The night is dark, dark and wet. The air is heavy and moist as the rains finally abate, leaving a rime of mist and steam that roils throughout the dirty streets of Nairobi. In a small shop in a run-down section of the city, Kolu Mbeya is working late, taking an inventory of the Safari Shop he inherited from his father many years before.

Kolu moves about his shop, taking his inventory. He winces as he lifts a crate here, a box there. The shoulder always hurts when the rains have left, the pain a gift from a wound he received many years before, in Australia's Great Outback. The memory rises, unbidden, and he absently holds himself. After several moments, he shakes his head, chastising himself for being a fool. For only fools dwell in the land of memory - fools and old men.

He feels that he is swiftly becoming an old man, moving into the territory his father occupied before his death. Every day in his mirror, new lines are visible on his face, and his hair is thin and gray. He is constantly tired, his life and the consequences of it weigh heavily on him.

Kolu shakes his head once more and sighs heavily. "You are an old fool, Kolu. There is no way around the truth..." He chuckles under his breath, laughing at his own words spoken to nobody. Checking his watch, Kolu decides to go home. He has wasted far too long visiting the land of memory and dwelling on the past. He turns off the lights and steps out into the foggy, humid night.

As he locks the doors to the Safari Shop, a car shoots around a corner, careening madly. Bright lights blind Kolu, and he raises his good arm to cover his eyes. Suddenly, the air in front of the passenger's window explodes with heat and light. The sound of semi-automatic machine gunfire tears violently into the quiet Nairobi night. The car's tires squeal and leave a trail of scorched rubber as it speeds into the night.

In the street lies Kolu, dead. Some would say it is much too soon, while others might believe it comes far too late. Whichever it is, the death of Kolu Mbeya sets in motion a deadly string of events...

PRESENTS

FEATURING

He stalks the most dangerous game...

"Back in Black"
by Kell Carpenter
barchettaboy@yahoo.com

The air inside the Nairobi Hospital is sterile. The young man sits stiffly in the waiting area of the Accident and Emergency Centre, a stony expression on his face.

As if in a dream, he hears his name called: Gahiji Mbeya.

Upon hearing it, he stands and follows the nurse into one of the treatment areas, a small room intended to secure patients' privacy. There, on the exam table, lies the body of Kolu Mbeya. Gahiji looks silently upon the body of his father. The body bears the ravaging wounds of an automatic weapon, as well as the results of the doctors' exams.

He makes the required identification, and is suddenly alone with the body.

He sits in a chair beside his father's body, anger simmering just below the surface. For years he had asked, almost begged, Kolu to retire, to turn his back on his business. Not the Safari Shop; that alone would have been safe enough. It was his second, private business that Gahiji had advised his father to abandon.

Kolu Mbeya had been a craftsman of weapons. He was as adept at creating objects of destruction as a master artist is at creating objects of beauty and pleasure. The business dealings he had with mercenaries and radical rebel groups were dangerous, but the money was more important to Kolu than the danger.

Gahiji looks around him bitterly. Money. The only reason he was here and given the opportunity to have privacy with his father's body was his father's blood money. Kolu had lived well enough to afford a Gold Membership in the Kenya Hospital Association. His fee of 45,000 Kenyan Shillings entitled Kolu and his family privileges and rights beyond those of ordinary citizens.

Money and weapons. To Gahiji, these were the gods his father worshipped. Money and weapons had driven them apart, and they had assured that Kolu and Gahiji's mother would never be reconciled. She had died several years ago, violently killed in a shooting. Gahiji still wonders whether or not his father's weapons were responsible.

Gahiji looks at his father's body. He sees the torn flesh, the exposed organs and the mask of pain etched into Kolu's face. Gahiji's face twists and he begins to sob, giving voice to his grief over his father's death and the lost opportunity for reconciliation.

Kolu's funeral is the next day. Gahiji asks the priest to forego the traditional funeral service of the Anglican Church of Kenya. Instead, he requests a simple graveside ceremony. There are few people in attendance, which is as Gahiji expected. He stands stiffly as the rites are spoken, the casket is lowered into the hole and the dirt is thrown onto the casket.

As he steps over to throw his own handful of dirt into his father's grave, he realizes he will never see his father again, at least not on this side of death. Fresh tears well up in his eyes, and he sees the world through a prism of tears. The gathered mourners are all doubled or tripled in his vision, and he wipes pitifully at his eyes with the sleeve of his suit.

He turns from the small gathering, mostly local safari clients or perhaps mercenaries, and walks from the gravesite. He walks from the cemetery, lost in his thoughts.

He does not notice the man and woman standing underneath a tree, watching him and talking in hushed tones to one another.

The couple follows Gahiji, never aware that they are being followed by a man who had been watching them from behind a large tombstone.

At his father's shop, Gahiji surveys the legacy left to him by his father. He wanders the aisles, taking in the safari gear, the supplies that wealthy foreigners and local hunt enthusiasts sought to aid in their sport. As he walks, he examines the stock, noticing for the first time exactly what kind of shop Kolu had.

Up front, near the door, clothing is arrayed in creative displays. This is what tourists would come to buy, clothing that gives one the style of safari with none of the function. The counter is situated beyond these displays, with a view off to the right of the rest of the shop, what Gahiji considers to be the real Safari Shop.

This part of the shop holds all the supplies Kolu's real safari enthusiasts need. This is section of the shop the mere tourists visit only sporadically; the clothing is functional and does not uphold a tourist's romanticized idea of the safari. There are few color choices here, and the styles do not vary as they do in the front of the shop.

Beyond the functional clothing are the safari supplies. Camp supplies, tents, hunting stands, a small variety of firearms and shells are displayed simply side-by-side. Any and all of the supplies needed by those obsessed with the hunt are available in Kolu Mbeya's beloved Safari Shop.

Gahiji takes in his inheritance, walking slowly among the items so carefully arranged by his father. He hefts an elephant gun, feeling its weight and power. Nodding, he returns it carefully to its resting place, moving on toward the counter at the center of the shop. He stands behind the counter for a moment, surveying the work and love of his father. After a few introspective moments, he sits and holds his head in his hands.

The tinkling of the bell signals him that someone has entered the shop. He looks up to see a man and a woman walking toward the counter. Gahiji notices as they approach that the man walks with a limp, and the woman's left arm is in a sling.

He stands and addresses them. "I'm sorry, but the shop is closed. I apologize for failing to lock the door…"

The woman smiles sadly at him. "No, I'm sorry, Gahiji. I picked the lock while you were…preoccupied…"

Gahiji's brow creases. "Why did you deliberately break in? And how do you know my name…?"

She extended her good arm in greeting. "I'm Christine St. Clair, and this is Asano Nitobe. We knew your father. Once, a long time ago.."

Nitobe nods silently, a tight expression on his face. "We once used your father's expertise with weaponry to help a brave man overcome a terrible threat to mankind…" Nitobe's eyes were piercing, his presence strong. "…and I'm afraid that our association with him may have killed your father."

Gahiji sits down again, stunned at the man's words. "How can you be certain your…association…killed my father?" He looked carefully at the two visitors, searching them for signs of weapons.

"We know because the people we believe killed your father attempted to kill us. Surely you noticed our injuries?" Christine holds up her injured arm with a wince of pain. "We tried to warn Kolu, but he would have nothing to do with us. He wanted our…association…to be completely severed. He made it very clear…" She hung her head sadly.

Gahiji, stunned by this revelation, stands up slowly. "I am not sure I should believe you. Where is your proof? Where is evidence that someone is truly out to get y-"

He stops mid-sentence as the shop is plunged into darkness. Suddenly, the front window explodes in a hail of glass as several large, athletic men pour into the shop.

Moving quickly despite his injury, Nitobe grabs both Christine and Gahiji and shoves them toward the back of the shop. Gahiji opens his mouth to speak, but Nitobe's hand covers his mouth. In the dim light from the street, Gahiji sees both Christine and Nitobe put a finger to their mouth, signaling him to keep quiet as Nitobe motions them further into the back of the store.

Gahiji is astounded when Nitobe opens a trapdoor in the floor; he had been inside this store many times and had never known it existed! Following Christine, he is further amazed to learn that this is the location of his father's second, secret business.

There are weapons of every kind on display, as well as in various stages of creation. Kolu Mbeya had indeed been a master weaponsmith, judging from what Gahiji sees in this secret hideaway.

Nitobe gives him no time to ponder this new find; he has secured the trapdoor from below and is motioning Gahiji and Christine to him.

"We must be prepared to fight these men to the death," Nitobe whispers. "They will not stop until we are dead, so we must-" A loud crash interrupts his instruction.

They all turn their heads upward as the sounds of heated combat come through the floor of the shop above. Nitobe and Christine exchange puzzled glances, unsure of what could be happening. Gahiji winces at the sounds of destruction and mayhem, knowing that his inherited business is losing stock at an alarming rate.

The sounds of hand-to-hand combat are interrupted by the resounding reports of small arms fire. In the basement stronghold, the three people in hiding cover their ears in a vain attempt to block out the deafening sound. Among the popping noise of the firearm is the roar of the elephant gun Gahiji had examined earlier. All three jump as its concussive blasts continue among the other sounds of violence from above. Almost as suddenly as they started, the shots stop ringing out overhead. Nitobe, Christine and Gahiji all remove their hands from their ears, straining to hear anything over the ringing in their ears.

To their amazement, the trapdoor is jerked open, wrenching off the bolt that held it fast. Smoke and the smell of cordite drift down from the shop above, obscuring any possible visibility. Nitobe moves in front of the other two, his body tensing and taking what Gahiji assumes is a defensive move of one of the martial arts.

A dark figure, shrouded in the haze from above, drops catlike into the room. Nitobe moves without hesitation, striking at the intruder before he can attack first. The shadowy figure easily blocks the strike, and flings Nitobe back toward Christine and Gahiji with an almost inhuman swiftness and accuracy.

The intruder's move has succeeded; Christine, Gahiji and Nitobe are a mass of thrashing limbs and bodies, easy prey for their attacker. To the surprise of all three, the intruder stops short, crouching down on his haunches and staring at them. Almost immediately, the sound of muted laughter comes from the compact, shadowy form across the room.

The newcomer stands and strides across to them. He is clad in head-to-toe black, with a silvery death-mask of some sort covering his face. Holstering his weapon as he approaches, he leans over and extends a hand to Nitobe, speaking briefly to him in a language Gahiji does not understand.

"Konichiwa, Sensei!" the man in black says, pulling Nitobe to his feet.

Nitobe stiffens as he is pulled to his feet, his face a mask of surprise and disbelief. "Paul?"

The man in black nods, bowing before Nitobe. "Hei…"

Christine is now struggling to rise herself. "Paul? But, how? What…?"

Nitobe reaches down and pulls her to her feet. "I agree, Paul. 'How' and 'What' are excellent starting points…"

Gahiji stands unsteadily, more confused than when Nitobe and Christine entered the shop. "I-I want to know what's happening. Who is this, and why do you trust him?"

The man in black grasps his facemask and pulls it backward, revealing his face. He wears the face of a white man of indeterminate age, somewhere between the ages of 25 and 45. His hair is brown, and when he smiles, it appears out of place on his face.

He extends his hand to Gahiji. "My name is Paul Kirk, but I'm more widely known by the name Manhunter."

Gahiji shakes his hand, unsure of the significance of the dual names the stranger has given. "Thank you for that, at least. Now if you kill me, I'll know who has caused my death…"

Paul Kirk laughs loudly. "You have much of your father in you, Gahiji…" Kirk's face tightens as his smile fades. "…I am sorry that he was taken from you."

Nitobe interrupts. "Paul, how are you here? We were sure you died in the explosion that destroyed the Council's retreat with Dr. Mykros*…"

*It happened in the classic Detective Comics #437-443 - Kell

"I'm not completely sure myself…" Kirk turns to face Nitobe. "…All I know is that I came to some time after the explosion -my last memory before waking- in the Australian Outback. I went deep into the bush, making contact with some friends in the Aboriginal tribes living there. I stayed there long enough to rest and gather some resources, then set out to make sure none of the Council's clones survived."

Christine interrupts Kirk's story. "But why didn't you let us know you were alive? We would've helped you, assisted you in your mission…"

Kirk shakes his head. "I had to stay 'dead'. If you thought I was dead, then you wouldn't risk your life by helping me search for any surviving clones." He smiles slightly at her. "…and I know you, Christine. You and Nitobe both. You would have abandoned everything to follow and assist in my mission. You both are much too loyal to knowingly leave me to my hunt alone. I could ask no more from you than you already gave years ago."

Christine casts an uncertain, questioning glance at Nitobe. Nodding, he steps between Christine and the black-clad man claiming to be Paul Kirk.

"You certainly know much about Paul Kirk and our shared experiences." His eyes narrow as he continues. "How are we to know you are truly Paul Kirk, seemingly returned from the dead? What proves that you are not a clone that somehow survived, come to lead us to our deaths?"

Momentary hurt crosses the face of Paul Kirk. He pauses for a brief moment, eyes locked with Nitobe's, then speaks.

"You trained me after Mykros revived me, Asano. You worked to make me a precise killing machine to lead Mykros' clones of me against those who were enemies of the Council." He paused, his eyes still locked with Nitobe's. "I gave you proof of Mykros' treachery and madness, and you helped me take them down."

Turning to Christine, he says "You met a man in Nepal who told you about the mysterious Manhunter, Christine. Or 'Memsahib St. Clair' if you prefer..." he says with a Nepalese accent Christine heard years before. Christine's eyes grow wide, her shock evident. Kirk continues: "Yes, Christine, that was me. I told you about myself when I wore that disguise. Soon after, you learned of Damon Nostrand's treachery and we became international fugitives of Interpol*..." He stops, silently watching Christine and Nitobe.

*It's true, again from Detective Comics #437-443 - Kell

Nitobe speaks. "You seem to be Paul Kirk; everything you have told us is true..." He pauses momentarily before continuing. "...but why do you not wear the uniform you made such use of when we fought against the Council? It was designed to give you an array of weapons that were available at a moment's notice..."

"Very observant, Sensei..." Kirk bows to Nitobe. "I have abandoned that uniform. It now represents to me everything I found deceitful and dishonorable about the Council. I chose to return to the mask from my beginnings as Manhunter, to instill fear in my enemies. I chose to wear black for dual purposes; first to give me stealth, second to show that I am death, coming for my enemies."

"This is all well and good, but what about those men who broke in? I am now certain they were responsible for my father's death…" Gahiji asks the three people before him.

"I believe your father's death, the attempts on Christine and Nitobe, and the attack tonight are the work of Dr. Mykros and the Council." Kirk says flatly.

Both Christine and Nitobe react with shock at the statement.

Kirk nods, acknowledging their surprise. "I don't know how he survived, either. I can only assume that he had set up some sort of back door plan, in case something ever happened to him. The only possibility I can think of is that he somehow had created a clone of himself and went underground after the Council's destruction."

"What proof do you have that Mykros or the Council are still in operation, Paul?" Christine asks.

Kirk jabs a thumb towards the trapdoor and the shop above it. "Those men I just killed were all clones." Disbelief plays across all three faces surrounding him. "Don't believe me? Come on then…"

Kirk makes his way back up into the shop, with the others following closely behind.

The shop is now covered in broken glass, splintered wood, blood…and the dead bodies of the men who had attacked the shop.

Moving to one of the dead men, Kirk squats beside him and lifts up the dead man by the head and shoulders. He pulls off the simple black mask covering the man's face.

Christine and Nitobe are confused. "But he doesn't look like you at all, Paul. I thought you said the clones were all dead…?"

"All the clones of ME are dead, as far as I can tell. These," he says, pulling the mask off another of the bodies, "are all clones of another man."

They are shocked to see that the second man is identical to the first.

"But- who ARE they, Paul?" Nitobe asks.

"A criminal from long ago, by the name of 'Crusher' Crock, also known as the Sportsmaster." Kirk says, his face hardening. He looks to the other three. "I'm going after the Council, and I'm going to take them down once and for all…"

"…and we're going with you." Gahiji says.

The others all look at him. He nods, grim determination on his face. "These people have destroyed not only my father, but his legacy to me. I will go with you and make these people pay…"

Kirk looks from Gahiji to his friends. "He comes of his own free will, just as his father did years ago…"

"Yes, and we're coming as well." Christine says. "Now that they've tried to kill us, we'll not be safe until they're stopped for good. We really have no choice, do we, Nitobe?"

Nitobe shakes his head. "No, we do not. Paul, lead the way…"

Nodding, Paul Kirk slides his facemask back over his head. The four of them gather weapons from Kolu Mbeya's secret weapons cache, and steal away into the Nairobi night.

As they make their way into the night, a woman steps from the shadows of the Safari Shop's roof. Her long red hair blows in the faint Kenyan breeze as she watches Manhunter and his allies disappear from sight.

"Very good. It is good fortune to have allies in my fight..." She whispers in Greek. She slips over the edge of the roof and then she, too, steals away into the night.

THE BEGINNING…

Brave Words

Hi folks, it's me again.

Welcome to the first issue in a new direction for both me and Brave & Bold. I'm going to be telling some stories of a different sort than my Flash stories. This issue is a prologue of sorts to the next arc of stories, which will feature Vigilante.

Ah, I can hear you asking yourself: "How is it a Vigilante prologue if it's a Manhunter story?"

It's a prologue in the sense that it's an introduction to the type of stories I'm going to be telling in the Vigilante arc, and it sets the tone for that set of stories.

Beyond that, there are other connections that I'm just not prepared to reveal just yet…so you'll just have to read and see.

Now, on to a couple of points of business regarding this issue:

1. This story builds upon the most excellent award-winning Manhunter serial by Archie Goodwin and Walt Simonson, published originally in Detective Comics #437-443. I consulted it heavily as I dreamed up this story, as well as a very nice index that can be found online at http://darkmark6.tripod.com/manhunter_index.html. I highly recommend giving it a read. It will enhance your reading of the story greatly if you don't already know the backstory from the Detective Comics serial...

2. Gahiji is an actual name used for boys in Kenya, and it means "the hunter". I chose the name specifically for its meaning...

Drop me a line and let me know what you thought of this story; I'm interested to see what you think…

Until next issue,
Kell