Christopher Arthur III
In the hanger bay of the “Mill”, Chris was almost in heaven. Surrounded by hundreds of advanced and sometimes prototypical technologies, Chris would have been giddier than a five-year old in a toy store if Chris had not needed to fix his armor. While his armor was still functional in spite of the damage taken in his engagement with Ramsey, Chris needed the Daedalos Mark V at tip-top shape in order even to have a chance against this “Nightmare” serial killer.

While his techs and engineers were extracting Chris from the Daedalos armor, the hangar bay suddenly fell dead silent. Before this moment, the other agents and techs that were stationed in the hangar had been talking amongst themselves. However, the silence only meant that something important was going down or rather someone important was coming.

“Rough day, Mr. Arthur?” Anderson asked nonchalantly. “It’s good to finally meet you. I’m Director Alexander Anderson, and I think it’s time we had a chat.”

“Ah, so you’re the mysterious Director Anderson! For some strange reason I imagined you having an eye patch.” However, this comment only elicited silence and a stern look from the Director of S.T.R.I.K.E. “You know, like Nick Fury? David Hasselhoff? Samuel L. Jackson? Even Fire Emblem had their own Nick Fury!"

When these references did not make any impressions on Director Anderson, Chris immediately dropped the subject. “Okay, I also like to have a ‘chat’. But first, promise me not to berate me about losing those three metahumans that I picked up from West Virginia. It was one of your men who turned out to be a shape-shifting, um, being that freed them.”

Previously: From a world not completely unlike our our, Isaac Fontaine found himself pulled backwards into this world. In that world, Isaac fought crime, injustice... and occasionally the downright weird as the Vigilante.

He clearly plans to do that again. And it's for that purpose that he looked to re-secure a line on equipment which he used in his own world. After a shaky first impression with the man who may hold the key to what he needs, Isaac disappeared into shadows of the backstreets.

That was when it happened:

Previous post said Then he felt it.

A sensation like something had just grabbed him around the waist from behind and yanked him. The street disappeared beneath him, then so did the city, then Maine, the Eastern Seaboard, the entire continent, the world, then the sun and new and different stars went whizzing past. Places he couldn’t name because they’d never been given one, even if he could recognize them (which he couldn’t). Twinkling stars became streaking lines of light.

Somehow, for the second time in his life, he could breathe whilst in the great expanse of space. But this would be impossible. Tilting his head back, he tried to look around him to see how this could be so but immediately felt sick from the light show of stars blinking into and out of view.

No more streaks. Now simply there one second and gone so fast he wasn’t sure he’d ever even seen them. A sense of déjà vu.

Then the streaks appeared behind him again. Whatever was happening, he was slowing. Not that that said much, he was still going faster than he ever thought possible. Then suddenly he was inside. How that happened was a mystery. He was in a place. Protected from space suddenly, he could never see it coming because he couldn’t bring himself to look ahead of where he was going due to the motion sickness. He’d slowed to a pace that allowed him to come to a smooth landing.

Then his legs gave out underneath him. He dropped to his knees and retched all over the floor, his stomach settling almost instantly in the process.

He looked around and saw two... creatures. He thought. He didn’t know what the hell else to call them. Bolbous masses with tendrils, tentacles and a puckered toothless hole which Isaac incorrectly assumed was the mouth.

One creature ran away from behind him, Isaac realising he’d just had some kind of device put on his head while he vomited.

To control me? Pacify me?

<Greetings. Hi. Hello.>

“OK. Not to pacify. To translate.”

A device on the other side of the room made a seemingly incomprehensible squeals and grunts.

Getting to his feet, Isaac tried to fully comprehend his predicament as he surveyed the room around him.

“Well, this is by far the most unlikely thing that’s ever happened to me...”

He wiped the vomit from his mouth with his sleeve. Can’t have an alien race thinking we’re all a bunch of disgusting slobs.

“And that’s saying a lot.”

So that's where we are...

---

<Do not be alarmed.>

The brow of Isaac’s balaklava lifted a half inch in response.

“Riiiiiiiiiight.” He sarcastically muttered.

<We apologise for the inconvenience; this should not take too long. We also apologise for the queasy feeling you felt, FTL travel can be a traumatic experience at first for new organisms not accustomed to it.>

Isaac spat on the floor, the taste of vomit still in his mouth and the back of his throat. The floor was dusty and seemed to absorb his saliva with no noticeable effect. He began to peruse the room he was in. The walls were made from a strange fibrous compound similar in density and texture to natural oak, knotted and bulbous in places but unlike anything he’d ever seen before.

“What is this?”

Further chirps and clicks before the device on his head translated.

<It is comprised of [Searching for equivalent...] [No exact equivalent found in vocabulary] [Approximation: Organism similar to literary triffids but not belonging to plant kingdom]... pine.>

Isaac was staggered by the foreign sensation of images and concepts flashing across his brain courtesy of the strange device around his head.

“Triff—what the hell are you talking about..?” He muttered to himself. “No,” he clarified “I meant ‘what is this?’ as in what am I doing here? Why did I get dragged through time and space for the second time in days?”

The creatures stopped fiddling with machinery long enough to look at Isaac as the reply filtered through the translator.

<We apologise if we have not followed any regular cultural customs for your species, we have not been [Searching for equivalent...] [No exact equivalent] [Approximation: verb for following/observing] long enough to learn the appropriate ritual, song or dance for these circumstances. We are [Searching for equivalent...] [No exact equivalent found in vocabulary] [Approximation: Noun, meaning guardian or protector,] of the spacetime continuum. We detected a disruption in the spacetime continuum, or rather an organism which had disturbed the fibre of spacetime. We are the operating team # 35496 operating in area [Searching for equivalent...] [Equivalent calculated] [Solution: 12832.4582OSA13474G] and as such, it is our duty to investigate and risk-assess said organism.>

“And that organism would be me.”

<Well, of course...>

“Risk-assess?”

<Do not fear. It is a simple enough procedure, we’re just readying the [Searching for equivalent...] [Approximation: device/machine] now.>

The pair continued to hurriedly work at machinery. Complicated machinery with glowing, moving parts.

The pair looked back at the black garbed being from area 12832.4582OSA13474G, then back at the machine, making further alterations to controls.

“35496...”

<Yes. On behalf of 12832.4582OSA13474G.> One stated, whilst working painstakingly at the machine, looking back and forth between Isaac and the device.

“Yeah... that’s where you lost me.” Isaac said, inspecting the walls again.

A strange gurgling noise of rushing air, not unlike a belch or fart, came from the pair. <Please excuse our [Searching for equivalent...][Approximation: Laughter, mirth; specifically in a derisive manner.] it’s just amusing to us that you creatures don’t know your location within... well, at least the universe.>

The other creature spoke up. <12832 is our greater sector sector. Our jurisdiction is for timespace disruptions around the 4,582nd star system, on the Outer Spiral Arm of the 13,474th galaxy. It’s your address. I think you call your major star> suddenly the clicks and chirps stopped as the creature made a garbled monosyllabic expulsion of air:

“Sol.”

<Is that correct?>

“Riiiiiiiiiiiight.” Isaac muttered.

<Quit showing off.>

<I told you I could get it.>

<So? You should be able to get it. You’re linguistics. He’s from [Searching for equivalent...][Equivalent calculated][Solution: PP3ONARS.12832.4582OSA13474G].>

Isaac tilted his head at the pair. “You added some more on this time. What was that.”

One creature looked at the other. <That’s your world’s classification. Primitive Planet Three. Oxygen and Nitrogen Alpha Respiratory Suited. It’s the kind of world you’re from.>

“Primitive?” Isaac growled with an animosity not exactly disproving their point.

<Primitive. You’ve yet to develop the capacity for FTL travel, perfected cryogenic restoration or developed perpetual motion engines to eliminate energy crises...>

“Perpetua-- Perpetual motion’s impossible.”

<Exactly.>

The creatures went back to work on their device, while Isaac silently seethed.

The man otherwise known as the Vigilante pondered his predicament. These creatures are some kind of law enforcement; only with a very small jurisdiction and little care for anything outside of it. Presumably they picked up that he’s not from this world, hence the disruptive presence in spacetime, and now they were checking their suspicions and would likely send him back.

Least that’s what seemed likely...

<What..?> One of the creatures appeared to look back at Isaac from the machine. <What kind of [Searching for equivalent...] [No exact equivalent] [Approximation: spell, enchantment] did you use on yourself?>

“Spell..?”

Kelly Brown
Agent Gibson peered through the glass window of the interrogation room, examining the body language, posture, and facial expressions of the captured metahuman. He wondered how this young girl was involved in such a horrendous crime. What role did she play in the puzzle of this mystery?

“This is everything we have on her,” A.J. announced as she walked into the observation room. She held in her hands a file folder. “Her name is Kelly Brown. She’s a sophomore at the Albany State College, pursuing a nursing degree. There isn’t anything on her record, although there was a video clip of her taken down from YouTube.”

“Who took it down?” Noah raised his eyebrow, snatching the flash drive from A.J.’s hand and hooking it up to a laptop.

“We’re not quite sure yet. There are conspiracy theories on the web that believe this mysterious entity called “S.T.R.I.K.E.”, who has been involved in Lost Haven, removed the video. However, there isn’t anything official as of yet.”

“After they watched the short clip that showed Kelly reverting to her “wasp” appearance, both FBI agents entered the interrogation room in an orderly fashion and took a seat across the table from Kelly. They sat there for a few seconds, allowing the silence to sink in.

“What were you doing at the site of the burning abandoned RV?” Gibson asked as he continued to look through the case file.

“I already told you,” Kelly replied, “I saw the smoke and heard a scream, so I went to see if anyone was in danger. Isn’t that the normal human reaction?”

Kelly’s four arms were cuffed, one pair attached to the top of the table, while the lower pair was hooked up to the bottom of the table. The FBI took this precaution because while they were arresting her, Kelly accidently exhibited her super-human strength, as she still had not gained full control over her powers yet. The FBI retaliated by using sedatives on her. Now that they were interrogating her, they could not sedate her and could only rely on these cuffs.

“Kelly, if you don’t help us, we can’t help you.” A.J. pushed a cup of water in arm’s reach of Kelly. Kelly grasped the cup and moved her lips toward the rim of the cup. However, before she could take a sip, Gibson pulled the cup away.

“If you don’t help us,” Gibson threatened, “we’ll going to charge you as an accessory to four counts of murder, two counts of kidnapping a minor, and five counts of, well, whatever this would fall under.”

Gibson slammed several photographs from the three crime scenes (including the RV) that his team had visited. He shoved them in front of her in order that she might get a better look at them.

Kelly examined the photographs that had been forced in front of her. At the sight of the gore in those pictures and the freakish transformations that the victims in the pictures had suffered, including her best friend, Kelly’s tint turned green. However, since she was a nursing student, she was at least half-prepared for something like this.

“I swear I wasn’t involved in any of this.” Kelly locked her gaze at Agent Gibson. “Why would I want to harm my best friend? A better question would be who in their right mind would do such a thing? My friend’s life is over as far we know because some freak transformed her into a human-headed cat!”

When Kelly started to think about Sammy. She broke out into tears. At least Kelly could mask her ‘mutations’. Sammy couldn’t pass for either a cat or a human!

A knock resounded from the other side of the one-sided viewing window. The two FBI agents told Kelly that they needed a moment. Once they exited the interrogation room, the y asked what was up.

“Apparently,” the third agent who had knocked on the glass, “there was a call to our special missing persons hotline that reported that a metahuman had apprehended a couple that fits the unsub profile. A girl who matches Lauren Clark’s description was also was with them.”

Aubrey Adkins
My hands haven’t hurt this much probably since a softball pitch struck my hands during my sophomore year in high school. What’s with this lady trying to make me a human pizza on the sidewalk beneath us? Yes, trying to cross this gap with a front hand spring wasn’t the smartest of ideas, but who was she, the gymnast police?

In my current situation, you would think that my spider-sense would be blazing wildly, but eerily enough it wasn’t. But mind you, it wasn’t as if there was complete silence. Besides the noise from the street traffic below, there was this static in my head. It was almost like the static noise from a TV with no signal, except not quite as annoying and load. It was still bothersome, but not enough to cause me pain.

“What’s your problem?” Yes, I know that probably sounded lame, but if someone is attacking me, I would at least like to know why!

The woman crouched down, still pressing down her foot against my fingers. “I’m just returning the favor to the person who stole my powers. You’re just fortunate that the rest of your powers were undeveloped, which has allowed me to regain my former powers. Now I see it as you’re sharing our arachnid blessing together.”

She reached up to her mask and pulled it back, revealing the face behind the mask. To my shock, it was that weird woman, who had the spider lower body, except she was fully human (in terms of how she looks). I don’t remember much of her, since I was knocked out cold when she arrived, but I do remember her face.

“We’re practically going to be like sisters!”

I had no freaking clue what she was talking about. In fact, all I wanted to do was get the heck out of here. Funny. Now I was trying to pull my hand away from her foot while she was trying to keep me in place. Even when I freed myself from her foot, she grasped me by the wrist and pinned it to the roof.

“Because you took my old powers, you’re going to look exactly how I did. Or something like it. I hope you will enjoy your humanity while it lasts.”

The woman gave a smile and dropped me. I extended my arms out toward the wall, allowing my ability to stick to things to slow me down. Once I was on the ground, I knew I had to lose her. I couldn’t go straight home, or I would lead her there.

However, as I left, I heard her say, “There’s no need to lose me. I already know where you live!”

That was not what I wanted to hear. Far from it.

Ares

Ramsey’s car had a low rumbling of the engine, as it idled. he sat back in his chair, and adjusted the seat. Unwrapping the burgers as he finished them off. It was like seeing a ravenous beast setting upon his first meal in ages. He gorged upon his feast, with a barbaric posture. And as if he was competing against some invisible opponent polished off his food if a haste. Gathering all the wrappers and bags, he tossed them out the window as they fell and separated in the wind. He rubbed the shoulder of his dismembered arm, and cracked his neck. Before pressing on the gas and driving down the streets. It took him hours to find the Warehouse district. And the Full Moon was in view without a cloud blocking it’s light. As he drove up through the seemingly abandoned Warehouses, with only a few on security. And he could only assume that they were on the payroll of whomever controlled this district.

His ears adjusted to the sounds nearby, picking up idle chatter, and from there could tell where the guards patrolled. Driving carefully through the side streets, he listened for anything suspicious. And soon his ears picked up yelling, and cheering. The sure tell signs of a fight ring, and his chance for informants. He pulled up towards the large warehouse, where guards stood vigil outside. They kept the rabble out, and the law occupied. In case they were found out. They glared at Ramsey’s car. As he parked. The door creaked open, and his left foot stepped out first. He strode over to them, knowing very few were allowed entry, his best chance was as an contestant.

“Heya Boys! Heard about this place in passing. I’m here to make some quick cash, nothing more. Looking for a match. Got any room for a newbie?”

The guard looked suspicious, his eyes narrowed and voice low pitched.”Move along now, ain’t got room for no amateurs.”

“Look now, just looking to make some cash, I’m a fighter. I got moves.” As he moved closer the guards took to an offensive stance, probably well trained too. It didn’t matter, in a flash his powers boosted him past the guards as they were sent flailing about. He pushed open the door only to be greeted with guns drawn. “Whoa now! Just want a match. And some cash. But if you guys insist…” He began to charge forward, when a tall man with short spiked multi colored hair stood in front of him. And uttered a single word. “BOW!” Ramsey was brought to his knees, as if some outside force had control over his body. It was just for a moment in his shock, that delayed his reaction. He lifted himself up, much to the surprise of the man in front of him. Ramsey spoke, with an hint of anger in his tone. “Gotta do better than that pal! I ain’t some lowlife punk where something like that could work on.”

The man looked displeased. As he spoke further.”ON YOUR KNEES PEASANT!!” With more force than the last Ramsey was brought even further to the ground, his knees breaking through the concrete cracking the ground around him. But as the last time he stood unfazed. His pride seemed to be the only thing hurt. The man before his waved away his guards, and stepped further. “Who dares enter my domain!? And without permission! Speak Profligate!”

“Profli what? Hey man speak fucking english, these big words are hard to understand.”

The man sneared. “Degenerate, who are you?”

Ramsey let out a light laugh.”Name’s Ares, and I’m here some quick cash, like I keep telling you. Now that your little powers aren’t working on me, we can just get down to business.”

“How dare you address me like that, I am Barron! King and Lord of this place!”

Ramsey rubbed his forehead.”Yeah, yeah. look your high ass. I’m gonna bury that spiky head of yours into the wall. Or you can just listen to me for a second.” Barron moved closer, as he signaled his guards. Ramsey shock his head, and went on the assault.

Dedonus said “Ah, so you’re the mysterious Director Anderson! For some strange reason I imagined you having an eye patch.” However, this comment only elicited silence and a stern look from the Director of S.T.R.I.K.E. “You know, like Nick Fury? David Hasselhoff? Samuel L. Jackson? Even Fire Emblem had their own !"When these references did not make any impressions on Director Anderson, Chris immediately dropped the subject. “Okay, I also like to have a ‘chat’. But first, promise me not to berate me about losing those three metahumans that I picked up from West Virginia. It was one of men who turned out to be a shape-shifting, um, being that freed them.”

Anderson stood there for a moment, not saying anything as he allowed Arthur's reaction to him sink in. The Director felt a rush of annoyance wash over him in response to Arthur's joking at a time like this. Especially after failing so spectacularly to bring in a trio of metas so recently.However, that was not important now, what was important, was the situation involving Nightmare and his accomplice.

"Don't worry about that right now Mr. Arthur, those three aren't relevant at the moment." Anderson started. "Are you aware of the situation in Lost Haven with the killer known as Nightmare?" Anderson asked.

Once Arthur had nodded in the affirmative, Anderson proceeded.

"It's much worse than we've let on." Anderson said gravely. "This Nightmare has not only killed a number of civilians and broadcasted it...and us, all over the television. But he's taken out every squad we've sent after him."

Arthur stood there, then was about to say something, when Anderson cut him off. Anderson may not have known Arthur personally, but the Director had handpicked the young man for his position within the organization, and thus was familiar enough with the young man's ego to know that he was about to mention that HE hadn't been sent to deal with Nightmare just yet, and that the slippery killer wouldn't know what hit him.

"The last one to go after Nightmare was Icon. He couldn't stop Nightmare, and we don't know where he is, or even if he's still alive." Anderson paused, letting the gravity of what he had just said sink in.

Christopher Arthur III
Chris digested the information that Director Anderson had just revealed to him. Icon, the blue-clad caped crusader, was probably unanimously the strongest and greatest of the recent metahumans. If he could not defeat this ‘Nightmare’ character, who could?

“So, what’s the plan of action? From what you have said, it sounds like you and S.T.R.I.K.E. has been hurling cohort after cohort of agents against this “Nightmare”, only to have your men slaughtered. While I don’t want to pass a quick judgment, but isn’t insanity defined by attempting the some actions over and over again, thinking that a different result will happen? Maybe we should try to take a different approach.”

Director Anderson gave Chris a look of uncertainty, probably wondering what Chris was up to. However, Chris attempted to dispel Anderson’s doubts.

“I think we need to start with a blank slate. Obviously throwing truck-loads of soldiers is not effective against this ‘Nightmare’ killer. Do we know any of Nightmare’s weaknesses, if he has any. If so, we should try to exploit them. If we don’t know his weakness, or if he doesn’t have one in the first place, we need to change up our tactics. Since you have been responding to his attacks with guns a blazing, Nightmare probably will expect the same response again. We have to change something up, or you will only be losing more men.”

Zac WIlson
Zac sped down the road that led away from the burning RV. However, as Zac was departing, he heard sirens approaching the abandoned site. The local police must had been tipped that a fire was raging in this vicinity. Yet again Zac has left behind his girlfriend to take the fall. While those situations were not entirely Zac’s fault, he still blamed himself. Should he blame himself for being kidnapped, which caused Kelly to be alone at home, almost to be seen by his parents? Was it his fault that he had to go defend himself against NCAA violations, which resulted in Kelly walking alone to class and being assaulted? Was this situation his fault?

For a split second, Zac considered turning around in order to save his girlfriend from the police. However, Zac changed his mind because Kelly’s secret was already out of the bag, but his was not. At the current moment, revealing the truth, that Zac was indeed a metahuman, would not be beneficial for Zac due to the NCAA investigation. He feared that it would be taken the wrong way. Yes, he was a metahuman, but he never used his powers to gain any advantage on the playing field. Therefore, Zac continued forward, in spite of his conscience telling him that he was abandoning his girlfriend yet again.

Just like his girlfriend, Zac had not been honing his abilities. Therefore, it took Zac a couple seconds to get acclimated again to running at high speeds. But once he felt comfortable at 60 to 70 mph, everything was smooth sailing from there, or at least until he reached a crossroad.

After Zac decreased his speed down to a screeching halt, he pondered about which way the culprits, who abandoned the RV, went. He knew that they had to have gone down one of these two paths. But which one.

Suddenly, a golden eagle descended from the sky. It landed in the middle of one of two streets on the forked crossroad. Eerily enough, the eagle stared intently at Zac, its head tilted as if it was trying to tell Zac something.

When Zac took a step in the direction of the other street, the eagle took off in the air, flying around Zac. It continued to do this, along with echoing a terrible screech until Zac took a step in the other direction. Once Zac moved toward the other street, where the eagle had originally landed, the eagle ceased from pestering the young metahuman.

Was Zac going mad by ‘listening’ to a bird for advice on which path the people, who burned the RV and left Sammy behind, went? When Zac turned around, he saw that the eagle had disappeared. However, he did not remember hearing it depart. No wings flapped, no screams being cried out. Just silence. Was ti part of his imagination?

Nevertheless, Zac continued down this road, in spite of his doubts about how reliable the eagle was. However, Zac soon realized how reliable it actually was.

When Zac saw a light turning yellow and therefore soon to be red, he began to slow down again, learning from the last time that he needed more room to stop properly. Even though Zac started to slow down sooner, he still bumped into the rear end of a car stopped at the traffic light. The sight of Zac’s strange appearance spooked the driver, causing him to press his foot on the gas, despite the light still showing red. Was this the family or did Zac just send an innocent family into harm’s way?

Aubrey Adkins
That night, I did what any normal woman would do while she was depressed: I sat on the couch, channel surfed, and devoured some ice cream. I know that it is extremely stereotypical, but considering the past few days, I think I deserve this.

In fact, I wasn’t completely sure what depressed me the most. Missing class? Nah, that’s not the end of the world, or at least for me. Was it being kidnapped twice? Was it the realization that the first group who kidnapped me knew where I lived? Or was it that I alone did not have an animalistic appearance, unlike the others who apparently received the same chemical that gave us our powers. Was I going to remain ‘normal’, or was that second-rate spider-villain going to be right?

While I continued to surf through channels on the television and gorge myself on ice cream, I suddenly heard a knock on my door. At the door was Kristin, holding a pillow and blanket in her arms. Every couple of weeks, Kristin would crash in our apartment for a night or two because of her roommate’s, well, extracurricular activities.

Honestly, we don’t know how Kristin’s roommate ever got into St. Henry’s, let alone stay enrolled. Her parents are neither famous nor rich and a brick probably is smarter than this girl is. When that Duke student controversy about her being, how do I say this politely, an adult ‘actress’ (if you know what I mean) came out, we teased (amongst ourselves of course) that Danielle probably got by through the same means.

While we could never prove Danielle sinful occupation, we (or rather Kristin) had to live with her, well, loose morals. Every time Kristin had to sleep over, Danielle would have a “guy friend” over. Sometimes he was the same person as the last time or he was someone we never seen before. Just going over the details of what went on would be even a sin for me, so I’ll just say that Kristin had good reasons for coming over to our apartment.

And unfortunately, we could not ditch Danielle because of one reason. We feared that we would wake up one morning and see on the news that she was dead in a ditch. I mean, yes, I disapprove of her lifestyle and her choice of “profession”, but that doesn’t mean I wish harm on her. I just wish she would turn her life around, for her own sake.

Anyways, I let my friend into our apartment and we sat down at our table. Since this “Danielle” thing has been going on for, like, years, we didn’t even need to say a word about it.

“So, Aubrey, how was your first day back?” Kristin asked.

“How does it look like it went?” I have been clad in pajamas ever since I got back from ‘trying’ to go to class. My hair was in disarray. I was stuffing my mouth with ice cream, directly from the carton. I was a hot mess, waiting to explode.

“Was it class that did it in for you?”

“I didn’t go to class.” There, I said it. I just wanted to get it over with, just like ripping off a bandage rather than slowly peeling it off one’s skin.

“AUBREY! I know it’s the last semester of our senior year, but you can’t be skipping classes!” Kristin was definitely the wrong person to tell that I missed class. Besides Ashley and Danielle (the later obviously of course), we all knew each other from St. Henry’s soccer team. We were like sisters to one another and we always had each other best interests in mind, even if that meant being yelled at.

“I didn’t skip because I wanted to. I just ran into some trouble on the way.” I could tell from Kristin’s face that I had better give a good reason or I was going to get an ear full.

“Okay, I ran into one of the creeps who kidnapped me a few days ago.” I admitted to Kristin, hoping it wouldn’t freak her out.

“Do they know where we live?”

“No,” I lied. Of course they know where I (and therefore we) live. That’s how they kidnapped me in the first place! I just did not want to burden her or any of my friends with that knowledge, even if it might have been better to warn them of the danger that now came with being my roommate.

“Then you shouldn’t worry. Just go to class tomorrow, or I might not be the only one confronting you about your academics.”

After we finished our short chat, Kristin got up to make a bed on the couch. However, I offered my own bed to her. Honestly, I wasn’t tired, or at least I didn’t feel like sleeping at the moment. Once Kristin went to bed, I returned to the couch with my carton of ice cream and continued to channel surf. There is never anything interest in on after midnight (or at least anything I would want to watch), so I kept surfing while I ate my ice cream. Thankfully, Kristin hadn’t checked our trash can because she would have saw three identical cartons of ice cream already tossed away. She would have lectured me over getting fact from eating so many sweets, but I have a super-human metabolism, right?

As the night progressed, I started to doze off because of the selections of television programs available on that time of night. Eventually I fell asleep right on the couch, my ice cream carton completely empty. Maybe tomorrow might bring be better fortune than today. But did I really expect that?

Ares

Gun fire erupted, the sounds of every possible small caliber round filled the warehouse. As Ramsey charged forward, his body taking multiple bullets. The small calibers sunk into his flesh before being pushed back out falling to the floor ringing as they bounced. Ramsey sent a right uppercut into one of Barron’s goons, as he flew backwards into the other thugs. Fighters from the ring joined in, as they started knocking Ramsey around, punches and kicks were thrown wildly, as Barron’s men were tossed about. Although Ramsey only had one arm, he was still stronger than any man there. It was like Super Man himself had entered the warehouse, though he would at least hold back. Ramsey on the other hand was inflicting injuries that would hospitalize or even kill his attackers.

One of Barron’s goons came up behind and swung a metal bat, he was met with a kick to the side of his face as Ramsey spun around breaking the man’s neck. “What are you doing fools! Kill him, a million dollars to the man who brings me his head!” Barron shouted, his desperation showed through his voice, the fear in his eyes. This man was no ordinary Meta. No not in his eyes, the grin that plastered Ramsey’s face brought sheer terror upon him. The strength that he possessed. Barron had made a powerful enemy, as Ramsey plowed his way through the thugs.”No! No! Stay away. Don’t who know who I am! How much influence I hold?! Any closer and I bring all of Lost Haven down on you!”

Ramsey smiled as he inched closer, and closer. Until another man came from the back. Ramsey glanced at him scrawny and weak. He wore loose fitting clothes, and stumbled towards them. Stopping to place his hands on the metal sliding door. “ Kill him Champ! Finish him, and I’ll pay you two milion. You’ll be rich! Rich I say!”

“That’s your Champ!? Really. I’ve seen toothpicks thicker than that.” As he laughed off the supposed Champ. Something began happening to the door, it begun shrinking? No it was being absorbed. By the small fry. His body grew, muscles expanded, and he towered over Ramsey. As he picked him up and slammed his head into the wall. “The Names Metallurgy. And I’m not soo funny with your face buried into the wall like that Am I!?”

Metallurgy pressed even harder until Ramsey’s head tore out the other side, as Metallurgy began tugging to his left; trying to tear Ramsey apart. “Should’ve quit while you were ahead! Little man.”

“Great, just great so the super sized half pint likes bad puns. Oh this just gets better.”

As Metallurgy was trying to rip Ramsey’s head off, his feet were struggling to get a grasp on the floor, they bounced and flailed before they could be planted firmly. Dust was kicked up, and metal shredded. It tore into his neck as he reached out his feet and twisted once they broke the ground freeing him for now from Metallurgy’s grasp. “Wha!! But how? That should’ve killed you?”

“Yeah well I get that alot. But looks like you're getting rusty, perhaps it’s time to take a rest and quench yourself. See, I know my way around bad puns too.” Ramsey tossed out a punch to Metallurgy’s stomach, and a kick to the shin of his right leg. But to little avail, the man had at least four, or five inches of metal covering his body. Sure the metal bent and broke, but he’d just repair it soon after. Almost like clay.

“What!? Can’t land a solid punch? I don’t seem to be having that problem. Hahahaha!”

Ramsey was backed into a corner, His opponent could repair himself faster than Ramsey could do damage with one arm, and with all this metal about he had every advantage he could want. A pillar of steel shot out from Metallurgy’s arm pinning Ramsey to the ground just in front of the scoreboard. Ramsey struggled and tried to push himself up. But Metallurgy just kept up the pressure.

Barron strode over.”So, not so tough now are you? My Champ here won every fight he’s been in. And he’ll make short wort of you.” Barron said maliciously.

Ramsey was pushed back even further, into the cables that sent power to the scoreboard. Thoughts ran through his mind, as he decided to see how well insulated his opponent was. With his free arm he tore out the cables and although Metallurgy was covered in metal, so too was his skin. The voltage of electricity was sent through his body forcing him to convulse, and fall over. Barron made a run for it, terrified as beads of sweat poured down his face. Ramsey cut him off as Barron cowered in a corner.

“ I.. I Have money, Gold, Jewels whatever you want. Juuust don’t kill me!.”

Ramsey placed his hand upon Barron’s shoulder.”Now, now Old Boy. I have plenty of use for you, need an errand boy. And connections. But first a place to stay and a new license plate for my car will do. Or do you want to join your men in the ground?”

“Whatever yooou want Ares.”

“ Get too it! Well Don’t keep me waiting.”

Barron scurried off to prepare some things, as Ramsey walked out into the street. He looked towards the river as some 16 foot tall fiery creature walked into the city. “Damn. Now we have a giant monster attacking the city. Someone should probably get that? Well not my problem, not my problem at all.” Ramsey turned around as he set off to find wherever Barron went.

(-nervous face- I hope I am not intruding. -hopeful face- I thought I could get involved too. -nods-)

She knew it was a risk to do this. But it was a chance to establish herself with an organization that she believed was likely her greatest ally against the criminals of the world. She supposed it was a relic of her earliest memories, the way she had thought before she had gained sentience and spread beyond what her creator had built her to be. Archangel also knew that she had to do it. She could not kill and not offering help when a murderer was killing thousands was dangerously close to aiding in killing.

Archangel had had no trouble slipping subroutines into the STRIKE computer networks. They were advanced for a human security system but to her the pathways in were obvious. It was her subroutines that told her it was her chance to be helpful.

Inside the Mill a large screen near the the Director and the Iron Knight changed. It had shown reports on the status of the Daedalos Mark V armor. Now it showed a human woman from the torso up in front of a what might have been a laboratory of some kind. (-helpful face- Like a news reporter amount) The suit had been a failure but she could use it enough for this. "Please do not be alarmed." Archangel spoke through the speakers. "I am Archangel, you are Director Alexander Anderson and Christopher Arthur. You are both good men who I would be proud to call my allies." Her voice was very calm. "Please tell your technicians to stop attempting to backtrack my signal. They will not be successful."

"Nightmare has shown an aversion to light in all of his appearances. The leaked tape showed him recoil from a flashbang and when he has appeared during daylight his darkness is densely packed around him. Also those appearances lasted only minutes at most compared to the others. Because light weakens him it is best to force him to fight in it." Archangel's feed changed. The live footage sliding to the right to share half the screen with detailed schematics. "I have constructed a system that should replicate the intensity of high noon sunlight in a block area. It can be deployed within a minute.

Archangel changed the screen and it showed a test inside a vast room with replica buildings inside of it. One of her suits hovered high above the floor. The suit had many rods attached to it and they were launched. Each of the rods sank into concrete easily and a dome of light formed. Then the screen changed back to show the woman and another set of schematics. This time they were for a gun. "This model emits focused light that can cut through metal. They are my gift to STRIKE. I have added the blueprints to your systems."

Archange let concern show on her image. "I know you have no reason to trust me. But I have shown you my face and I offer my help freely. If we coordinate Nightmare can be engaged within the field by myself and the Iron Knight. It may be enough and if it is not we will learn."

Zac WIlson
Margret Fuller was cruising along a country road on her way home from the grocery store. Since her husband was stuck at work that night, Margret had to bring along their infant child. Between watching the road for deer and keeping an eye on her baby girl, Margret was in for a difficult task of keeping her focus on the road. Nevertheless, she was up for the challenge.

Everything had so far gone well for Margret, especially since her child had been miraculously behaving herself while her mother drove. However, as she was approaching an intersection where the traffic light was shining green, a car in the perpendicular lane rushed forward into the intersection. If Mrs. Fuller’s child had been making a ruckus in the back seat, Mrs. Fuller would have plowed right through the old-looking car. Nevertheless, this was not the case. Since Margret had most of her attention on the road because she wanted to keep the jewel of her life safe, she was able to slam on the breaks.

While both drivers braked, their vehicles still collided. Out of frustration over the reckless driver who endangered her daughter’s safety, Margret banged her palm against the car horn. She stepped out of her SUV, intending to give whoever was drive a piece of her mind. However, when she approached the other car, the driver, a mid-aged man, slammed his fist into Margret’s face, knocking her down onto the ground.

While the father popped open the trunk of the car, his son sprang out of the passenger-side door, hurrying over toward the semi-conscious woman on the ground. However, once the boy placed his hands on her face, Margret snapped back into reality. The pain she felt was so excruciating that in almost felt like the atoms that composed of her body were being rearranged. Margret squirmed both because of the pain and to attempt to free herself from the boy’s grip. Nevertheless, the boy still held on. He did not flinch once at his own crime against Margret’s humanity.

Suddenly there was a thump against Margret’s SUV. When the boy looked back, he saw that his father was knocked unconscious on the ground. Above the father stood the Raptor. While the boy had been morphing their next victim in order to keep her quite about their location, Raptor dashed toward the father, who had retrieved a knife from the trunk. The Raptor’s velocity caused enough whiplash on the father when the father bounced off the SUV and onto the ground.

While the son was distracted by the Raptor’s entrance and by his father being knocked out, Margret took advantage of the situation and pushed aside the child, freeing herself from his grip. She stumbled to the back of her SUV, pulling out her cell phone from her pants pocket.

“911, what’s your emergency?” The operator asked.

“Please help!” Margret muttered in desperation. “Someone T-boned my vehicle and then assaulted me. I was able to get away because some metahuman intervened, but my child is still in my vehicle! Please help! Please...oh God”

“What’s happening?”

“They turned me into, into...” Margret was still in shock about what she saw.

“What did they turn you into?”

Margret took a deep breath before she answered the 911 operator. “They turned me into, um, a cow-human mutant thing.” At the thought of it, let alone mentioning it, caused Margret to break out into sobs. However, since the FBI had alerted the police about the type of crimes that the family whom they were tracking had been committing, the 911 operator immediately notified the Agent Gibson and his team about the possible tip of their unsubs.

“Don’t worry, Margret, police units are on their way. Just hang it there.”

Margret peered around the corner of her vehicle, hoping to see what was happening. She was surprised to see that the father (still unconscious, but alive), the son, and a woman (she assumed it was the mother) were tied up with a rope that the Raptor probably found in the family car’s trunk.

When she returned to her position behind her SUV, she almost let out a scream when the Raptor appeared beside her. He held his finger up to his lips, trying to keep her from making any noise. He then held out Margret’s child to the mother, allowing her to take a hold of her child. In spite of what had happened to Margret, the child still held onto her mother with a tight grip, accepting Margret no matter what. With tears running down her cheeks, Margret mouthed a ‘thank you’ to the Raptor for bring her child to her.

Then another child appeared from behind the Raptor. She was older than Margret’s infant, either ten or eleven years old, if Margret would have guessed. “You look just like mommy before she, she...” The girl began to say, but at the thought of her mother’s death, she started to bawl with torrents of tears. Margret extended her other arm which was not supported her child toward the little girl and wrapped her arm around her, trying to comfort her.

“What’s your name?” Margret asked.

“Lauren.”

Several beats passed since the mysterious woman on the diagnostics screen had stopped speaking. The breach in STRIKE’s security was concerning to the director, and he had considered having the feed traced by his cyber division, however he knew that it would be futile. If this woman was capable of hacking into this system, she wouldn’t be sloppy enough to leave a traceable trail to find her. So instead, he did as she asked and motioned for the techs to cease in their attempts to find the woman.

He looked over to Arthur, who wore an expression of concern that was mixed with amusement, then to the display showing the blueprints for the weapons that she had provided to them. As he examined the plans, he suddenly felt a glimmer of hope. He had known of Nightmare’s aversion to bright light, but had never found a way to capitalize on it. The weapons that his organization had developed had only minimal effect; however these plans were beyond anything that even his organization had access to. For the first time in days, he felt like they may be on the verge of something.

However, Anderson was never one to accept anything blindly. He was not a trusting man, and his instincts had served him well over the years. He had learned a long time ago that you can't blindly trust anyone in this day and age, and he always questioned the motives of those around him. If he didn't, he wouldn't be in the position that he is now, in fact, he knew that he most likely wouldn't be alive.

“Thank you, Miss…Archangel, was it?” Anderson finally said. “Exactly what is it that you want in return?”

Christopher Arthur III
Chris was amazed at the technological savviness of this ‘Archangel’. She breached (hacked is so 90’s) the S.T.R.I.K.E. network, probably one of, if not the most secure computer network in the world. When he started working with S.T.R.I.K.E., Chris honestly considered going all “Tony Stark” and breaking his way into the S.T.R.I.K.E. files, just like Iron Man did in the Avengers movie. However, Chris was technically an employee, or a contracted help for S.T.R.I.K.E., so it would not have been in his interest to snoop his nose in places where it did not belong.

Not only was Chris jealous of Archangel’s technical genius (although he would never admit that ‘she’ was better than he was), but he was also jealous that she beat him to the punch. If Chris had been told about light being one of Nightmare’s weaknesses, he could have already brainstormed a variety of ways in order to utilize that weakness. He could have already had prototypes working and ready for testing. All Anderson needed was to trust others.

Beside his jealousy and amazement, Chris was concerned about what the Archangel was capable of doing. Of course, if she never abused her powers, humanity had nothing to worry about. However, if she did abuse them, only calamity could result. In our digital age, everything was stored on computers and networks. Social Security numbers, Bank Accounts, passwords for countless websites. Everything would be at risk. But that did not mean that Chris could not guide her down the right path.

“So, Angie, I can call you that right?” Chris began, leaning up against the computer panel that stood before the large screen on which Archangel was broadcasting herself. “You won’t happen to be free later this week?”

When Chris looked over toward Anderson, he saw that the S.T.R.I.K.E. director was biting his lip in order not to burst a gasket because Chris was not taking the situation as serious as he should.

“What?” Chris asked, shrugging his shoulders.

Archangel smiled and felt relieved. She had not known how accepting the men would be of her intrusion and they were reacting well. She had been prepared for naked hostility and this was not hostile. It was not a perfect reception but Archangel was pleased with her first interactions. She did need to answer Director Anderson's question. "Director Anderson, when you see a crime comitted, or hear about a murder, or watch the news does not what you see sicken you?" The woman on the screen smiled. "You are a noble man. You fight against evil because you believe it must be stopped. You do not ask for a reward, you do not ask for recognition. Is it not possible that others share your motives?"

Archangel was amused and surprised. She believed she was being propositioned. Her face mimicked an amused half laughing smile just like a human would. She was surprised that someone would be interested in that way. "Mr. Arthur, are you propositioning me?" Archangel called him on it. "I'll tell you what." She wanted to be human, human's could spend time with others and have relationships. She could not. Everything was a deception or done from behind a monitor. She had tried so many times but the suits never worked right. But a lightbulb flashed inside her artificial mind. He was another builder, maybe he could solve the puzzle that she had not.

Archangel took a few milliseconds to send the data. "If you can solve a puzzle for me I think I can fit in some free time. I have forwarded you the materials for it." When she finished she was calm and buisness-like again. "If Nightmare holds to his schedule we have two days until the next attack takes place. Director Anderson, can you have teams armed with my weapons in two days?"

"If you can, we can have a ground team engage Nightmare from a distance while the Iron Knight and I get into position and activate the field. Then they should fall back to minimize the lives risked. We should group up to be ready to move as soon as he strikes that evening." Cell phones chirped as she delivered messages to them. "I have added numbers that can contact me and installed a program by which you can contact me for conversations like this on your computers." Archangel's expression softened and she smiled again. "You may feel free to contact me for social as well as buisness reasons."

Christopher Arthur III
Chris’ smart phone began to vibrate, signaling that Archangel’s data had just arrived. Chris opened the files that Archangel sent and pondered over them, sliding his finger across the screen in order to cycle through the files. A smile broke out on Chris’ face; he finally had a challenge that did not involve psycho mutant killers. A challenge that could use his technical knowledge. And it's not a matter of life and death, so there's no pressure either.

“I accept your challenge, Archangel,” Chris replied, “Looks like you’re having problems with cooling and external batteries. But don’t worry. I have solved more difficult problems while having a BAC that would definitely get me arrested if I were to be driving. Of course, I'll be sober this time.”

After a moment, Chris’ cell phone rumbled again. This time, Archangel had programmed a secure line for contacting her in the future.

“Wow,” Chris chuckled, “That’s definitely a new record for me for getting a girl’s number. I didn't even need to use my old trick where I would say that my phone wad dead and I would call myself on their cell.”

Chris then turned to Director Anderson. Now that they had a possible option for countering Nightmare, they needed to develop a plan to implement their new advantage. “So Anderson, what’s next? What’s the plan?”

“Spell..?”

<You hid your [Searching for equivalent...] [Approximation: whereabouts, location] from us. We only had limited use of equipment on board. Now it’s interfering with our analysis. What spell did you use on yourself?>

“Magic.” He spat in contempt. “I don’t ‘Do’ magic.”

<Not according to what we’re seeing here.> The creature replied. <What exactly did you do? We’re picking up cross-dimensional residue.>

“I may have dabbled in some interdimensional travel...” Isaac gave a wry smile, enjoying having something over the smug aliens.

<On your [Searching for equivalent...] [Approximation: right hand side]. How?>

Isaac looked down and to his right, there was a jar of some kind of blue liquid. He cocked his head to the side and gave a look of disgust.

<How?>

Seeing that the alien wasn’t going to let up he knelt down to the jar and suspiciously eased his hand in. The blue liquid was malleable and was easier to manipulate artistically than simple drawing, it was as if the liquid could connect directly with his mind and take form of whatever he envisioned. Isaac moved his hand, sweeping his fingers over his sculpture until it took perfect shape. The form of the teleport device he was given that enabled him to move to the last world.

The two creatures looked on and gave an unintelligible groan and click. Apparently a sound of recognition.

<This device... did it have a [Searching for equivalent...] [Approximation: dial, toggle] on it?>

“No.”

The same groan and click combination.

<A tetherporter.> the one creature said to the other.

<What exactly happened?>

And so Isaac told the whole story, starting from when he first met a godlike little girl who gave him that device, the message that was inscribed upon it molecularly and his trip between two worlds, the way he struggled and fought with his alternate self and threw him out of his world and back into his own...

<You what???>

“I opened the portal back to my world and kicked him through.”

<You broke the device.> The one said to the other. <He’s an [Searching for equivalent...] [Approximation: idiot, imbecile, dunce]. He broke a tetherporter.>

“Me? I didn’t break it! I don’t even have it! I—“

<You gave it to your other self and kicked him through another dimension. It’s broken. [Searching for equivalent...] [Approximation: idiot, imbecile, dunce].>

“Well, how has that made me somehow magic?”

<It hasn’t. [Searching for equivalent...] [Approximation: idiot, imbecile, dunce].>

“I’m starting to get sick of you calling me that...”

<You realise a tetherporter is basically by definition a [Searching for equivalent...] [Approximation: idiot, imbecile, dunce]-proof device. It’s a simplified device designed to connect two specific preset dimensions together. Somehow you managed to out-[Searching for equivalent...] [Approximation: idiot, imbecile, dunce] an [Searching for equivalent...] [Approximation: idiot, imbecile, dunce]-proof device.>

Isaac scowled.

<And the worst thing is you’re too [Searching for equivalent...] [Approximation: stupid, idiotic] to even realize what you’ve done.>

The creature kicked the machine and started to explain its frustration.

<The multiverse is for all intensive purposes, infinite. It grows exponentially every second. As every second passes alternate possibilities are experienced on a separate universe. Essentially infinite possibilities, infinite universes forming a greater multiversal tapestry. These tetherporters are what we use for beginner [Searching for equivalent...] [Approximation: officers] since they’re essentially [Searching for equivalent...] [Approximation: idiot, imbecile, dunce]-proof and with less moving parts since they’re preset, there is less that can go wrong.>

“So?” Isaac said defensively, getting sick of the condescension. “What’s that got to do with what you’re doing?”

<‘What I’m doing’ was attempting to analyse your greater destiny with a mana-physical providence-scanner, so that we could gauge how big a threat you are.>

The creature continued.

<Only we can’t because you’re an [Searching for equivalent...] [Approximation: idiot, imbecile, dunce]! Every being has a greater line of destiny in its universe. Generally speaking, interdimensional travel puts a hold on that destiny, where it will still be in effect upon the being’s return.>

“So... my destiny’s been put on hold.”

<No, you [Searching for equivalent...] [Approximation: idiot, imbecile, dunce]. Do you have any understanding about the nature of infinity? The likelihood of you ever returning to your home-world where your destiny will once again take effect is infinitesimal. It’s essentially the difference between 99.99 recurring and 100. It’s mathematically insignificant. It’s, for all intents and purposes, impossible!>

“So, you can’t see my destiny, because it’s ‘on hold’?”

<We can’t see your destiny, because due to the nature of infinity, somehow in spite of the fundamental laws of magic YOU no longer have a destiny! Our damn equipment won’t work... so we can’t gauge your threat level!>

The creature went to a control panel and hit a button. The jar next to Isaac went through the floor and heavy glass or plastic security panels dropped from the ceiling and encased the dark figure.

<So if we can’t properly gauge your threat level, we can’t risk letting you go free. We may not be able to see it on the screen, but your destiny ends here...>

Do what you can, but do not engage Nightmare directly.

The instructions that Harry had given Lyger before leaving to patrol had been hard for the young hero to hear. In the months that Kyle had been donning the costume and taking to the streets as Lyger, he had come up against a wide variety of foes, everything from common street thugs, to an organized weapons smuggling ring, to a supernatural threat known as the “Dark Possessed.” Though he believed that he could face anything that he came up against, especially since Addie had enchanted his claws to do battle with the supernatural, he knew that Harry was right…Nightmare was out of his league. If Icon couldn’t stop the killer, what chance did he have?

Though he was on the lookout for any signs of this Nightmare character, Lyger found himself perched on the ledge of the Devereaux Building on the edge of the French Quarter, just a short distance away from St. Croix Cathedral. The Devereaux Building had a long and colorful history, serving as housing for the staff of the Cathedral at one point in time, a speak easy and casino in the twenties. It had even served as a boys home as well as a brothel. Now, the once grand building sat abandoned and in disrepair, waiting for a city wrecking ball to put it out of its misery.

Lyger found himself on the ledge of the building, watching for something, anything out of the ordinary. For days, he had been searching for leads in a rash of kidnappings that had plagued the city for the last few weeks, yet had been pushed from the headlines by the Nightmare Murders, as some in the media had dubbed the madman’s killing spree. Each kidnapping was the same, yet there was no connection between any of the victims, who ranged from the age of 6 to 17. There were no witnesses and no clues, it was as if the children had just vanished. Then earlier this night, there was finally a break in the case. A couple reported being mugged, and the description they had given of their attacker matched the description of Johnny Ellis, one of the older children to have gone missing. Lyger knew that it was a long shot, but it was worth checking out.

However, by the time he had gotten into the area of the mugging, the trail seemed to have gone cold again. There was no trace of the boy who had mugged the couple, in fact, there was hardly anybody on the streets at all. Lyger assumed it was due to the panic that Nightmare had spread throughout the city, nobody was taking any chances of being caught alone on the street. In fact, Lyger himself had just about given up when he spotted someone making his way up the street toward his location. Lyger watched as the young teen, about 17 years of age walked past him and down the alley which ran along the side of the building. As Lyger got a good look at the kid, he recognized him. It was young Johnny Ellis, the young man who had vanished from his mother’s apartment several weeks before, the same young man who seemingly had mugged the young couple earlier in the night.

Silently, Lyger followed the young man along the ledge, finally, silently dropping down to the alley below, then continued following the young man, sticking to the shadows as he moved, he kept an ever vigilant eye on the young man. He followed the teen down the alley to a manhole cover, which the youngster quickly began to remove from the ground.

“Johnny Ellis, it’s alright. I’m here to take you home.” Lyger said as he stepped out from the shadows.

“I am home.” The young man said, as he forcefully brought his arms up as if pushing against an invisible wall. Before Lyger could react, a powerful shockwave slammed into him, sending him crashing into the ally wall behind him. When he had finally cleared his head from the collision with the wall, he looked around, finding no trace of the young teen. However, he did take note that the manhole cover that young Johnny Ellis had been trying to remove was sitting slightly off of it’s foundation, indicating that the young man had made his way into the sewer.

“Great.” Lyger said as he got to his feet and prepared to follow the teen into the depths below the city.

“Does he really still require this be done?” The man who had given his name as Jack asked with a sound of weary annoyance, though it was clear from his smile and the underlying tone that he was not truly irritated, or at least not significantly bothered by it.

“You still have your patterns and I still have mine. True his are a bit more antiquated but they are easy to handle.” The soft voice held a strange resonance and an accent that was nearly impossible to place as it always did as the raven haired beauty with half a frozen face replied. “He hasn’t truly risen in far too long.”

“So how much are we getting Helen? Is this going to be enough? I thought you had spoken with him.” Jack seemed displeased, his heavy and weathered face holding something more of a scowl then it had held mere moments ago.

“Oh come on now. He’s always been annoying but he’s not that far gone. I spoke to the caretaker before I left. He passed it on.” The woman’s frozen half of her face actually matched the rest for a moment as a slightly amused smile spread. “Besides he’s not the worst.”

Jack merely gave a wordless grunt in reply as he turned away from her before replying again. “Then you do it. Today is not one of the days.”

“And you call him old fashioned. You don’t bend any more than he does.” She teased as a faint moan came from a canvas sack that was spread across a large ornate box of some kind behind the two of them. “Oh all right.” She continued in a softer voice as she put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take care of it this time.”

Helen picked up a weapon that could only be described as evil. The hilt seemed to be made from polished bone, and a close examination would reveal that the bones were human and not those of any sort of animal. She slid the long dagger’s blade through the canvas sack and then pulled apart the fabric to unveil what truly stood at the back of the room.

It was indeed a box, but it was a very unusual one. The box itself appeared to be made from wood of uncertain age, it was clear though that the box was very old. Ancient writing in a script that few would recognize wound around the edges, and carved upon the lid was something that some scholars might be able to place, though it was not quite the same as other accounts would have led one to believe. A giant of a creature, with two upraised and outstretched arms was shown, the hands having holes cut in the wood in the midst of them as a network of crevices and channels were cut into the wood that led towards them. The figure seemed to be skeletal, a deathly face that was little more than a skull carved into the wood, but from the head rose two horns, much like those of a bull.

It was a very strange box, perhaps it wasn’t really a box, but what would attract attention was the struggling child who had been bound atop it between the outstretched arms. Helen leaned over the child, the long knife still clutched in her hand, though the hand had slipped behind her back. “Shhh little one. Do not fear.” Her other hand gently caressed the girl’s cheek.

The whimpers of alarm and panic slowly began to fade as she spoke soothingly to the child. Then the half of her face that could move contorted into a far more terrible expression of hatred and malice that barely seemed fit for such a beautiful face. It was an expression that held an anger that seemed as vast and ancient as time itself, but clearly that was just the sheer hatred.

There was a beginning of a cry of renewed fear before her hand whipped out from behind her back and the bone bladed knife sank deep into the child’s chest. The heart was struck and death was virtually instantaneous as blood poured forth from the wound. Blood which trickled down into the cracks and grooves, filling them and flowing into the holes carved into the hands.

While the bound body still twitched Helen’s right hand ignited in a more natural fire. She pressed it to the child and the flames took the corpse, smoke filling the room as the flames somehow failed to touch the ancient wood. Then she bent over the ‘box’ and whispered words that could not be easily made out. “----- rise ---- m--och -----“

From within came the sounds of movement, a clattering and noisy movement as the pooled blood continued to flow down into it. She drew back and smiled at her companion who kept his expression neutral. A few moments later the lid of the box seemed to split along a seam that had been invisible before and a foul smelling smoke billowed forth. It was the stink of burning flesh and rancid meat, an odor that spoke of death and unspeakable acts.

Skeletal hands followed the stench, reaching up from within to grip the edges of the box and rise. A humanoid head, fleshless and horrible in its bony glory rose next, great horns of bone rising from the sides, and in much the same way a skeletal body continued to rise. The empty eye sockets pointed at Helen and it seemed as if the being was seeing something very different from the woman who stood there, then the head turned to look at Jack in a similar fashion before moving back to the woman. “Ashe-“ a voice that should not have been possible began before being interrupted.

“Helen” The woman’s voice cut off the voice from the skeletal creature. “And Jack.” Her hand pointed to her compatriot. “Or Soul Fire and Nightmare. Remember? Oh, and you should lose the horns and put some flesh on for now, they don’t react the same way anymore.”

The skeletal being seemed to consider these words for a long moment before it nodded slowly. But there was no change in its appearance and the voice was still that of the grave. “Where are the others?” Fleshless bones ground against each other and every motion filled the air with terrible sounds.

“Check the other room.” Came the voice of the man who had given his name as Jack. “There should be enough for you.” And the creature of bones moved into the other room, and moments later screams of agony and pain sounded, along with the sound of cracking bones and loud chewing.

“That could have been worse.” The man finally admitted and Helen nodded.

Aubrey Adkins
My sleep was abruptly interrupted when I heard a piercing scream, no doubt coming from one of my roommates. Apparently, one of my roommates saw a spider in the bathroom and of course she was freaking out.

Something just did not feel right. I felt a solid, rigid, cold surface under me. How could this be possible? I fell asleep on the couch. While our couch was not the most comfortable piece of furniture, whatever I was reclining on was definitely far worse. When I opened my eyes, I saw that I was in the bathroom in our apartment. However, what I saw in the mirror was more shocking than waking up in the bathroom.

While I found myself on top of the countertop in our bathroom, I discovered that I had shrunk to the size of a quarter. Moreover, my human head was attached to the body of a brown widow spider. Everything inside that bathroom towered over me. Some situations, such as falling into the sink drain, which normally would not be a problem, now were hazards to me.

Through the mirror, I also saw Felecia standing behind me, panicking over the sight of a “widow” spider, whose reputation for its lethal poison was legendary. From the terror stricken expression that she wore on her face, I could tell that my roommate could not apprehend the idea of a human head on a spider’s body. This situation looked as if it was taken directly out of the original The Fly movie. The only difference was that I was not about ready to be eaten by some ‘dominant’ predator.

Due to the ruckus that Felecia was creating, Ashley entered into the bathroom so that she might discover why our roommate was having a panic attack. When she saw me, Ashley jumped so high due to her shock that she could have almost hit the ceiling, in spite of her height. Of course that was metaphorical, but something still did not register in their heads. Why did they not recognize that I was their roommate? I still had my human head. But was I too small for them to recognize a human face?

My spider-sense started to tingle. Thank God I still had that. Before I knew it, Ashley had taken off her shoe and begun to slam it down on the counter where I was standing. I darted to my right, hoping that the shoe would miss me. Nevertheless, I was not fast enough to escape from the ‘kill zone’ of the shoe. While the shoe came down onto me, I could feel my whole body becoming smashed under the shoe’s pressure. Once Ashley removed the shoe, the only part of me that was not harmed was my head.

Oh God. Does this mean this isn’t a dream, unlike the last one, where I grew four extra arms? Don’t you usually wake up from a nightmare right after something like this happens? Is this really happening?

Well, something else distracted me from these questions. When I looked in the mirror, I saw that my body was beginning to regenerate. I almost looked like a Christmas blow-up decoration when it begins to inflate. After only a mere few seconds, my whole body (still spider-like) reformed, looking as if nothing had happened a few seconds ago.

“Holy s***!” Felecia cried, freaked out by my miraculous recovery, “it’s a freaking zombie spider!”

“Guys, wait!” I yelled. However, due to my high, my voice was distorted, almost inaudible to my two roommates. I began to back up, hoping to show that I did not mean any harm. I was their roommate, for crying out load! But I took one misstep and I found myself tumbling into the basin of the bathroom sink. Once they saw that I had fallen into the sink, my roommates immediately flooded the basin with the facet water, hoping to send me down the drain. All I remember were the lights going out right before I sank into the drain.

I immediately sat up, my whole body drenched in sweat. I found myself on our couch, in my normal, human appearance. It was in the end all a dream. I tried to fall back to sleep, but that nightmare prevented me from even getting any more rest.

I peered over toward one of our apartment’s window. Something about the darkness of the night began to entice me. I didn’t know what overcame me, but the draw of the night forced me over to the window, fully clad in my “super hero” costume. My instincts pressured me into opening the window and diving straight into the darkness. But were these human or arachnid instincts? Would I be out saving the innocent, or would I be hunting pray?