The Singular Universe: An Ultimate Comics RPG IC

[HenryJonesJr]

The Singular Universe: An Ultimate Comics RPG

World War II changed everything.

Before the great war, humans knew the way of the world. They went about their daily lives knowing in their hearts there were no creatures from space, demons and angels stayed in their respective realms, and a regular man could not become super over night. They went to sleep knowing the next morning their children wouldn't start displaying amazing powers in the morning. They went to work not worried about what the new superhuman arms race would lead to.

But World War II changed everything.

When the Third Reich's technologically superior and fiercely trained army began running roughshod over Europe, the United States Military began a desperate scientific program as a last ditch effort to turn the tide of the war, signaling the beginning of Project Rebirth and the Superhuman Age.

Rebirth produced one success, the agent known only to the public as Captain America. He was dispatched to Europe, but he was not alone. The government had also discovered that the human race was beginning to change and mutate to a higher level of evolution. Using some of these new found supermen, they formed The Invaders, a special team that was to liberate Europe.

But Hitler and the Nazis attempted to turn the tide themselves, searching for all manner of occult powers across the world, only to be thwarted time and time again by archeologist and American agent Henry "Indiana" Jones. The Germans also summoned a demon into the world, but the creature known as Hellboy was confiscated and raised by an American special forces team before the Nazis could use him for their dastardly intentions.

Eventually, with Captain America and the others at their backs, the Allies turned the tide of the war. As the noose tightened around Hitler's neck, The Invaders discovered the main fortress of Hitler's science team HYDRA, and what was really behind the Third Reich's technology.

The Nazis were being aided by the alien race known as the Chitauri, a shapeshifting race bent on wiping out freewill in the galaxy. On this final and heroic mission, the Invaders and Captain America thwarted their plan to release a nuclear ICBM on the United States and forced the aliens into retreat.

Unfortunately, Captain America was lost during the mission, sobering the end of the European war.

The time after the war was quiet, at least to the regular citizenry. But behind the scenes, the governments of the world began a superhuman arms race. The loss of Captain America set the US science division back years, as many different agencies scrambled to recreate Project Rebirth's success. The absence of America's super soldier also allowed the rise of the Soviet Union and the spread of Communism across the globe.

During the 60s, the Mutant population also skyrocketed, believed to be due to the atom bomb, and began to be noticed. As it did, Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr rose to prominent positions inside the community, eventually fracturing their long friendship due to differing ideologies.

The 70s brought radical change and the rise of terrorism across the globe. With free nations and Communist nations in the stalemate of the Cold War, criminal organizations attempted to use their inability to act to their advantage, chief among them was the super organization known as SPECTRE. In order to combat these threats, the United Nations Security Council convened in secret to put together a team to combat this new form of evil, and that is when S.H.I.E.L.D. was born.

SHIELD was designed from day one to be the organization to fight all the strange threats that had emerged, and had different organizations underneath it that specialized in different threats. The organization's first top agent was a former Navy SEAL by the name of Nick Fury.

As time past into the 80s, and the Cold War came to a close with the collapse of the Soviet Union, the world settled into a relative peace, although society as a whole began to decline. The world no longer had any heroes to look up to and no one to follow the lead of.

But that was about to change as well.

In Kansas, a small spacecraft crash lands on the Kent Farm. In Gotham City, a boy loses his parents to a lone gunman. A school for gifted youngsters opens in rural New York. And scientists in the United States begin unlocking the secrets of the Super Soldier Serum, using mutant DNA and Gamma radiation which will start a chain reaction across the world.

The time is now, and the world's new batch of superheroes has emerged, fighting back the evils that came with them.

This RPG is based off of a player-created continuity, similar to Marvel's Ultimate imprint. Outside of the above, and what the players themselves create, there is no pre-established continuity.

As players, it will be your job to take the basic ideas and characters of any comic book, and accordingly, reinvent them into however you see fit. Though it is your choice of how drastic the alterations should be, you are free to customize everything from a character's origin to motivations, identity, mannerisms, costume, powers, and world. Let your imagination run wild.

To apply for a character, fill out the application supplied below. If your application is rejected, do not despair! Simply rework what the Gamemasters tell you is wrong with it, or in the case of multi-applications, choose another character. All players are welcome, regardless of membership status or postcount.


RULES:

1. You may choose any character appearing in comic books and revamp them for Ultimate continuity. Any character appearing in manga, anime, etc are off limits.

2. You are allowed a maximum of two characters.

3. You must post at least once every week, though it is preferred you post more, or your character will be up-for-grabs. Failure to post after a month will result in removal from the roster.

4. PC's are not to be killed without permission. Nameless NPC's are fine, but PC's or important NPC's will require authorization. Don't do anything random, such as destroying the universe, either. Such behavior is frowned upon.

5. Several storylines can be going on at once, in order to interact with other players. If a player's character does not want to be involved in another's storyline, they do not have to. Consultation and communication are the keys to a good PC-to-PC interaction.

6. Sidekicks and legacy characters will be required to be permitted by the player orchestrating the mentor's role in the universe.

7. You can travel anywhere on Earth or off-planet, provided it is within your character's means. Time-travel is forbidden, unless it is specifically required of your character choice. (IE: Booster Gold, The Doctor, The Legion of Super-Heroes)

8. You are your character, so act like them. Create or portray their mannerisms, powers, and ideals to how they have been established in the game. BE the character - do not, under any circumstances, play yourself as the character.

9. Respect the Gamemasters. If they make a request of you regarding the game, listen to them. Failure to adhere to GM or moderator requests will result in expulsion from the game.

10. Be creative, and do not be afraid to try new and exciting things with old concepts. This is a new continuity - the laws of the regular Universes are not set in stone.

11. All regular forum rules apply.

12. And finally, the most important rule of all: Have fun. Never take the game too seriously, or you will have lost the point. Heated arguments between players can result in probation or infractions - do not ruin it for other players. It is only a game.

To Join the game, please visit our OOC thread.
http://roleplayerguild.com/showthrea...Comics-RPG-OOC

[Byrd Man]

Istanbul, Turkey


Bond watched his quarry from the back of the taxicab. The short, balding man ambled out of the bellydancing bar and tried to hail his own taxi. He was definitely unassuming, Bond surmised. That was the brilliance of his work. He looked like the type of man who you could see every day and then forget his face the next time you saw him. The way he held himself was key. A bit of a slouch, but not too much. Just enough to look commonplace a dull. It was a masterful performance. Bond would applaud him if not for the circumstances. If not for all the dead. Bond saw the man give up on a taxi and began to walk down the sidewalk. Bond passed his driver thirty lira, said some words in Pidgin Turkish, and then took to the street.

His target displayed excellent tradecraft even now when he was half drunk. He looped, doubled back, and stalled every time he thought a tail might be on him. Bond stayed on the outskirts of his periphery. He was just far enough back to follow, but not too close to spook. Bond kept his hands in his jacket pockets. Inside the left pocket was the garrote. In his right pocket, his suppressor. Bond saw him duck into an alley. Bond kept going and hurried around the block to double back through the other side of the alley. He came in from the opposite side and stuck to the shadows. He saw the man running his hands against the alley's brick wall, searching for something. Bond watched as he pulled a brick from the wall and reached into the hole behind the brick.

It was a dead drop meeting. The man at the British Embassy had told Bond he had figured that much earlier that day. Bond crept towards him as the man pulled a plastic bag from the wall and began to open it. Bond slowly pulled the garrote from his jacket as he approached. The brick slipped from the man's hand and he cussed, going down to pick it up. He was down towards the ground when Bond went in for the kill.

"ACCK!" the man grunted as Bond wrapped the wire around his throat. He brought the man in close with his powerful build, pulling him off his feet as he choked the life out of him. The man tried to claw at Bond's face but could only feebly paw at Bond's shoulders. He stopped resisting as he ran out of air. When he passed out, Bond twisted his neck sharply and broke it in one swift move. The dead body fell to the ground with a soft thump. Bond put his garotte back in his coat and stepped over the body to the plastic bag.

Bond opened it and looked inside. There was a little over a hundred thousand lira inside, equivalent to fifty thousand euro. With the cash there was a nine millimeter, and a list of names. Six names, six different people. Bond would have to check with the embassy, but he was sure most of the names on this list were intelligence agents operating inside Turkey. So far, the dead man at his feet had killed four foreign intelligence agents here in Turkey: Two British, one American, and one Chinese. Of these six names, there were two more Brits, two Chinese, and two Americans. Bond took the bag and put it back into the dead drop. He searched the body, went through the dead man's cellphone. He had a text that came through ten minutes before he left the bar: FLOTSAM, it had said in all caps. Bond replied to the text with what he thought was the right response: JETSAM.

He turned off the phone and picked up the body. He found a dumpster in the alley and put the body there. Bond climbed in with it and squatted down inside. He pulled his Walther from the small of his back and the suppressor from his jacket pocket. He attached the suppressor to the gun and waited. Hours passed, a few people passed through the alley going about their business. Three hours after texting the number, a man slowly walked down the alley. Bond knew this was his man from the moment he saw him. Tall and muscular, he appeared to have asian features in the shadows. He watched his back and followed his tradecraft as he approached the dead drop. Bond waited until he was opening the dead drop before Bond moved. He was reaching into the hole when Bond pressed the barrel of the suppressor against the man's ribs.

"Don't move," he whispered into the man's ear. "Move and you're dead."

"I'm dead either way," the man replied in a foreign accent. Not entirely Chinese, Bond thought, but slightly Chinese.

"Who were you and your man working for?"

"Kill me if you wish," the man said. "But if you cut off one head, two shall take its place."

"Wrong answer," Bond hissed. He pulled the gun up and held it flush with the back of the man's head.

"Hail Hydra," he yelled.

Bond pressed the trigger. The gun kicked and made a soft pop. The man fell to the ground, dead. Bond took his wallet, phone, and anything of value off of him. This man was heavy, but Bond was able to carry him to the dumpster with his friend. Bond threw him in there and calmly walked down the alley. A half block away, he found the closest payphone and dialed the number he was given.

"Hello?" a voice on the other end asked in a crisp British accent.

"I settled things with our two friends," replied Bond.

"Both?"

"Yes"

"Well then, congratulations are in order. It's official now. 00 Status. Come on home, James. It's time to report for duty, 007.

Bond hung up the phone and walked down the street into the night.

Ian Fleming's
James Bond
007

In

Snake Dance

[THEBANNONCANNON]

3:40 A.M.

Gotham, Gotham University

Chemistry Department.

Jonathan slowly placed his cup of cold coffee on the counter, and looked at his watch. It was 3:40 A.M. He stood in the Gotham University Chemistry Department, he’d made a spare key before he’d been fired, and snuck in here often. He’d been working since 7 P.M. Today, and felt fatigue gripping his consciousness. But his serum was complete. Finally.
He’d been working like a mad man on this for weeks now, and his last recent paychecks have almost gone entirely to this project. Buying supplies and materials and other needed things. The Janitors knew him around The University, and they were the only people he ever got along with during his career here.

His career here…

Just being in the presence of this building naturally angered Jonathan, for being so misunderstood by these repugnant fools! But he always tried to funnel that anger into his work, and he thought it showed. Or at least, it would.. Soon.
The lanky man leaned against the counter and looked at the table that lay before him, an aerosol can sat before him. He would perfect the delivery method later, for now he was simply excited to test it out on a subject. He was making progress, but he felt like not quickly enough. Picking up the aerosol can he walked to the door of the lab, and flipped the light off, stepped outside into the Hallway of the University and shutting the door. He stalked his way through the dark hallways, and it seemed nobody was in the entirety of the University. Though that was more than unlikely untrue, Jonathan always felt like a creeper of the night walking through the dark and quiet halls at such a ungodly hour.

He imagined all the work that he had put into this, and recalled what seemed to finally work, on paper anyways. Norepinephrine is a hormone that activates the Fight or Flight Response as well as is known for causing Disorientation, while Epinephrine causes a onset of Panic and Confusion. Finally, powdered DXM that Jonathan had extracted from Cough Syrup was then added, to give Hallucinogenic effects as well. It wasn’t perfect, but it was getting there.
The effects didn’t seem to be fatal, at least physically so far. But he would know soon… Reaching the door closest to his car he walked outside, and saw the city seemingly sleeping. It was dark and quiet, and not even the wind blew. Eerie.
He drove back to the apartment, and unlocked the door. Entering his cluttered and disorganized home, he threw his jacket onto a sofa and sat down with, tired. Staring at the Aerosol spray he had concocted. He would stay up the rest of the night and get to work on fitting a more convenient delivery system of spraying this noxious gas. Because he couldn’t rest, not anymore. He felt like he had been resting his whole life, and now he finally was going to do what he was Destined and nothing would, or even COULD stop him.

Several weeks ago, Jonathan also made sure his location was correct. Richard Griggs, a Jock that had picked on Jonathan in High School was still living only a few blocks away, by a grocery store that Jonathan did his shopping. He’d found out that Richard worked at a mechanic shop, and had become almost obsessive in learning this man’s schedule.

He’d give himself 12 hours to create a more convenient distribution method that would be 3:40 P.M. Right around when Richard would be going on break from the shop and going home to his empty apartment for a snack. That would be when Jonathan tested his gas… When he would exact his Just Vengeance!

He felt as if others would view this is insane or going too far, but Jonathan didn’t think so. You couldn’t go to far, in getting revenge for what they did to him…
They would never know his hurt.
But he’d get them as close as he could.

[HenryJonesJr]

Clark Kent's eyes stayed glued to his computer screen, with only a few blinks of disbelief to brake his gaze now and again. How could he be this foolish? How could he be this sloppy? He knew this was coming. How could he not? He knew he had saved that plane in front of national news coverage of the impending disaster. The engine had blown out right in front of him. What was he going to do? Let them fall to their deaths? No. He was raised better than that. What would Ma and Pa think if he had let that happen simply to continue to work as a rumor in the sky. No, he knew this day would have to come sooner or later. No, he needed to save them, no matter what the cost. Even if it meant officially showing himself to the world. Eventually, his crusade would have been made public. It's probably better that it happened like this. A grand show of what kind of hero he was striving to be.

But Clark had no idea what kind of shockwave the Daily Planet Media's headline of "The Superman is Real" would have.

Already national and international pundits were fiercely debating what this meant for the future of the human race. Was Superman a mutant so highly advanced he would begin the Human/Mutant War being predicted by the terrorist leader known only to the world as "Magneto"? And if so, what could the US Government and the world's security council do to respond? Surely, any being that could catch a free-falling plane from the sky could easily escape from any modern day weaponry. What could be done to stop him?

And then there were those praising him. Calling him a modern day savior of men. Some have even gone as far to call him the second coming.

Kent leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He could lift a 747 above his head, but this kind of press and exposure worried him. So many questions were racing through his head. What if someone recognized him? Since he had started his patrols, he changed his normal demeanor to more of a loner. He slumped his shoulders and did his air a different way for work. Well, human work. He also donned a pair of glasses to enhance the ruse, but after this he worried it wouldn't be enough.

But wearing a mask like Gotham's so called Batman wasn't the answer. No, hiding his features from those he was trying to help wouldn't have been the right thing to do.

Besides, he heard Ma's voice in his head, you're such a handsome boy.

"Ya see, Smallville," a voice called out from behind him. "I told you he was real. But did you believe me? noooo. No one ever believes Lois. Even though I'm the one that's always right."

Lois Lane. His neighbor in the Daily Planet bullpen, reporter extraordinaire, and the love of his life. Of course, only two of them were the current truth. He had developed a crush on her the minute he started working at the Planet, but had yet worked up the courage to ask her out.

"What can I say, Lois?" he answered in a sheepish tone. "You are the smart one in the pairing."

"And don't you forget it!" she smiled before raising an eyebrow. "Where were you, by the way? Perry said he was gonna have you meet me there."

"Oh, well, the roads were blocked off by the time I got on my way. Too many people trying to go see Superman I guess."

"No matter. Means I'm the only one on the byline."

"I'm pretty sure it also says 'Photos by James Olson'," another new voice interjected. Clark turned to find his good friend Jimmy poking his head into the reporters' area. "Wish you could have been there, CK! It was crazy!"

"Maybe next time, Jim," Clark responded. "Maybe next time."

**********

On the other side of space, a red blinking light appeared in an alien craft, waking the ships owner.

The being slid out of its sleep pod and pressed the light, igniting a view screen above it. There, on the screen was something it never thought it would see again. No, it was something it never should have seen again. Those people were dead. Dead and gone. A forgotten horror the universe would never need to see again.

But the "S" emblazoned on the man's chest said differently.

Pressing a few commands on the instruments panel with its purple fingers, the being's craft shot towards Earth.

[Master Bruce]

"And that is why, as District Attorney, I'll be devoting my next term to the dream of a Gotham without organized crime. My office will be doing everything in their power to wipe away the stain left on the city by men like The Roman and Boss Maroni, and we'll do it with the help of a reinvigorated Police Department. We have to make our message clear. Corruption in Gotham will no longer be tolerated."

The crowd of supporters break out into applause. Despite having more to say, Harvey graciously accepts their approval with a nod and smile, allowing the moment to pass. Were this any other night, I might be inclined to join them. The message of Dent's campaign is something that I'm strongly dedicated towards making into a reality. But despite my attempts to play the part of generous benefactor towards Dent's re-election, my mind is continually by the sounds of an open police channel ringing through my ears. Thankfully no one's commented on it yet, but I modified a two-way military-grade channel radio to look like a bluetooth headset. It's been feeding me everything I need to know about the location of a certain individual I've been persuing for the better part of five months. And concidentally, so has Gotham Central. Tonight they're doing a stakeout of what is believed to be his current safehouse, and I'm awaiting their verbal confirmation that he's there now. Because whenever I'm done here, that's where I'll be heading. Call it a matter of speeding up the process of apprehension, but after tonight, I'm going to make sure that Anthony Zucco will have nowhere else to hide.

Not from them. And especially not from me.

"What's your position, Lieutenant?"

"Same as it was an hour ago, Gordon. Haven't seen a damn thing all night."

"Keep trying. Until the new Commissioner arrives, we're on orders from the Mayor's office, and I want to be sure that I can tell them we've got Zucco in a cell downtown."

[sigh] "Roger that. Over n' out."

"Bruce Wayne! There you are!"

Partially lost in my train of thought, it takes a moment for me to glance back and notice that someone's waving through the crowd. And despite the fact that I've spent the better part of three months trying to avoid her, we're more than a little acquainted. Norah Winters, a columnist for the Gazette. Before I met her, I thought Vicki Vale was the most tenacious reporter in Gotham. But my security team caught Ms. Winters trying to sneak onto the lot at Wayne Enterprises' Research and Development center at least twice, drastically altering that assumption.

Still, I have to admit. I didn't expect someone quite as lovely when I'd heard about her.

Excusing myself from the table of campaign contributors, I grab a small glass of champagne from a waiter as he passes us, turning my attention away from the stage and casually making my way through the crowd over to Norah. She excitedly does the same, squeezing between a couple walking across the hall's floor and rummaging through her purse for what I can assume is a recorder. She's been after an exclusive with me practically since the day she moved to Gotham. I've been more than hesitant, but as Alfred has made a habit of telling me, my reputation as a public prescence could always use a boost. Especially if I want to accomplish anything as a the next CEO of Wayne Enterprises.

"God, I was beginning to think you were avoiding me,", she begins, accepting the glass from my hand. "Oh! Thank you. I wasn't expecting such generosity."

"You looked like you could use some,", I explain, forcing a smile. "I'm sorry, have we met? You said my name back there, but you don't look very familiar."

"Well, we have... and we haven't,", she replies, sipping away on the glass' contents. "Norah Winters, Gotham Gazette. I've been trying to reach you since November."

I feign uncertainty, trying to avoid any sort of unpleasantness. I've enough to deal with tonight.

"You have? I wasn't aware of that.", I explain. "I'm in-between personal assistants right now, there's been alot of build-up between clients. I'm sure you can understand."

Judging from her body language, she doesn't seem to buy it, but nevertheless nods.

"Of course. And I'd hate to waste any more of your valuable time, but if you wouldn't mind..."

She holds up the recorder. "Quick interview?"

Looking back at the stage, then at my watch, I realize that Harvey's speech is just about over. My plan was to depart immediately after, using the cover of a sudden illness to explain the abrupt exit. It appears that such a course of action was just been shot to hell. Hoping that no further developments with the stakeout on Zucco arise, I deactivate the headset so that she doesn't hear anything conspicuous.

"I suppose a quick one wouldn't hurt,", I remark, pretending to be interested. "Sure, go ahead."

Clearly pleased with an unexpected result, she turns on the device and holds it up to her lips.

"Good evening, Gotham. This is Norah Winters, and I'm here live with none other than famed billionaire Bruce Wayne, who's here at the Iceberg Lounge celebrating what is sure to be the key point of the re-election of District Attorney Harvey Dent. Mr. Wayne, tell me, why have you chosen to represent Dent's campaign over Carl Finch?"

"Well, first of all I'd just like to point out that it's Bruce, Norah.", I begin, with a chuckle. "To answer your question, Harvey and I have been close friends for several years, and he's done a terrific job in his first term of prosecuting several of Gotham's most notorious gangsters. It'd be a disservice to the city not to do everything I can to see him win another term."

"You say that the two of you are friends,", she inquires. "When did that start?"

"About ten years ago, back when we both attended Princeton.", I reply. "I was majoring in economics, if you can believe it, and Harvey was pursuing his degree in criminal justice. We didn't really meet until our Senior year, when he punched me out for trying to steal his girlfriend."

I was actually pursuing criminal psychology at the time. Harvey never knew, but our college years actually helped me to pave the way towards the path that I would have eventually taken. His passion for justice was - in a way - influential. Obviously, our methods greatly differ, but Harvey is an invaluable asset to the war. One that I wouldn't trade for anything.

"Which, by the way, I wholeheartedly deny.", I continue, learning in. "She technically kissed me."

"I see,", she responds. "And what about Wayne Enterprises' role in endorsing Dent's platform? Does he plan to allow your company to obtain the legal rights to restructure the East End?"

"The East End project isn't something that's going to go forward,", I maintain. "That was a decision brought ahead by the board of directors, not me. I know that there's an expectation, but I can assure you, no one's losing their homes or their jobs because of anything my company does."

I can tell where this is going. She's going to have to do better than that if she wants to corner me on this.

"So you're refuting William Earle's claims to the contrary?", she inquires. "That's interesting, because he is technically still CEO of Wayne Enterprises, isn't he? Wouldn't that mean that his vote outranks your's? Or am I missing something?"

"His vote outranks mine,", I begin. "But he has to appeal to the rest of the board in order to move ahead. And I'm confident enough to know that I have most of the board's support."

She raises an eyebrow.

"What you're saying is, you don't actually know if the East End restructuring will happen?"

"Look,", I clarify. "I get what you're saying. But the fact of the matter is, my name is on the building and his isn't. I respect Mr. Earle's position as a long-standing member of the company, but Wayne Enterprises cannot move forward on any funded development projects without my approval. That was written into the contract that Mr. Earle himself verified. If I don't approve it, it's not going to happen."

A smirk crawls across her face, and she immediately stops the recorder.

"Oh, that's grand. Thank you. I think I've got what I needed."

Raising an eyebrow, I shake her hand as she extends her's, more confused by the exchange than anything. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Wayne."

"Likewise,", I respond. "I guess."

As she turns to walk away, I take another step forward.

"Ms. Winters,"

She stops to turn around as I approach. I don't know what exactly her angle is, but I think I know of a sure way to find out. Granted, this only further complicates everything. But it's a necessary risk to take if she intends to write anything negative about my role within the company. I have enough trouble trying to maintain ties to Arkham Asylum. I don't want to lose a connection to my father's empire in the process.

"I know this may seem a bit sudden, but thinking about it now, I feel terrible that you've had to go to so much trouble to reach me,", I begin. "Let me make it up to you. Say, over dinner?"

For a moment, she's silent, unsure of what to say.

"Dinner,", she repeats. "With you? Just the two of us?"

I shrug. "If you'd like. I have an excellent chef at the Manor, and I could use the company."

Considering it, she eventually nods.

"Well, I was hoping to get a bit more out of you than that..."

"Great. Then it's settled. A follow-up interview at my place. How does Saturday work?"

"Saturday?", she recites. "No, sorry. I can't do Saturday. My, uh - my boss has me working a deadline."

I give a nod, reaching into my jacket for a card. "I understand. How about this, I'll give you my assistant's number and you can schedule at your convenience."

Handing it to her, I watch as she looks over the number, then back to me.

"That's, yeah. That's fine. I guess I'll see you then?"

"Here's hoping."

Giving her another smile, I watch as she finally turns around to leave. Then drop the expression and the change in posture as soon as she's out of range, reactivating the radio as I slowly begin to stroll away from the party and into the next hall.

"-SPOTTED US! I REPEAT, OFFICER DOWN, ZUCCO'S MEN HAVE SPOTTED---"
*B-BLAM* *B-BLAM*
*RAT-TA-TA-TA-TA*

Eyes widened, I realize that the situation's become far more dire than I would have originally guessed. Unfastening my tie, I make for the exit as quickly as I can and begin to remove my jacket, nearly knocking over a valet on my way over to the marked limosiene just beyond the building. If those officers were spotted that easily, then Zucco's already aware that he's been watched. Plenty of reason that he needs in order to leave Gotham by dawn. There's too much heat on him to stay any longer, and if he's gone, so is my only feasible connection to what's going on at the docks. Sad as it is to say, I need him here.

Making my way to the parking lot, Alfred spots me approaching and immediately vacates the vehicle, opening the passenger door in the back so that I can quickly get in. Giving him an appreciative nod, I hand him my tie and jacket as I begin to loosen the buttons on my shirt. I slide into the car's back seat and he closes the door, entering the driver's seat just as quickly.

"Turning in rather early, aren't we, Master Bruce?"

"We're leaving. Something important just came up."

Removing the leather paneling from under the seat, I begin to type a secure button combination into a panel just beneath the partition. Most just assume that it's the controls for the television monitor. But I've designed it with an entirely different purpose. Ease of access.

Bruce Wayne isn't needed for what comes next.

"Nothing too troubling, I would hope."

"You know me, old friend..."



"It's nothing I can't handle."

[Byrd Man]

Vauxhall Cross
London


Bond walked through the quiet halls towards his destination. The traffic of the early morning rush of workers commuting had settled down. He was virtually alone as he navigated through the offices. Here, on the top floor of Vauxhall Cross, sat the upper echelon of the Secret Intelligence Service. SIS to those in the know, still called MI6 by the world at large. SIS was just one of the many intelligence services that attempted to protect the world from the many threats that were out there. SIS was dangerous work, especially for the 00's. Bond knew that. He also knew he wasn't the first to be called Bond, and he knew he wouldn't be the last.

He ducked into a restroom before arriving at his appointment. Bond washed his hands after using the facilities. He stopped washing when he caught his face in the mirror. He had killed two men just thirty-six hours earlier. In two swift moves, he had taken away all that they were, all they would be, and all they ever could be. He had never killed before then, and it didn't bother him. Bond kept staring into his face, looking for some sign or tell that the deaths of those two men had effected him in some way. He didn't see anything, he didn't feel anything. Was it because those men were murderers? Or was it something else?

Bond did his best to put those thoughts out of his mind. He finished washing up and headed down to office at the very end of the floor.

"Good morning," the young woman said with a bright smile as Bond came into the office. She stood and Bond sized her up. Redheaded and thin, she looked like Bond's type. But, then again, it seemed to him that any woman with a pulse was his type. "Commander Bond?"

"Yes," he said with a smirk. "And you are?"

"Moneypenny," she said. "Eve Moneypenny."

"Miss Moneypenny," Bond said, extending a hand. She held hers out to shake, but he took it and went in for a kiss on her hand. "A pleasure."

"Not yet," she said, quickly withdrawing her hand. She had a bemused look on her face, but Bond could see just a hint of a smile underneath it. "And, more than likely, not ever."

"Never say never," Bond quipped.

"Yes, well, he's ready for you," she said, leading him from her desk towards a wooden door. Moneypenny opened it and stepped aside as Bond entered the office. It looked more like a study, books crammed into shelves on both sides of the wall. A tall and lanky middle aged man was sitting behind a rich mahogany desk. The man Bond first met a lifetime ago, the man who had saved his life from prison. He had knew him as Colonel Mallory, then. Now, he was just simply M.

"Bond," said M. He stood and extended his hand. They shook hands. "007. Congratulations, once again."

"Thank you, sir," said Bond.

M motioned for him to sit and Bond complied. M settled down in his chair and looked his new field agent over, giving him a thoughtful look.

"We were able to identify the two men you took care of in Istanbul."

"Took care of." That was the parlance of the business. Problems were "fixed" and "solved", people were "taken care of", and "seen to." Nobody ever said kill, assassinate, or murder.

"The short man was Ahmet Arap, a native of Turkey who seemed to have been affiliated with several criminal organizations there for years. A common hitman, it would seem. With his friends, things get more interesting. He was Ganbold Chinbat, a native of Mongolia."

"That explains the accent," said Bond. "He sounded like he was Chinese, with a hint of something else."

"Yes," agreed M. "It seems that Chinbat was a former operative of the Chinese intelligence service. We don't know what kind of work he did for the Chinese, but based on how big and powerful he was, it seems he would have been a field operative of some sorts. Regardless, he fell of the grid some years ago. Our sources inside the People's Republic say that the Chinese had a standing kill order out on him, citing desertion and treason."

"What about that nonsense he was spouting," asked Bond. "Something about a hydra?"

"HYDRA," said M. "It's a terrorist organization. Or so we think. There are rumors everywhere, but who knows what to believe? Some people say that they are a cult that worship a Sumerian snake god, some say they were rogue Nazi scientists. The only thing we do know is that they are quiet. Unlike most terrorists, they don't release any information or claim any attacks. If these murders in Turkey were HYDRA, then this is the biggest thing they've ever done that we know was them."

"Right," said Bond. "Where do you need me?"

"Mumbai," said M. "What little we know of this Chinbat fellow, he was last seen in Mumbai three weeks ago. We have footage of him arriving in the Mumbai airport with this man."

M reached for the tablet on his desk and turned it on. He tapped the screen a few times and then slid it over to Bond. The screen showed a grainy shot of an older man with gray hair walking with Chinbat.

"Our analysts seem to say that the man with Chinbat there is Anatol Sturn, a Bulgarian with ties to the Sofia crime syndicates and Russian mafia. You're to go to Mumbai and follow up on Sturn."

"What makes you think he's still there," asked Bond. "If these people are HYDRA they'd certainly always be on the move."

"You're right, but nobody matching Sturn's description has been through the airport since. If he left the city, it was by other means. If you find him, follow him and report back what you find. We may finally have a way into HYDRA, so we want to keep climbing the ladder."

"Understood," said Bond. "When do I leave?"

"Tonight," said M. "But before you go, you need to go the basement. The Quartermaster has some supplies."

Bond nodded and stood. M stood with him and the two men shook hands.

"Best of luck, 007."

[THEBANNONCANNON]

Jonathan stood in his crisp and trim iconic black suit, his light brown hair slicked back. The apartment Richard owned seemed to show he still had his obsession with Sports he did in High School. A children’s T-Ball Jersey lay crumpled on a couch in the living room. It was for a team called “The Gotham Bat Boys!”
It seemed like it was in reference to a Man the criminal world seemed quick to fear; The Batman. Yet, these common criminals no doubt were making up this ‘Batman’ to scare their competition. Jonathan was smarter than that. He sat down on the couch, knowing he had a little time and flicked on the T.V.

The News station that was on seemed black, with text written up on the screen, It was obvious it was a Audio tape. Dr. Crane heard the words of rather attractive sounding women.
"Good evening, Gotham. This is Norah Winters, and I'm here live with none other than famed billionaire Bruce Wayne, who's here at the Iceberg Lounge celebrating what is sure to be the key point of the re-election of District Attorney Harvey Dent. Mr. Wayne, tell me, why have you chosen to represent Dent's campaign over Carl Finch?"
"Well, first of all I'd just like to point out that it's Bruce, Norah. To answer your question, Harvey and I have been close friends for several years, and he's done a terrific job in his first term of prosecuting several of Gotham's most notorious gangsters. It'd be a disservice to the city not to do everything I can to see him win another term."
"You say that the two of you are friends, When did that start?"
"About ten years ago, back when we both attended Princeton. I was majoring in economics, if you can believe it, and Harvey was pursuing his degree in criminal justice. We didn't really meet until our Senior year, when he punched me out for trying to steal his girlfriend."
----------------------------------------

He turned the T.V. off, and felt his hands clench in anger. Types like Bruce Wayne were what he knew he was born to stand up against. Rich bastards who think they can get away with anything, who never have to fear... They don’t fear for money, They have it all. They don’t fear for their Health, people in Gotham don’t mess with the Upper Class. They seem like the only ones Gotham P.D. actually protects. Even if sickness take hold, their Money is usually sufficient to save them. Dr. Crane was going to make sure they pay their dues. Fear just as the rest of Gotham Fears. Suffer just as the rest of Gotham Suffers.

Jonathan stood up and reached into his breast pocket of the jacket, and pulled out his burlap mask. Taking a deep breath, he placed it upon his head and felt as if he was another person. No.. not another person, A more powerful form of himself. One that could show Fear to those who deserve it. He felt as if he was rushing towards a Destiny he could not control or resist. But that was fine, because he wished to embrace it.
Speaking of which..

Richard Griggs opened the door to his apartment, and stepped inside. He moved casually, and walked straight into the Kitchen. It was with the air of a man who had done this countless times before, yet as he lay out the bread to make his sandwich, a dark shadow appeared behind him in the doorway to the kitchen.
The Scarecrow had come, and stood in the doorway staring with angry, slanted vibrant blue eyes through the small holes in his mask. He felt as if the world fell slowed, and he took another step forward. The man turned around curiously, and, seeing Scarecrow behind him, let out a terrified yell.

“Not scared Enough!” Growled the malevolent Scarecrow, as his hand rose and he squeezed his palm, allowing a Aerosol spray of his personal concoction to spray forth into the face of his old tormentor. It came out looking almost tan, and got in the eyes, mouth and nose of Richard. He sputtered and slipped backwards, falling into the counter. He used his arms to try and keep his balance and gasped for air. The Sultan of Scares let out a hollow laugh, and took another step forward. Richard seemed to finally get enraged, and launched himself towards the Scarecrow.

Scarecrow sidestepped him and the man crumpled to the floor in a heap. The lanky man viciously placed a kick into Richards ribs.

“What do you want from me?!” Mr. Griggs said with a terrified cry, trying to raise himself onto his elbows. His eyes were beginning to water, and he looked up to the masked man with terror and a yearning for mercy in his eyes. Yet none would come. For none came to Jonathan in High School, why should he escape Justice..?

“I want Vengeance.” Scarecrow whispered, kicking him in the head. The mechanic fell once more upon the floor before he rolled over onto his back, and facing the ceiling, began to scream. His pupils dilated, and he tried to curl into the fetal position while trying to crawl away from his tormentor. But the King of Crows had still more to his plan. He walked out of the kitchen without a word, smiling under his burlap. This was the culmination of all he had strove for.

He opened the briefcase he had brought with him on the coach, and took out handfuls of straw, scattering them throughout the living room. Taking another handful he entered the kitchen and scattered them over the crying heap of a man in the corner. He moved silently, withdrawing a small pistol from his jacket pocket he raised the gun and fired a round into the skull of Richard without a moment’s hesitation.
It was a eerie sight.. Straw scattered throughout the house, with a man curled in the fetal position, with bruises scattering his body. Tears streaked his face, seeming to mix with the blood leaking from the fresh bullet hole in his head. Yet this ominous sight was exactly what Scarecrow wanted.

He wanted this City to know Fear. And it would.

Taking off the burlap mask, he quickly gathered his things and exited the apartment to go make larger quantities of his new toxin..

[The Xtreme One]

It had been three months since his last episode. Bruce Banner had somehow managed to control the beast that dwelled within him. Having been on the road for nearly a year, Bruce felt the need to rest. He found himself in the Ironbound neighbourhood of Newark, New Jersey under the assumed name of “Joe Green”. During his travels, Bruce had often opted to shy away from populated areas in case the other guy decided to make an appearance. He found it was all too easy to lose your temper in a crowded area. Nonetheless here he was and over the past few months,” Joe Green” has managed to carve a nice little slice of life. He was bartending and playing his guitar at a local club, the pay wasn’t great but it was a nice little gig and Bruce was on the brink of happiness. It was never to last.
“And here’s your change” Bruce smiled as he slid the silver dollars over to the pretty young woman who had just bought a drink. “Now you be easy on those, Miranda. I don’t want to have to drive you home again” He offered her a slight smile. It was often that Bruce allowed himself to feel happy but being around these sorts of people, it helped. “Oh Joe but I like it when you take me home. When are you ever going to accept my invitation to come inside?” Miranda purred before biting down on her lip. Bruce chuckled; he still hadn’t gotten used to people calling him Joe. “Maybe someday” He glanced over to the clock on the wall, it was nearly time for his one song. “Enjoy your night” Moving from behind the bar, Bruce headed over to the small, ten inch stage. Picking up the guitar that sat there, he took a seat on the nearby stool. A few of the local girls, drunk out of their minds, let out a few cat calls and wolf whistles. “Thank you. I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves tonight. I’ve only got one song for you tonight. This is She Don’t Say Anything” Bruce began to strum a slow, country like melody. He moved his mouth closer to the microphone and allowed the words of a song written for Betty to escape:
“I see her smile, in the moonlight
There’s rain in the air, music abound
And a know it’s right
With clear eyes she dances,
She don’t give no second chances,
No she don’t say anything…

Before he could continue, Bruce was interrupted by the smashing of glass. He stopped playing as he watched two men in the small crowd engaged in a brawl. Jumping from the stage, Bruce stood between the men, one of which was holding a broken beer bottle. “Take it outside guys before someone gets hurt” The unarmed man shoved him. “Don’t make me angry, you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry” The man shove him again, only this time with force which resulted in Bruce falling into the other man who then promptly plunged the broken bottle into Bruce’s lower back. “JOE!” A woman screamed. Some patrons fled the bar immediately, others lingered in fear. Bruce managed to pull himself to his feet, the blood from his back staining his purple shirt. A flash of rage engulfed him, he knew what was coming. “Not now” His breath was heavy as a familiar pain began to course through his veins. “EVERYBODY OUT!” Was all he could manage before the pain became too great.

Bruce’s neck arched backwards, his brown eyes turning to green. Clenching at the golden rail that lay across the bar, Bruce howled in pain as his joints and bones all began to crack. His frame was becoming larger with each passing second. Sweat began to pour from his forehead. Many continued to flee, others frozen by terror. Banner lurched forward again as the pigments of skin began to change from white to green. “AAAAHHH!” His howl became a roar as he span around and slammed his now giant fists into the wood panel floor. “HULK SMASH!” The beast crouched down, if he stood at his full height his head would go through the ceiling. A growl came from his lips as he glared down at those that remained in the bar. An attacker came forth with a shard of glass which did nothing but draw the Hulk’s ire. In one fell swoop, he grabbed the man and threw him through a wall. Spinning on his heel, the Hulk put his fist through the bar stack and tore it from its placing. He hurled it through the wall, creating as large enough gap for him to escape. Running into the street, Hulk was met by the horrified eyes of the local police force. They opened fire to no effect. Picking up one of their patrol cars, Hulk slammed it into the ground before leaping through the air at an incredible height…

“HAH!” As if he was clutching at the last breath of a dream, Bruce awoke in a bed that was not his own. A man stared back at him. “Must’ve been some party. I found you with no clothes on” He spoke before getting to his feet and pointing to a shirt that hung on the wall. “That should fit you ok” Bruce pulled himself up to a seated position, every fiber of his body aching. “Where am i?” He asked. The man looked to the youngster and smiled. “What were you drinking last night son? You’re in hell but most people just call it Gotham City, New Jersey” Bruce watched the old man leave the room and climbed out of the bed. He walked over the window and looked out across America’s forgotten city. The breeding ground for urban decay.

“Gotham City”

[Byrd Man]

Q Branch
Vauxhall Cross
London

The elevators slid open and Bond stepped out into the room. Not floor, but room. The entire basement looked like one long room, stretching on for nearly a kilometer. There were groups of desks and work stations scattered around the area, but most of the space was just space.

"007," a voice said to Bond's right. He turned to find a skinny and tall young man with bushy black hair. On his face were a pair of black-rimmed glasses.

"That's me," Bond said.

"Welcome to Q Branch. I am your quartermaster."

"I'm sorry?" said Bond. "You're my quartermaster?"

"Indeed I am," said the young man.

"This is like a job shadow thing, right? The real quartermaster is just joking with me."

"Oh, you," the young man said, clicking his tongue. "You're on the trail of that HYDRA lot, yes? Well, who do you think is the one that got you on the trail? Who was it that cut through the Chinese firewalls like tissue paper? Who was it that created the algorithm that caught the airport photo that has you going to Mumbai. The answer to all three is the same: Me. We live in a digital age, Commander Bond. For all your skills, expertise, and age, you can't do what I can do. Punch a bloody computer all you like, it won't give you information."

"And you can run algorithms against a nine millimeter. See how well that stops bullets."

The two men stared at each other for a long second before the young man nodded and smirked.

"Bond," the quartermaster said with an outstretched hand.

"Q," said Bond, taking the hand and shaking. "What have you got for me?"

Q motioned for Bond to follow him. They walked through the wide opening of Q Branch towards one of the workstations.

"Unique work space you have," said Bond. "Someone claustrophobic?"

"We need the space to test prototypes. The desks and workstations are easily moveable in case we need even more space. Ah, here we are."

They came to a stop at the workstation. Resting beside a laptop was a black case. Q popped the case open and slid it towards Bond. Bond looked in and saw a pistol, a watch, and a cellphone.

"The pistol, well you know how that works," said Q with a smirk. "It's a Walther PPK, M has informed me that is your brand. The watch is a special one. Twist the bezel insert twice and it will deliver an electromagnetic pulse that will knock out all electronics in a three hundred meter radius. Downside is that the EMP fries the generator's circuit. Only good for one use, I'm afraid. And the phone, well it's your standard smart phone for the most part. Internet access, calls, texts."

"Angry Birds?" asked Bond.

"You'll have to pay extra for that. But the phone, in addition to being a smart phone can come in handy as a file extractor. There's a button on the bottom and a small USB drive pops out. Inside that drive is a program to extract all files from anyone's computer or phone. You can also use the drive to program other people's phones to act as transmitters for you. GPS locations and eavesdropping on conversations by using the phone's mic."

"Is that all?" asked Bond, closing the case. He took it in his hands and tucked it under his arm.

"That should be it," said Q. "Just be careful with the watch. It's the only working prototype we have."

"If all goes well, then your watch will be safely back in your hands within the week."

"And if it doesn't go well?"

"Then I would say that you will never see your watch again."


Twenty-Four Hours Later
Mumbai
India


Bond walked through the busy open market at a steady pace. He was dressed in khaki pants and a short sleeve shirt. Sunglasses hid his eyes from view. He had a copy of the Mumbai Mirror tucked under his arm. Halfway down the street, Anatol Sturn navigated through the crowd. Bond watched from a distance, making sure that the older man was still in his sight as he followed. There were two more SIS men somewhere in the crowd. Members of MI6's Mumbai Station, they had helped Bond locate the Bulgarian expatriate.

"He's leaving the market," one of the field agents said in Bond's earpiece. "I'm starting to lose him in the crowd."

Bond swore to himself and began to push through the crowd. He came out of the mass of people just as Sturn disappeared down a side alley. Bond followed, picking up speed but not running as he attempted to catch up. Bond turned the corner and went into the side alley. He heard on the radio as the two SIS men tried to catch up. Sturn was at the other end of the alley and took a left on to a larger street. As soon as he was out of sight, Bond ran as fast as he could down the alley and stopped as he came to the alley's mouth. He slowly leaned from the wall and saw Sturn across the street. He was going up a flight of stairs towards a second floor landing. Bond surveyed the area and saw a building adjacent to the one Sturn was going up. Bond rushed across the street and ran up three flights of stairs to a landing.

From his vantage point, he looked down on Sturn as he walked through the apartment complex below. Sturn occasionally glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed before doubling back to a door he had passed. He knocked on the door three times in a short rhythm. Bond pulled his phone out and aimed it at the door as it opened. An Indian in a violet sari stood before Sturn. Bond snapped her photo and Sturn's as he entered the apartment behind the woman. Bond informed the SIS men of the progress and told them to stand by outside. Bond stared at the photo on his phone. The woman with Sturn was beautiful, her brown skin a coffee color. Her jet black hair was in an updo and she had what appeared to be a ruby in her left nostril. She was gorgeous, made up, and classy. She couldn't be living in the rundown apartment slum Sturn had ducked into.

Ten minutes later, the door opened and Sturn walked out. He looked left then right before going the way he had arrived. Bond followed, running down the stairs again and coming out on the street seconds before Sturn did in the adjacent building. Sturn looked Bond's direction and Bond quickly looked away. Too quick, it seemed. When Bond looked back, Sturn was running away from him down the street.

"Bloody hell," Bond spat. "He's on the move!" He shouted into his embedded mic.

Cursing his stupidity, Bond took off after Sturn as the man ran down the cluttered Mumbai slum street.

[HenryJonesJr]

April O'Neil shifted uneasily in her chair in the waiting room on the bottom floor of Oscorp Tower. It was the first day of the first job she'd ever had in her life, and all she wanted to do was make a good impression. Gwen had told her she'd be a great addition to the team, but April wasn't so sure. She knew she was smart, but she wasn't in Gwen's league. Gwen was at the top. April was in the next level down, but her friend said Doctor Connors would love her help. April thought it was just because Gwen needed someone to gossip with at work. And that's something April knew she was good at. Honestly, she didn't know why Peter hung out with the two of them when they were together.

A few quiet footfalls drew April's attention to the large staircase in the center of the tower, where she saw her friend beaming. Gwen hurried over to the chair where her friend was sitting and chortled, "How excited are you?"

"Somewhere between nervous and deathly afraid," April responded, looking up at the tower in awe. Norman Osborne had it built a few years ago, and immediately it became one of the most technologically advanced buildings on the planet, rivaling LexCorp's headquarters in Metropolis. Before then, Oscorp had fallen behind many of the larger technology and military industrial companies in America, and Norman had started this project to save his declining company. Changing their focus from pure technological development to start an advanced genetics program, they gained a multitude of high profile researchers as well as military contracts.

"Oh you're going to be fine," Gwen answered to her friend, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the stairs. "How many times do I have to tell you that? You don't give yourself enough credit."

"Maybe. Or maybe you think too much of me," April laughed with a wink.

"Doctor Connors gave you the go ahead. That's all you need to know in my book."

Curtis Connors has been Gwen's mentor for almost a year now. The man was one of the foremost experts on the X-gene as well as cross species genetics. He's been working on some sort of way to use both to create a cure all for all human abnormalities and deficiencies. Oscorp had been hailing his research as if it would save and construct the future of mankind, erasing all forms of weakness. April thought it was far fetched, but working for Connors could end up helping her college application a heck of a lot.

The two girls hopped in an elevator and headed towards the thirtieth floor, the home of Connors's lab. When April stepped out of the elevator, her jaw dropped. The overwhelming sight of the technology in the laboratory was staggering. She had never seen so many of these pieces, and the chance to work with some of them finally had her excited for the job. She looked over at Gwen and smiled, "Okay, this is going to be great."

"I sure hope so, Miss O'Neil," a quiet, but confident voice said behind the girls. They spun around to reveal Doctor Connors standing behind them, a small smile painted on his kind face. Looking at the man, you would immediately guess he was a scientist. The small glasses on his face slid down his thin nose, and he pushed them up with his left hand. April, as she had practiced all night the night before, presented her left hand to the doctor for a hand shake. He appreciated the gesture and took her hand, all the while, April attempted not to look at the stump where his right forearm should have been. He was born without it, and drove him to the path he was now on.

"You come highly recommended from Gwen," he smiled again. "And if she trusts you, I trust you. Now, I have work to do. Gwen, show our new lab assistant around and introduce her to her new best friends."

Gwen grabbed April's hand yet again and rushed off towards the area of the lab they were in charge of. A multitude of animal enclosures line the walls of this area of the lab, containing a multitude of different species of reptile and amphibians.

"There's so many," April smiled before her attention was drawn to a glass enclosure. Inside were four baby turtles, each missing one of their legs, and each missing a different one. "Aww...these little guys are cute."

Gwen came up behind her and nodded, "Aren't they precious? All four born from the same clutch of eggs. All four missing legs. We're going to test the serum on them first. At least if we get it done quick enough we will."

"And what will it do to them?" April responded with worry in her voice.

"Well, we hope it'll cause a genetic mutation that will make them regrow their lost limbs, and help them live longer than any turtles have before."

"Using the X-gene replicator, right?" April asked without looking up from the four little guys. "Mixed with DNA from reptiles that regenerate lost limbs?"

"Yup. In theory if Doctor Connors finds the right gene sequencer for it."

"So what are we doing here?" April said, plopping herself down in a lab chair. "Just babysitting?"

"No," Gwen shook her head and forced a clipboard into April's hands. "We've given some of the animals a primer meant to enhance and aid the transformation process. We're going to be documenting any changes in behavior." Gwen noticed the look of boredom on her friends face, "April, we're in high school, what were you expecting? To be head of the lab?"

**********

Doctor Mendel Stromm, Norman Osborn's right hand man in Oscorp's laboratory division, sat with his arms folded on the other side of the table from Doctor Connors, "Curt, we need to start seeing some results here. It's been three years with very little progress."

"No, we've had progress," Connors seethed. "Just not the kind of progress the military likes. We're getting close."

"Close isn't what we need," Stromm replied cooly before standing. "Stockman's project is coming along. We need yours to do so as well. And soon. We only have so much funding, Curt."

**********

Later that night, April and Gwen sat at the table in their station finishing up some homework assignments when an alarm went off on Gwen's phone, "Oh, time to feed them and then get out of here. You want the honors?"

"Sure." April took the top off the cage, and as she reached down for the turtle's dishes of greens and bugs for feed, a large, brown rat skirted out from behind the cage and placed itself in front of the food. April recoiled, "Gah! Gwen! There's a rat!"

"Oh," Gwen chuckled at the sight of the scruffy creature, "that's just Splinter."

"Splinter?" April grumbled as she eyed the creature up and down.

"He's part of another test to see whether we can increase the intelligence of animals. He's the smartest dang thing ever. He kept getting out of his cage, so the doctors have just let him run around since then. He's kind of like our lab pet. He's taken a shine to those three for some reason. We can't tell why."

"Well, I've never been a fan of rats...even smart cute ones," April said before she fed the turtles and the two girls left for the night.