The Scare-Crow Enters Ukraine

I'm on a 747 jetliner, headed to the airport in Kiev. The hollow metal bird is high above the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, and I am trying to nap so I don't get jet lag upon my arrival on the other side of the world from where I left: Los Angeles. It was during a similar doze I had yesterday that I dreamed of strange things which I interpret as a call for me to be in the lands of the Slavs. I don't care about borders and nations, but that region is the dwelling place of a rich culture that goes back beyond modernism, Christendom, and the Tzars to a pagan egalitarianism that endured for millenia. There is something I must discover in the parts of Belarus that are still free of industrialization, so I bought a plane ticket and I am hoping I am on time for this portentous event.

A commotion breaks out towards the front of the coach, waking me from my fugue. It looks like a man has gotten drunk and is picking a fight with a stewardess, which is so cliché I almost find it hilarious but I also don't want to see anyone undeserving of hurt getting abused by entitled customers. So I close one eye and fix the other on the belligerent fellow, who is overfilling his seat and swearing. He reaches out to smack the young woman, but I'm faster. I point my prosthetic hand and the empty glass on his fold-out tray flies up to impact his forehead, knocking his head back. Then he passes out. I chuckle and I'm sure some of the other passengers can see what happened, so I shrug.

"That was some well-timed turbulence." Even though it only had been felt by one passenger, who was now sleeping it off, everyone who noticed just nod their heads in agreement. And the stewardess continues on her way, as does the airliner. I go back to my nap, hoping for no more disruptions until I make landfall.

About six hours later, I'm disembarking in Kiev. I find the city to be fair but it's not my goal, as I am just passing through this way-point. Making my way to the edge of the city, I reach a rest stop along the road that leads out into the Ukrainian countryside. Carrying my one satchel, I walk into the restroom to change. My prosthetic limbs are removed, as I don't need them when incognito. From my bag I retrieve the mask and my body armor, then my dagger bandoliers and finally the cloak. No mundane person would be able to get through security at an airport with such gear, but I used my veiling power to fool the scanners and keep the analysts from seeing what I have. That same power now makes me invisible after I don my costume and weapons, then exit the station. Even video cameras cannot record me if I choose.

Once outside I take off from the ground, flying with Crow as I diverge from the road and head Northwest. I am faster than any Earthbound creature but not cars or airplanes. What I lack in speed I gain in stealth, my movement leaving no disturbance in the air, making no sound. It is a beautiful day to be traveling in this ancient land, and as far as my goal I have only a picture in my mind: Deep woods surrounding a crystal lake, its mirrored surface holding the faint outline of a woman's face.

After about an hour of flight and about 16 miles away from where I started, I am startled by a sonic boom. I am pushed from my flight path by the Shockwave, striving to regain control. In a moment, I am able to begin descending in a spiral towards the ground. Before I reach it however, a man impacts the surface and stands with arms crossed over his massive chest. The bald fellow is wearing a red costume with the Ukrainian flag emblazoned on his chest, but a sickle is tattooed on top of his head.

I hear his resonating tone as he gazes straight at me. "Halt at once or I will take you to the upper stratosphere and see how well you can last there. You cannot escape my pursuit, whoever you are."

I take his word for it, as I am well aware there are persons in this world with far more strength than I, even with my Ghost Hands, which can reliably lift 200 pounds. So I land five feet away from the bald man and lower my screen since it obviously doesn't work with him anyway.

The muscular, impassive individual stares at me for a moment then speaks in stentorian, clear English, "I am Red Interceptor. It is my duty to ask: Who are you, and who do you serve, since you are not from this country?"

Without breaking his gaze, I reply, "I'm nobody really, but you can call me Scare-Crow."

The Interceptor shakes his head. "Not acceptable. Show me your superbeing identification papers."

I shrug, and answer, "Sorry, I don't have any. I'm from America, but I'm not registered."

The man takes one step closer towards me, not with aggression but with calm, machine-like purpose. "Since you are illegally operating in Ukraine, give me one reason why I should not break you in half over my knee."

There is no doubt in my mind this character can do what he threatens, so I start explaining: "I'm precognitive. I serve an ideal called Balance, empowered by my symbiosis with a nontemporal entity named Crow. In order to complete the missions I am called to undertake, I must operate Incognito. When the United Nations signed the Superhuman Registration Treaty, I was already active and chose not to present myself to the government of my country. I have been staying ahead of mundane authorities since then, and you are the first who has detected my coming."

The Ukrainian nods his head slowly, and asked shorty, "What age are you, American?"

I don't hold the info to myself. "34, sir. Too old to be young and too young to be old."

Interceptor doesn't smile, but he lowers his arms and says, "I have been superhuman longer than you have been alive, Crow's Man. Long ago, during the Cold War your country and the Soviet Union was engaged in an arms race, but not just nuclear. Enhanced soldiers was also a goal both governments secretly sought. Your CIA had the MK Ultra project. The Kremlin had their own clandestine science division."

I raise my eyebrows. "How did you come to know of Central Intelligence producing super soldiers?"

The former Soviet narrowed his dark eyes. "Because I caught one of them. I had always been a patriot to my motherland. I was born right after World War II ended, and I was a young man when the Soviet Union recruited me for a secret program. I had shown promise as an intelligence officer in various military ops and I was one of several chosen to be subjected to experiments which some now would call unethical. But I volunteered anyway. Of the pool of 7 selected, I was one of two that survived the trials. I became the Soviet Anti-spy. My alterations allow me to see even what others try to hide, to match the speed of a super-sonic jet, to walk through Chernobyl and take no ill effect, and my flesh is not mere muscle and bone, but living steel."

He reached out in the blink of an eye, seized one of my Daggers from my bandolier, and drove it point-first into his left palm. The blade shattered. I gasped, and exclaimed, "Here now, I didn't need proof."

Red Interceptor dropped the metal and rubbed his hands together as though cleaning them of dust, and grunted, "I just did not want you to get a suicidal intention to try and stab me. I'm not done with you yet, child. In the 1980's one of your government's super-agents almost Penetrated the Kremlin, but I stopped him. His power was to drive people mad with rage, lust or despair, but my mind was conditioned to remove all emotion. My fellow enhanced patriot, Blood Hunter, went to America in retaliation, targeting your government's secret intelligence heads. He did not return. When the Soviet Union broke apart, I went into retirement here, in the Ukraine. If I had the capacity for regret, I would have wallowed in purposeless ennui, but instead I just worked in a nuclear plant, thinking my days of using my powers would be in the past as long as I lived. But when the existence of superhuman beings across nations was acknowledged in 2016 and the EU entered the pact to make all actions concerning them public, I decided to become Ukraine's protector. So here you are, an American with Abilities to be expected of a spy, and I must ask your business once again."

I decide honesty is the only way forward. "Recently I had a dream, as I often do, concerning important events which I am drawn to involve myself in. This one was of a lake in your wilderness and a woman I expect to find amidst the woods that way." I point northwest.

Interceptor nods his head slowly, showing no emotion but carefully considering my words. "That will take you into Belarus, out of my jurisdiction. This woman, do you know her name? Is she like us, more than human?"

I shake my head again. "I don't know, but I mean to find out. I heard a short phrase in my dream, in an ancient Slavic tongue. I did not understand it: Дзяўчына Вясна прачынаецца, каб знайсці старую цемру. Яна не можа змагацца з Чорным Богам адна. That is how I remember it.

Red Interceptor only ponders for a moment before he grunts stoicly, "That is how they speak in Belarus. It means this: Spring Maiden awakes to find old darkness afoot. She cannot fight Black God alone."

I nod my head slowly. "If this is my mission, to help the Spring Maiden, I must find her. Will you allow me the chance to discover what my premonition means?"

The Ukrainian super commando uncrosses his arms.

"I may not believe in destiny, but I believe you do not mean harm. If you were to stay in Ukraine I would require you to submit to the government and they could have you sent back to America as a breaker of the United Nations pact. But you are about to cross the border, and once you are in Belarus you are on your own. Do not come back without registration papers. If we Soviets had one with your powers in the old days, perhaps we would have won the Cold War. Old Ronald Reagan would have fallen and the Berlin Wall would still stand. But I do not care about that anymore. I serve my country, and so I guard the borders against any who may come against her. You obviously serve something beyond the nations of man and political ideology, at least in your own mind. So go, young man, and maybe you shall live to get old." He waves a hand northward.

I smile and leave him, heading on my way. The Old soldier of Ukraine becomes smaller as he stands like a pillar watching me fly straight as an arrow. I'm glad of his mercy, as I know today is not my time to die. Maybe tomorrow.