FanFic: Agent of the Shadow

A fan fiction novel of ShadowFanFic

Cooperative FanFic storywriting of The Shadow. If you are familiar with the character of The Shadow feel free to contribute. For more information go to theshadowfan.com forums.

Synopsis: The Shadow dies at the hands of a currently unnamed villain who has been an accomplice in many of the crimes that the Shadow has dismantled and for some yet to be explained reason the Shadow has shed his mercy upon him. Even in his last moments, the Shadow grasps the villain's throat and instead of exacting revenge, gives out a final laugh and dies. The Shadow's agents can hardly believe that their master is dead, but eventually they begin to except it. They organize into a secret crime fighting society. The society expands and many new and interesting agents are introduced. Meanwhile, the yet unnamed villain questions why the Shadow has been so merciful and is plagued by nightmares and paranoia. In a strange love triangle Margo Lane questions who she was truly in love with; the Shadow or Lamont? The story gets deeper as seemingly supernatural coincidences lead the agents to question the death of their master. This is meant to be the first of a series which leads up all the way to present day.

AGENT OF THE SHADOW


CHAPTER I
IT was a cool night in New York. The moon shone brightly upon the city as if it were some eerie ghost of the sun. The "city that never sleeps" seemed to sleep soundly this night. The streets were desolate and quiet as if the whole city was a graveyard, the people silent in reverence. A wise man could tell that these were grave signs, that such a peace was only an omen of a greater, hidden destruction. A wise man would know that there is no such thing as peace. Not here. Not yet.

The brightness of the moon did much to reveal the desolate streets, but no fool fell for the illusion. The intense shadows hid warriors, warriors who were nervously awaiting the coming war. On one side were the loyal agents of the righteous yet mysterious creature known as The Shadow. The other side consisted of the most elite criminals that New York had to offer, unified by an unknown crime lord of a secret crime organization. The Shadow's agents have worked tirelessly for the past months tracking down this master of crime. Such work was not without risk. In the past months the agents have dodged death more times than in their whole lives, yet their faith in their master was unyielding, he always comes through, it seems almost..... supernatural.

A limousine strolled by slowly, seemingly aware of it's watchers who sweated profusely at the site. At once the agents mobilized using hidden alleyways and passages to prevent their exposure. 2...3...7 crooks were taken out silently as they moved. One particular agent climbed up a fire escape to an apartment, rented for the purpose of this mission. His silhouette framed the window as he climbed in. The apartment was small, dilapidated, and dusty; perfect. Old boards covered the windows, the boards to the windows facing the fire escape had apparently been taken down. In the room there was nothing else, but a small telephone which laid on the floor. The silhouette approached it and picked up the receiver.

"Harry Vincent speaking. Ready to report"

Harry spoke briefly to Burbank, the Shadow's contact man, reporting only that the limo had driven through this street and what direction it was moving. The Shadow had previously narrowed down the limo's destinations to about twenty buildings and from Harry's report, Burbank was able to determine it's exact destination. Calls were made to the various agents who had located themselves nearby phones and they acted at once. No call was made to the Shadow himself, there was no need.

THE limousine pulled up to the side of the Empire State Building. An attendant, looking rather awkward being the only person in plain view, stepped down to the limo and opened it. He bowed a little as his hand beckoned out the limo's single occupant. Out stepped Dominic Salvatore, a surprisingly young man, wearing a formal suit and looking rather calm despite the horrible invisible war that was in occurring, in fact he smiled looking back at the desolate streets where he fancied he saw someone chance a look at him. He tipped the attendant and walked in. The lobby was as empty as the streets and his footsteps echoed. Obviously someone had taken precautions to keep any innocent people from being harmed.

SALVATORE entered the elevator. Produced a key and opened a hidden panel, revealing a keypad. By pressing a sequence of numbers he sent the elevator up to a hidden floor that cannot be accessed in any other way. Salvatore rode the elevator up until it slowed to a stop. The doors opened and he stepped out. The entire floor was one huge room with no internal walls or divisions, save that which was created by the elevator. The room was twenty feet from floor to ceiling, the windows which lined the room were arranged as if there were two floors. Salvatore looked about the room. Various sculptures and paintings adorned it including some famous ones that had been thought to be lost. There was one huge table and many more small tables around it and multiple storage closets which where awkwardly scattered in between. There was one thing that caught Salvatore's eye especially, a man holding a drink, was looking out a window on the far side of the room and had nonchalantly neglected to look back at his new visitor. Salvatore seemed to be taken aback as the man slowly turned around. The man possessed an exact likeness of himself! They stared at each other for a moment. The Salvatore at the window smiled calmly while the Salvatore at the elevator door tried to match his smile, but was failing horribly.

It must have been five minutes that they stared at each other. The Salvatore near the elevator had, for some reason, kept up his guise for this long. All at once the clothes, the worried face, the entire disguise seemed to literally melt off him revealing a black cloaked being. His face masked by a silken red scarf, eyes hidden under a wide brimmed slouch hat. This master of darkness lifted his head slightly and the real Salvatore was able to see his eyes. He saw a certain ferocity in his eyes, full of utter hate and unstoppable will. His eyes widened. His glass shattered to the floor. The room's lights began to flicker. Salvatore tried to maintain his dignity, but a tell-tale bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. The lights finally flickered out. Blue moonlight flowed into the room like the waters of a broken dam. Salvatore felt a terror like no man could have ever dreamed, For when he glanced into the eyes of that black cloaked monolith that stood in the room's center he knew that he was about to feel the full wrath of the Shadow!!!!!!

CHAPTER II
DOMINIC Salvatore, no man more powerful stood. Behind his soft features hid the cunning of a criminal mastermind. He was young, in his early twenties, barely an adult, yet he was a prodigy of evil, accruing more wealth than most men had even laid eyes on.

Unbeknownst to the public, a secret criminal organization had formed. In fact, there were multiple organizations that sprouted up in this time, but one became so strong that it commanded even these. It grew to become like a "second government" and controlled every aspect of the public's lives. Crime, once a measure of desperation, now had a new face. That face was the face of La Cosa Nostra, the most powerful crime syndicate in the world. No overt act of evil was done that was not controlled by this organization. Yes, La Cosa Nostra has been involved in almost every crime the Shadow has shot down. It's members enter in search of quick wealth and power. They are held obedient by their chronic fear of each other.

Salvatore stood, trying to recover his wits in the gigantic moonlit room. He continued to watch at the Shadow who stared back silently and motionlessly.

As a small timer, Salvatore was known as Donny Slavo. He pulled small time heists and robberies. Eventually, using his profound intelligence, he made his way up the ranks and became an accomplice to more large scale crimes. Throughout his life as a small time criminal, he had come in contact with the Shadow multiple times, each time the Shadow ruined his crimes. But, for some reason, the Shadow shed his mercy upon him. Salvatore was not only spared death, but imprisonment as well. He had never before thought much more of it than that he was extremely lucky.

Lucky for more reason than one. Not only did he escape punishment, but he was able to suddenly accomplish that which no criminal had. He had snatched the position that most Cosa Nostra weren't even aware existed. Donny Slavo gone from a worthless grunt to the Capo di Tutti Capi, the boss of all bosses. Only the bosses of the crime "families" knew of his rule. The previous Capo di Tutti Capi had abused his power and caused a huge civil war within the organization and so all the members agreed to destroy the position. Somehow, Salvatore was able to secretly take the powerful position and since it was such a secret, even to the organization's members, he also gained the benefits of indefinite security. He had struck the quite a sweet deal with the Devil.

"Dominic...." the Shadow broke the silence "...Salvatore. You are guilty of the dire crimes of thievery, murder, perjury, smuggling, enslavement, bribery, torture, conspiracy, and countless others." His voice was in a low and devious whisper.

Dominic's fear turned to annoyance as the Shadow listed off his convictions. His eyes narrowed slightly into a leer, but then quickly eased into their natural state. He stood up straight and recomposed himself. He calmly walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself another drink to replace the one that he had dropped. He regained his confidence. Once again the arrogant look of nonchalance appeared on his face accompanied by a slight grin.

"So, you've finally come to take me away from the life I have worked so hard to build."

"Yes..." The Shadow spoke.

Silence arose from the darkness. Salvatore sighed quietly as he took a sip of his drink and turned to look out the window. It began to rain.

"You know," said Salvatore, "They're out there. Right now. They're out there fighting, fighting for me. They're fighting the police, the FBI, they're fighting, poverty, misery, they're fighting," he paused, " destiny!"

The Shadow remained as silent and unmoving as ever. Only the sound of the rain against was heard. A bright light illuminated the room as lightning struck nearby. A storm was brewing in more ways than one.

CHAPTER III
All at once the Shadow withdrew a pair of automatics and fired them in rapid succession, but not at Salvatore. The bullets pelted the bodies of the thirty or so masked gunman that were swinging in through the uppermost windows from the floor above. Shattered glass flew everywhere as they broke through. They landed on the floor, some already dead, their grotesque masks glinted in the moonlight.

The storm raged outside, lightning flashed and thunder roared. The masked gunman bolted for cover from the Shadow's onslaught of bullets while raising their own weapons. All at once, the Shadow found himself facing the barrels of more than twenty machine guns. The weapons flared off, illuminating the face look of pleasure on Salvatore's face. The Shadow's figure fell. Splatters of blood were overcome by a growing puddle. The masked murderers approached cautiously. They turned over the limp cloaked body.

"Unmask him!" Salvatore ordered with a satisfied smile. The gunman were happy to oblige.

"Joe?!!" One of the gunman exclaimed.

The bloodied figure on the ground, apparently named Joe, opened his eyes wearily. The nearby gunman did not have time to gasp before his body exploded killing those nearby and sending out a flaming wind which knocked the rest to the ground. The windows exploded. A laugh was heard as shots were fired from the far corner of the room. The Shadow was well prepared for this night, he chose this night specifically for his attack for he knew that tonight was the night that the moon would glow brightest, intensifying the shadows and exposing the fools.

The masked gunman fired in the direction of the laugh. The muzzle flare showed the cloaked creature standing undaunted, weapons drawn and returning the fire. Salvatore sat behind a cabinet for cover. He was quickly calculating tonight's events with a string of strange coincidences that had occurred in the past couple days.

"Fools! He has replaced your bullets with blanks! Quickly! The munitions cabinets!!!" In actuality it had been an agent, Cliff Marsland, who had supplied the fake ammunition by the Shadow's order. Though Salvatore knew that the munitions cabinets in this room had been untouched for the last month.

The gunman quickly replaced their useless machine guns with the variety of weapons that filled the cabinets. Soon the Shadow was facing down shotguns, handguns, rifles, machine guns and also a few more exotic weapons such as swords, spears, flails, and flame throwers.

The Shadow, despite the odds against him, continued to fight boldly. The storm raged outside. Lightning struck the Empire State Building itself and the thunder shook the building. The master of darkness stuck to the shadows, exposing himself only to further his deceptive tactics. He took out his enemies one by one, the last sound in their ears would be the sound of his weird and terrible laugh.

As their numbers lowered, the gunmen were able to fire more wildly. The room caught fire from the flamethrowers and the Shadow lost the advantage of the darkness. He inevitably took bullets and stabs, but he chose wisely to accept the smaller injuries than avoid them and put himself in positions where he would receive worse.

The Shadow pocketed his weapons, he had no time to reload and all cover was lost, but only two gunmen were left. He ran, faster than the gun hand of a machine gunner toward the other man who held a flamethrower. A trail of bullets followed him as he ran and a jet of flaming liquid shot from the flamethrower and exploded in all directions as it collided with the tangible darkness which it targeted. This darkness ran through, bringing with it a trail of flame, and grabbed it's enemy's weapon and fired it at the machine gunner who at the same time accidentally mowed down the previous holder of the flame thrower.

The Shadow and Salvatore were once again alone in the room. A ll was suddenly silent. Even the thunder had halted. The Shadow knelt, still and quiet as once before. Salvatore had to take a moment to for his mind to adjust, the shock of the battle and this sudden calm had taken their toll. Salvatore did not know what was happening, he could not comprehend it.

The Shadow stood slowly and painfully. The scarf that once masked his face fell off, still in flame. He turned around slowly. Salvatore expected to finally see the face of his enemy, but there was nothing left of it. All that was left of the Shadow's face was a gruesome skull. The skull gazed luridly at Salvatore. The Shadow was ready to exact his final vengeance.

CHAPTER IV
IN the streets below, a yellow cab sat parked in a lonely vigil. The driver, Moe Shrevnitz felt as if his heart was going to beat through his chest. Sweat pouring down his blanched cheeks, he strained his ears, desperate to hear some sign, some clew that Dominic Salvatore was dead.

In the distance, he heard a noise. Was it what he thought is was? Yes! He was certain of it. He had heard a gunshot.

Then another.

Then another. Three shots in all.

Moe Shrevnitz let his breath exhale. His boss had finally dispensed justice.

"WHY now," asked Salvatore, "after all these years?"

"The time was not right before," answered, the horrific skull cryptically.

"Are you going to kill me?"

The Shadow's skull was silent, which Salvatore took to mean "yes."

"Why not turn me over to the police? Surely that would be more just. Do I really have to die?" With a cry in his voice. A desperate attempt.

"Yes."

"No!"

Dominic had not achieved so much by taking foolish chances. He always carried a pistol with him wherever he went, whether meeting with lowest crook or the highest socialite. If this thing wanted Dominic Salvatore dead, he would have to fight!

Dominic drew his gun from his shoulder holster. He expected his foe to do the same, but he didn't. The Shadow just walked toward him, as if he intended to envelop Salvatore in his long, black cloak. Did the Shadow really expect to be able to kill him? Dominic didn't wait to find out. He fired a shot that hit Shadow squarely in the chest.

He didn't stop walking or even falter. He didn't even acknowledge that he had been shot at all.

Dominic fired again, but the Shadow was still alive and kept coming. It was as useless to try and stop the Shadow as it was to try and stop Death itself.

Still, Dominic fired again. By now the Shadow was upon him. He felt a firm, strong hand wrap around his throat. Dominic struggled for freedom, all the while waiting for this inhuman creature to squeeze the life right of him.

IT was a sensation he never felt. The Shadow, the being that had ended so many lives, the one that had foiled so many brilliant crimes, did not even attempt to kill Salvatore. He just laughed. A low, eerie laugh that filled the room and echoed off the walls. A laugh that made Dominic's skin crawl.

The laughter died away, the grip on Salvatore's throat released and the Shadow collapsed.

FOR a long time, Dominic just stared at the body on the floor, as if he expected it to rise and attack him. Finally, he screwed up his courage and felt the Shadow's wrist.

No pulse.

He put his hand on the Shadow's chest.

It was motionless.

He picked a strange and brilliant girasol ring from the Shadow's gruesome body and held it in his hand.

All the fear drained out of him and was replaced by glee. He would be deified by the entire criminal underground. No one would ever dare question his authority as the leader of La Cosa Nostra. He had done the impossible. He had killed the Master of Darkness.

Thunder roared violently outside.

His smile melted away slowly. He slumped back against the wall, alone in the darkness, surrounded by the bodies of those who died by his orders. He was somehow horrified by his own victory. Yes, he had done the impossible. He had killed the Master of Darkness. But now there was no hope, not even for him.

The Shadow was dead!

CHAPTER V
IN hiding for the past weeks, the Shadow's agents gather in a dark room hidden behind the foreboding office door which held the name "B. Jonas". Though it had been long that this office been used, the cobwebs and dust that covered it's exterior were superficial, this was the meeting place of the Shadow's agents.

They sat at a large elliptical table. The only light in the room was from the above vent and it landed directly on the center of the table. The agents would turn on the lights, but from what they had experienced in the past weeks, they were afraid to do even that. A light from an abandoned office? Even the slightest sign of surreptitiousness would gather the murderous armies of the Cosa Nostra. Oh, how many innocent lives were lost as they searched for them.

Only the sound of rain could be heard in the dim room. The storm had lasted abnormally long. It had been their curse, but it was also a blessing. Because of the rampant flooding, the agents were just barely able to escape death more times than they could count.

The agents had doubted, but now they were sure, the Shadow was dead. Moe Shrevnitz remembered that fateful day well for he had arrived to hear the shots that penetrated his master's chest. The command was that if the limousine was bound for the Empire State Building that all agents were to fall back, all except Shrevy who was to wait to provide transport for the master fighter, "just in case". It was a half hour of waiting after Shrevy heard those fateful shots that a group of machine gunners attacked his cab. As he fled, cars came at him from all directions. They wanted him for information, to reveal the locations of the other agents. He was able to avoid capture with his expert driving skills, but ever since that day it had been nothing but running, hiding, and more running.

Next to Shrevy sat a wiry man wearing a trench coat and hat. His clothes were torn and wet, just like the others. This man was Clyde Burk, reporter for The Classic and as which was a professional at gathering information and an important agent of the Shadow. He shivered slightly. Next to him sat an agent known only as Burbank. He was rarely seen by the other agents. He was young, but had a solemn look about him. He was an electronics expert and worked as contact man for the Shadow. All reports were sent through him. Next to him sat Jericho Druke, a powerfully built black man who ran an employment agency in Harlem. He seldom spoke. Across from him sat Cliff Marsland, renowned throughout the underground world as a thief and murderer, but in reality he was none of these things. His tough exterior and jaded soul hid his dedication to the Shadow. A reliable agent. Next to him sat Rutledge Mann. Mann was chubby, quiet, and friendly. He was once a rich investor, but the Great Depression set on with full force and he lost his business. Suicide was imminent, but the Shadow offered him a second life. Next to him sat an agent known as Hawkeye. Hawkeye was once an underworld spy, but was reformed and has become a dedicated agent of the Shadow. His face was prematurely aged and his keen eyes darted back and forth. Next to him sat Harry Vincent. Harry Vincent may be the Shadow's most dedicated agent. He had nothing, but the Shadow put him back on his feet. He had moved from Michigan to seek a life in the city, but lost even that which he had, even the love of his life. The Shadow found him standing on a bridge, contemplating suicide, it was then that the Shadow brought him in. These eight were the Shadow's core agents and each one is worthy of the title.

They sat somberly. Wet, tired, miserable. None had spoken. The thunder roared loudly, awakening something Harry Vincent. He stood up and walked toward the window. He wanted to look out, but resisted to pull back the curtains recalling that this same day last week he had apparently been seen looking out an apartment window and the entire building was in flames within the hour. He turned around to the others.

"What now?"

They all looked at each other, desperate for an answer to this question. They were all thinking the same thing. The smart thing to do was to move to a far away to some rural farm town and live there quietly, but each felt that they would, somehow, be betraying their master.

Thunder roared again. They stirred in deep contemplation and a horrible nervous pain grasped their hearts.

Suddenly, the door burst open. In it's doorway stood a dripping silhouette. The outside streets were seen being pounded by rain.

The agents drew their weapons quickly, but none fired a shot. The silhouette stumbled in through the darkness. The others were shocked when they saw his face. In stumbled the Shadow's alter ego, Lamont Cranston. Though not actually the Shadow, this was the agent that he usually impersonated and it was equally shocking to see him.

"Lamont?! What are you dong here?!!!"

"....Margo...they have Margo."

CHAPTER VI
A young boy walked down the bustling New York streets. He was skinny, underfed. His clothes were torn and dirty. No parent was apparent which was strange for this part of town. He looked somewhat bewildered. A recent immigrant, he knew little English, he knew little of these grand streets.

He went from shop to shop. He asked for food, but food was in high demand and everyone was looking out for themselves. In other shops he did not even have the chance to ask.

It was this day that he came across a storekeeper who possessed a very expensive pocket watch which had been a family heirloom. The watch was chained to the man's jacket which he had placed on the desk where he sat.

The young boy struggled in his soul as he stared at the scene. He had been told that stealing was wrong, but no one would pass up this opportunity, would they? The storekeeper sat back in his chair and put his feet up, the day was slow today.

The young boy approached the desk cautiously. His short stature helped conceal his approach. When he finally reached the desk he explored the overhanging jacket and found the pocket watch.

He walked out twice as nervous as before, not looking in any direction, but forward. A strong hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back sharply. Caught! Someone must have seen him!

He slowly and unhappily turned to face his captor. A hand suddenly shot out and clasped his throat, another brought a gun to his head! He looked up to see a black cloaked skeleton, alight with flame and riddled with bullets. It was the Shadow!!!! A horrific laugh rang out as the hot steel of the gun barrel was pressed against the boy's skull.

Bang!!!!!!

Dominic Salvatore sat up suddenly with a yell. He breathed heavily and cold sweat covered his body and trickled down his cheeks. He grasped the girasol ring that he now wore, it burned. He looked around the darkness, still panting. Finally regaining his senses he opened up the window and looked at the clock. It was almost seven.

He stood up. It was time to get ready. There was much work today. He looked at the girasol. Much work to do indeed.

CHAPTER VII
"....Margo...they have Margo."

THE words hung in the air until Burbank asked the question they all should have asked right away:

"Who has her?"

"La Cosa Nostra. They left a ransom note."

"What do they want," asked Clyde Burke.

"They want a meeting tomorrow night at seven at the Cobalt Club. One agent, no guns."

IN the end it was decided that Harry Vincent would be the one to go. Jericho Druke had wanted to go and many agents supported him. If a gun was pulled on him, he would have the best chance of escaping with his life. But others aruged that he wouldn't be taken seriously by Cosa Nostra. So, finally, they all agreed on Vincent.

HARRY did his best to hide his fear as he was shown to a table at the Cobalt Club. He put on his girasol ring and felt a little better. It had always been a kind of talsiman for him.

But nothing would have prepared him for the shock he got when he was shown his table. Sitting there already was the man he hated most at that moment in time: Dominic Salvatore, himself.

"Sit down, Mr..."

"Vincent. Harry Vincent."

Recovering quickly, he sat down and started looking for the telltale signs of an concealed weapon. He saw none.

Salvatore, apparently seeing where Vincent was looking, said "I'm unarmed, but I wouldn't advise attacking. The club is filled with Cosa Nostra tonight. And try the prime rib; it's excellent."

After ordering the prime rib, Harry got down to business.

"Where's Margo?"

"She's safe. And as long as we can reach an agreement, she'll stay that way."

"What do you want?"

"A truce."

Harry wasn't sure he had hear right (why would the most powerful criminal in New York want truce?), so repeated the request.

"A truce?"

"Yes, a truce."

CHAPTER VIII
HARRY didn't think it would be wise to voice his question, but he couldn't help it:

"You have us up aginst the wall, and you want a truce. Why?

"With the Shadow at the helm, you put some of the cleverest men away. It won't take long for you to reorganize. I can't afford that, after all that's happened. If you agree not to seek revenge, I'll release Ms. Lane."

There was a tense silence, while the two sized each other up. Harry saw Salvatore's knife lying on his plate. He was itching to grab it. How easy it would to kill right that and there, but he had to think of Margo.

"Done."

"You know that's not good enough. How do guarantee my safety?"

Harry shrugged and said simply, "There's no one to order us other wise."

Dominic smiled contently as he stood, "Then it's settled then," he extended his hand forward.

Harry gaped as he brought himself to his feet. He gazed suspiciously at the grinning Salvatore and then at his extended hand. He slowly began to shake it, somewhat in disbelief.

"Yes, I guess it is settled," said Harry as he began to walk away.

"Oh, one more thing," Salvatore's grin had grown to wild proportions, "I want you to tell me the locations of the other agents, or else... I kill you."

To Harry, everything began to make sense again. That knife on the table looked better than ever. He grabbed it and lunged for Salvatore, but the attack was in vain. Harry found himself holding the knife to his own neck.

"Please, sit down," Salvatore's pleasure was uncanny, "we have much to talk about."