Wonder Woman in Boston #2

Wonder Woman was created by Dr William Moulton Marston in 1941 and is the © copyright trademark of DC Comics. My Wonder Woman stories are only fan fiction and based, primarily, on the 1970s CBS TV show (albeit, updated to the present time of writing). However, any resources from adaptations and the comics may be utilised. All characters are entirely fictional. With the exception of Diana / Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor, these stories and characters are my own creations, unless otherwise stated. In my stories Wonder Woman is the only known superhero.


02 Speak Softly but Carry a Big Stick

Fleeing from under the shimmering glass entrance of the Northwest Laboratory, on the Harvard University campus, went geeky biology student, Chad Bailey. In his attempt to make a clean break ahead of his tormentors, namely Jock Harrison and his insipid disciple, Justin Casey, he never imagined being stopped in his tracks by Petra Maki.

“Hey, how ya doing?” she said ever so, flippantly, “Chad, isn’t it baby?”

Let’s be clear Petra was trouble. Furthermore, Chad knew Petra was trouble. Not only was she Jock Harrison’s girl, but a hell raiser in her own right. She had been temporarily suspended from her position of lab technician due to orchestrating a series of explosions, involving the smack of a hammer onto nitro-glycerine soaked pads for fun.

So, Introverted Chad shouldn’t have given her a second look, but to understand the persuasive subtleties of his situation, one needs to examine Petra’s perks; a fresh faced American Asian, blessed with a huge smile that could light up the room – love or hate her – Petra would never be ignored.

Raising a symbolic finger up to her suspension, she chose to wear thigh-high leather boots with a matching black mini skirt. A large buckled belt threaded with golden studded bars, sown into the leather, that covered her naval. Stretched around the sides of her bare shoulders, a silky white bandeau top, wrapped over her plummy chest, clinging short of her midriff.

Utterly intimidated by her, Chad’s feet felt glued to the spot, as the vixen invaded his personal space at an alarming rate.

“You’re tense, man, relax” she said, inches away from his face, “Do I frighten you, Chad?”

“No!” he replied, squinting.

Digging her black manicured nail of her index finger into his chest, she teased, “I bet this is the closest you’ve ever been to another woman – other than your mother. Isn’t that right, Chad?”

He gulped for air, “Look, mam, what do you want with me?”

Chad was unexpectedly jumped from behind. He found Jock Harrison and Justin Casey holding his arms back.

“Is this little pervert harassing you, mam?” Jock joshed, “Because if that’s the case, he might have to cool off in the restroom again.”

Harrison mimicked a toilet flushing. A broad high school football player, over six feet tall, puny Chad stood little chance against Jock. Bookish looking Justin was a better prospect; Chad had rehearsed releasing all hell’s fury on this co-conspirator many times; if only he possessed the nerve in real life.

Petra’s seductively glanced downwards, “What’s in the briefcase, Chad?”

“Yeah, open the briefcase, Chadders,” prompted Jock with a tug.

“I can’t,” protested Chad, “Doctor Bassano entrusted me with a special delivery.”

“Ah, bingo!” said Petra, violently stamping Chad’s briefcase out of his hand with her pointed heel.

His captives held Chad back, while Petra knelt down and unlocked the case. His pleading fell on deaf ears, while she pulled out several editions of Superman comics from the case. In a chorus of raucous laughter Chad was allowed to collect his comics off the ground where Petra scattered them.

“Superman just so happens to be one of my favourites,” said Diana Prince.

The geek looked up at the woman in a tan coloured raincoat helping him to collect the publications. Although, she was wearing tinted glasses, her beauty emanated out of every pore of her complexion.

“You mentioned Doctor Bassano. I have an appointment with him. Do you think you could direct me to his office?”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Chad.

Once on their way, Petra snarled, “who’s she, his mother?”

“I don’t know, but I want to find out,” Jock remarked, “She’s one fine looking lady.”

Justin nodded with an enthusiastic snigger, “A ten, Jock, a ten.”

Mac Side

Chad directed Diana down the corridor to Dr Bassano’s office.

“By the way,” said Diana at the door, “I don’t actually have an appointment, as such, so, if you could introduce me?”

“Err… Yeah,” agreed a reluctant Chad.

He knocked and went in; leaving the door ajar, behind which Diana intentionally remained.

“Chad Bailey,” Bassano said, “I thought I sent you on the way to the bank?”

He spoke with an authoritative well-to-do East Coast accent; Chad was predictably intimidated.

“I was on my way, but I was stopped by Petra Maki and Jock Harrison,” he explained, “Then, this lady wanted to see you.”

“Diana Prince,” she said, entering the room, “I’m with the IADC.”

Bassano was a very well maintained for a man of his advancing years. His navy blue three piece suit may have appeared as if it had just come out of moth balls, and the slim waistcoat revealed a paunch, but of handsomely tanned appearance with immaculately parted dark hair, time had been kind to him.

He shook Diana’s hand and pulled an ambivalent expression at her identity card, “Carry on, Chad, before the bank closes.”

He shut the door after the student, rubbing his chin, as if in deep thought, “Now, Miss Prince, what could the IADC possibly want to speak to me about?”

“Oh, surely you could guess, Doctor Bassano?” answered Diana, a little spikily, “We’re investigating the miraculous revival of Martin Larry and his subsequent development as a missing person.”

“My dear, the Cryonic Research Foundation is a hospital for the deceased – it isn’t a prison. Oh, I admit it was unfortunate that my first ever patient decided to walk, but I’m optimistic he’ll be found. Maybe you’d like to visit the establishment and see for yourself?”

“I would very much like that, Doctor.”

“Say, tomorrow at two, then?”

“Or, how about right now?” Diana suggested.

“Really, I admire your interest, but unless you have a search warrant, I’m afraid, I’m fully booked for the rest of the day,” declined Bassano, smoothly, with an elegant smile.

Diana smiled back, “Tomorrow, it is then.”

Back in the fresh air, on campus, Diana called Captain Macintosh who had borrowed her Corvette ZX1.

“I trailed the kid to a Cambridge Bank, in Harvard Square, where he deposited an item from the attache case to the safe. That’s the best I could do at short notice,” explained Macintosh, “How about you?”

“Well, I’ve arranged to visit the Cryonic Research Foundation, tomorrow, at two, but I got the impression the good doctor was stalling for time. I might pay an unscheduled visit to the institute, tonight.”

“Need some help?”

“No, but thanks, Roger, you’ve been a great help. You must be tired after your long flight. I’ll see you tomorrow back at the hotel.”

Cryonic Tanksjpg

The Cryonics Research Foundation was situated west of Boston, near DeFazio Park. Less than a year old, the building resembled an industrial warehouse. The grounds were protected by a twelve foot high security fence. Neon lampposts lit the car park; though it was empty of all vehicles, at midnight, when Wonder Woman leapt over the perimeter.

In the bright reception area, two security guards dozily watched the CCTV at a large oval desk. A fleeting figure on the monitor awakened one of the officers.

“Hey, Mac, I think I just saw something on the monitor, real quick like.”

Sleepily, Mac tilted his cap over his eyes, “Probably just an animal – and it’s your patrol, Joe.”

“I don’t know, man, ever since my first week, I’ve noticed some strange stuff going on,” he said, putting on his holster belt, “I tell ya, there’s something weird about the place.”

“Yeah, a freezer full of stiffs,” Mac mocked.

Clutching his baton and torch, Joe switched on the automatic doors and stepped out into the cold. He shined his beam in the direction of grazing noises, he heard, coming from the building’s darker side. It revealed nothing more than the breeze, whizzing dead leaves in semi-circles, tapping the tar as they danced. At the edge of darkness where the relative safety of the neon car park lights was replaced by the unknown, Joe froze on hearing the scratch of a heel around the corner of the building.

He raised his baton and called out, “Is there somebody there?”

To no answer, he turned the corner with the light of his torch saturating the road to the loading bay. He breathed a sigh of relief – but too soon – abruptly ensnared in Wonder Woman’s lasso from behind.

“Let’s go inside,” commanded she.

Before they reached the door, they were greeted by Mac with his arms stretched out, aiming his handgun at Wonder Woman.

“Okay, lady, let him go or I’ll shoot,” he warned.

“I don’t advise that,” Diana replied, holding up her right arm in front of her, sideways on, prepared to block any fire with her bracelet.

To her surprise, Mac lowered his gun.

“I don’t get paid enough to shoot Wonder Woman,” he quipped.

“Good decision,” said Diana, releasing Joe, “I need to see the cryonic suspension chamber – it could be a matter of national importance.”

“I’m a fan,” Mac revealed, as he led the way through reception, “And you’re even more sensational in person.”

“Thanks,” responded Diana, politely.

He led them down the staircase to the basement. Behind some double doors lay a hand wheel locked entrance.

“You’ll have to force it open because we don’t have the code, but that shouldn’t be a problem for Wonder Woman,” he challenged.

“Stand back,” advised Diana, gripping the lock with both hands.

The two guards watched with astonishment as Wonder Woman began to turn the wheel anti-clockwise; a clang later, the door was open.

“There’s no way I’m going in there with all those stiffs,” said Joe.

“Go back to reception and keep watch, then,” suggested Mac.

Mac was thirty-seven and at least ten years younger than Joe. For his colleague it was his vocation, but for Mac just temporary work to pay off some debts.

He swept the beam of his torch around the dark chamber; Diana preferred to use the light switch. The chamber stretched nearly the length of the entire building. Understandably, the focus of their attention was on the long rows of suspension tanks.

“I don’t believe this place!” Mac gasped in shock, “There must be about three hundred tanks in here.”

“And they all appear to be full,” observed Wonder Woman.

The deceased were submerged in liquid nitrogen that glowed ocean blue through the tank windows. The thick acrylic glass created a magnifying effect, expanding the heads of the dead, like some ghoulish horror house display.

At the far end was another door with a sign saying ‘Operation Theatre’ on it. Diana tried the handle, but it was locked.

“I’m afraid, I need to look in here, too,” she said.

“Be my guest,” responded Mac, still in shock, “I quit anyway.”

Wonder Woman yanked the door straight open. This time switching on the lights exposed something even more disturbing; bodies of seven people lying on portable hospital beds. There were five males and the two females wearing typical patient gowns. All of them were connected to drip bags, from above, containing a bright green liquid.

“Oh, man!” Mac shuddered, “What the hell is this?”

Diana immediately began checking the bodies for vital signs, one by one, as Mac looked on from where he stood.

“Are they alive?” he asked.

“No, they all appear… to be… dead,” Wonder Woman, calmly, informed him.

“Hey, listen, Wonder Woman, this place is seriously giving me the creeps – let’s just go.”

“As soon as I’ve taken a sample,” Diana replied, searching some drawers.

Peering across at Mac to gauge his state, Diana noticed his jacket flapping in the breeze.

“There shouldn’t be a wind down here,” she said.

As if in reacting to her statement, a freak gust crashed the door wide open, forcing Mac against the opposite wall. No sooner than it arrived, the air stream left with a vacuous thump, swinging the door shut.

“It won’t open,” Mac panted, clutching the handle, “We’re trapped in here.”

“Let me try,” said Wonder Woman, pulling the door with undesirable results, “The handle has come off in my hand.”

Mac wasn’t listening. His eyes were terrifyingly transfixed on the seven bodies sprawled across the theatre.

“Wonder Woman, look,” he quivered, “The stiffs- the stiffs are waking up!”

For Part 03: Click Here


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