Marcas Neodróin - In America (Part 2)

The laboratory that Marcas was standing in was more like an arena, six floors below the surface, with walls made of thick lead. Nothing could break through those...Behind a thick bunker sat the men and women that would witness Marcas' wraith. 

A voice echoed over a speaker. "Marcas, we are going to test you. It will not be easy. Please, show us all of your power." The Irishman nodded in response. He stretched out his arms and arched his back. Limbering up would be fairly useless for a mental ability, but it would give the crowd something to work with. God I am such a showman. Should have joined the circus... 

"Sir, we will begin with a few minor procedures.  Please ready yourself. In 5...4...3...2..." A loud buzzer sound reverberated around the arena like lab. With that, a moment later a fire blazed a few meters in front of Marcas. Childs play. 

Lets make a big bang... Marcas raised his hand, for dramatic effect, and brought it down with force in the direction of the fire. The heat from the raging red flames seemed to get sucked back in on themselves before a massive bang erupted from the epicentre of the diminishing flames... Heat to sound, god I love physics.  

Marcas could sense the sound of clapping from the spectators box. If that impresses them they must live a dull life. He chuckled to himself. His chest rose against the turtleneck. He stretched his shoulder blades back, they cracked under the pressure from his muscles. Time to step it up a notch.

With that, the ground beneath Marcas began to shift, half going one way, half going the other. The Irishman looked slightly puzzled, but the grinding sound combined with the kinetic energy of the floor gave him immeasurable amounts of power. 
The ground halted just short of giving Marcas nowhere to stand. The Irishman looked over the edge, darkness, nothing more. The Irishman sighed. "I am not afraid of the dark people." With that he focused his hands together, forming a 'V' shape. This might sting a little... 

A torrent of fire erupted from his hands down into the darkness, shining a light into even the darkest corner. It was empty, nothing was down there. Now to really show off...

Marcas stepped over the edge. The Irishman could feel the ripples from the mouths of the people watching, obviously gasps of shock. But he floated there, not falling, not rising, walking on air. 

The concentration it took was evident on his face. Slowly he descended into the darkness, only little flickers of fire remained from the torrent that pierced the dark. He landed gently on the ground.  

Marcas knew that the spectators would be very shocked. But it appears they expected him to go down here. A loud click and a hissing of air from the shadows in front of him caused the Irishman to step back in caution. Then the same sound echoed from behind him. 

What the...? In synchronization with Marcas' thoughts, a fifteen foot metal man stepped out of the shadows in front of him. It bellowed a thunderous roar. In its right hand there was a massive hammer, whilst in its other hand there was a large gun type creation. 

Marcas felt a surge of pain in his back and a rushing feeling as he flew across the room. The other automation had smacked him across the back. Oh it is on... 
The Irishman roared as he summoned the energy to fight back. He charged at the first metal creation and punched it full on in the chest. Between the kinetic and potential energy in his fist, combined with the sound and heat erupting from the creation, the automation launched backwards into the air and dented the wall on the far side. It tried to stand, but some part of its core mechanism was heavily damaged. It could do nothing but struggle on the ground. 

The second one charged, it swung both massive hands. But Marcas didn't move this time. It's time for your flying lesson... He concentrated on the first arm as it swung for him, it began to crumble as it stopped very suddenly, as if it struck a wall. The arm then raised into the air. 

The disabled creation tried to shoot Marcas with the gun type machine in its hand. It fired the shot and missed. Marcas shot a glance in the direction of the shot. The gun crumpled into dust in the automation's hand. 

Together, Marcas and the second automation rose up the tunnel and back to where he was standing moments before. He stared into the spectators box, still mentally holding the creation. "Is this what you call a challenge?" The automation fell back down the fifty foot drop into its metal grave. 

Marcas hovered in the air. He glared at the spectators box. It began to rip. The boxes front wall split open, the lead literally tearing in two. The people inside were to petrified to move.

"Good evening ladies and Gentlemen." His Irish accent sounded very prominent at this moment. "I am the energy solution you have all been looking for." 
A look of near shock flashed across the face of some of the members of the audience. The unnamed mans jaw was practically on the ground. He was stunned into a rare silence.

However, during this moment of anxiety from the crowd, one elderly man took to the forefront. He stepped forward and stood at the edge of the destroyed bunker. His face was weathered. He must have been in his late sixties. 

"My name is Tony Stark, and I think we need to talk." His voice was stern and nonnegotiable. He stood there, shoulders back and rigid. The voice rang a bell in Marcas' head, but he couldn't think why he knew it.

"Sir, if you wish to talk, we do it here." Marcas floated over to the ledge and landed down onto it. He was slightly taller than the older man, but his face suggested he had something up his sleeve if the conversation went south.

"Over at Walker Inc, they are having a conference about energy. I need you to attend. Don't say no. I've already made the arrangements." Stark walked away. Going through the doorway before Marcas could ask anything.

Walker Inc, those guys are big... Wonder what it is all about. 

The End

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