Issue Number Nine
"The Nosferatu Sanction
Written by Travis Hiltz

Last issue: Was pretty much all about Big Ben, but there was this little bit at the end where Nigel ( Firedrake) Smalls found himself face to face with an eight foot tall, blue muck monster...

My name is Dennis Hoag, and I used to be a cop. To be honest, not a very good one. I was more than willing to pad my vacation fund by passing along tips to fellas with ‘alleged’ ties to organized crime. My going rates for looking the other way were pretty reasonable too. Unfortunately, I still held on to a few morals. Which is how I ended up beaten, shot and dumped in a vat of industrial chemicals.

In most cases, that would have been the end of the story. A tragedy, not worthy of more than page five in the papers. Instead, I ended up changed into a huge, slime-covered monster, with an annoying speech impediment and a tendency to cause anybody that I came in contact with’s, skin to melt. Even got a catchy nickname, ‘Sludge’. Thank you, Weekly World News.

Due to a series of events weird, by even my standards, I tangled with a guy that had a pumpkin for a head and ended up dumped down a hole in reality. I eventually landed on an Earth very different from the one I called home. On top of that, instead of the comfy sewers of New York, that I’m used to, I ended up in a subway tunnel under London.

Then things got strange...

Sludge peered done at the skinny, black man, with the dreadlocks, standing in front of him. He wondered how much bigger the guys eyes could get before they popped.

“I said,” The muck monster said. “You sea a guy ,with a melted hand, go running by?”

“Ummmm,” the other guy replied.

“Thought so. Well, thanks amway... anyway... damnit ... gotta go.”

“Hold it! You aren’t going anywhere!” The skinny guy announced, reaching into the pocket of his overcoat. He pulled out his lighter and flicked it until it sparked.

“Just step back, Blue boy,” he said. “You are dealing with a super hero now.”

“Uh-huh,” Sludge muttered. “ Zippo lad?”

“That’s gonna cost ya,” the black man snapped and held out his other hand. The lighter’s tiny flamed gysered, till it was roughly three feet high. It curved, flowing towards Nigel’s empty hand. Several seconds later, he was holding a sphere of flame, the size of a basketball. “People always cop an attitude when they don’t see a cape. Catch!”

“Um... can we tuck bout this?” Sludge asked, as the ball of fire came flying at him. It it hit him in the chest and the top layer of slime ignited. The man-monster tumbled backwards, down the maintenance tunnel he’d emerged from.

“Gaghhh! Damnit!” Sludge exclaimed, trying to beat the flames out, as he fell.

There was a wet thud as he hit the concrete floor. Nigel Smalls held his lighter up, like a torch and followed. “Okay, Frankenstein, hands up. Anymore trouble and I’ll char you like a kebob... hey, what’s all this stuff...?”

The maintenance tunnel extended for a couple yards then ended in a small, square, concrete room. Newspapers, spent bullet casings, and a couple dozen crumpled fifty dollar bills were scattered around the grimy floor. There were splatters on one wall that looked like blood.

“What were you up to in here...?” Nigel muttered, looking around.

“Wasn’t me, Pyroman,” Sludge said, from where he lay on the floor. “ That’s what I was tying to tell you. Trying... I was trying to...”

“Yeah, I get it,” Nigel said, walking over to the blue creature. There was another fireball in his hand. “Why don’t you sit up, slow and easy, and tell me again.”

“There were too guys in here,” Sludge said, sitting up, leaning against a wall. “Tall, pail one and the one who ran outta here. They were up to something. I heard them arguing. They were pretty startled to see me...”

“No kidding.”

“You wanna tell this story?” Sludge snapped. “ So, the shorter guy shuts at me and then, the pale guy bit me on the neck.”

“Bit you?” Nigel asked.

“Yeah, bit me,” Sludge replied, tapping at the side of his slime-covered neck. “Right bout... hey...?! The monster reached into the ooze, on his neck and pulled something out.

“What?” Nigel said, moving closer.

“This,” Sludge said, holding out his hand, palm upwards. Resting in the blue goo was a tooth, sharp and ivory white.

‘Oh shitte,” Nigel muttered. “Tha’s a fang.”

“Fang?”

“Yeah, as in the thing vampires bit you on the neck with,” Nigel explained. “Vampires, why’d it have to be vampires?”

“Vampires, really? Don’t think I’ve ever tangled with a vampire.”

“You ain’t missing much, mate,” Nigel said, looking around the room. “So, since you seem to be the innocent bystander, what the hell was going on down here?”

“Some kind of deal going down , is my guess,” Sludge told him.

“A deal? You sayin we got drug dealing vampires?”

“Look, I used to be a cop...”

“A cop?!” Nigel exclaimed. “You? Must have had a desk job.”

“Shaddup. I wasn’t born lookin like this. Anyway, I was a cop long enough to know a deal when I see one. If they weren’t in on something together, why’d they both attack me? The guy didn’t pull his gun till I showed up. Maybe he was dealing to the vampire?”

“Black market blood bank?” Nigel muttered. “ I dunno...?”

“I’m just telling what I saw,” Sludge said, idly looking around. He picked up a discarded newspaper and began to flip through it. “Believe what you want...”

“Not saying you’re making this up,” Nigel told him, “ Enough stuff here that seems out of whack, but what...?”

“How about a hut?” Sludge asked, not looking up from the newspaper.

“What?” Nigel said.

“Huh? Did I say... %$#@! ... a hit. Maybe this was a meeting to arrange a hit?”

“Could be,” Nigel shrugged. “I dunno. Who would they be after?”

“How bout this guy?” The man-monster held out the newspaper.

Nigel took the paper and read the article with the moist, blue thumbprint on it. He then glanced up at Sludge, wide-eyed.

“Are you serious?! You think some guy has hired a vampire to kill the PM?!”

“Look, I’m the new guy on the block here, but it sounds like there are alot of problems, between the ‘normal’ people and the supernatural types.”

“Well, yeah... some, but...”

“And this makes it sound like your Prime Minister is looking to crack down on magic types”Sludge said, tapping at the paper again. “ Registrations, new laws etc.”

“Oh boy,” Nigel said, slumping onto a crate. “ But, if a vampire tries to kill the PM, that’ll just make it worse... won’t it?”

“Not if he’s not doing the hit.” Sludge suggested.

“Oh come on! Now, you’re saying the vampire was hiring a hitman? Are you making this more complicated on purpose?”

“I’m just saying,” Sludge said. “ that it’s possible. It could’ve been that way. That guy in the suit was pretty good with the gun.”

“Okay, okay. So, what do we do now, Constable Muck?”

“How come I’m the one in charge?”

“You’re the cop. I’m just a musical genius that hangs out with super heroes.”

“We know who to look for,” Sludge muttered, rubbing at his slime coated chin. “ So, if we figure out where and when...?”

“I saw something on the TV about some rally,” Nigel said. “Big open-air event. The PM’s supposed to give a speech, with a bunch of other suits.”

“This gets worse by the minute,” Sludge muttered. “Maybe if we...”

“Bloody hell!” Nigel snapped, suddenly up and heading for the door.

“What the...?”

“My guitar! My stuff! I left it up there. Shitte! If somebody’s nicked my stuff, I’ll...!”

His rant faded as he headed back up to the subway platform.

Sludge rolled his eyes and went back to reading the paper, hoping that next time he got flung across space he could hook up with somebody sane.

Meanwhile, on the coast of Scotland...

Miracle man, one of England’s premiere super heroes sat on a pile of unconscious Kree warriors. One sleeve of his blue body suit was torn and the left side of his face was one, big bruise. He sighed and fidgeted with the broken piece of an alien battle staff he held. It occasionally sparked.

“This is getting old, very quickly,” he muttered.

Down the beach, from Miracle man, was a battered, metal sphere, embedded in the sand. A tall, thin man, with spiky brown hair and wearing a blue suit that was last in style in 1989, paced around the sphere. He was talking on his cellphone. Clicking it shut, he strolled up to Miracle man and the pile of aliens.

“Well, good news is that the other sphere contained some blobby creature that wasn’t used to our gravity. All it took to capture it was a soldier with a shovel and a bucket. Michael is sending a containment unit to gather this lot.”

“Is there bad news?” Miracle man asked, standing up.

“Two more sphere sightings.”

“I’m tempted to get myself a real job,” Miracle man grumbled*

( MM was hired by W.H.O. as a ‘trouble shooter- Trav)

“Get in line, mate,” Gabriel said. “We need to figure out what’s causing this. We can’t keep just reacting.”

“True,” Miracle man said. “This running around the country doesn't seem to be getting us anywhere. We need to trace the aliens back to their source.”

One of the Kree’s groaned and struggled to raise his head. Gabriel pulled his pistol from an inside, coat pocket, struck the alien across the temple.

“Waste of a university education, this is,” he muttered.

Miracle man nodded and began taking the belts off the Kree’s uniforms and using them to bound their hands. He wasn’t in the mood for anymore fighting while they waited for backup.

Back in London, Nigel had retrieved his guitar. Though, someone had emptied out the cloth cap he used as a ‘tips jar’, while he played in the tube station.

“Bet this never happens to Captain Britain,” he grumbled, once he’d rejoined Sludge. He was pacing around the small room, dialing his cellphone. The first thing he and Sludge had decided was that they were in over their heads and needed to call in the professionals. So, far they weren’t having much luck.

“Christ, doesn’t anybody stay home?” Nigel muttered, trying another number.

“Nobody?” Sludge asked.

“Shitte all,” Nigel replied. “ Miracle man’s outta the country, Steed’s office says he went home sick, and nobody’s answering at either of the Pendragon’s numbers. Though one of them is on a magic island. Can’t imagine you get good reception there.”*

( We just saw what’s keeping MM busy, Steed is Patrick Steed, secret ID of Big Ben. Read last issue to see what he’s up to, and Barry keeps the Pendragons so busy that they could be anywhere right now-trav)

“So, it’s us,” Sludge muttered.

“Pretty much, until somebody calls me back. What now?”

“We need to get where this... speech thing is gonna happen.”

“Great, I’ll hail us a cab,” Nigel said, sarcastically. “ You leave here and they’ll be police on us in five minutes and I doubt telling them what’s going on will make things better.”

“You’re a souper hero,” Sludge told him. “ The cops’ll listen two you.”

“No they won’t! I hang out with some super heroes. Not the same thing. The Cops don’t know me from Lenny Henry. The girl at the W.H.O. switchboard barely tolerated me. It’s not like we’d gotten around to printing up ID cards.”

“We’re screwed.” Sludge muttered.

“Just means it’s up to us to save the PM,” Nigel said.

“We’re screwed.”

“Whiney berk, aren’t you. Look, I can hop a train over to the rally . We just need a way to get you there, without being seen....”

You got a map?” Sludge asked.

“Uh... think so,” Nigel replied, patting his coat pockets. “Yeah, here it is, bought it when I played a gig up north. What’s up?”

“If you tell me where this rally’s gonna bee,” Sludge explained. “I can probably find a way there, through the sewers. I’ve had some practice getting round that way.”

“That’d work,” Nigel said, unfolding the map and handing it to the muck monster. “Okay, this is where we are and you wanna be ... here. The speech’s gonna be in front of some government building, on the square.”

“What time? How long have I get to got there?”

“Couple hours. It ain’t till five... oh man...!”

“What now?”

“It’ll be dusk, when the PM starts talking. I was thinkin’ we’d only have to worry bout the guy with the gun...”

“There might be umpires.” Sludge nodded. “Man, it’s been nothing but fun, since I met you. Here’s what we gotta do...”

The sun dipped behind the clouds, giving the sky a reddish tinge. Reporters and security personnel were set up, around the steps of the building, where the Prime Minister was scheduled to speak. A crowd had gathered, but with the speech, still a half hour away, the square was only half full. Nigel paced around, at the far end of the square. He’d spent another hour, making calls to any and all members of the super hero community he could think of, with little success.

“Any other time, I’d be knee deep in spandex,” Nigel muttered. “But, when you need one....” He glanced around nervously. There’d been no sign of Sludge and Nigel was having some serious doubts that the muck monster would arrive in time, leaving him to save the day. “What am I gonna do? Never shoulda trusted him. Guy looks like he’s covered in snot... probably one of them aliens MM’s been fighting. Okay, deep breaths... gagghh!”

As Nigel walked past a sewer grate a hand reached out and touched his ankle.

“Hey, Chatty Cathy,” Sludge whispered. “Down here.”

Nigel knelt down, pretending to tie his sneakers, “Iffin, I’d had a heart attack, you would’ve had to saved the day on your own,“ He said.

“All Brit super heroes this whiney?” Sludge asked. “Look, there’s an opening near the building. I’ll keep an eye on the crowd, from there. You gotta worry bout slippers.”

“What?”

“Snipers... $%^&!... the gun man might not be in the crowd. Can you get above the square, a rooftop or something?”

“Um... guess so... but...?”

A security guard came strolling by and Nigel stood up quickly, and smiled in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner. The guard gave him a look, but kept going. Nigel peered up at the rooftops and jogged towards the tallest building.

Sludge made his way, below the square, trudging through knee deep, grey water. The tunnel was dimly lit. With every step, Sludge caused a small wave, which in turn, mixed with the weak light to create even more odd and threatening looking shadows. He kept glancing around, at every movement, convinced he wasn’t alone in the tunnel.
Unfortunately, he was right.

“What have we here, brothers?” A voice. like velvet, murmured from the shadows. “A troll, perhaps?

Sludge froze and listened to the droll chuckles coming from all around him. He was hoping it only sounded like a large crowd, because of an echo, but his hopes weren’t high.

“Looks more like an ogre, to me,” a voice said.

“Whatever it chooses to call itself, it has no business here.”
“That snow?” Sludge said. “I don’t see a ‘reserved seating’ sign anywhere? Why don’t you go be melodramatic elsewhere.”
“Much too articulate for an ogre,” One of the voices suggested. “I think it may be the same creature that attacked Malcolm.”
“Oh boy,” Sludge muttered. “Should’ve seen this coming.”
They stepped out of the shadows, a good dozen, fashionably dressed youths. All barring needle pointed canines and with eyes that gleamed ruby red in the dim light.

Back above ground, Nigel opened the door and stumbled onto the gravel strewn rooftop.

“Whu...why would you ( huff) have a building ... eight stories and ... only have the elevator go to five? Just ... cruel, you ask me...” He muttered, breathlessly, looking around.

The rooftop was empty, except for him and several pigeons. Nigel walked over to the edge and scanned the other buildings enclosing the square. The crowd below was starting to grow and there were now several official looking suits at the podium.

“Smeg,” Nigel muttered. “If I was a assassin, where would I be...?” He then spotted a huddled figure, with a large tote bag on another roof. It was only two buildings away. Unfortunately, it was at least a story shorter than the building Nigel was on, then he’d have to cross a roof and jump an alley. “Why me? The one guy on the team that can’t fly!”

He looked, desperately, for a fire escape or a ladder to get him down, but soon realized there wasn’t one. Nigel frowned disgustedly and jumped. He landed, on the gravel, on all fours. He then rolled over, onto his side and blew on his scratched hands. He lay still for several moments, trying to figure out if he’d broken anything, than to listen in case the gunman heard the crash of his less than graceful landing.

“Christ, that hurt,” Nigel muttered, wincing as he tried to sit up. “Can’t believe guys like Union Jack do this kind of shitte daily.” He stumbled to the edge of the roof and peered over to the next building. Last time, he’d seen the gun man, he’d been running with a look of sheer panic on his face. Nigel thought it was the same guy. Either way, the hi-tech looking gun, he had cradled in his lap made it pretty clear that Sludge’s theory had been correct. It seemed odd to Nigel that even with the gun, the guy still looked like an accountant. Just a heavily armed accountant.

Nigel fished his lighter out of his pocket and looked over the gap between buildings, he now had to jump, before the PM’s speech started. He’d thought about staying where he was and just shooting a fireball across the way, but at distances, his aim wasn’t all it could be. The last thing Nigel wanted was a heavily armed and only slightly scorched killer coming after him. He’d need some kind of distraction.

Luckily, that was when the ground cracked open and Sludge, along with a couple dozen angry vampires came bursting out...

These vampires were obviously friends of the one Sludge had encountered in the subway tunnel. They avoided trying to bite the muck monster and settled for slashing at them with their claw-like fingernails. It also helped that they seemed immune to the skin melting quality of Sludge’s skin.

“Get off me!” Sludge grunted, swatting away a half dozen vampires. Six more rushed in to take their place. They managed to push Sludge back till he banged his head against the tunnel wall. Dozens of talons raked his chest and shoulders. Purple fluid, that served Sludge in place of blood, flowed from the wounds. Wincing in pain, Sludge lashed out angrily, forcing the vampires back.

Sludge had a strength advantage but the vampires had him outnumbered and were agile enough to avoid most of his punches. He was able to push the vampires back, but knew they’d eventually wear him down. Much, to his annoyance, he was up against a problem he couldn’t muscle his way out of. He’d have to outthink the vampires. Not easy with a brain addled by chemical wastes and inter-dimensional travel.

Sludge closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths. He could still feel the slash of the vampire’s claws and their jeering laughter. He realized that the wounds were more irritating than crippling and the vampires, while dangerous had come, not to attack, but as spectators. They were the supernatural equivalent of drunk, rowdy sports fans. Just, instead of flipping over cars and throwing bottles, they were celebrating by trying to kill someone.

Holding his slime covered arms in front of his face, Sludge charged into the vampires, knocking them about, like bowling pins. A couple leapt onto his shoulders and this allowed him to grab them. He opened his eyes and began to use the hapless vampires as makeshift clubs on the others.

“Come on, you Dracula wannabes!” He roared. “Show me who’s bus! Boss! Show me who’s... %^& ah, forget it.”

The vampires grouped together, in preparation for a mass attack on the muck monster. Which was what Sludge was hoping for. He dropped his ‘weapons’ and lunged forward, scooping up most of the vampires in an enormous bear hug. He then leapt up onto the ledge that ran along the wall of the sewer tunnel. From there, he le

apt upwards, breaking through the ceiling and dragging the vampires along with him, up into the square above.

When Sludge and the vampires came erupting up through the ground, the crowd immediately panicked. Spectators fled, reporters tried to get the best view and security began hustling the various dignitaries to shelter. Even though England is known for it’s grey, raining days, this wasn’t one of them. The vampires screeched as the last bits of the day’s sunlight scorched their flesh. Their yells of pain added to the general chaos in the square.

“I think that counts as a distraction,” Nigel muttered and leapt across the alleyway to the other roof.

The gunman had been intently watching the scene below, only to have his attention grabbed by a fist to his jaw.

Hah!” Nigel announced, triumphantly as he struck the gun man. “Take that, you smeg!”

The hired assassin, unphased by the blow, swung back, catching Nigel in the stomach with the butt of his gun. The Firedrake staggered backwards, nursing both his injured knuckles and gut. He fumbled around, trying to get his lighter lit.

The gunman jumped to his feet and snapped his rifle up to his shoulder. His first shot grazed Nigel’s ribs, and sent him spinning around.

“This... always looks easier... when MM does it,” Nigel muttered, dodging out of the way of other shots. The gun fired, instead of bullets, pulses of energy. The next shot caught Nigel’s shoulder. He gasped in pain, and dropped his lighter onto the gravel. He then fell to his knees. The gun man leaned his gun across his shoulder and casually walked towards the fallen hero.

“I know you,” he drawled. While he still looked to Nigel like an accountant, his voice had the steel of ahardened killer. “You were... at the tube station... curious.”

He adjusted the setting on his gun and took another bead on Nigel’s head. Nigel lurched forward and made a clumsy tackle of the other man. Both men tumbled to the ground. Nigel grabbed for the gun. The gun man grabbed hold of Nigel’s dreadlocks and yanked the hero off him. Nigel flung the gun away from him, so that it tumbled over the edge of the roof. Nigel than dove for his lighter.

A boot toe to his temple dropped Nigel. The gunman casually strolled over and picked up the lighter. He looked from the lighter to Nigel and back again.

“Very curious.” The gunman muttered. “ What ‘s so special about this, that you would throw away a gun...?”

“Ya... wouldna believe me... if I told ya...,” Nigel gasped, struggling to get up.

“Probably not,” The gun man replied. He idly flicked at the lighter, raising a spark.

Nigel smiled with through, bleeding lips and pointed a shaky finger at the lighter. The spark flared, until it grew to the size of a softball. It then rolled down the sleeve of the startled assassin, setting the jacket fabric aflame as it went. He staggered backwards, slapping at the flames with his other, gloved, hand.

Nigel climbed to his feet and ran forward several steps and made another attempt at punching the gunman out. Distracted as he was by the flames, this blow caught him completely off-guard. The gunman stumbled back, until he hit the low wall that rimmed the edge of the roof. It struck him behind the knees and he began to tumble backwards.
Nigel, while not too heartbroken at the idea of the killer landing headfirst on the concrete, had a vague thought that super heroes were supposed to be above that kind of petty emotion. He reached out to pull the gunman back. Unfortunately, the assassin was much heavier than the skinny street musician and both men plummeted off the roof, towards the street, eight stories, below.

At the first scorching blast of sunlight, most of the vampires made a mad dash for any available patch of shadow or shelter. Several of them ended up as piles of ash, but most scrambled away, shouting various promises of revenge at the muck monster.

Sludge breathed a sigh of relief. Then realized he was still surrounded by numerous reporters and heavily armed security guards. Those that weren’t threatening to shoot him, if he didn’t put his hands behind his head and/ or lie down upon the ground immediately, were asking if he was a troll protesting the PM’s new crackdown polices on the supernatural community.

“If I ever get my hands on that skinny little...” he muttered, before glancing upwards and noticing his wish was about to come true. Nigel, along with a bald guy in a business suit was falling towards him. The bald guy seemed to be unconscious, not to mention on fire, while Nigel was yelling. Sludge quickly yanked the overcoats off the two nearest reporters and trying to ignore the numerous guns being fired at him, quickly wrapped the coats around his hands. He raced over to where Nigel and the gunman were going to land. The force of the collision was enough to send Sludge to his knees.

“Christ! I’m alive!” Nigel shouted, looking around, dazed.

Sludge dumped the gunman on the ground, and still holding Nigel, leapt for the hole in the ground.

Later that night...

Miracle man landed on the balcony of the luxury penthouse that served as HQ to the Miracles Inc. team, and walked into the living room. He yawned, exhausted after a hard day of alien fighting. The TV was on, some news story about a riot at a press conference.Nigel was sprawled on the couch. He wore a ratty blue bathrobe and was holding a packet of frozen peas to his lower jaw.

“Wha’s happenin’, MM?” He muttered, sleepily.

“Busy day. I ...?! What happened to you?”

Nigel’s face was bruised, and his right hand was wrapped in bandages.

“Long story,” Nigel replied, rolling over, so his back was to Miracle man. “Tell...ya... bout it in the...” The rest of the sentence faded into snores.

“Huh, never boring round here,” Miracle man said, walking down the hall, towards his bedroom. He stopped, noticed Nigel had left the light on in the bathroom and casually reached around the door frame to switch it off.

“Hey!” A voice like someone trying to talk and gargle at the same time yelled. “You mind? I’m trying to read in hear!”

Puzzled, Miracle man poked his head into the bathroom and flicked the switch back on. There was a creature, coated in blue slime, lying in the bathtub, reading an Elmore Leonard paperback.

“What the hell...?!”

“You the other super hero, that leaves here?” Sludge asked.

“Uh... yeah... Who...?”

“I’m a friend of Nigel’s. We fought these...”

“On second thought,” Miracle man interrupted. “I don’t want to know. I can wait till morning.”

Elsewhere...

The vampire entered the dark room and bowed before the man at the desk.

“The assassin failed, Malcolm. That creature showed up again.”

The vampire at the desk steepled his hands together, thoughtfully. One of his fangs was broken off and there was a grayish tinge to his skin. While the vampires seemed immune to Sludge’s touch, it appeared drinking, what passed for, his blood had an unhealthy effect on them.

“We will deal with this creature,” Malcolm hissed. “and these ‘ Miracles’ that have taken him in... “

Next issue: Miracle man vs Big Ben?

Author’s note:
First, the obligatory part where I apologize for this issue being so late. (ahem) I’m sorry this issue is so late.

Hope everybody enjoyed my little tribute to cheesy summer buddy, action movies and I promise to try and get Miracles out on a more reasonable schedule.

Sludge is my favorite of the Ultraverse characters, so when Barry started bringing some Ultras into the Pendragonverse, I very quickly decided I had to get Sludge before anybody else dibbed him. Not that there was a huge line. He will be joining the loose ensemble that is Miracles Inc., as well as, hopefully, having a solo story or two over in Spotlight.

Before anyone e-mails me complaining about all the typos in Sludge’s dialogue: he’s supposed to talk like that. Along with changing his body, the chemicals left him with a mild form of brain damage.