Scott Hunter sat comfortably in his seat, staring out the window watching the towns and cities blur past as the train he was on rushed toward its destination. The skyline of Lost Haven loomed ahead, and as Scott eyed the city, a number of things began running through his mind.

He was both nervous and excited to start a new chapter of his life in Lost Haven. When he left home almost two years before, he was looking for an escape. He wanted to get away from his past. He was running from not only who he was, but from the guilt that he felt for his brother’s death. Without saying anything to his family, he had left his family behind. Fueled by the guilt he felt over his brother’s death, as well as the guilt he was now feeling for leaving his family behind without saying a word, he left the confines of the family homestead and made his way to sunny Southern California where he hoped to put his past behind him.

While he was on the road en route to his new life, he had tried to live as normal a life as possible, however, he found that such a simple task was not easily achieved. Between the time that he left his family home to the time he arrived in California he had been forced to use his abilities several times. He stopped a runaway bus from crashing into a tour group in Buffalo. Then in Cleveland he had prevented utility worker from falling to his death. In Minneapolis, he had saved a young couple who had lost control of their car on a frozen roadway. Each time head had seemed to suddenly appear, make the save and then just as mysteriously he would vanish.

It happened seemingly everywhere he went. Even when he arrived in California, he found himself using his abilities time after time, even though he was trying to deny who he was. However, the task had proven to be too great, even for him.

One day, after having saved a young woman who had gotten caught in an undertow off of Sunset Beach, Scott finally could no longer take it, and called home. Much to his surprise, his mother hadn’t been angry. She was relieved to hear from him. They talked for hours, and he found himself unloading nearly two years worth of guilt with a single phone call. Several days later, he decided to return home.

However, he knew that he would not be able to go back to the life that he had lived at home. He needed to live where he could do the most good, which is what caused him to decide on Lost Haven as his new home. However, he knew that living in Lost Haven would provide a new set of problems. He knew that he would no longer be able to be a mysterious Samaritan, doing random acts of good deeds. Lost Haven was too big of a city, and it would not be long before people would find out about him. He knew that for him to do what he needed to do, he would have to go public with his abilities. After a phone call to his childhood friend Eric Dean, he set about creating his disguise.

It was a longer process than he had expected. He had had a number of ideas as to what his disguise would consist of, however, once he had put pen to paper and began working on designs, nothing seemed to look right. He tried a number of different looks. Some had full head masks, some with capes, and others without. Nothing seemed to feel right to him, until he finally came up with a design that he felt was perfect. Once he finalized the design, he set about creating it. Once the costume was completed, he began tying up loose ends in California and bought a bus ticket so that he could begin his return home.

The city loomed larger as the train began to slow as it neared its destination. Scott continued to watch out the window as train came to a stop. He looked out and saw the people gathered on the ramp waiting to board the train, as well as others who were frantically going about their business.

“Lost Haven Central Station!” The attendant called from the front of the passenger car. Within moments, the car was alive with activity as the other passengers began gathering their bags. Scott stood and went to the small overhead compartment and removed his bag. He slung the oversized backpack over his shoulder and joined the other passengers in line as they waited to disembark.

As Scott made his way away from the train, he peered around, looking for Eric, who was supposed to meet him at the train. He made it a dozen or so feet before he saw Eric, who was standing at the end of the ramp wearing his trademarked grin. As Scott made his way to Eric, his friend moved forward to meet him.

“Geez man, it’s good to see you.” Eric said as he caught him off guard with a big hug. “It’s only been what? Two years?” he continued.

“Yeah, something like that.” Scott said as he pulled away. He looked at Eric, who hadn’t changed a bit in the time that Scott had been away, and he know that was a good thing.

Eric had been Scott’s oldest friend. When they were young, Eric lived two houses down from Scott, and the two were inseparable. As children grow older and experience new things, high school, girls, sports…they sometimes tend to grow apart. This was not the case with Scott and Eric. In fact, the two only grew closer, in part to Eric’s knowledge of Scott’s “gifts.” Almost from the first time Scott’s abilities began to manifest, Eric had protected his friend’s secret. This made it all the more difficult for Scott when he had decided to leave town. He no longer had the support that his best friend provided. He no longer had anyone he could really talk to.

However, as far as both Scott and Eric were concerned, Scott’s time away was in the past, and would stay there. Besides, they would be too busy to worry about things that they couldn’t change.

“So, are you ready?” Eric asked out of the blue.

“Ready for what?” Scott replied, not entirely sure what his friend was talking about.

“To see the space I mentioned. I think it’ll be perfect, it just needs alittle work.”

“I’d love to, but I need to find a place to stay first.” Scott said, hesitantly.

“Already taken care of.” Eric said simply.

“What do you mean?” Scott asked.

“The space has an apartment on the second floor, perfect for what you need. It’s just going to take a little fixing up. You can stay with me until its ready.” Eric told him flatly.

“Alright then...” Scott started, “Let’s go check it out.” He finished as the two friends made their way toward the exit.

Zac WIlson | Kelly Brown
August: 5 Months Before Concurrent Posts
A soft breeze whirled through the small, wooded town of Timber Falls, on a day that would otherwise had been a hot, sunny day. A small car steadily crawled up the mountainous roads, heading towards an average sized country house. Once the car had pulled up the gravel driveway, a young man hopped out of the driver’s seat and collected in his hands several pieces of luggage from trunk. From the other side of the vehicle, another person stepped out onto the gravel, a young lass. She wrapped her arms around his toned arm, her head barely reaching the top of his shoulders.

“Do you think your parents are going to like me?” This would be the first time Kelly met her boyfriend’s parents because both Kelly and Zac had been so busy with their first year of college.

“Are you kidding me? You’re funny, smart, hot, and downright likable in almost every other way. What is there not to like?” Kelly’s cheeks glowed red after she heard Zac’s complement. Even though she thought that she was likable, deep down inside her heart, there was still some doubt.

Once they reached the front door, Zac pressed the doorbell. Even though the door was shut, they both could hear feet hurrying down a set of stairs. A few moments later, the front door sung up and Zac’s mother engulfed her son in a big bear hug.

“O how I missed my little Zachary!”

“Mom...” Zac moaned. Zac was the leading rusher in the conference, with which his college, Albany State College, was associated. He even was only a true freshman, too!

“Don’t ‘mom’ me, Zachary.” Mrs. Wilson finally released her vice grip on Zac, allowing him finally to breathe. “Are you eating enough at college?” Mrs. Wilson simultaneously rubbed Zac’s stomach, trying to determine if her son was malnourished.

“I eat fine, thank you very much.” Zac quickly pushed away his mother’s arms from his stomach and he grasped Kelly by her arms and pulled her in front of himself. “Mom, this is Kelly, my girlfriend”

“Oh, welcome to Timber Falls, dear!” Mrs. Wilson took Kelly by surprise when she too received a big bear hug.”

“Um...thanks,” Kelly murmured, trying to catch her breath. Once Kelly escaped from Mrs. Wilson’s arms, she teetered for a few seconds, finally being able to breathe.

“Speaking of eating, are you eating enough, dear?”

“Meredith, you do know you shouldn’t talk about a woman’s weight.” A man, dressed in boots and a wide-brimmed hat, stepped onto the porch form inside the house.

“Oh, Robert, I was merely pointing out a simple observation”.

“You were insinuating that she was too underweight.” Zac and Kelly just looked at one another, unsure whether they should be laughing at such a trivial argument.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to show Kelly to her room,” Zac interrupted his parents. There were two guest bedrooms in their house, one next to Zac’s room and one neighboring his parent’s room. Of course, Mrs. Wilson picked the latter room for Kelly, so that Mrs. Wilson might be able to hear anyone sneaking off to someone else’s room during the night for some hanky-panky, as she called it.

“Kids, now remember, if you stay beside the window-side wall, the floor panel won’t squeak,” Mr. Wilson whispered, although his wife could still hear him.

“Robert, don’t be giving them any ideas!”

“Oh, I was merely pointing out a simple observation.” Robert smiled at his wife, while she was just shaking her head. The two parents just watched as their son hurried along with his girlfriend, going to get her settled in for the week. However, their blissful moment would only be short, for the telephone inside the house began to ring. And as Mr. Wilson answered the telephone and listened to whoever was on the other line, his smile quickly washed off his face. Even before her husband walked back to the front porch, Mrs. Wilson already knew that something was wrong. His posture and facial expression revealed it all.

“Sorry, Meredith, but I am going to have to cut this little family moment a little short. Farmer McGregor had some problems with his chickens and he wanted me to check it out.”

“I understand,” his wife replied, her hopes for a nice, family moment crushed.

Seeing his wife’s mood plummet, Mr. Wilson swung his arms around her and smiled at her.
“I won’t be long. I promise.”

The whiskey tasted sour. He never much liked that, but hey, it got him where he needed to be. It eased the soreness at least, that slow throbbing that built up somewhere between hurt and broken. Twas a shame it never quieted that nagging at the back of his brain though. He'd learned how to ignore it by now, even if it did get loud at times. So why did he keep drinking? Was that really a question to ask as he lay slumped on the bar wondering if the stool could handle his moodswings? Ah well, the bartender didn't mind either way. That is until the door opened.

Smoke rolled in, literally, figuratively, the man was a vagrant of culture, and a devil of a man to cross. Nobody knew what he looked like under the hood and draped clothes. He had more in common with a store mannequin than an actual person. Supposedly he was a shapeshifter but the only shifting Harada had seen from him was his dancing around questions. Tremor lurched up from bartop to look at his whiley partner, trying to stare through that have empty hood that floated where a face should have been. He almost giggled at the thought of doing business with a puff of smoke, but that's what life was at the moment. He stifled a hiccup before speaking.

"What is it? Did the job go wrong?"

"Oh no, just a whole district of lower east Venezuela shaken up. You really don't know what subtly is do you?" sneered Smoke, having placed himself by Harada in the corner.

"Neither does the cartel." countered Harada, sucking his teeth at the snide remarks.

Smoke took something out of his jacket, placing it on the table as he spoke, "Neither does Interpol you drunk." He opened it, with a hazy appendage that looked like hand where his sleeve hung. Harada gave a inquisitive grunt. "S'that>"

"Money. Or at least if you look hard enough for it. People these days are calling it 'opportunity'. You game?"

Harada looked down over the edge of the glass hanging from his lips. New Haven's landmass looked skewed from the light-shift of the amber whiskey, but he still registered it. He'd heard rumors of the place, and now he'd get to check them out.

Harada plopped down the glass with a CLINK. "I'm game."

“So, what do you think?” Eric asked, wearing his trademark lopsided grin.

“About what?” Scott asked.

“About what?” Eric repeated, incredulously. “About this!” He continued, motioning around the spacious, yet utterly decrepit space that he has assured Scott was the perfect location for their club.

To say that the place was a mess was an understatement. The interior looked as if it had been completely gutted. There were exposed wires in the walls. Ceiling tiles were missing, the walls that were finished had cracked plaster, and one of the support beams looked like it would need to be repaired, if not replaced completely.

“It’s a bit of a fixer upper, I know. But this is a magnificent location and well worth the money.” Mr. Stanley, the rotund, balding landlord chimed in.

“I don’t know…”Scott said, trailing off.

“Scott, we can fix this place up, no problem. I know a guy, he can get a crew in and have this place looking brand new in a couple of days. Besides, you saw the apartment upstairs, it’s perfect for you.” Eric argued.

He was right, the apartment was ideal for Scott. It had a private entrance, roof access and a large set of roof windows, roughly the size of a bay window near the back of the apartment facing the ally behind the club, which would allow Scott an easy exit should he need to get somewhere in a hurry.

“You’re sure?” Scott asked Eric, who simply nodded that he was.

“Alright, let’s do it.” Scott said, almost reluctantly.

“Great! Mr. Stanley said, “Why don’t you boys follow me to my office and we can just sign the lease and get you the keys.”

Scott silently followed Eric to the car, still unsure about the building. Though, he had to admit, it was a great location and with a bit of work, they could turn the place into one of the hottest clubs in the city.

“When are you going to call him?” Scott asked as they got into the car and closed the doors.

“Who?” Eric asked.

“You’re guy. The one who you said will help fix the place up.” Scott said, to which eric softly chuckled.

“You’re the guy.”

“What?” Scott asked, incredulously.

“Come on,” Eric began, still chuckling. “You do that…super thing and you’ll have the place fixed up and ready to open in two minutes.”

“Unbelievable.” Scott said as Eric pulled away from the curb, following Mr. Stanley into traffic on the way to his office.

Zac WIlson | Kelly Brown
August: 5 Months Before Concurrent Posts
“So, what are we looking at here, Mr. McGregor?” Mr. Wilson asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“Well, if I knew what happened here, I would not have called you.” Mr. McGregor chuckled, trying to lighten up the atmosphere.

Before them stood a small chicken coop, surrounded by a small barbed-wire fence. However, one section of this fence had been severed, sliced into multiple pieces. Around the chicken coop, blood stained the ground and feathers were scattered everywhere. As Mr. Wilson examined the carnage, he noticed that a detached tooth was imbedded in one of the chicken carcasses. When he extracted the tooth and took a closer look, he was astonished by the tooth’s shape.

“What do you think it could be?” Mr. McGregor asked.

“I would have thought coyotes had invaded your coop, but this tooth threw a monkey wrench at me.”

“Take a look at this, Robert,” Mr. McGregor said, handing over to Mr. Wilson, “We found a similar tooth when we first discovered this mess. When my son saw the tooth, he immediately rushed to his room and brought down this book.”

Mr. Wilson took the book form the farmer’s hand, opening it where there was a bookmark. And within the pages of that book, there was an image of a tooth just like it, albeit the tooth in his hand seemed like it recently was part of a living animal. Mr. Wilson quickly flipped to the cover, looking at the title of the book. Dinosaurs.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have called you down here. And this wasn’t the only think I called you down here for. We also discovered this weird, giant flower in the woods behind my property. Care to take a look?”

Mr. Wilson rubbed his chin, thinking over what he had just seen. Finally, he nodded his head, showing his consent.

“I would say ‘how could this get any more bizarre’, but I know that I would only be jinxing us.”

---

Zac tossed a football towards his girlfriend, floating it in the air; he chuckled to himself when he saw the football fall straight through her outstretched arms.

“I think the goal of this game is to catch the ball,” Zac said, trying to hold back his laughter with a smile. “Anyways, it would help if you didn’t have you arms extended with your palms facing upward.” Zac thought it was quite comical every time Kelly tried to catch the ball. In fact, it looked like she was lifting up her hands for worship rather than trying to catch a football.

Kelly just rolled her eyes when she heard this, turning her head towards the lake. There was a small island off the shore, within swimming distance.

“Want to race to that island?”

“Finally trying to beat me at something?”

“I already have. It’s called Grade Point Average”

“Well, you’re on!” Zac yelled, making a dash towards the island.

“No fair! You have a head start!”

But Zac ignored his girlfriend’s cries, churning his arms in the waters as he swam towards the island. And once he reached the island, he just sat on the sandy shore, awaiting for his vanquished competitor. He just smiled at Kelly as she came to shore.

“Jerk” Kelly said under her breath. But Zac just pulled her down next to him.

“Want to dry off in the sun for a while and then swim back?”

Kelly still glared at her boyfriend, but she finally shrugged her shoulders and stretched out on the beach. They both dozed off as they dried off. And as they rested in the rays of the sun, a set of footsteps quietly disembarked onto the other side of the small island.

Zac WIlson | Kelly Brown
August: 5 Months Before Concurrent Posts
As the two men got closer to what Farmer McGregor called a “weird, giant flower”, Mr. Wilson began to inhale putrid air, which became stronger as they journeyed further into the woods. When they entered into a clearing in the woods, the plant finally came into view. The huge plant only had one flower, while missing anything that resembled leaves or a stem; from the center of the flower, the putrid smell poured out.

“Well, McGregor, I was half expecting a scene from Jurassic Park or something. But that still doesn’t explain why there is a Rafflesia growing in the middle of Northern New York.”

But right as Mr. Wilson finished his sentence, a medium sized theropod walked out of the brush from the other side of the clearing.

“Are you satisfied now with your ‘scene from Jurassic Park’?”

However, Mr. Wilson covered his companion’s mouth, muffling his voice. Then he brought his finger against his lips, signaling him to remain quite.

“Go back for help.”

---

The pain that resided inside Zac head made it seem like there was a rock concert playing within it. He slowly picked himself up, gradually recovering from his headache. Once he recovered all his senses several changes to his anatomy brought Zac back to earth. First, he had somehow found himself back on the mainland, but the last time he was conscious, he was on the small island out on the lake. Second, he felt that something attached to him was rubbing against the ground, and it was not his arms or his legs. When he turned around to see what it was, he, in shock, discovered that he had a reptilian (or rather raptoresque) tail. But the changes did not stop there, for on each foot, there was a sixth appendage that bore the signature raptor claw. Although it was not the most bizarre modification to his body, Zac noticed that everything around him seemed larger or rather he had shrunk several inches.

He would have wasted away in shock over the changes to his body curling up into the fetal position because of these changes, had he not heard a gun blast sounding from the nearby forest. He quickly jumped to his feet and sprinted in that direction. As he ran, Zac noticed that he was running significantly faster than he usually did, needing to slow down several times to avoid smashing himself into a tree.

And when Zac finally arrived at the origin of the blast, he found a sorrowful sight. His father was reclining against a tree, motionless, with blood dripping from his side. The theropod rested lifelessly at his feet, punctured by several bullet wounds. Zac did not always reveal his inner emotions, unless it was his rage, and this time was no exception. He was about to strike a nearby tree with his fist when suddenly, three obsidian-colored claws emerged from between his knuckles; the same happened when he clinched his other first. Zac almost fainted at the sight of the blades sticking out of his knuckles; however, he managed to remain somewhat calm (as calm as one who just had several bizarre transformations to one’s body).

“I don’t know if I should be surprised or not, taking into account how this day has been going.”

When he caught sight of the large flower, he charged at it and started to hack at it, mutilating it as if it was to blame for his tail, his height problem, his claws, or even the wounds inflicted to his father. But after the first blow, he felt his claw strike something solid. Grasping it at its base, Zac lifted up what seemed to be a hidden door covered by the strange plant.

“What type of idiot would hide a secret door under a plant not even native to this hemisphere, and guarding it with a prehistoric animal that has been dead for God knows how long?” Zac wondered whether it would be a smart idea to enter into whatever chamber was hidden behind this door, especially after his last comment, but as soon as he heard human voices and the feet hurrying through the forest brush, Zac swiftly leapt in.

When he landed, Zac heard broken glass clatter underneath him, but since he did not feel any pain, he did not take notice of it. The chamber was one large room, with two hallways attached to either side. A red light filled the room, allowing for Zac to have some vision in this otherwise pitch black room, but not enough for him to make out exact details. The room seemed to be filled with several tables, all covered with something, but Zac did not know what because of the poor lighting conditions.

“Hello!” Zac yelled, something he knew he would regret later. Why would he shout in a dark chamber like this that was hidden from plain view (albeit pretty poorly)? But when he saw a dark shape slowly rise from one of the tables, as if it had been asleep, his heart jumped sky-high. He could make out some details on whatever was rising up: it had antennae on its head, two pairs of arms (plus a pair of legs), and, worse of all, he saw an insect abdomen.

“Of all things, why does it have to be wasps?” Zac thought, his heart pounding even more knowing that of all the animals it could have been, there was a giant wasp lurking in the chamber, the one animal that freaked him out the most, ever since that day when he was a kid when he was swarmed by a bunch of wasps. Zac’s fear almost paralyzed him, barely allowing him to retreat backwards, towards one of the hallways, his hand touching the wall. When he felt another passage on the wall, he darted down it, only to be disappointed that it was a rather short dead end. When he turned around, the Wasp creature had already reached him. If Zac was not entirely paralyzed a few minutes ago, he was now, not even able to scream in fear. All he could mutter was a wimpy, “Don’t hurt me.”

“Zac, why would I hurt you?” a soft voice said, “It’s me, Kelly.”

A minute had passed since Will had begun tracing the gate, already he could feel the seal on the painting starting to break as he traced symbols on the wall and muttered powerful words. With a burst of light, the glowing lines and shapes on the wall connected together and began growing and merging on their own accord. Will stepped back as the doorway completed itself, revealing the location on the other side, as if nothing stood between them. This gate would only last a second, prompting him to raise a dome of barriers around the exit before stepping through the glowing archway. With a sound like a bubble popping, the door disappeared behind him.

The first thing he noticed was a soft red glow cutting through the darkness, and thick smoke hanging in the air. Looking around, he saw that he was in a moderately sized apartment. The two windows were boarded up, with the painting lying in the corner, burning in a pile along with a shapeless sack of… something. About nine individuals stood around the edge of the room, all staring inwards, entirely motionless.

‘…Nothing about this place is a good sign.’

“Uhh, just checking, you guys are all possessed, right? And I’m guessing someone faked the signature of the seal breaking to draw me in… Well, I guess I’m flattered.” Will nodded sadly, noting the limp way they stood, the neat, rune surrounded wounds in the centre of their foreheads, and the various blunt implements and knives they all carried. His barriers still stood in a dome around him, but uneasiness threatened to turn to panic despite them.

“No ringleader gonna reply then? At least provide someone for me to call the villain, rather than a load of meatpuppets to maybe kill me, so you get away whether or not I die.”
In unison, the possessed bodies let out a guttural snarl, their faces turning towards him as they twisted into grins and grimaces. Unconsciously, Will redoubled the barriers, starting to take in shallower, more ragged breaths.

‘There has to be something more. If they know anything about me, how did they think this kind of attack would succeed?’ Thought Will, as he brought up nine smaller curved barriers, pinning the puppets to the walls. He began to calm back down, confident that the restrained enemies would be incapable of breaking through.

Laughter cut off his train of thought, coming from behind him. Will wheeled round to face the source. A puppet had an open palm pressed against the shield holding it back. Like a child pushing through a bubble or a thrown stone parting water, it pushed and stepped through. Will froze as, in unison, the other eight stepped through their barriers as well. Fear clawed at him. With a series of comforting ‘fwoom’ noises, diamond-shaped shards popped into the air around him. Two puppets immediately opposite him charged, brandishing a tire iron and a butchers knife respectively, cutting through the reddish haze. Wasting no time, Will moved towards them, shooting the projectiles at shoulders and kneecaps of the oncoming foes. He ducked under the closer of the two as it began to crumple to the floor from the sudden destruction of its left knee. Pivoting and backing up, Will found himself with his back towards the wall, the seven remaining puppets standing in a semicircle around him. One of the puppets he had attacked was slowly clambering to its feet, one leg healthy and the other sporting a horrific wound above the knee. Its right arm had been severed at the shoulder, and was now brandished as a club. The second injured puppet couldn’t stand, and was instead trying to drag itself around to face the semi-circle and Will.

Will lifted his hands up from his sides, the motion assisting in conjuring up another three dozen shards. He looked more closely at the puppets, secretly hoping they would be beyond saving, as not having to hold back would give him a chance of surviving. He kept pulling ragged breathes, as he noted the grey tint in the skin of the puppets, the depth of the wounds on their foreheads, the discolorations in their faces. Whoever had prepared these bodies for possession had been overzealous, and let them die. It wasn’t a problem for the spirit in control of them, but for Will, it would be potentially life-saving.

Before they made their attack, Will moved first, this time summoning up shards and firing them as fast as possible, perforating the torsos and heads of the puppets, bringing shards that had passed through their targets back to attack again. They moved towards him, but they fell as they ran, weapons clattering to the floor and gore splattering against the walls and ceiling. A searing pain below Will’s ribcage made him reel back in terror, looking down to see the grinning face of a puppet looking up. It had grabbed him around the legs and dug a sharpened tent peg into his body, even as Will’s shards finished destroying its body.

He cast his gaze around the room, biting back a rush of nausea at the scene. His lower body felt numb, and he could taste blood- with a sickening feeling he considered that the weapon might have pierced a lung. He slumped down against the wall, before reaching under his shirt to grab the improvised weapon embedded beneath his ribs. He knew he could heal it, but not with the peg left in the wound. Will bunched up a part of his coat sleeve, and bit down on the fabric, bracing himself. With a sharp yank, followed by a drawn out pulling, he removed the weapon, placing his hand over the wound. The pain lessened rapidly as his power began to work, stitching together lung, muscle, nerves and fat.

About a minute passed after Will had finished healing himself, before he felt ready to stand up and investigate. When he did, the strangeness of the room stood out to him; all the copper wiring had been pulled out of the walls- as shown by the lines left from it being pulled out-, stripped of rubber and melted in a pile in a different corner to the painting, with the rubber shavings contributing to the fire. No sources of light were present and no furniture either, and a quick push told him that the door was secured from the other side. Checking the puppets told him that they had all be stripped of their possessions, having nothing but clothes and their weapons. They seemed to be a mix of criminals- or at least as far as Will could tell, he wasn’t exactly an expert on gang tattoos- and homeless people. Judging by them all having signs of having a possession ritual performed upon them, none of them were an original host, one of those taken when the hate spirits bound in the painting broke out.
With his other options exhausted, Will turned towards the burnt remains of the painting, now giving off only a very weak glow along with the rest of the fire. Looking more closely, he saw that as well as the sack, the rubber and the painting, assorted phones, in one case a ring and other possessions were in the pile, along with coal and fragments of wood.

‘Possessions of the people here, the puppets? Hate spirits aren’t exactly rational and lucid, there are better ways to remove evidence than a small fire in an apartment. I think we’re putting off seeing what is in the sack though.’

Reluctantly, and with a strong sense of foreboding, Will grabbed an edge of the sack not in the fire, and pulled it into the centre of the room. He noticed a zipper down the centre, and, after setting up a barrier around him, pulled it down.

Another puppet, this one with closed eyes, and arms crossed over its chest, holding a…

“A detonator.”

The puppets eyes flashed open, as Will dropped down into a crouch, pilling on layers of shielding and pouring strength into it, cocooning himself. An instant later, a bomb at the feet of the puppet did as bombs do. Light shone through his closed eyelids, as the apartment was demolished, along with the surrounding rooms, flinging Will through a wall and into the air above the street. His shields absorbed most of the damage, as he broke masonry- albeit cheap masonry- and once again as he landed on the sidewalk opposite the apartment complex.

Fear and pain flared up in the surroundings, relayed back to him via his ability to detect emotions. The lack of anything from the apartment complex indicated that the building was abandoned, but on the street he could see people who’d be struck by falling debris or out of control cars. Clambering to his feet, Will strengthened his healing aura, before rushing over to the wounded, in the space of thirty seconds visiting all who needed immediate help. Conscious that being brought in by the police as being linked to a bomb would be very very bad, Will traced a gate on a shop wall, covering his face with reflective shielding. Sirens could be heard in the distance as he finished and stepped through, back home.

“….and in related news, the space station Gold Dawn is scheduled to release the results of-“ The voice on the radio suddenly cut out as Eric changed the station to one that played classic rock. The voice of the newscaster had been replaced by the musical stylings of Bob Dylan. Eric looked to Scott, who was busy patching the cracks in the wall with a new layer plaster and a frown formed on his face.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Eric asked, surprise creeping into his voice.

“Getting this place ready.” Scott said as he worked, never looking away from the task at hand.

“I can see that. Why are you doing THAT?” He said, emphasizing the last word.

“So we can get the club ready.” Scott said simply, knowing exactly what Eric was referring to, but secretly enjoying teasing his friend.

“Dude, seriously. At this pace we won’t open until next year.” Eric said, his tone filled with annoyance.

“Nah, the place just needs a touch up.” Scott said, trying not to laugh.

“Come on, seriously…can’t you just you know…swoosh?” Eric said, making a flying motion with his hands.

“Don’t feel like it.” Scott said in a deadpan voice.

“Scott...please.” Eric said finally.

“All you had to do was ask.” Scott said with a grin.

Suddenly there was a whir of movement, and Eric looked on as the interior of what would become the club that he and Scott would run together began to transform right before his eyes. The walls were finished and painted, the support beam was fixed, and the dirt covered floor was shining like new. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the torrent of movement stopped, and Scott stood before him, a smile on his face.

“So, what do you think?” he asked as he admired his handiwork.

The Asian youth stepped off the bus, having traversed a great ways to Tokyo, in order to fulfill his Destiny. He had nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and the envelope in his jacket pocket. Yet despite having so little, he knew his various skills and abilities would always be able to provide for him, if he would use them.

He walked quickly, looking about him he couldn’t help but feel slightly claustrophobic. He had never seen so many people walking the streets in his entire life. The number of people indeed gave him stress, but also made him feel small. It was as if he was invisible even just by walking down the street. He enjoyed the fact so few seemed to pay any attention to him at all.

Yet soon enough he came upon the doors of a large Estate in the northern hills of Tokyo, where the rich and privileged seemed to make their home. Yamamoto took the envelope from his jacket and looked once more to the address, before glancing up and confirming he was indeed at the right place. Taking a deep breath, he knocked heavily on the great door of the manor, and found a servant open it immediately.

“What may I do for you today, young man..?”

“I am here to speak to a Katsu Kikagawa.”

“I am afraid Mr. Kikagawa is busy at the moment, and doesn’t accept walk-up’s even if he wasn’t. If you’d like to make an appoint-“

Yamamoto rolled his eyes and pushed the door open regardless, moving past the shocked servant easily. The interior of the home shocked the youth, finding velvet carpet and a chandelier in the center of the room. A duel staircase lay before him, and voices were heard speaking behind a great oak door. The servant rushed past Yamamoto to a marble bust of what seemed to be Katsu’s head; opening the top revealed a secret red button, which he pressed harshly.

“You’d better leave, sir! Or else Mr. Kikagawa’s security forces will force you out! And I can promise you that’ll be most unpleasant!”

Wordlessly, Yamamoto ascended the staircase, and opened the oak door. Inside, an aging man with wispy greying hair sat behind a large desk. In front of the older man sat three separate men, roughly as old as Yamamoto or slightly older.

“Atticus has been searching far and wide for Harada. He won’t get away with deserting us like that. Who does he think he is..?” Spoke one of the men, his voice bitter and resentful.

“Atticus says he’s got a lead, a bar in Tokyo that Harada was seen in a few hours ago. You know Atticus and his way with things. We’ll know where he’s going by this time tomorrow.” Spoke the second, older and more burly.

Yet the man behind the desk was paying no mind at all to his visitors, instead his eyes locked on Yamamoto, standing in the doorway behind the guests quietly. The man looked pale, as if he had seen a ghost. Yamamoto was confused, but did not wish to speak and alert the others of his presence. But It didn’t matter. One of the men turned around to see what the apparent boss was looking at, and stood up almost immediately. The others did the same.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be in here!” Cried the burly man, approaching angrily.

Yet Yamamoto did not say a word. Instead, he began to walk forward with a confidence that even seemed to unnerve the thugs before him slightly. When the burly man was in grabbing distance, the thug attempted to slam a haymacker into the youths chin. Years upon years of training had prepared Yamamoto for far worse than these urban scum, and he dodged to the left effortlessly, bringing a kick up to the mans ribs. He grunted painfully, and the youth gave him a spinning backfist in a flash, sending him spiraling backwards into the chairs.

The other two men seemed shocked, and reached for the pistols in their own jackets. Yet Yamamoto was faster than them, and quickly swept the legs out beneath one, before a fist connected with the throat of the other. They both fell to the floor, their balance lost and in pain. The youth gave each man a swift kick to the head, and they were out cold before they even knew what was happening.

The burly man was on his feet again now, but the assassin darted forward, kicking him fiercely in the chest, sending him flying backwards and out a large glass window near the desk of the old man. Yet through this brief scuffle, the man did not move, nor appear surprised.

“I knew you would come one day.” He said with a nod of his head. Standing up uncertainly, he looked the youth in the eye.

“Then you know who I am.”

“I do, my son. You move similar to your mother, you know. She would be proud…”

“You know nothing of my mother.”

“More than you, boy. Now, I am still alive. So what do you want from me..?”

“I am here for answers.”

“And you shall. But first, I have something to show you.”

The old man rose from his seat and approached a book shelf near his desk, against a wall. Pulling a book out of the wall titled “Bushido: The Way of the Warrior”. The book shelf began to sink into the floor, and in the space behind it was a dimly lit and cramped hallway. The pair entered the hallway together and walked a short ways before entering a slightly bigger room. The room was dusty and bare, except a single large metallic container in the center. Glass was on the front, allowing the men to see inside at what hung on the rack.

It appeared a suit of black and yellow, the material a form that Yamamoto had never seen before. A black visor was over the face, obscuring the identity of the wearer. There seemed to be more to it than a simple material though, as a small and compact generator appeared on the lower back of the suit, allowing electrical impulses to run through it.

Next to the suit was a belt filled with variations of grenades, as well as several pouches containing things Yamamoto could not see. Next to it was a seemingly standard pistol, as well as a large sniper rifle equipped with a scope, seemingly up to 50x magnification. Yet none of this interested the young Assassin nearly as much as the last weapon.

A one-handed sword of pure black hung against the rack, it shimmered even in the dull light. It appeared to be made of a strange metal, perhaps obsidian. It looked similar to a Katana, yet crafted with much more care and intricacy than any Katana he had ever seen. Upon the blade was an engraving, the words stylized and clear.

“Sting like a Bee.” Spoke Yamamoto, reading the blade. He had to admit the display was impressive, seeming to be cutting edge technology, and probably ridiculously expansive.

“Yes. This was a suit worn by your grandfather during World War 2 against the Americans. It has seen more combat than either of us will ever know. I acquired it recently, and refitted it for the modern world. But I do not have the skills to adequately use it. I have connections, power, and wealth. But I do not have your skills, nor your way with Death. If you are half the Assassin your mother was, you are more than worthy to carry on the Legacy of Beesting.”

"Hmm... I don't know." Spoke Yamamoto hesitantly, the suit was alluring.

”Yes, you wish to bring Glory to our Ancestors, do you not..? And why not make some money while you’re at it..? Come my son, you may have been gone for many years, but you are here now, with me. What do you say, eh..?”

”Who is my first contract…?” responded Yamamoto quietly, putting a hand up against the glass of what he felt was his Destiny.

”A man named Riku Somasa, part of the Hokkaido Clan. We have been in a territory war for several years now with them, and I think with your help, we may just push the scale in our favor.”

Yamamoto nodded and looked to his father, prepared to become the instrument of Death he had been born to be.

”We are going to make a lot of money together, my son!”

Zac WIlson | Kelly Brown
August: 5 Months Before Concurrent Posts
Zac was unsure whether he should be embracing his girlfriend, rejoicing that, of all the things the terrifying shape could have been, it was Kelly, or should he be having an emotional breakdown because somehow someone has transformed the girl he adored so much into a giant, wasp-human hybrid. Not many things freak out Zac; in fact, he barely flinched when his claws burst out of his hands. But wasps were a different story. As a kid, Zac had been playing in the woods nearby his house, when suddenly, a wasp nest dropped from a tree, landing right in front of Zac. The agitated wasps buzzed out from their wrecked home, seeking retribution for the destruction of their livelihood, and Zac seemed to fit that role of the perfect victim, even though he had done nothing wrong. And if it was not for Zac’s father pulling Zac away from the angry swarm, Zac might have died because of the excessive amount of times the wasps stung him. Even with his father's rescue attempt, ever since that day, Zac had been allergic to a wasp's sting.

“Zac, what’s wrong?” Kelly asked, “It’s just me, your girlfriend, Kelly”. Kelly extended her hand towards her boyfriend, yet he swiftly pulled away. And as he rejected his girlfriend’s kind offer, Zac noticed red flashing numbers beside him. First the number ten appeared, then a nine, and they continued to descend. Zac knew that descending numbers did not mean that anything good was about to happen, but rather something exactly opposite to that. He swiftly leaped to his feet, hoisting up Kelly by her waist, and dashed toward the entrance to the hidden chamber. If Zac had exited the hidden door a second later, he and his girlfriend would have been engulfed by a column of fire, a cleansing flame that destroyed all the evidence of whatever happened down below.

“Zac, I knew you would come to your senses!” Kelly wrapped all four of her arms around him, but he just shrugged her off. He thought that it would be better of the both of them if he didn’t look. Zac just got up onto his feet and started to walk back toward his house. “Zac, wait!” Kelly cried out. Zac’s footsteps slowed down, but not by much. All the way back to the house, Zac never looked back, and even when they got inside, he did not turn on the lights. After changed their clothes, torn from that disasters that had occurred to them that afternoon, Kelly slipped into Zac’s room, reclining on his bed.

“I’m sleeping in your room tonight.” Nevertheless, this statement did not procure a response from Zac; he continued to remain silent. Therefore, Kelly bounced off her boyfriend’s bed and walked over to him. Once she stood next to him, her head being two or three inches above his, she flicked the lights, revealing what she looked like. The complexion of her skin had taken a pale yellow tint. Above her eyebrows protruded two insect antennae. Her human eyes were replaced by black compound lenses (although they were still the same size as her old eyes). A second pair of arms was attached to her hips. Moreover, although her shirt covered them, she had four wasp wings attached to her back. But the wasp abdomen frightened Zac the most; it was attached to her tailbone, hanging down to her knees. While her barb was sheathed, Zac still was nervous that she had one; if a tiny wasp could send Zac to the hospital, what would one prick from her venomous barb do to him?

“Zac, I know how much wasps frighten you. I know that much of my body has been made to mimic a wasp’s, but that doesn’t mean I am one. I wasn’t one of those tiny monsters who scarred your childhood when you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m still the same person inside as I was when we swam out to that small island out in the lake. I’m still the girl you met at college. You have been giving me a cold shoulder ever since you discovered that I had something in common with your greatest fear. But I’m still human. Let’s just go to bed tonight and try to figure out what has happened to us when we have clearer heads.” Zac only nodded to Kelly’s suggestion, flipping the lights off as the two headed towards the bed. Yet, even though they slept in the same bed, Zac laid on the farthest edge of the bed.

And once he had dosed into a deep sleep, all he could see in his dreams was a room filled with wasps, drowning Zac with the insects’ body mass. As he struggled to keep his head above the wave of wasps, he suddenly felt something, or rather someone pick him up. He saw that Kelly had him in her clutches, the barb protruding from the wasp abdomen. “Don’t do it, Kelly! I beg you!” Zac screamed, but nothing appeased his girlfriend’s rage. In one swift stroke, she jabbed the sharp barb into Zac’s foot.

Zac sat straight up in his bed, sweat pouring down his forehead. Zac flipped the covers off him, throwing them over his slumbering girlfriend. While Zac was gazing at his feet, he saw something lurch at his foot. Kelly’s wasp abdomen twitched forward, striking Zac’s foot, causing immense pain to surge through his body.

“Holy...!” Zac yelled, rolling off his bed in pain. His crash to the ground jarred Kelly from her sleep.

“What happened?”

“Get out!”

“Why? What did I do?”

“Are you kidding me? You sucker punched me with your [explicit] barb! You probably just signed by death warrant. God knows how much poison you just pumped into my body!”

“But my barb is still shea...”

“Get the [explicit] out, Kelly! I knew I should never have slept in the same bed as my worst nightmare!”

“Do you think you have the worst of it? I have to live the rest of my miserable life, looking like this freak show, you jerk!” Kelly tossed the bed sheets aside and marched out of the room, slamming the door as she left. And when she bagged the door close, the door was even pulled past where it normally would close.

---

When Zac woke up the next morning, he felt as if someone had smashed his head into a wall. When he tried to rise to his feet, it felt as if the whole world was spinning around him. As he tried to regain his senses, he saw where he had crashed on the floor the previous night, marked by the dried-up puddle of blood that had dripped from his leg wound. Once he cleared his head, Zac finally tried to get out of his bed. While he was successful this time, everything around him was still wobbling a tiny bit.

“DING DONG!” sounded the doorbell. Unsure who would be visiting their residence at this hour, Zac slowly approached the front door, first struggling to get out of his own room because the door had been pushed through its frame and its knob has been crushed on both sides. And before Zac reached the door, he noticed a small note sitting on the counter.

Zac and Kelly, going to emergency room to see your father. He’s in critical condition. Please call when you get this message. Extremely urgent. –Mom

Zac wondered whether he should call his mother at the moment. Could she handle the truth that her son and her son’s girlfriend had been transformed into freaks? Better save that talk for later.

The doorbell rang again. Zac rushed toward the door and opened it. As soon as he did this, a small, smoke grenade fell at his feet, spouting out a noxious gas that swiftly knocked Zac unconscious. But before his vision went black, Zac saw several figures dressed in full camouflage rush through the door, grabbing him as he fell.

SAN DIEGO, USA in route to TOKYO, JAPAN

Tremor never liked flying. He felt blind without the ground at his feet, perilous zooming through the sky in a big metal tube. The matter of comfort wasn't even considered when he tried to compare it to the sheer alieness of flight. The fun of going through multiple security checkpoints with forged papers was always nice. Being in disguise was also a nice perk. All he needed now was a mini-bar to wreck to get over all of his discomfort at the moment.

It was amazing what a business suit and pair of glasses did to someones appearance. As far as this passenger jet was concerned he was just some stern-faced far-eastern salaryman on his way to some conference. Little did they know a highly wanted international criminal was sitting right next to them as they snored obnoxiously and sat staring dumbfounded at some clique in-flight movie. Harada just kept his nose buried in a paper he'd brought on-board from the terminal. It kept his mind sharp and his manners stern reading recent events. That or it just kept him awake on the coast-to-coast flight. The headlines were at least somewhat relevant today, Tremor mused internally.

U.N. TO HOLD CONFERENCE ON NATIONAL SECURITY REGARDING META-HUMAN THREAT

VENEZUELAN QUAKE DISPLACES THOUSANDS.

LOST HAVEN'S POLARIS TOWER TO BE COMPLETED SOON

ARE YOUR UNDERWEAR GIVING YOU INSOMNIA?

The last headline made him chuckle to himself. Harada skimmed through the article about the tower, something about the tallest structure in the western hemisphere to be completed sometime in the next fiscal quarter. He was on the way to Tokyo, so he didn't much mind the trivia. The monks in Thailand had always said 'Better to be cultured than robbed blind.' However, Tremor wasn't a tourist in this case. No, he had a job to do. The headline about a meta-human conference only interested him slightly; he'd yet found a country willing to handle a threat like that head on. Until that came him and his kin were just as free as the rest of the world to be the little terrorist they all knew they wanted to be. He could hardly concentrate on reading the statistics of his little Venezuelan fiasco over the snoring of the large Canadian to his right. With a slight twist of his left ankle, Tremor sent a small jolt of vibration through the obese mans seat, causing him to pop right back into the realm of consciousness.

"Turbulence, huh?" grinned Tremor, small gold tooth flashing in his smirk as his eyes continued to pour over his paper. The shiny fang winked at the groggy passenger as Tremor ventured a question "What's an eight letter word for 'element that drives a story'?"

"Uh......Conflict?" stammered the man, before being interrupted by the intercom. "Attention Passengers this is your Captain speaking. We will be arriving at in Tokyo International Airport shorty."

Madeline was 80% certain that she might have a very serious problem. Over the course of the last few days she had been involved in several unfortunate situations. It had all started last Sunday when she had been practicing at Hidden Park (a cement patch outside of the universities old gym, it was currently being used for storage) on a night that she had been especially restless. She had lost her temper and kicked a nearby trashcan when things weren’t going the way she wanted them to, and she realized now just how big of a mistake that had been. Someone must have seen -- she was 80% certain that someone must have seen -- because ever since then one strange thing had been happening after the next.

On Monday, the girls dormitory had been vandalized. Someone had spray painted seemingly random letters all along the hall. On her door in particular a large, orange “E” was painted. None of the other doors had any paint of them, and all of the other letters had been in black. Was it just a coincidence that it was the same color as her hero costume? She was nervous, but she convinced herself that it had to be bad luck -- even if someone had seen her using magic, how would they have known what her uniform looked like? She hadn’t used it once since moving to Lost Haven at the start of the school year. It had to be by chance.

Tuesday was a different case altogether: Tuesday was more than just a hint, it was a threat. There had been a three-way collision at an intersection between Central Station and Sherman Square, and she found herself in the middle of it. Madeline was more than just worried for herself at this point, she was worried about those around her. Whoever this was was willing to get other people involved; even innocent civilians who had nothing to do with her. Of course she was still trying to convince herself it was nothing more than happenstance, but it felt more like they were trying to provoke her into using her powers in public. Luckily everyone involved was alright, but the speeding car that had caused the crash had gotten away before she'd had the change to do anything about it.

Today was not like Monday or Tuesday. It wasn’t a hint, it wasn’t a threat, it was a statement. It was still early in the morning, just as the shower room was opened, and she thought it was strange that she was the only one there. Usually there were at least a few girls waiting for the shower to open so that they could rush to class, but it wasn’t exactly terrible that no one was there so she continued with her morning as planned. The shower had been normal -- actually, she got to have a little bit of fun heating up the water since no one was around to see the abnormal amount of steam coming from her stall -- but her towel and her clothes had been stolen. Usually, Maddie would have brushed it off as a prank from one of the other students, but there was nothing usual about today. Waiting for her, folded neatly besides the sink, was her leotard (mask and all).

Madeline was 100% certain that someone knew who she was now. But how could they have gotten her uniform? It had been in her room, in a suitcase under her bed, since day one. The only other person in there with her was Violet, though she knew some administrators had skeleton keys for emergency situations, but no one had seen any administrators lurking around the girls dorm. Violet was more likely, Violet had plenty of opportunities to rummage through her things when she wasn’t around, unless Violet had been inviting her friends over and one of them had seen. Even so, how would they have seen without Violet seeing it, too? She hadn’t thought of the possibility that more than one person knew. Even if it was only Violet for now, she could easily tell as many people as she wanted about what she had seen.

Maddie took a deep breath as she tried to clear her head. She had too many questions to handle all at once and she couldn’t think straight there. Madeline didn’t even bother to dry herself off as she threw on her uniform and made a dash for her room - she made it safely, though “safe” wasn’t a term she would use right then. The entire room looked like it had been turned inside out. The fluffing of her mattress was littered all over the room, the walls were covered in orange paint and all of her and Violet’s clothes were dumped in the middle of the floor. Even the bed posts had been scratched up, the window was covered in what smelled like manure, the lamps were broken... Madeline decided not to dawdle and to get herself and her things out of there as quickly as possible. She didn’t even bother to remove her costume or dry herself as she threw whatever clothes she could find on top of her leotard, uncertain of whether or not they were hers or Violet’s, and began to stuff as many of her things into her suitcase as possible. Whatever didn’t fit, she didn’t take as she fled the school grounds, not wanting to be involved any further in whatever it was that was happening to her so-called secret identity. Where was she supposed to go now?

Yamamoto sat in the office of his father in his manor, trying to focus himself. He had been working for his father for several weeks now, and had acquired several thousand dollars to himself through various assassinations of rival Yakuza, Police Officers, and Political Officials attempting to stamp out crime. Some had proven particularly had to track down, but all were found eventually. None were able to escape from the endless determination of Atticus, an information broker that Yamamoto had met several times now.

He was a foreigner from the west, supposedly from England. He had connections through various international crime syndicates, as well as communications through innumerable corrupt officials, DEA Agents, and Counter-Terrorism Units. He truly was a man who had mastered his craft of gathering and delivering information, for a price.

Yet the young assassination had been so busy clearing the way for his father’s empire, he had not returned to the manor since his first day up until now. It was only when the oak door behind him opened, was his train of thought broken. He believed it was his father for only a moment, before realizing the footsteps too soft.

“Who are you..?” Asked the voice of a young girl, perhaps ten years of age.

The youth turned around and found a little girl in a light blue sundress, standing in the doorway looking confused at Yamamoto. She approached tentatively, and her long black hair was pulled back in a single braid. She had the same facial features as the assassin’s father, only slightly altered. Yamamoto stood up from the chair, turning to her, slightly shocked that such a young girl lived in a home that mobsters, thugs and gangsters frequented.

”My… My name is Yamamoto. Who are you..?”

“My name is Asuka Kikagawa! Are you a friend of my daddy..?” She spoke cheerfully and with the enthusiasm only one so young could ever have. She stuck out her hand for a handshake.

“You… could say that. Your Father is also my own. I came a very long distance to see him, and meet him for the first time.” Yamamoto spoke awkwardly, unsure if Katsu wanted the young girl to know of his true origins. He hadn’t hid the information from his own business associates, nor had he flaunted it. Yet telling members of his family may have been different. He shook her hand lightly.

”So you’re like my big brother!?” She spoke in awe, before squealing in delight and rushing forth to embrace the young man, throwing her arms around him.

”I always wanted a big brother!” She said, burying her face in his jacket happily.

At first the young Japanese man seemed hesitant when faced with such affection, but slowly smiled and placed a hand on the young girls head, appreciative at such seemingly freely given love and compassion. It had been truly a rare feeling in Yamamoto’s life to feel loved.
Katsu stepped inside the office and nodded solemnly to the pair and then spoke in nearly a whisper.

“Asuka, could you please leave us. I’m afraid your… brother and I need to discuss something.”

“Oh… okay, daddy. I’ll see you later big brother!” She giggled lightly and skipped out of the office, not a car in the world.

Katsu turned to Yamamoto in a solemn way, seemingly reserved.

”Yamamoto, your work has been greatly appreciated by the Kikagawa Clan, as our profits have nearly doubled since your arrival, as well as our territory. The other clans are terrified of this mysterious shadow of death that our clan now possesses. But all of this has simply been practice in preparation for an Assassination that will truly change the way business is run in Japan.

There is a man who is called Tremor, who is capable of creating earthquakes with his fists, as well as trained in martial arts much like you. His senses are very acute and powerful, making it very hard to sneak up on him. His reaction time, strength and stamina are beyond that of any mere mortal. He is truly gifted by the Heavens.”

Yamamoto nodded gravely; understand what his father would soon ask of him. He doubted this ‘Tremor’ could match him in martial arts. After all, even a man stronger or faster than any other couldn’t have honed his body in such a way as Yamamoto. So much suffering and pain had been had to hone this particular set of skills.

”I need you to kill him. You shall be paid 54 million Yen, nearly $500,000. He has disgraced our organization, and brought dishonor to us. It needs to be known that none may abandon the Yakuza. Even a man blessed by the Heavens. Do you understand..?”

“Yes, Father. It shall be done. This kill shall bring great Honor and Glory to our Clan.”

“Indeed it will, my son. I think after word gets out that Beesting has successfully assassinated Tremor, the others shall finally bend the knee and accept our Clan as the dominant… and myself as the supreme leader of the Yakuza in Japan.

Get some sleep tonight. You may sleep in the guest bedroom down the hall. I shall inform you when Atticus has tracked down Tremor. This will be your finest hour.”

Yamamoto bowed slightly to his father, and stepped outside of the office quietly, and made his way to the guest bedroom swiftly. He was naturally quiet and quick in his movements now, after so much time spent with those two traits being in great importance. Once inside room, he found the window open, and the stars and moon of the night sky illuminating the heavens above. A hand-drawn picture lay on his bed.
It was of Asuka and Yamamoto, holding hands in a park, all drawn by one who was very young, and very innocent.
The young assassin only smiled, and put the drawing in his inner jacket pocket.

Space Station Gold Dawn: In orbit over Earth:

The space station Gold Dawn had been the brainchild of billionaire industrialist Richard Midas, who had used his company, Midas Industries and it’s vast resources to make the station a reality. The Gold Dawn was the first of its kind, a private space station that eclipsed the International Space Station in size and technological advancements, one of which, was an artificial gravity generator which provided the station with Earth-like gravity in all areas of the station, except for the zero gravity laboratories which was home to some of the most extensive experiments in genetics and pathology ever conducted. The results of the experiments conducted in zero gravity had been unprecedented. In fact, with the advancements made in such a short period of time aboard the space station, there was a strong belief that if things continued to progress as they had, they would eradicate diseases such as cancer within five years.

Though, not everyone was as thrilled with the potential that space station possessed as her creators were. Big pharmaceutical companies had attempted unsuccessfully to get the project shut down, as did some of Midas’ rivals who saw the space station as a threat to their own prosperity. Despite their best efforts, the Gold Dawn continued its mission undeterred.

Sitting in his office, Dr. Jenson Weiss was looking over the latest results of one of the many experiments that were being conducted simultaneously in the zero gravity labs. As he looked over the latest results from the M-34 project, a project funded in part by the Pentagon to create a new breed of so-called super soldier. If the results from the latest tests were to hold up upon further testing, the project would be ready to move into the human testing phase.

As Dr. Weiss took notes on the latest findings, there came a knock on his door. Hating the distraction, the doctor cursed under his breath before responding to the sudden intrusion.

“Come in.” He called, his voice ringing with irritation.

As the door opened, Dr. Weiss saw that the one who had had the audacity to interrupt him was his colleague Dr. Amanda Bisson. As Dr. Bisson entered his office, his demeanor softened. Dr. Bisson had been his protégé since he had been her genetics professor at Stanford University some 10 years prior.

“Yes Amanda?” Dr. Weiss said as his colleague sat down across the desk from him.

“You wanted to see me?” Dr. Bisson stated questioningly.

“Ah yes. I wanted to discuss some of these findings with you.” Dr. Weiss said as he began to go over some of the findings that he had just been examining moments before.

***

Deep within the bowels of the space station Gold Dawn, someone makes his way into the restricted section of the space station which houses the components for the vital systems which keeps the enormous structure functioning.

“Dr. Thomas, you don’t have the clearance to be here.” A voice called behind the man.

Dr. James Thomas turned to face the man who had confronted him.

“I’m sorry Scotty, Dr. Weiss asked me to come check the life support systems.”

“Dr. Weiss sent you?” the security officer asked, unsure of exactly what was going on. “I’ll just have to verify that. You know you’re not supposed to be down here without-“

The security officer was not able to finish before the doctor produced a small firearm and silenced him. Dr. Thomas found the act that he had just committed, as well as the act that he was about to commit tasteless and vile, however he knew that he had little choice.

Dr. Thomas had been a leading pioneer in cancer research over the last 20 years, which had earned him a comfortable position as an advisor to Gene.Co, whose own pharmaceutical wing had great interest in cancer research, as well as research into a large number of debilitating diseases, and stood to lose a fortune should a cure be implemented.

Dr. Thomas had been honored when he had been asked to be a part of the mission aboard the Gold Dawn, however the jubilation that he felt at being selected soon turned to dread. He learned that someone at Gene.Co had pulled a number of strings in order to get him placed on the space station, and that his mission aboard the Gold Dawn was far different from that of her crew. As a scientist, his mission pained him, and as a human being it tormented him. Regardless of his misgivings, he had to do it, for his family.

He learned of his true mission the morning that he boarded the shuttle which was to bring the crew to the Gold Dawn. That morning, he had been informed by a member of the Gene.Co board that they had taken certain measures to ensure that he do as they wanted. His family was being held captive, and unless he did exactly what they wanted, they would be tortured, and they would be killed. The only chance that they had was for him to complete this one simple task.

Dr. Thomas made his way into the control room and made a straight line for the computer console that controlled the major systems aboard the station. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small device no larger than a button battery and placed it on the console. After hitting a small button on the upward facing side of the device, a series of red lights flashed in a circular pattern around the outer edge of the device. After a few seconds, the lights stopped flashing and a solid red light encircled the device.

Dr. Thomas quickly said a pray asking forgiveness for what he was about to do, then produced a small detonator from his pocket. He hit the switch, and the last thing he saw was a bright flash of light as he was instantly incinerated along with the rest of the control room.

***

Dr. Weiss felt the station shudder beneath him. Almost instantly, the lights flickered and then went out, leaving the entire station in total darkness, not even the emergency backup lights gave any relief to the darkness.

“What’s happening?” Dr. Bisson asked with terror in her voice.

“I’m not su-“ Dr. Weiss was cut off by a secondary explosion which knocked both he and Dr. Bisson from their feet.

Another series of small explosions rocked the Gold Dawn, killing a number of the crew, and threatening to break an entire laboratory wing off of the station, which would then cause anyone in the vicinity to be sucked out into the vacuum of space.

Finally the explosions stopped and the shaking of the station stopped. Dr Weiss lay there in his office for a moment, unsure whether he was dead or alive. Finally, Dr. Weiss decided that the ringing in his ears was proof enough that he was, in fact alive, and he needed to do something fast if he wished to remain that way. However, he was suddenly aware that the artificial gravity had been knocked out in the blast, as he felt the sensation of weightlessness. Panic began to set in because he knew that if the artificial gravity had been knocked out, so had the life support systems. He did a quick calculation in his head and realized that there was only enough oxygen in the station to last several minutes, assuming that there hadn’t been a breach in the stations hull which would make the supply of oxygen within the station significantly less than he had estimated.

“Amanda, are you alright?” Dr. Weiss asked, sudden panic creeping into his voice.

“Yeah, I’m okay…I think.” She replied quietly.

“The life support systems are down, as well as everything else. We need to get to the docking bay now and get into the spacewalk suits.” He calmly explained.

“Okay, let’s get going then.” Dr. Bisson agreed.

Dr. Weiss guided himself to his desk and began blindly rummaging through the drawers until he fount what he was looking for, an LED flashlight that he kept in the top drawer in the event that he ever needed it. Once he had turned it on, he silently led the way out of his office down the corridor toward the docking bay.

Silently, the doctors floated down the long corridor, each breath becoming increasingly difficult to come by. With their lungs burning, the rounded the final corner before the docking bay, and found that the large blast door was closed, and with the system failure, the door was impossible to open.

Dr. Weiss floated in place for a long moment, looking at the closed door which had sealed their fate not in anger or even fear. Instead, he looked at the door knowing that the inevitable would soon be upon them both. Finally he looked to Dr. Bisson, and with sadness in his eyes, he reached out and took her hand.

“I’m so sorry, Amanda.” He said simply.

She nodded to him in the dim glow of the flashlight, and with a tear in her eye she simply said

“It’s alright, we tried.”

She gripped his hand tightly, and together they floated in the empty corridor, praying that there would be a miracle and that the heavy door would open, or better yet, the life support systems would suddenly become functional again. However, they both knew that it would never happen. So they floated there together, waiting for the inevitable, even as the space station slowly began to fall out of orbit.

Scott and Eric got off the subway train in Sherman Square at the corner of King and Danvers Streets. Eric always found it amusing that Scott would put him through the tortures of public transportation when he could defy the laws of gravity and get to wherever he was going much quicker than any bus or subway train could possibly do so. However, he understood that while he found it tedious, Scott did desire to live somewhat of a normal life, and that included such monotonous tasks as taking the subway.

As they made their way through Sherman Square, Scott looked around at the vibrant downtown center which had been compared by many to Times Square in New York, he couldn’t help but to feel almost overwhelmed by the entire scene. He truly loved Lost Haven, and he had since the first time his parents brought him into the city when he was a child, and every time he found himself in Sherman Square, he felt like that six year old boy again. In fact, he hoped that after he and Eric had finished securing the business permit from City Hall, that he might be able to take in some of the sights that Sherman Square had to offer.

“So what do you think?” Eric asked out of the blue.

“About what?” Scott asked, genuinely confused.

“About the thing that I’ve been talking to you about since this morning.” Eric said, slightly annoyed. “Tomorrow night. Us. Going out. Any of this ringing any bells?”

“Oh, right. We’ll see, I’ve got a few things I need to do.” Scott said.

“Why are you avoiding this? She’s perfect for you. She’s smart, funny, sexy as hell and you guys would be great together.” Eric said, rehashing the same argument he’d been making since Scott came back from the West Coast.

“I don’t know, I just don’t know if I’m ready.” Scott explained.

“Look man, I know what happened with Nikki was harsh, but this girl isn’t her. You can’t…” Eric’s voice trailed off as his eyes became glued to a massive object in the eastern sky that seemed to be falling toward earth. Eric didn’t know what it was, but it was at least the size of two football fields and it appeared to be heading right for the city.

***

Maine Airspace, Outside Lost Haven:

As Airman Chris Brady pulled back on the yoke of his F/A-18 Super Hornet fighter jet, the aircraft seemed to increase speed. He did not know all the details of what had happened, however, he did know that the military had been monitoring the private space station Gold Dawn as it slowly fell out of orbit and threatened to impact Earth.

The military brass had been hopeful that the crew of the space station would be able to correct whatever problems they were experiencing, however, repeated calls to the Gold Dawn went unanswered. When it became clear that whatever had happened would indeed cause the large space station to crash to Earth, the fighters had been scrambled to intercept it.
“Air Command, this is Hornet One, 30 Seconds to intercept.” Brady said into the receiver.

“Copy that Hornet One, double speed, target to make impact in 15 seconds.” Came the reply from the command center.

With that, Airman Brady felt his heart sink. He knew that there was no way that the jets sent to keep the space station from impacting the city would make it in time. The airman was overcome with an almost unbearable sense of guilt knowing that they wouldn’t make it in time, however, he was determined to try.

***

Navy Aircraft Carrier George Patton; 100 miles off the coast of Lost Haven:

All eyes were on the radar screen that was monitoring the situation in Lost Haven. Despite their best efforts, the squadron of Super Hornets would not make it in time. The space station Gold Dawn, which was more than twice the size of the International Space Station would soon make impact in the heart of the bustling metropolis. Hearts were heavy as the entire room watched the screen, no matter how much they wanted to, they could not look away. Each man and woman in the room knew that their failure was about to make history, and doom thousands of Lost Havenites in the process.

Suddenly, there was a blip on the radar, smaller than the Super Hornets, and moving at a much, much faster rate of speed, directly toward the space station.

“What the hell is that?” The baffled radar operator asked his commanding officer, who could provide no answer of his own.

***

Scott rocketed over the city, moving so fast that he appeared to those below him as nothing more than a blue and silver streak in the sky. He could see the large object before him, which had been ignited upon reentry into Earth’s atmosphere. As he sized up the falling space station, he lowered his head and pushed himself on, increasing his speed as he raced to stop the Gold Dawn’s descent.

As he raced to catch the plummeting space station, Scott made his way under the center of the Gold Dawn, pressing his back against it; he pushed back in an attempt to slow its descent. The effort proved futile. The Gold Dawn continued on its course undeterred, even as Scott pushed back harder, gritting his teeth as he fought against the free falling behemoth.

While in mid-air, Scott was able to turn to face the Gold Dawn. He placed his hands against the station’s hull and pushed up with everything that he had.

“GGGGRRRRRRAAAAARRRRRR!” He cried out as he pushed with all his strength against the hull, until finally he could feel the rapid descent begin to slow. Finally, he felt as if he had the space station under control as he brought it down toward the city, where he could safely put it down on the tarmac at the Robert D Sherman International Airport.

Once his feet were firmly on the ground, he was able to gently set the space station down. As he stepped away, he saw a virtual army of police and emergency workers racing toward the station, and him. They weren’t alone. Trailing the police and firemen were members of the press, as well as the public had forced their way through the security fence that went the length around the airport property.

As they rushed toward him, they all were yelling and screaming at him. The press relentlessly shouted questions at him, even as he again defied gravity and took to the skies, avoiding the mass of humanity that was bearing down on him.

Vorth Nis’Vargarth Nis’Illias Nis’Vorilsan sat within a great room. The walls were etched with patterns and images that spoke of great battles and victories, and that also simply were of soothing value to the aging Trangkar warlord. In the days since the fall of the Imperial House his line had been one of the few of the old nobility that had managed to retain its former influence and governorship over several systems. And in that process they had made many enemies, many enemies that could have been behind the faint sounds of rumbling and explosions that rocked the former governorial palace.

The warlord assumed logically that it was yet another attempt on his life. Someone thought to kill him, to end the glorious rebirth of the Imperium? He would slay these fools who dared to assault his palace, and he would see them flayed alive and executed in accordance with the oldest traditions. They would join the Braxians in the annals of those who had been destroyed by the Imperium. With an expression that still seemed calm Vorth Nis’Vargarth Nis’Illias Nis Vorilsan raised a crystal glass filled with a noxious blue fluid and sipped from it as his mind linked with the security feed, the neural net opening before his access codes.

Immediately he attempted to contact the nearest of his military establishments to order and immediate reinforcement of his position. But there was no response. It mattered little, of this the warlord war certain, no enemies would be able to fight past his guard. As another explosion rocked the palace he raised the crystal glass to his mouth again and drank deeply as he linked his mind with the security feed again, ostensibly to watch the death of the intruders.

The gold and white armored figure dove to the side, rolling over before rising into a crouch and firing several nebulous blasts of plasma even as the hyper dense kinetic rounds from the Trangkar railguns tore holes in the floor and walls of the palace. Three of the plasma bursts struck their intended targets and force fields surrounding them flared a dull crimson as they managed to shed the energy. The fourth burst seemed to miss, sailing past the guards to strike a pillar and incinerate a portion of it.

But even as the trio of guards attempted to bring their weapons to bear on the attacker the pillar behind them gave way and several tons of reinforced metal and stone came crashing down on them, easily overwhelming the weakened force fields. To the figure in gold and white armor’s credit it had never stopped moving, as soon as the shots had been fired the armored attacker had ignored the guards knowing they were already dead.

Even as the last hissing pops from the dying force fields of the guards faded the attacker was gone, heading directly for the last of the primary defense checkpoints before the throne room. The attack had been so rapid and unexpected, there had been no warning before the communications were severed and the high impact kinetic strikes obliterated many of the defensive emplacement, that even now the forces of the Warlord come Imperator had just managed to gather in force to defend one of the objectives.

Force field barricades erupted from hastily activated generators and turrets whirred to life as the soldiers and guards prepared to defend the entrance to the throne room. Several hydra missile soldiers, relics from before the fall of the original Imperium had their hellish weapons trained on the only entrance to the chamber and a host of the ordinary guard rail guns were similarly aimed that way.

Several moments passed with no movement from the doorway, and the sounds of combat outside had faded away. Then there was a hissing noise from above as a blade of plasma sliced a hole in the ceiling from within the ventilation system and a silver egg shaped object was dropped through the small hole. To the credit of the hydra soldiers they got off several shots before the egg detonated and the pulse of hard light shredded them along with half the other guards.

And then a chunk of the ceiling collapsed, bringing down the gold and white armored figure in a storm of perfectly placed shots that incapacitated the remaining guards. Before the figure could reach the doorway into the throne room blast doors slid shut, sealing the throne room off. Out came the plasma sword again.

The aging warlord had removed himself from the feed in disgust as his guards were slaughtered. Of course it was yet another sign that his rule was needed, if the state of the Imperium had fallen so far that a single invader could fight through his entire guard things were in grave need of correction. There was barely a sliver of fear as the intruder went to work on the blast doors. He would deal with this invader personally.

Vorth Nis’Vargarth Nis’Illias Nis’Vorilsan pressed a button on the side of his throne and the wall behind him slid open to reveal his own personal weapons. It had been many years since he last donned his own weapons and armor, like the hydra soldiers who had been part of his guards it was a relic of the old Imperium, much as he himself was.
As the blast doors parted and the intruder entered the chamber the self-proclaimed Imperator of the Trangkar Imperium greeted it with a storm of rail gun fire from the arm mounted units on his own armor. He was shocked as the intruder simply fired two shots in his direction before rolling in the time it took the rail gun rounds to actually reach it. He barely was able to register the motion and as he tried to bring the guns to bear again the twin plasma bolts struck the railguns and reduced them to slag.

But he was not defenseless, and his long service as one of the elite of the old Imperium had taught him many tricks of his own. A hasty transmission to the complex security activated the damper field in the chamber and the next shots of the plasma rifle fizzled before they could move more than a few feet from the gun. Attempting to take advantage of what he assumed would shock the invader the warlord activated his own melee weapons, twin blades of plasma emerging from generators on the palms of his hands.

“Whatever you are, whoever you are, you will not leave this place alive.” He spoke as a suit fueled burst of speed carried him in a lightning attack on the intruder. His strike was still too slow however as the invader holstered the rifle and the flash of plasma igniting sounds as twin long whips made from the unstable matter flicked out to tangle with his own blades.

While the whips could not stop his charge they weren’t intended to and the invader slipped to his side and pulled as he sped past. This put tension on the plasma blades that shouldn’t have been applied and the generators within the antique armor suit were quickly overloaded. The blades winked out and the intruder whirled in a practiced motion, flicking the whips out again to wrap around the Warlord’s armor.

One wrapped around his neck and the other pinched his legs together as the reek of melting metal filled the room. The last thing the aged Trangkar felt was surprise as the whip of plasma finished cutting through the armor and tightened around his neck, neatly removing his head from his body.

The plasma whips vanished as they were deactivated and the gold and white armored figure moved forward and picked up the severed head. It raised a palm to the face and scanned it as a holographic projection manifested. “Mission accomplished.” The figure spoke simply in a neutral and artificial tone that was filtered through the suit.

“Your efficiency is appreciated as always.” Came the reply as the other Trangkar, one who looked much younger and wore garb similar to what the warlord had donned. “You know of course that such cannot be traced to me, the treaties forbid consolidation. You will need to vanish for a time until the next contract.”

“I have plans. They are outside all jurisdiction.”

The Trangkar appeared surprised, “What business could you have on a fringe world that could not pay your price.”

“Vengeance and a Reckoning.” The armored figure answered before cutting the communication links.

In the hours since the unidentified man in blue and silver prevented the Gold Dawn from crashing into the heart of Lost Haven, all attention seemed to be focused on the mysterious savior. Cable news outlets covered the event that had occurred in the skies above Lost Haven ad nausium, having shown the same footage over and over on a loop. Different experts had been called upon to give their opinions and theories on the matter, which varied from plausible to the fantastical.

The internet was rife with coverage of the incident as well, rumors and innuendo run rampant, as well as conspiracy theories. Some people are excited by the prospects of having such a being on Earth, others are fearful. However, none are entirely sure what to make of the mysterious figure that seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

The Mayor of Lost Haven, William Collins had even held an impromptu press conference, in which he had fielded questions from the press, and implored the masked man to come forward and give them the answers that they so desperately wanted.

Even the Lost Haven Times, one of the city’s premier newspapers had gone hard to work on a special edition of the paper, with cover to cover coverage of the incident. However, the paper managed to raise more questions than it had answered. However, this issue sold out at newsstands, everyone wanting to absorb any information that could be had about the so called “superhero.”

***

Scott Hunter sat alone in his apartment in relative silence. Growing weary of the extended coverage of his earlier exploits, he had turned the TV and radio off, and instead sat on his couch, reading a novel that he had picked up at a local bookstore in Pacific Point when he had first arrived in California, but had never gotten around to reading. It was a political thriller set during the beginning of the Cold War, following fall of The Good Doctor at the end of World War II. The story itself was slow moving at first, which had actually forced Scott to consider finding another book to read, however, it had started to pick up the pace and he found himself enthralled by the story.

He was startled by a sudden pounding on his door. He didn’t know who could possibly be looking for him at the apartment, and sudden fears of being discovered following the incident with the space station began creeping into his head. He set the book down and got up off of the couch, slowly making his way to the door.

“I’m coming.” He called as he reached the door to his apartment, opening it.

He was relieved to see that it was Eric standing before him, which seemingly proved his fears to be unfounded. Eric pushed passed Scott as he entered the apartment. As he made his way into the living room, Scott noticed that he was carrying a newspaper under his left arm.

“Come in.” Scott said dryly as he followed Eric into the living room.

Scott looked on as Eric sat down on the couch, and motioned for him to follow suit. As Scott joined him on the couch, his friend handed him the newspaper that he’d been holding.

“Busy day, huh Icon?” He said as Scott took the paper.

“Icon?” Scott asked, not sure what Eric was talking about.

“It’s what they’re calling you. It’s kind of caught on.” Eric said nonchalantly as he pointed at the headline on the front page of the Lost Haven Times.

“Lost Haven’s New Icon of Heroism Saves City!” Scott read the headline aloud, unsure what to make of it.

“I don’t know, it sounds a little…pretentious.” Scott said.

“I think it’s too late. Everyone picked up on it and is running with it. I think you’re stuck.” Eric said, a hint of glee in his voice.

“Well, it is better than anything I’ve managed to come up with so far.” Scott replied with a chuckle.

***

Sitting in his office, Richard Midas was transfixed to the television. The station was watching replayed the incident that occurred earlier in the day with the Gold Dawn and the city’s newest so-called savior, who the media had dubbed Icon. So engrossed in what he was witnessing, for the umpteenth time, he had almost entirely forgotten that his personal assistant, Livingston, was in the room with him.
The incident with the shuttle had created a firestorm, such as he had known that it would. People wanted answers, and he was more than ready to play the part of outraged victim, even if he had intended for the station to be destroyed all along. However, he had intended for the explosion aboard the Gold Dawn to destroy most of the station, with the remaining wreckage falling harmlessly into the ocean. Fortunately, this being, the so-called Icon had been able to prevent a catastrophe.

Livingston cleared his throat, not wanting to interrupt his employer, yet at the same time wanting to bring his attention to the matters at hand, and away from the television screen.

“He’s magnificent, isn’t he?” Midas said, more as a statement than a question.

“Indeed sir. He is quite the marvel.” Livingston agreed with a tone that was noncommittal.

“I want him.” Midas said bluntly.

“I beg your pardon sir?” Livingston asked, not entirely sure what Midas had meant.

“Can you imagine what I could accomplish with a being with his…skills under my employ?” Midas asked, almost dreamily as he imagined the blue and silver clad hero as his chief enforcer.

“Do you believe that he’ll work with you?” Livingston asked.

“Indeed Livingston. Everyone has their price; we just have to find his.”