Hiding

Still broke, still don’t own much, and nothing Marvel does. Bummer.
Thanks again to Magnus for his fabulous ideas and for putting up with my whining.

A few days earlier…..

A rickety van drove along a bumpy dirt road, surrounded by tall and bizarre sculptures made of glass, metal, wood, and apparently anything that their creator found on the ground. “Church Bus” was emblazoned along the side of the van and there were fourteen passengers on board. They had been driving for hours from their compound, and had finally entered a valley of sorts when the scenery became distinctly different. Two of the passengers, sitting in the back of the van looked out at the sculptures and one of the men, a young blond named Alan who was about twenty years old gestured at their leader, a man sitting in the front seat next to the driver.

“What the hell are these things? This is the answer to our problems? Some found materials sculptor would rejuvenate our revolution? We’re trusting our revolution to a junkman?” he whispered to his seatmate. He’d joined up with this group about four months ago, disillusioned with college and wanting to shock his parents and the establishment. So far it’d been immensely boring, with tons of speeches about some Devil and how the Catholic church was evil and how nts nts were part of this whole evil, and so on and so on. He’d joined up thinking, ok, commune, free sex, probably some drugs, maybe some menial yard work and boring lectures but lots of nubile young girls who can’t think for themselves. He figured someday he’d write a book about it or something, that is, if he didn’t die of boredom first. The Father, as he was called, was the one who gave all the speeches, and also the only one who got to have sex with the nubile young girls who couldn’t think for themselves. He hoped they did something interesting soon.

“The Father says this is the man who will get us what we want. This is the man who’ll be able to bring us the devil so that we can right what was wronged. Why? Do you doubt the Father?” the second man asked, his voice raising. The others in the van turned and stared at Alan.

“Of course I don’t doubt the Father! How dare you imply such a thing?” The blond tried to appear indignant, but his shaking voice gave him away. Suddenly everyone was looking at him with very strange expressions. Maybe this cult thing was a bad idea. The van pulled to a stop and their leader, the man they all called the Father rose from his seat. As he walked by the others in the van, they all dropped to their knees and bowed their heads.

A tall man, with brown hair and brown eyes and a deceptively warm looking countenance smiled down at the young man and his seatmate.

“Brother Raphael…is there a problem?” He asked Alan’s seatmate, who was writhing in his chair with rapture at being singled out by the Father.

“Yes, Father! Brother Alan doubts you- I heard him say it and I can see it in his eyes! He thinks you would trust our revolution to a…a junkman!” Brother Raphael looked at Alan, the blonde’s eyes wide, and his mouth dry. Something was definitely wrong now.

“I see. Brother Alan, is that true?” The Father asked, still keeping his voice level and his face calm.

“No Father- I mean…yes, I was concerned because our revolution is so important and I was afraid for a moment that this man would fail you…” he knew the second he said it how weak it sounded. Suddenly he felt very, very afraid. The Father leaned down and put his hand on Alan’s shoulder.

“Oh Brother Alan, don’t be alarmed. It’s normal to feel doubt at some times. When we arrive at our destination, I’m certain you’ll be absolutely convinced that Golem is the answer we’ve been searching for.” He squeezed Alan’s shoulder so tightly that Alan was sure he’d be bruised there. The Father then turned around and walked back to the front of the van. The driver started the engine again and they drove further along the dirt road.

The sculpture along the sides of the road grew denser and taller and more lifelike the further in they drove. Alan, now very interested in his surrounding and feeling an unmistakable sense of dread, looked at the art carefully. The sculptures near the road looked more like junk- just piles of metal and wire, some of it rusted and twisted around rocks, but the closer in they came to what he assumed was the artist’s studio, the more lifelike the sculptures became. They didn’t appear human, that wasn’t it- but there was something distinctly animate about them, something he’d never seen in any sculpture before. It only added to his sense of dread as the van stopped and the Father announced that they had reached their destination. Brothers Alan and Raphael exited the van with the other members, all walking single file behind the Father.

“Golem! Good to see you, my friend!” He bellowed and the members all looked up to see a tall and wiry man who was crouched down with a blowtorch, soldering something to yet another sculpture. He heard the voice and turned toward the father. He had huge metal working gloves on, almost comical in their size, and immense goggles covering his eyes and distorting them to bizarre proportions. Alan thought quickly of a game his brother had played and how some of the characters appeared in the “Steam punk” genre. Surely this man had played that same game. He wore a long lab coat, covered in rust and paint, over equally dingy overalls and the most beaten in looking boots Alan had ever . H. He raised one arm up in salute to the Father and then returned to his sculpture. He leaned in towards it, and seemed almost to place a kiss upon it before turning around and bounding towards the group.

“Brothers, Sisters, this is Golem.” The Father gestured at the man who still held the blowtorch in his hand.

“Golem, will you show them what it is you do?” Ththerther asked, meeting Golem’s eyes with his own. Fear flickered through Alan.

“Of course.” Golem closed his eyes and put his head to his chest for a moment. Instantly, all of the huge metallic and wire and rock and glass surrounding the group seemed to come to life. No, Alan realized- it did come to life. One of the pieces separated itself from the others and walked over to him, extending a long arm like protuberance, wrapped in wire hanger and sea glass. The end of it heated up, glowing first orange and then almost white hot as it reached toward Alan’s face.

His scream echoed throughout the valley as the Father and Golem embraced and the other members cheered and laughed. Surely the Father was right, this man was the answer to their problems. He could animate metal after all, rock and glass! One of them exclaimed.

“Not just life imbued in my creatures, no, it’s my very will, my very thoughts. They are extensions of me, my darlings, and they are magnificent. “ The man called Golem said solemnly, gazing lovingly at his creations.

“And my children,” the Father said, “please, do not confuse these sentient beings with the Sentinels of old. Unlike unfeeling cold mechanical monsters, these creations actually have the sentience of their creator and are able to see and hear for him. To compare these beings with Sentinels is to insult their creator, and I think you can simply ask Brother Alan if that’s good idea. These creations vary from walking and talking to burning and acid spitting and everything in between. These are the creations that will lead us to that abomination, Kurt Wagner, and anyone who has the poor judgment to get mixed up with him.

“Father, let me introduce you and your children to this one in particular. He’s one of my most recent masterworks. I call him 1812, because it was while I was listening to Tchaikovsky’s symphony number 6 that I was instilled with the energy and the idea to create him. All of my children are named after works of the mas.“ .“ Golem gestured to a small, boxlike creation with two small tubes on either side of it. It had small wheels on the bottom and looked almost like some sort of futuristic vacuum. Not very intimidating, to be sure.


“Brother Golem, sir, what does it do?” asked one of the congregation. All of the Father's children gazed lovingly at the man they had been assured would bring them success - the man they had been assured would bring down the One who had ruined their goal before.

“I’m so glad you asked. Please observe.” Golem beamed at his creation and closed his eyes briefly, mumbled something under his breath and then pointed at 1812. The vacuum like thing immediately buzzed to life- rolling around in different directions before coming up to the still crumpled figure of Brother Alan. The tubes on either side of 1812 lined up next to each other and both ejected a fluid- when the two liquids came into contact, an impossibly bright flame shot from 1812 and within seconds, Brother Alan was covered in flames, screaming and yelling for a few moments before quieting down to a whimper as his body turned black. Soon, he grew silent as his body retreated into the boxing stance of all those who had been burned alive. The Father and all his followers murmured their amazement as Golem beamed, walking over to 1812 and patting it.
"My darling..." he whispered.

The Father was impressed and he turned to his followers with a wide smile.

“Soon we will have that creature and his ‘friends’ at our mercy. He may have ruined previous plans, but after 1812 gets a hold of him…he won’t be able to ruin anything else.” Golem beamed at the praise, and continued to stroke the machine as lovingly as anyone would pet a dog or a cat.
“They are my children. They love as I love, they hate as I hate, and they do as I will them.” Golem lifted his goggles up above his head and smiled out at his creations spread out across the field.