Fan Fiction ❯ Red X, in...Punked ❯ Prologues ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I would just copy and paste one of my old ones, but it wouldn't really do this part justice. To start with, I don't own any of the characters, though some of the bad jokes could be mine. And big thanks to CloudsHalo, who offered to let me use his identity for Red X, Kale Riley. This doesn't mean this story is linked to his, though some could see it that way. Also, no offense meant to Billy Idol, whom the other character in this story, Punk Rocket, is based on. I didn't make Rocket, but I find him fairly offensive, and so I just wanted to say that in case any one complains about it, I have no issues with Billy Idol. I actually hope everyone who reads those won't hate it :P

 

 

A/N: Some of this part may seem a little weak, but some of the elements present here aren't actually going to be here for the full fic, if my interest isn't in it. The title itself may also get changed at times.

 

 

~The First Prologue~

 

It had been several weeks since the odd request came to the scientists and workers at a hidden weapons plant. It seemed to be from their boss, because it had all the proper authorizations and codes with it, but the system itself seemed a bit too unstable for manufacture on a wider scale. Not that this stopped the men and women as they started work on it, using specifics provided to them via encoded transmissions from an as-yet unidentified source.

 

And now, finally, the weapon system was almost completed, the prototype waiting on one of the many maintenance benches awaiting its last component…the fuel source. The system was made to be powered by only one thing - an ore of an unstable element known as Synothium. The material itself was highly reactive, and if jostled too much could combust, but not very explosively. It was also made to assume a variety of forms, and this system used a somewhat refined liquid state of the element.

 

However, the only thing in the way now was the fact that all the usual supplies for Synothium had long dried up, and the largest of the supplies, a man named Professor Chang, had been sent to prison along with all of his henchmen, and the company that kept a large supply had gone all but bankrupt after a successful robbery that left their security system ruined. This was partly the fault of a member of the Teen Titans, Robin, and the thief himself, Red X.

 

Of course, had any of the workers stopped to really consider what they were making, and the facts of this case, perhaps they would've gotten rid of the system before they obtained the fuel source. However, since they were under strict orders to finish it, and that was what they were going to do. So in order to make their money, they had to spend their boss' money.

 

A few hundred thousand a vial got them the Synothium supply they required, and finally, after what seemed like forever, they quickly poured it into the system, where it was converted into the energy that powered the unit. The rest of the supply was placed in a crate, along with the weapon, to be sent out to a certain discreet warehouse in the docks area of the city.

 

That night, a lot of scientists went home thinking they did a good job. What they didn't know was that this system wasn't going to be mass produced after it was tested…it was going to be the second of its kind, the first locked away in a secure vault with a nearly used up power core.

 

 

*****

 

 

It was after hours, and the guard shift was just changing. The crate was left in the back of the warehouse, awaiting pick-up…but it never would, or at least the contents wouldn't.

 

A dark shadowy figure was prowling around outside, heading for the back door with a small pouch in one hand. When it got the door the figure got on its knees and took a small lockpick set out of the pouch, and set to work on the door's lock, grumbling as the first one broke off for a moment. So then the figure smacked its gloved hand on the lock repeatedly, until the door finally opened. With a loud, somewhat distorted sigh, it stood up and pushed the door open, then walked inside.

 

“Another day, another annoying job to pull,” the strangely-mechanical sounding voice came again as the figure moved between crates and shadows, creeping towards the special crate in the back, picking up a crowbar as it went, and twirled it around. “So, here we are….now, come to poppa, precious….” It slammed the crowbar down under the lid, and used its weight as leverage to pop the top off, rather noisily at that. “Ah ha…there you are….” It reached into the crate, and pulled out a black case with a small note on it, and popped that open, and pulled out the weapon system…which happened to be a belt. The figure put the belt on, then fished around inside, yanking out the Synothium containment unit.

That was when the lights suddenly came on, and several automatic weapons were leveled at the figure…who turned out to be wearing a mostly black costume with a skull-faced mask with a red x mark that went through the right eye, and another x on the chest, and a tattered black/grey cape. It raised a grey hand, and shielded its eyes, mumbling something under its breath.

 

The weapons clicked as the triggers were pulled, then the bullets started flying, but the shadow form suddenly faded away with a pffft of air, the projectiles tearing into the crate and ricocheting off the walls.

 

About three meters up, on a catwalk, the thief grinned under the mask, and took off running, until it reached a wall. Then, with another soft mutter, it blinked out of sight again, and out of the building.

 

 

~The Second Prologue~

 

It was the next day, bright and early, when at the prison, one of the less-than-illustrious inmates was getting released back out into society, no matter how badly they deserved to stay in jail.

 

The young man in question had a bad complexion, a mild case of acne, and peroxide hair that stuck up wildly, like some kind of 80s punk rocker act. In point of fact, this kid was obsessed with that particular musical genre, and it was reflected in his name and look. He was known as Punk Rocket, and he was clad in what looked like an orange body suit with no sleeves and an oversized zipper, a pair of spiked wristbands, heavy black boots, and a guitar hanging from his back. The guitar itself was one that he'd been given on his release, his original kept as evidence, as it possessed some points of interest to the authorities.

 

He wore a sour-looking scowl, and had his hands in his pockets as he walked outside, his eyes narrowing and a hand automatically rising to cover his eyes from the brightness of the Sun. His scowl only deepened as he walked out, and stepped onto the bus that was waiting for him, to return him to the city proper. He muttered to himself when he heard the bus' musical preferences, a kind of slow dance-type music, which of course had a very unpleasant affect on his already-lousy mood.

 

“Ruddy Titans….I'll get them, one o' these days…” he growled to himself in a thickly accented voice, one fist clenching and unclenching with anger, both at his current state, and his rather humiliating defeat at the hands of Beast Boy. “Tricked into shorting out me own guitar….that snot-looking wanker….”

 

It was on that rather pleasant note that the bus started up, and took him out of view of the prison.

 

 

*****

 

 

It was some hours later, and in what looked like the back of a guitar shop that Punk Rocket was reassembling the sonic waveform device that his old guitar had used. The device used very sensitive circuits, and could only handle so much volume, not a problem at normal settings, but at the higher frequencies, like with a hundred or so amplifiers and at a setting of ten, it would short out after a few minutes of continuous play.

 

It took him a while to finish it, of course, but when he had, he picked it up, then gave it a little strum, watching with supreme satisfaction as it shattered a mirror he had set up across the room. “Well, it's about bloody time!” he grinned, slipping the shoulder strap on and spinning it around his waist a little. “Everythin' is in workin' order again…”

 

With all his preparations ready, Punk Rocket tightened the strap, and nodded, turning to leave the room, and picking up a newspaper along the way, sitting down on a really ratty looking couch and reading it intently. “Now then…let's see where I can do my thing today…..” he mused quietly, occasionally tapping his fingers on his guitar as he thought out loud. “It's gotta be somewhere that everyone can see me, and where I can get my revenge….'ey, that's perfect!”

He started cackling, and clapped his hands together, an excited grin on his face.