MASK: The Beginning


By Grant Erswell

FOREWORD:

The fan fiction "MASK The Beginning" was adapted from a comic strip story that appeared in the free preview issue of the UK MASK comic that was published in 1987 (I think, my comics aren't with me at the moment). Some of the story may appear a little confusing for those people not familiar with the UK comics.

The UK comic was written by and aimed at a British audience, and all the stories were original. The reason why the stories were so different is that they were based upon the toy line almost exclusively. No continuity was kept with either the MASK cartoon, the American DC comics, or the small comic books included with some of the early MASK toys. Examples of how this affected the UK comic was that Gloria Baker and Shark never made an appearance, or were even mentioned, Vanessa Warfield didn't appear till quite late in the series when the Manta toy became available and so forth. Also many of the stories were set in Britain.

The lack of continuity with anything other than the toy line meant the "official" origins story as presented in the mini comic "Flaming Beginnings" was to all intents and purposes ignored. However, there are similarities between this, and the UK comics origins which indicates the latter was undoubtedly influenced by "Flaming Beginnings". The most notable similarities are that Miles Mayhem first teams up with Matt Trakker to design the MASK vehicles, and later betrays him, and that Matt Trakker has a brother, although in the UK comic he was named Joe rather than Andy.

I hope you enjoy my adaptation of the comic story, and that with the knowledge provided by this foreword you can hopefully avoid some of the confusion.

Grant Erswell


The lecture theatre was filled with a cacophony of chatter and conversation. A melange of languages from all parts of the civilised world combined and overlapped, making it difficult to determine the subject of all the talk. However the tone of voice, the inflections of each word spoken, conveyed an air of concern, urgency…and more than a tinge of curiosity. A banner on one side of the theatre identified the inhabitants as representatives to the Peaceful Nations Alliance.

The voices of the delegates grew hushed as the lights began to dim. When complete silence had descended upon the room, the speaker for the gathering strode out from behind a curtain and approached the spot-lit podium. The figure moved with a sense of purpose and confidence, he was clothed in the military uniform of the PNA. The man was obviously approaching his late forties if not older, yet his manner asserted his authority, the medals on his left breast warning any who might be so foolish that he was a man of action, of combat…despite his current surroundings. The markings on his jacket denoted his rank as Colonel.

Colonel Miles Mayhem placed his few notes down on the lecturn. His right forefinger absently brushed at his thick moustache while his gaze scanned the room, sizing up his audience. Finally, he began to speak.

“It has been a bad year for the PNA – the Peaceful Nations Alliance. You will remember the terrorist attack on the White House, the napalm raid on London, the Paris explosion, the Severn Bridge bomb…”. Mayhem’s words awoke memories of destruction, hysteria, and death; he paused waiting for those painful embers to re-ignite.

“In its struggle for world domination, Contraworld has been hitting us with everything it’s got. It’s time the PNA hit back. We’ve got to stop the panic and terror!” There were murmurs of approval from the onlookers.

“My plan is to create the most advanced anti terrorist outfit the world has ever seen…To blow Contraworld’s organisation…sky high!”

* * *

A gull swooped low, diving into the sea, its beak snapping at the fish that had been careless and risen too close to the surface. The bird raises its head, with a beakful of flailing fish. Yet before it can retreat with its prize the sleek form of a windsurf crashes past with the speed of a fast moving car. Startled, the gull releases its meal and rises, flying off fast squawking its displeasure at having been disturbed. Its fellow gulls circle overhead as if inquisitive about this lone man on a board and sail. They query why he has ventured out so far to sea where no normal person would dare to go. But then this is no ordinary person; this is Matt Trakker, a millionaire at play!

Matt Trakker was alert, studying the ocean, following the rise and fall of each wave. “Here comes a real big one. The wind’s got up suddenly”. Matt narrowed his gaze as he adjusted his grip on the sail’s boom. The sea was growing choppier; a wave was forming some metres ahead, swelling to enormous heights that would threaten to knock the young man clean from his puny contraption and submerge him with the ocean’s wrath.

As Matt watched, anticipating, the wave moved, almost appearing to part. The roar of the sea was overtaken by the whine of rotorblades, and a large helicopter crested the tip of the wave. Matt noted the livery daubed on the belly of the great flying beast, it belonged to the fleet of the PNA. As the chopper drew nearer and then directly overhead, Matt was hit by the power of the down draught and forced to release the sail of his vessel then drop to his knees on the board. The look of confusion on his face changed to one of incredulity when the side of the aircraft opened and a rescue winch was lowered.

Within moments Matt Trakker was suspended beneath the helicopter, his windsurf abandoned to the waves. As the winch drew him close to the portal on the side of the aircraft the voice of Colonel Miles Mayhem rang out from inside.

“Climb aboard Mr Trakker. I wish to speak to you”. Mayhem was unable to hear the irony of Matt’s response “Boy, what some folks will do to get an appointment”.

Minutes later Matt was towelling himself dry in front of Miles Mayhem, who was seated in a large leather seat. Drips of water splashed onto the carpeted floor of the cabin from the wetsuit Matt still wore. The noise of the outside world was almost lost within the luxury seating area of the helicopter, the chatter of the crew shut out, the thumping of the rotors only a faint whisper above. It was Mayhem who spoke first.

“You are Matt Trakker. Twenty-eight years old. Rich. A top sportsman…And one of the most brilliant engineers of your generation.” Mayhem’s tone was not questioning, instead stating known facts. He hoped to intimidate Trakker somewhat, he held a belief that intimidation and fear brought respect quicker than generosity and courtesy.

“I’m also not used to being picked up like that. You could have killed me” replied Matt, unwavered by Mayhem’s attempt at bravado.

A broad grin broke out under Mayhem’s moustache his eyes shining with a delight reminiscent of a small boy who has been pulling the wings off flies for fun. “I thought it was rather amusing! My name is Miles Mayhem, intelligence commander for the PNA”. Matt Trakker digested these facts as he continued to listen to Mayhem’s speech.

“I am developing a combat team to fight Contraworld, and I want you Matt Trakker to be the project leader. You will build a fleet of espionage vehicles disguised as conventional air, sea and land craft. In the modern world, illusion is the ultimate weapon”.

“The team will be called the Mobile Armoured Strike Kommand…MASK!”

* * *

For a man like Matt Trakker, the offer was too good to refuse. He immediately began work on Project MASK. Within months, MASK was beginning to take shape. Field exercises helped men and machines to become one fighting unit.

Later that year Matt and his brother Joe, a fellow member of the MASK team, received orders for their first mission.

Matt settled into the seat in front of the myriad of consoles that acted as the communications centre for what was currently the headquarters of the Mobile Armoured Strike Kommand. Matt felt the hand of his brother come to rest on the back of the chair. Both men were aware of the tension in the air, the excitement, the electricity. Though perhaps it was only Matt who also felt the sense of risk, of danger that would accompany their first mission. The main computer screen held the face of Miles Mayhem, he looked grave, yet determined.

“Matt. Terrorists have stolen a weapon system from the French. MASK has got to get to it before Contraworld do”. Mayhem’s words were precise, strong, to the point. In the time Matt had grown to know Mayhem, he has become accustomed to the brusque tone, the lack of small talk, or courtesy.

“Where are the terrorist, Miles?”

“In the middle of the Sahara Desert! This is just a routine recovery job Matt, but it might give your MASK team some valuable experience.”

* * *

The Sahara, North Africa. The sun rode high in the sky, its fiery beams blazing down onto the beige blanket of sand, the dunes appearing like ruffles and creases in a slumbering man’s bedclothes. Yet sleep was the furthest things from the minds of Matt and Joe Trakker as they stepped down from the large red tractor rig that had been codenamed Rhino. They walked ahead as the rest of the vehicles drew to a halt behind the command vehicle. The sun reflected harshly off the chrome and steel forms that had encroached upon an otherwise barren landscape. Joe retrieved a map from his combat fatigues and opened it out; Matt stepped in closer to look.

“I don’t like it Matt. These are the right co-ordinates, but there’s no sign of the terrorists…or the weapons system!” Joe’s voice betrayed his frustration. As the two men puzzled over the map and stared across the horizon, the rest of the MASK team stepped out of their vehicles to stretch their legs.

“Maybe Miles Mayhem got it wrong…” spoke Matt “…or maybe it’s a trap!” Barely had Matt voiced his concerns when an explosion rocked the still desert landscape. Both brothers turned to see the rear vehicle of the MASK convoy wreathed in flames, thick oily smoke rising up from the burning machine. Matt searched the nearby terrain for the source of the attack.

“Gun turrets coming out of the sand!” warned Matt, but too late as Rhino was hit by a mortar. Now Matt heard the stutter of machine gun fire and saw his men fall. More gun turrets sprang out of the sand and added to the barrage. The whole MASK team was out in the open, with no cover to provide protection from the weaponry that surrounded them from every side. Joe made a dash to the remains of the Rhino rig hoping to activate some of its weapon defences, assuming they were still functional.

As Joe ran into the carnage he became a focus for the gunnery. A hail of bullets rained down around Joe’s feet at he leapt towards Rhino. But his was a lost cause; the forces set against him were too numerous not to find their target. Joe was cut down by a swath of lead whilst he was still yards from the command vehicle.

“Joe!” cried Matt, pain and anger in his voice.

Two overlapping circles frame the scene of destruction, the view from the binoculars held by Miles Mayhem as he observed the death of Joe Trakker. Mayhem lowered the binoculars and smiled, he was safely ensconced in a camouflaged reconnaissance hide some distance away.

“Good. They are being slaughtered…MASK is finished! But it has served its purpose. Now I have Trakker’s brilliant vehicle plans…and my Contraworld allies will finance a new organisation, one dedicated to the destruction of the free world…the Vicious Evil Network Of Mayhem…VENOM!”.

* * *

Months later, Fort Knox, Kentucky, USA. The two US army guards stood sullenly in front of the barrier across the main concourse to the US’s primary gold depository. One of the guards yawned, he had become lethargic in the heat of the midday sun. The pace of life around the bullion storehouse had seemingly slowed to a snail’s pace, it was well known that life around Fort Knox was dull, little happened to break the serenity that comes as a result of having such a large military presence.

The guards did not notice at first the black 4x4 vehicle approaching up Bullion Boulevard, it did not gain their attention when it began to slow its speed. In fact it was only when the machine was less than twenty yards away that the soldiers deemed to pay it any attention. As the driver of the vehicle steered it across the road, aiming it at the guarded drive to Fort Knox, the vehicle began to undergo a transformation. It was as if it were a being unhappy with its present form, a being who simply decided to alter and adjust its façade. The bonnet slid up and back obscuring the windscreen, the front grill lowered and two machine guns were pushed forth like a snake’s tongue probing the air.

“What’s this coming?” questioned one soldier. “I don’t recognise the vehicle” replied the other. The two guards were to speak no more words as the vehicle finished its metamorphosis by raising its rear section to reveal two viscous looking cannons and a gunner sat behind them. The cannons roared to life and the guards, the barrier, and the small guard hut were completely blown away.

“We’re here to deliver snake venom!” cried the gunner from behind his protective helmet, a helmet fashioned in a manner almost suggestive of an ancient knight’s helm.

The roar of jet engines were heard overhead as a sleek futuristic looking fighter plane fashioned in blue flew across the military border and onward into Fort Knox. The word VENOM was emblazoned down its length, the emblem encircled by a pictorial cobra. Inside the jet, the figure of Miles Mayhem sat, his head hidden by a blue and orange mask.

“A raid on Fort Knox! A little predictable perhaps, but symbolically a fine first act in the great drama…” in the midst of his speech Mayhem expertly activated the vast array of his aircraft’s weaponry. Red death spat from the wing mounted energy launchers, and this was added to by the machine gun battery that sprouted from the sides of the main fuselage. Below, a tank and its crew were consumed in a rapid succession of explosions. “…The great drama of VENOM’s conquest of the world!” finished Mayhem.

The two vehicles continued to wreak havoc, the black 4x4 progressing up the main driveway to the bullion depository and the jet providing air cover. The rear guard action of the VENOM assault was handled by a motorbike and sidecar that bore the name Piranha. Its driver sat behind the sweeping cowling and gazed out through the visor of his mask. The vehicle sat amongst the smouldering remains of the guard house, the machine guns that protruded from beneath the sidecar faced the main road and junction, ready to act against anyone who dared to approach.

The civilians were unsure of how to react; the driver of a blue Ford saloon car continued his turn into Bullion Boulevard as if nothing were wrong. A motorcyclist had spent too many moments gawping at the destruction being wrought by VENOM and had ploughed into the back of a silver off-road vehicle, he lay on his back some yards down the road, unmoving. A bronze Chevy Cavalier came screeching to a halt, while an orange jeep accelerated along its path up Gold Vault Road.

The VENOM agent sat on Piranha bore a contented look. “This is an easy job for ole’ Sly Rax. No military interference on the horizon for a good long while.” But Sly Rax was mistaken, too late did he spot that the driver of the orange jeep wore a mask just as each VENOM agent did. And too late did Rax become aware of the cannon revolving into place above the jeep’s windscreen.

Before he had chance to fire Piranha’s guns a ball of crackling electricity launched itself from the jeep’s gun. Rax was caught head on, a surge of electricity shocked his body, while his war machine’s electronics all short circuited.

The driver of the jeep was not alone, the form of a red tractor rig was storming down the road on an intercept course. The rebuilt Rhino began to undergo its transformation, shedding its skin of illusion and revealing the reality. The front grill extended to become a power ram, while the smokestacks rotated to become high powered laser cannons. The rear of the vehicle appeared to break off, but this was part of the reality, a detachable all terrain vehicle with dual suspension and front mounted vibration cannons. A second masked figure sat behind its controls, protected by a bullet proof shield. The smaller ATV roared ahead of the command vehicle and unleashed its cannon fire. Piranha, already disabled, was destroyed within moments, its pilot thrown sideways in a flaming, smoking bundle.

The rear guard destroyed, Rhino, its ATV, and the jeep codenamed Gator advanced up the driveway aiming to tackle the VENOM incursion. Soaring in from high altitude cloud cover came two more craft to join the ground forces - a sleek red jet, shaped as though it was once a car that grew wings and a green one man helicopter.

In the cockpit of the red jet codenamed Thunderhawk, was Matt Trakker, leader of the counterattack. “All MASK vehicles attack!” came the encouraging war cry. The MASK vehicles swept onward, surprising the VENOM agents. Thunderhawk and Rhino soon obliterated the black 4x4 in a pincer strike. Gator’s energy cannon began to systematically disable the trucks that had followed the VENOM attack, their mission to carry away the gold now thwarted.

In the cockpit of his jet Mayhem looked on with a look of hatred and disbelief. “Matt Trakker! Alive! And with a new MASK team!”. Mayhem’s military mind quickly assessed the situation, and as the green helicopter swooped in with its nose and belly cannons firing, he quickly chose his course of action. “All VENOM vehicles retreat. We weren’t prepared for this!”.

An oriental voice rang through on Thunderhawk’s radio “VENOM are turning tail Matt”. Matt responded to the voice, which belonged to his second in command, and the man piloting Rhino “I see them Bruce. We’ve won this round…but the next time they’ll be ready for us!”

* * *

Later, at a meeting of the PNA. The lecture theatre was almost identical to the one where Colonel Miles Mayhem had spoken over a year ago, where the betrayal that had resulted in the creation of VENOM had begun. But today the stage was home to a younger figure, but one no less determined about his course of action, Matt Trakker.

“When Mayhem’s mob ambushed us in the Sahara, I managed to jump into one of the holes created by the gun turrets. I overcame the gunners, but there was nothing I could do for my comrades.” Matt recalled the day he had lost not only his team, but his brother as well. He remembered how he had stood in the shadow of the gun turret and watched helplessly as his team mates were massacred, watched the still form of his brother bleed into the sand. Matt remembered the thoughts that ran through his mind “Dead…Joe and the rest of the MASK team…shot down like animals”.

Matt continued to recount his story to the PNA representatives. “I holed up until everyone had gone, but I was in the middle of a desert with no means of transport.” Matt’s mind wandered back to the scene of carnage that met his eyes as he finally dared to venture out to the smouldering remains of his team and their vehicles. It seemed as if the desert was beginning to reflect his mood of confusion and anger as the wind picked up and began to blow hot sand into his face and eyes.

Struggling to shield his eyes Matt despaired at his predicament “I’ll never make it on foot, and there’s a sand storm blowing.”. But Matt was a determined man and always sought to turn a situation to his advantage. “Maybe the storm can be my salvation…” He had begun searching through the wreckage, scavenging whatever components and tools he could find, until he was satisfied that his plan was feasible.

“There’s enough material amongst this debris to make a ‘board’, and enough metal and canvas to make a sail!”. It took longs hours, painful, bitter hours surrounded by the dead bodies of people he knew, but Matt became manic, obsessed with his task. He moved like a machine, his hands moving with purpose, while tears trickled down his cheek. But eventually his construction was complete – a windsurf with wheels!

As the makeshift vehicle carried him ever onward toward civilisation and away from the destruction, Matt had even managed to crack a smile. As the adrenaline ran through his system, he began to enjoy the journey “This is as easy as windsurfing on water!”.


Matt looked up to the delegates, he had become lost in his own reminiscences. He continued his story. “Soon the winds were chasing me across the desert. With every passing mile of sand I grew more determined to avenge my brother and my other dead MASK comrades. I vowed to create a new and superior undercover team. A team that would destroy the evil of Miles Mayhem…and of VENOM!.”

“A team called MASK!”.

Back to the Mindforge