The Valiant Atlas! Volume 2: Vive La France

[Atlas]

Atlas ducked under a massive wave of machine gun fire, but he was pulled up after only three seconds in cover by the hand of a man who was usually covered in tri colored fabric of a similar material to Atlas' own costume, but today wore it in black just like all the men working alongside the two. He yelled, "Mouvement boy." As he and Atlas moved up to the next car, the teenager shouted over the roar of the bullet fire, "I mean, I'm assuming that means move?"

As the two broad shouldered men rammed into an SUV, with their accomplices trailing behind them and reaching their own cover. All save one, who was caught in just too much fire. Outside of Atlas and his taller powerful friend, their suits were all built to allow a generous amount of advanced kevlar of a higher grade than that available to any police force in the world. Though many had suffered wounds, they'd only lost two men so far in their approach on the compound. It was sad, but they'd known the risks. The man in black behind the car with Atlas said, "Allez! French was once the language of zi world boy!" "Oui, and it isn't anymore!" One of the men took a break from shooting at them to throw one of the odd explosive tubes Atlas had been briefed on right down in the street in front of the two men. Atlas knew the drill, and he took it up and threw it about half as high into the sky as he could. As it began to fall, his companion threw his hand up and as his hand was suddenly coated in a field of fuchsia colored energy, a bubble erupted around the bomb that quickly closed in on itself, and the bomb exploded, safely above the city. "Move in."

---

[Five days ago.] 

Atlas had been trailing the man he's saddly begun to think of as The Red Baron for about thirteen minutes across Manhattan, and he believed that he was nearing whatever it was that the man was looking for. He considered the fact that this was quite stupid, he'd only had his last beat down with a certain WNBA sized woman a few nights ago. Perhaps he wasn't ready to try and go heads up to a man who'd previously gotten the better of him, but after his police radio had finally come in, and when he turned it on after some static and basic calls that were almost immediately answered, one cop mentioned a sighting of the Baron himself. So rather than playing it smart, Ajax had elected to go out after his nemesis. He though the man could be his nemesis until Mr. Right came along. The Red Baron wasn't that Mr. Right, he was Mr. Right Now.
 

[Atlas]

The Red Baron finally stopped, and landed on one building that looked no different than any other. Almost immediately he flew up once more, and then hung there in the air. From his vantage point and extremely good hiding spot of out in the wide open on a roof about four away from his fateful adversary, Atlas watched as a sound came to his powerful ears like a semi truck falling on a freeway. Then the man in the red mask descended once more, and instead of landing on the roof, he disappeared into it. The green clad man with shoulders as wide as a frigate waited a good minute and a half before getting his running start and leaping across the gaps from building to building. He was jumping higher now, he was almost ready to try jumping all the way over a building, so he could go to every other one and cut his travel time in half. Until then he'd just be your average superhero, and put his costume on one leg at a time. 

When he reached the roof, there was a large section of the roof that was merely gone. It was like the size of a truck bed, and looking down into the hole that it's disappearance had created, there was a massive slab of concrete, broken up a bit around the corners but mostly full for the rest of the square. Atlas dropped down into the top floor, and doing a quick scan of the room, realized that it was yet another lab. Was every skyscraper in Manhattan a lab where super scientists made weapons that there was absolutely nothing like in the real world? Atlas didn't spend long standing and looking however, he heard the noises of someone moving off to his right, and so he slowly started padding that way. He crept as carefully as he could, trying not to make even the slightest noise. 

A small metal sphere suddenly rolled towards him. "Do you have any idea how loud yer footsteps are kid?" Atlas scooped up the ball and turned, running back to the opening. He leapt through it, and threw the ball up with all his might. Up it flew until he almost couldn't see it, then a small burst of flame erupted in the sky, dissipating before too long. He fell back into the hole, and took a run at the Red Baron, who he could now see. The man was setting four little cutting charge bomby type things like the ones he'd used on the Wingate truck the first time Atlas had dealt with him. [READ ATLAS VOLUME 1] Atlas called after him, "Barry, you keep doing this. You blow something up, then you leave as soon as you get what you want. You're just like every other man in this fast loose town." The man didn't stop moving but he said, "Don't know what Barry means kiddo, but you'd better stop following me, you can't go toe to toe with some giant, you can't hope to catch me." BOOM

"Oh god what!?" The Red Baron took off, with Atlas just barely missing a grip on his foot. The teenager in the green suit watched as the bit of the wall crashed to the ground. He quickly backed up. It was time for something he might begin to call the usual: A bad idea. Sprinting, he didn't jump. After passing the falling wall in descent, he still moved forward at an alarming rate. He crashed through the glass wall of the building next to the one he'd left, then turned, and waited about a half second before sprinting back. He almost missed it, he grabbed the bit of wall by the corner as he sailed over it, and crashed back into the building, this time on the ninth floor. He picked himself up, and looked down at the street, seeing people looking up from below that would have been crushed by the falling wall. Worth it.

However, a passing press helicopter, that was probably working on traffic reports, suddenly hovered just above him. His powerful eyes saw the angle pointed straight at him, great. He turned and started running. Time for the usual.

[Atlas]

The green clad man had no way of reaching the rooftop again, and he'd lost the man he'd been searching for all night. Great, just great. He was glad this was happening. Sprinting, he barreled through the wall of the building, and fell into the street below,  nine floors being low enough that he felt pain in his legs, but his decision to bend them prevented them breaking. He took off again, sprinting down an alley and vaulting over a fence. He landed with a thud on the other side and hurried off again. How many reporters are in this city? If there are this many ace reporters, there should be as many superheroes to date them. Or be them. Atlas managed to leap over an entire street filled with cars, and after a few more minutes he managed to find a good hiding spot. He crouched down, and waited it out. If doing something stupid was his new usual, his favorite side would have to be waiting it out. Surprisingly, cops and news people would quickly, stop looking if you double back and forward enough times. He could move far faster off road than any cops, and Ace Reporters in news helicopters weren't typically flown by Ace pilots.

So he merely sat in an alley behind a dumpster, and waited for the sirens to die down enough that he could skulk about the town through the darkness. He wished that he had a pouch to keep his iPod in. He bounced around town, he should have called himself Captain Kangaroo. It was boring, sitting in an alley, burning up in his costume, waiting to make it back to his clothes. He decided it had been enough time, and stood up, ready to take off, when a fuchsia ball of energy rammed down on his head, and all went black.

---

When he woke up, Atlas was face to face with a man in a Red, White, and Blue suit, who said through a thick french accent, "Bonjour, monsiuer Cohen. Welcome to France."

[Atlas]

Atlas was a bit groggy, but he was awake enough that he could tell that his mask was off, meaning that his face was exposed. As he began to regain his senses even further, he noticed that there was another man in the room. He was decked out in red, and looked like a sort of oddly styled martial arts master. He was leaning up against a wall, arms crossed over his chest, looking suitably interested. He was the most gorgeous man that Atlas had ever seen, he looked like if Paul Newman, Carry Grant and Ryan Reynolds had a love child and then forced him through the perfect diet and regiment to make sure that he continued to look like a quality USA grade beefcake. He was so absolutely blonde and so absolutely blue eyed that the Jewish teenager was pretty sure he was looking at Hitler's day dream.

"Did I get kidnapped?" Ajax asked the two men, his head darting back and forth. He'd been close to death in the past few weeks, but this would be his first kidnapping. He would have been flattered if he wasn't seething with rage at the fact that he felt his hands bound behind his chair. He tried to tear them apart, but the bonds wouldn't budge. They must have been built from Titanium or something. "Yes, monsieur Cohen, technically you have been pris. Please do not attempt to separate your hands, I have them bound with energy projection, it relies on my focus. You will not break free, but it will still require strain from me to hold you, and you will not care to see me upset." Ajax's mouth spread in a sarcastic smile. "Oh, well I'd hate to put you out! My apologies. Who are you anyway?"  The man in red snickered, and the other man's face only grew more grim. 

"Je Suis Martel, though my civilian name is Sebastien Drake. I am the premier Superieur Humain of France, and my colleague 'ere," without taking his eyes of of Ajax, the man waved his right hand to indicate at the man in red. "Is Red Belt, but we have agreed that sharing names iz best, and so-" "Marion Grant. My name's Marion Grant. The man spoke with an American accent, and if Ajax had to take a guess the man was probably from Chicago.

"Okay great, so we've all met each other. That's great, I feel like we're all gonna be the bestest friends. Why, if it's not too much trouble to ask, am I f*****g here?" Martel's face actually seemed to lighten a bit at least from what Ajax could see. "Ah, finally. You see, I am one of a pair, I am zi product of a project by zi French government to create a man to deal with zi superieur threats faced by zi people of France. Besides me there was another superieursoldat, Eclater. Two days ago, I discovered a plot by him to tarnish my name, and after my arrest he would become a soldat for zi highest bidder in France. I knew Marion from some time ago and went to him for help. Through my contacts in the United States I learned a great deal about you, Ajax, and judged that you would be the finest candidate for my mission to keep my name clear. Anyone known that iz stronger than you iz either too morally upstanding or lowstanding. I plan to claim my innocence through force under the hood of anonimty, and you will be aiding me."

Ajax looked over at the other man in the room, an utterly befuddled look on his face, and the man answered, "We're going to break into a high security government building and need someone with super strength. That's you."
 

[Atlas]

"Hmm, well that sounds like a lot of fun. But no? Why would I ever do that for someone who kidnapped me?" Red Belt laughed, and looked over at Martel, saying, "I told you, that's a pound." Ajax was shocked when the Frenchman actually smiled at that. "Why do you insist on the use of zi pound over zi euro? Does your education not tell you that zi pound is English currency?" The Aryan Adonis flashed a toothy grin and said, "I insist on our wagers being for a Pound precisely because it's British, and I know how much it bothers that overthinking, patriotic little brain of yours to keep a few pound notes around just in case I win a bet." The men both laughed. "Kidnapping's real funny isn't it?"

Martel sighed. "If you refuse to help, the first thing zat we will do is to reveal your civilian identity to zi world. You will be hounded by zi American government, and likely arrested." Ajax looked up at Martel, who looked back at him in silence for almost fifteen seconds. "Okay," Ajax mumbled. The bull shouldered Frenchman clapped, and suddenly Ajax could move his hands again. The teenager considered making a run at him, trying his luck at knocking his block off, but before he did, the red, white, and blue mask came off, and Ajax now looked at a masked man without the mask, and it was far less intimidating. He had a long narrow nose, brown almond shaped eyes and salt and pepper hair. He looked like a girl's terrifying dad, not a guy who kidnaps you and then blackmails you into aiding him launch an attack on his own government. Hey, looks could be deceiving.

The other man took off his thin ninja turtley headband, and revealed his cheekbones to be ridiculously defined, like they were chiseled by a master sculptor who's goal was to make the most elegant man they could. He then stepped forward, and extended his hand towards the teenager who still sat in the chair. Reluctantly, Ajax took it. "Marion Grant, Red Belt like Bastien said. Former US Air Force, Special Forces. Figure I know a secret about you, you should know one about me. Other than the secret identity I suppose. Power set's weird, kinetic absorption, something hits me and doesn't kill me I can redirect it. What doesn't kill me makes me stronger." As he finished explaining he shipped his mask back on, and Martel threw Ajax's mask onto his lap. "You may put zis on if your identity must be a secret, we're going to meet zi rest of zi team."

Ajax slid his hood back on. Standing up, he followed the men to the door. As Martel slid the door open, Atlas's eyes widened under his mask, there were at least twenty men decked out like soldiers, running around checking crates of equipment and computers.

[Atlas]

The warehouse full of Frenchmen was lit by a few powerful fluorescent lights that ran along the ceiling. The light cast down was one that hung over the gathering of men that now stared at Atlas, some hunched over computers, some rifling through crates. After a moment, Martel threw up a hand and most of the men returned to work, one that did not however, was a tall thin man, smoking a cigarette with the corner of his mouth. He turned away from a massive monitor, and approached the trio of costumed men. He took the cigarette from his mouth with his right hand, and extended his left to Atlas. As the teenager took it, the man said in a terrible American accent, "Howdy, pard'iner." Atlas' mask twisted as his face did beneath it with an expression at disbelief. After placing his smoke back in his mouth, the man flashed him a smile that crushed the bit of the cigarette left between his pearly teeth. In a more natural voice, clearly French, he said, "Julien Leroy, SOC."   After the release of his hand, Atlas lifted it in a flippant manner then said, "I don't want to contribute to the stereotype of Americans that are uninformed in foreign affairs, but I don't know what the SOC is. So I'm sure that you being a part of it is very impressive, but I have no clue."



Julien laughed at that a bit, then said, "Special Operations Command. It is the... organization that coordinates the special forces of France." Atlas nodded. So that was a super soldier, a black ops pilot, and an unspecified French Super Soldier. He felt under qualified. "Atlas, third grade speeling bee runner up." Star Trek Original Series Fan Board Moderator for two years. I'm in charge of this operation now." He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Martel with a stern look in his eyes. The special forces commander smiled and shook his head as he returned to his monitor. From a pocket that Atlas couldn't see, Martel produced his cellphone.



Whispering, the man said, "Before we brief you on the mission, you need to cover our tracks. Call your cousin, and tell him you stayed at your friend Chester's house last night and plan to do so tonight and possibly tomorrow. Atlas unlocked his phone and saw that he had thirteen new messages, and looked back up, saying, "I can just text him?" Martel and Red Belt looked at each other for a moment. "Right, that's an option." "Text him then." As Atlas checked his messages he saw that they were in an odd order. Five from Chester, three from Elliott, two from Juan, one from Rick, another from Powell, and one from Mackenzie a girl from his math class asking him if he was free next weekend. He lowered his phone, and Martel motioned him to follow. he went to stand between Red Belt and Julien at the monitor the special forces commander was manning, and Martel said, "Right, the plan. This," the screen flipped to show a man sailing through the air. "Is Eclater.

[Atlas]

"Eclater was a friend of mine, we ran a few missions alongside each other in zi nineteen nineties, and joined the program zat gifted us with our abilities together. It was about six months ago, and through methods I do not understand, hundreds of tests, drug treatments, exposures to different waves of radiation, and many other attempts to create some'cing spectacular, zey succeeded. I am gifted with zi bility to draw on zi potential energy of objects around me, and to create some'cing of 'hard light constructs' in any shape by zi power of my mind. Eclater was gifted with different abilities, I know not why. His are however based on zi same use of potential energy,  but he cannot form various cings as I can, instead he is able to shoot bolts of harnessed energy, and to from massive wings that enable him to fly. In zi last three months, we have been active on covert missions across Europe, but a week ago, we were told zat we would soon be going public, that is when I received zi uniform you now see. Only a day later, I learned of Eclater's plan to take action against me, and so I now plan to take the same action against him."     Julien typed something in, and the screen showed a building that looked like a cross between a bank and a police station.

"In zis building is zi scientist who led zi project we are on. If Eclater can enact 'iz plan within the next twenty-four hours, the man will be pressured into revealing my identity and claiming that I am a traitor to the French government. And so..." He sighed. "We are going to stage a terrorist attack."

"Oh, well that's fun."

[Atlas]

As the monitor changed again to a different angle of the same building, Julien Spoke, "Using non lethal weaponry, we are going to be attacking the building, and creating what appears to be a lethal attack. This will draw out the majority of the security forces, and make Pari police secure the area, keeping any innocents from being attacked. That is where all of us will come into play." Martel spoke up then, "Zen I will leave, and you two will be in charge of securing zi scientist who created me, while I lay in wait for Eclater who will come as he realizes what is happening. In part, this is why you have been chosen." Everyone looked directly at Atlas.

"What?" "All of us are going to be wearing covert gear zat can make us unidentifiable. Zat serves the purpose of protecting our reputations of course, but also so zat we can pin our actions on other enemies of France and accomplices of Eclater. By having you wiz us, it will make us look less reputable. We needed strength, but your dubious reputation will help our cause." Atlas simply nodded at that. Great, his villainy was now getting him job offers for fake terrorism, maybe some day he'd get called up to the big leagues of real terrorism. Wouldn't that be the day.

The monitor changed again, and showed the direct inside of the building, where there was an odd gate thing that looked like a weird green energy. "This is why Red Belt was a necessity. The gate is made with a typed of energy meant to only knock an intruder unconscious, through it is the panic room where any non-guard staff will go after an alert is called. Red belt will absord as much of the kinetic energy from the gate as he can without collapsing, and after that it should be weak enough that you may break through the gate Atlas. Zen I have no doubt you can rip zi panic room door off and zen rendevous wiz me out behind zi building. We are going to have code designations for each of us. Martel will be Ranuad, I will be Moliere, Red Belt shall be Rouge, and Atlas will be Porthos." Three Musketeers, Hercules of France, not bad. "Any questions?" Atlas raised his hand, and said, "Yeah, a girl texted me asking if I was busy next weekend. What do you guys think? Is she asking me on a date? Or what?" Red belt stifled a laugh, and Julien's grin chomped down on his cigarette, but Martel only sighed.

"We will be making our move in two days." Atlas threw his hand into the air, with a fist raised, he shouted, "Vive la France!" For a moment the room was silent. Then...

"VIVE LA FRANCE!"

Everyone in the room. Even Martel.

[Atlas]

The explosion was high above the city of Paris, and then the order came, "Move in." The purplish energy Martell was capable of making seemed to burst from the guns of the guards firing on their position, and it looked as if the rifles crumbled in their hands. As fast as they could, Atlas and Red Belt sprinted forth, heading into the building, Atlas ramming his shoulder through the iron door. It crashed and he crashed with it, lying on top of it for a few seconds as guards filled the hallway. Springing to his feet, he put himself in front of Red Belt, but no bullets flew. One man shouted something in French, but Atlas couldn't understand him. So he ran forward.

There were five guards, all holding some assault rifle the anti-gun teenager couldn't have identified if he spent a few weeks reading NRA monthly. Three bullets hit him within seconds of each other, one of them bouncing off the A of the covert ops version of his costume he wore today. It tore through the uniform, but only created a cut on his chest, as the other two bullets both hit his arm, one knicking his elbow, the other piercing his bicep, producing a cry of pain. However, he was on top of them quickly, and he grabbed two of their guns and threw the guards against a wall, while Red Belt suddenly soared over his back and landed a kick gainst the captains head. Then, Atlas whirled on the other guard, and said, "Sorry!" as he pushed him against the wall, hoping it sent him into a well earned nap. Red Belt had put down the other guard, and they were on their way. 

Within two minutes, they'd reached the great big energy gate. "Well, do your thing dog."

[Atlas]

The Martial artist slowly approached the gate, a shimmering field of crimson light that stood between the pair and their goal. With a grace of movement that Atlas found foreign, Red Belt lifted his right arm, and for a moment held his fingers a hair's breath from touching the energy before him. Then he spread his fingers, and rammed his hand onto the field.

Beneath the mask, Atlas' eyes widened. Red Belt writhed in pain, howling through gritted teeth. Atlas watched as the gate started to shutter, changing colors as a few coils of red streaked up his arms before seeming to disappear into him. His screams only raised in their pitch, but the martial artist didn't remove his hand instead leaving it flush against what seemed to be killing him. He was about to go to his knees, or fall apart. However, without warning, the man just dropped backwards, and Atlas was forced to scramble and catch him before his head hit the floor. Slowlt, the green clad man placed the slumped pilot against the wall, the turned to face the door himself.

He jumped. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO The pain tore through him, splitting his muscles by the fiber and shaving inches off his bones. Then it was halved in an instant, as Atlas landed on the other side of the door, his body in tact. The pain still ringing across his body, Atlas turned, and to his great displeasure saw the door still shining. It was supposed to stop working by this point. He was supposed to be able to bring Red Belt with him. Well .