, Baroness, you're with me. Black, charge that rifle and watch for an opening. White, keep that healing ray online. Blue..."

"I'll just... ow... check my twitter feed or something. I'm good. Kick his ass, Harrison." Roland gave me a shaky thumbs up.

"Alright, Wolfpack. Let's go hunting."

It was an ugly fight. This wasn't about looking cool for the cameras to boost people's morale -- this was about survival. Ours against his. Khopesh wanted us dead, and we were eager to return the favor. He hadn't killed or even dismembered D.J., just ran him through and left him on the ground to bleed out. D.J. would survive, and even heal back to full within days. Unfortunately.

Our new ally's weapon shaft was the only thing we had that could actually parry Khopesh's strikes, so the Baroness intercepted his attacks while Melissa and I harried him from the sides, whittling him down bit by bit, trying to weaken his overall defenses for when Takeshi took his shot. The three of us moved well together -- you'd almost think Naginata had been part of our training drills all along, from how natural her presence felt. It was going so well, she even flashed Melissa and I a beautiful smile of triumph as she easily deflected his increasingly desperate strikes.

It almost worked. We almost got him without any further trouble.

Until motherfucking D.J. Carter, Wolfpack Green, managed just enough strength to try and jump right back into the fray without even warning his teammates. In the instant of confusion he caused, Naginata was wide open just long enough for Khopesh to swing big, an arc of blazing diamond-steel that was an instant away from decapitating his estranged wife -- until Melissa, Wolfpack Yellow, the newly found love of my life, shoved Naginata clear...