General Waylon Flagg frowned as he heard the small chirp.
The chirp continued, and it worried him.
He was not that worried about Winter. Amazon was all bluster. Always had been. Even when the fingers pointed right at D.C. when her witless activist of a husband had been silenced, she had eventually backed down. The right warnings, and the right threats aimed at her children, had shut her up.
They would again.
The chirping sounded, and he scowled more darkly.
No, Winter didn't worry him.
Not that Winter, at least.
The youngest one, though. She wasn't manifesting Amazonian might. She was now apparently manifesting Kryptonian might. Certain rumors, he knew now, were obviously far more credible than some of his peers realized.
That worried him.
It proved all those theories were wrong. It proved the alien could reproduce. And obviously had. Who knew how many of his overly powerful spawn were out there, corrupting the world, and interfering with human history?
The chirping was dangerously close to annoying him now, and he pulled over, and climbed out of the car to search for the source. He finally found a small case in the back of his car. The same case that held the primary DNA samples for the meta research he had salvaged before Janus went under.
Failsafe was not dead.
Even better, among those primary samples, he now had hers. The youngest Winter herself would soon yield all her secrets to his researchers, and then their next prototype truly would be unstoppable. He would just ensure that no idiots marred its programming next time.
He would do it himself, if necessary.
Pulling open the case, he frowned as he noted the case was empty. Except for the overly loud cell phone chirping insistently. Scowling all the more, he noted the screen was blank, and had a shiver of anxiety as he picked it up, and answered.
"So, what? Expecting a salute," an insolent voice demanded.
"Target," he growled. "Where are my samples?"
"Funny you should ask. Someone canceled my last payment. Right before I was betrayed."
"Don't talk to me of betrayal, you slimy bastard! I know you helped expose Failsafe, and Janus!"
"You shouldn't have killed my wife," he shot back. "Or targeted my daughter."
"Your….wife? You'll have to be specific. A lot of sacrifices have been made. And will be made. I won't apologize….."
"I don't expect an apology. Not from a hypocritical back-stabber like you, Waylon. No, I thought, for old time's sake, I'd give you a warning."
"Warning? Listen, you over-hyped hitman….."
"Careful, Waylon. I know where your family lives. Be a shame if your family had a sudden….accident. Wouldn't it?"
"You touch my family, and I'll…!"
"What? Send your agents for me? Good luck. Besides, it isn't me you have to worry about, Flagg. Being a…..sentimental sort, I sent a complete dossier of your work, past and present, to a friend of ours. You know her, I think. Wears black. Has an attitude. Works for the NSA, when she feels like it."
Waylon felt his heart thud as his hand tightened on the phone.
"I'd start running if I were you, soldier. I'd start running right now."
"I won't be blackmailed…."
"Blackmail? You do realize that you targeted her mother, and sister? That you murdered her father? Trust me, Tala, or Fang, that vicious little bitch is coming for you. Soon. Just thought I'd add to your ulcers," Target chortled softly over the line. "Tah!"
Waylon Flagg hissed as the line went dead.
That bastard had just confirmed a key piece of Intel no one had ever been able to confirm before now. The infamous, some said bloodthirsty vigilante Fang, was actually Tala Winter. Well, she wouldn't have time to come for him. He'd strike first.
He thumbed the phone, and realized there was no dial tone.
Rushing back to the driver's door, he scrambled for his own phone in his discarded jacket. Even as he was pulling it out, he heard something rustling just overhead, and looked up to see a black shape with long, gleaming claws coming right at him.
Then he didn't know anything at all.
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