Security at the front gates became alarmed at the sight of the suit of armor across the street. No one saw how it got there. It stood at the edge of Lafayette Park, directly across from one of the two secured entrances in front of the White House. The silver of the antique armor shone brightly in the streetlights as did the metal of the old Claymore sword it held with the tip resting against the sidewalk. Security teams scrambled and police cars pulled in. They cordoned off the entire street from corner to corner in order to let the swat team investigate.They assumed there may be some crazed individual within. They weren't paid to take chances.
“DROP YOUR WEAPON AND REMOVE YOUR HELMET!” the loudspeaker blared. No response, not even a flinch of movement. The order repeated several times with machine rifles trained on target. News crews watched with interest from roof tops and street corners near barricades. After some conversation, the officers agreed that it had to be approached. Five SWAT officers moved in with rifles ready. They covered one officer who slowly drew near the armor. With each step they watched for the slightest movement. The armor stood like a shop antique with the long Claymore sword’s handle and hilt held at the chest.
The closest officer slowly brought the muzzle of his rifle up to the visor of the suit’s helmet and still there was no movement. With the muzzle he lifted the visor and it moved easily. Upon lifting the visor, it revealed an empty helmet. The officer let out a sigh of relief and lowered his rifle, leaving the visor upright for others to see. He turned to the crowd of fellow officers around him with a smile and short laugh.
Everyone felt the tension release and they lowered their rifles. Some shook their heads and wondered who thought to leave that thing standing there. The officer closest shrugged his shoulders and then, to everyone’s shock, fell in half on the ground. The armor moved. It had spun the Claymore in its gauntlets and swung across the officer’s midsection so fast, no one had time to notice. An eerie and echoing laugh came from the helmet as it reached up and slapped its visor down. The officers opened fire with shouts of terror and panic. Bullets bounced away from the haunted armor as it moved into their midst. The next closest officer, who emptied his rifle at the thing, lost his head. Kevlar body armor stood no chance against the sword and each swing dismembered and killed. One officer tried to use the door of his squad car as a shield. The laughing armor brought down the Claymore and cut them both in half from top to bottom. The sword even cleaved into the asphalt on that swing, but was pulled away easily. Other officers fell back while two officers covered with grenade launchers. The both fired and hit the armor directly. It stepped through the smoke unscathed and still laughing.
Just outside those same gates, right by the opening, crouched a dwarf of a man who appeared to be frozen in terror. A man in the wrong place at the wrong time. One of the secret service men decided he couldn’t watch a defenseless man die. He opened the gate and pulled the little man to safety.
“Just stay behind us and we’ll protect you,” he said as he turned away from the trembling dwarf. Because of the mayhem before them, they missed the transformation behind them. The dwarf’s body stretched to seven feet tall and muscles expanded and grew. White skin darkened to a deep tan and took on the texture of smooth stone. Ears and teeth pointed and his eyes glowed a spectral green. Clothing transformed into tight white pants with a red sash around the waist.
“Yes, sir,” he said with his new gravelly voice, “right behind you.”
As the secret serviceman turned to see the new horror, a stone hand slapped his body into a speeding cartwheel, killing him instantly. The stone-demon laughed as shocked men turned their guns on him and fired in blind panic. Like his haunted partner, bullets meant nothing to him. If anything, they made him stronger. He laughed with morbid joy as he flung a human body hundreds of feet straight up in the air and went to battering others.
“You know what I really like?” he said as he grabbed a man by the top of his head. The man only screamed in reply. The stone demon squeezed and reveled in the sound and feel of the man’s skull caving in. “Yeah, that’s what I call fun!”
Security men flooded into the oval office where the President’s chair faced the window.
“Mr. President, we have to get you out of here,” said one of the men.
The chair turned to reveal a man in a sharp blue suit. He had cropped brown hair and youthful appearance. He was not the President of the United States. Over a dozen handguns rose to aim at him and stopped as he held up one finger with a knowing expression.
“What have you done with the President?” demanded the veteran officer.
“You could say he’s in the bag,” the young man responded, lifting a silk sack from his lap that appeared to be empty.
“Son, you obviously don’t know how screwed you are,”
“NO! You obviously don’t know how screwed you are!” He stood up and trigger itching men opened fire. As the bullets seared through the air towards him, a vortex of darkness appeared in front of the young man, coming from the silken sack. Bullets were pulled away to a place unseen within its confines. In moments, all the men ran out of bullets and stood in silent terror, wondering what would happen next. The young man held up the sack that still appeared to have nothing in it. He drew a hand across it as if he were a magician performing for them.
“And it still appears empty, but what’s this?” He jerked the mouth of the bag open and swept across the room as every bullet came back and shredded the men in front of him. He walked over to and knelt by the senior officer who choked,
“Who are you?”
“I’m the Bagman, and by the time you take your last breath, everyone on this property will be dead or at our disposal. Of course, the President and his family live for now,” He pointed to the silk sack, “and they are definitely in the bag.”
Far out back of the house another dwarf approached a group of soldiers. Just previously he jumped the security fence with a short sword in each hand and began cutting down security before they could fire a shot. He wore a tailored trench coat and a floppy brimmed hat that never left his head. He used the swords to walk on and do slicing cartwheels through his targets. He used agility beyond grace and every movement proved deadly. He paused only a moment in front of the soldiers aiming at him. Just under that floppy brim one soldier froze at the sight of his serpentine eyes and pointed teeth of his smile. Around his collar and at the ends of his sleeves, shadows seemed to move. Soldiers fired and he leapt straight up into the air. He landed in the midst of them and threw his swords outward. They didn’t strike the soldiers close up, but they didn’t have to. The shadows in the dwarf’s clothing darted out in the form of snakelike creatures. Their bites left no marks, but the bodies of the soldiers turned dusky gray as life force dissolved and they all crumpled to the ground. The swords flew like errant boomerangs and cut down every other security or soldier within thirty yards, before returning to their owner’s hands.
In another area, a distinguished looking gentleman approached the house with his own surrounding of soldiers as guards. He wore a black silk suit and had white gloves on. It looked like the soldiers were guiding him into the house, so other security stepped out of the way. Once in the midst of most of the security for that side of the building, the man stopped walking, and so did his escorts. As if on practiced cue, the soldiers all turned away from him and opened fire on their co-workers, killing them all without time for response. Once the deed was done, the man stepped out from the circle of them and surveyed the scene. He turned to them.
“Good, you may kill yourselves now.” As he entered the White House, they obeyed with a few final shots.
The Bagman welcomed his comrades by name; Silvercrow the haunted armor, Monolith the stone-demon, Serpent the blade wielding acrobat, and Hypnotist the mind controller. All across the grounds bodies lay in silent gore. The visual aftermath brought all other forces to a standstill at the gates. These five people took the White House with the effort of child’s play. No one knew what to do next. How did five men become so powerful that an army could not stand against them?
Years ago, they were very different men, but bent on evil schemes all the same. They drove out along the highways of Oregon, near Salem until they found a lone hitch hiker. They invited their new friend to a party at a campsite with promises of good times and beautiful women. Once they reached this supposed site, the hitch hiker found a huge pentagram etched into the earth with strange symbols all around. At each point of the star he saw a seating place for one of the five men. He tried to escape, but they overpowered him. They tied him up and tossed him into the center of the pentagram. They poured gasoline on him and lit him on fire. They took their five positions and shouted incantations over the hitch hiker’s screams to the sky. Something appeared to them, that fateful night, but it wasn’t what they expected. Still, the evil that appeared to them gave them great power, for eternal service. One of them became cursed when he questioned the being that appeared. The ancient god, Set, forever trapped him as a spirit in haunted, but enchanted armor. The act of this curse, kept the other four from questioning and they became the beasts that took the White House after darkness shrouded the world.