After traveling numerous blocks to the epicenter of the convergence in the middle of Sherman Square, Lyger finally saw what was responsible for the influx of demons pouring into our world. The massive portal was an impressive sight. Equally impressive, were those who were trying to stop it.

Scattered around the vicinity of the portal, were a ragtag group of super humans who were trying to close the monstrous gateway while keeping the demon hordes from tearing them limb from limb. Lyger recognized some of them, he had had a run in with War-Pulse once before, and he had heard of Iron Knight, and although he had left the area to chase after a giant flying snake, Lyger was well aware of Icon’s exploits in the city. However, the two women and the other man in black, he didn’t know who they were.

It didn’t matter who they were. At the moment, they all had the same goal, to shut the portal down.

As Lyger approached the others, he found himself staring at the open portal, and the numerous creatures that were still emerging from it in terrible awe. It seemed like for ever demon that they put down, 3 more came through the portal. He didn’t know if they would actually be able to put an end to the attack. There were just too many of them, and the others seemed to be wearing down.

The young woman in the makeshift costume was being overrun by the demons, and the man in black looked to have seen better days as he faced off against a large demon that had had seemingly overpowered him.

I send bolt after bolt of electricity at the monsters, but they just keep coming, and I’m getting weaker. My knees feel like they are going to buckle at any moment as I keep up with my attacks. I need to recharge, and fast. Unfortunately, the demons have me cut off from any viable power sources.

That’s when I feel it. A powerful hand closing around the back of my neck and lifting me hard into the air. I try to resist, but the sudden attack takes me by surprise. The demon pulls me back toward his body so that he is looking me in the face from over my shoulder, he snarls and then simply tosses me aside. I slam hard into the side of a lamp post. The impact knocks the wind from my lungs, and I lay there on the side of the road, gasping for air as I try to get to one knee. But the demon has no intention of letting me get up. He comes at me, and just as his sharp, black claws are about to imbed themselves in my throat, the demon turns to ash right in front of my eyes.

I look up, amazed at what I had just seen. To my surprise, there is a black clad hero standing before me with his hand outstretched. As I reach up to accept his hand, I notice that his costume has a sort of feline motif, and that is when I realize that this must be the one that they call “Lyger.” I don’t know much about him, but I accept his offer of help and allow him to pull me to my feet.

“Thanks.” I say as I place my hand on the lamp post. I can feel myself getting stronger as my body absorbs the electricity from the light, however, I know that this won’t be nearly enough. I need more power, and that is when I see the manhole cover. This isn’t just another manhole cover, it is a city utility manhole. Beneath the manhole cover, there is enough electricity to power this whole block. It is exactly what I need.

“Go help the others, I need a bit of a pick me up.” I say, trying to sound confident, but instead I think I might have just sounded like an idiot.

Lyger looked at the young woman skeptically as he saw her eying the manhole cover. However, he just nodded in agreement.

“Right.” He said, turning to head back to the others at the portal. “Do what you need to do, but hurry. We don’t have much time left.” He finished as he left the young woman and made his way to the portal to join the others in one final push to close the gateway, before it was too late.

The sensations are beginning to fade again and I know that it means I am healing from the wounds that the flames of that creature had inflicted upon me earlier. It's not a surprise but in a distant part of myself I lament the fact that I am unlikely to ever feel this particular sensation again from flames with the newest of my changes. I am soaked in blood and gore from the creature and I run my hand in front of my face, trying to wipe away the red film of the blood and the bits of internal organs that linger unpleasantly on my body. It does not cooperate with my efforts and it takes several attempts to clean my face enough to see what is going on.

Earth is not like I expected. The bestiaries were completely inaccurate, after all I had just encountered many things that were not supposed to live on this world and though father had said there were many beings of power and that it was a conflict rich place this level of chaos does not make sense when compared to the clear order that was necessary to have built all the primitive structures that surround me. I feel that I am missing something even as the tingling of sensation finally fades all the way and I know I have healed fully. I'm really not a fan of the human guise, but assuming this is some fluke event and that it will end soon it might be a good idea to look like the humans do when order is restored.

With that thought I reshape my body and take a human form again, inwardly frowning at it even as I reluctantly adopt it. I might as well keep looking for things, I am healed again after all and I've had quite a sensation rich day so far already. And it's nowhere near enough, not by a long shot. My eyes are drawn to the skies though before I can do anything else as a giant, I know this one, snake that is somehow flying without wings soars over the streets. I feel another exultant grin form on my face as I command the fire to surge up around me again and anticipate a fight that might bring another change.

But then something else appears in my field of vision and my eyes widen with surprise and a different level of interest. A human who flies as well is chasing the snake and as I watch he brings it to bear, using strength that is clearly immense and then unleashes some form of energy blasts to destroy it. I am not entirely aware of it but a shiver of anticipation runs through my body and as it does so my guise flickers momentarily, my hair and the markings on my face that indicate my heritage glowing faintly with a golden light. I think I know what my next goal is, and if this human has the power I think he does I could see multiple changes. What was it that father said about the harrowing, ah yes, "You must always seek greater foes." That had been his advice and I'm planning to take it.

“Find yourself a better hiding place, pastor.” Isaac told the priest, who decided to let the lecture describing the difference between Catholic and Protestant slide. Mulcahy ran to hide behind the pulpit.

Realizing he’d have to lure the creature away, Isaac fired a grapple line and tucked the gun under his good arm swung away from the cathedral. The demon threw Isaac’s finger at him as he swung over head and ran to meet his swing. The Vigilante released the gun and kicked the demon in the head, causing the gun to spill to the street below.

The beast took another swing, which this time Isaac deftly ducked and avoided. Isaac quickly scrambled back to his grapple gun, scooping it off the ground and reloading it on the run.

Given enough time he could eventually take the creature apart with ease, he could wait until it had completely turned demon; it’s natural human flesh giving way to the mystical stuff that the others were comprised of, but he didn’t have the time. First; because with every second the gateway remained open more people would die, and second; every second that passed was one second closer to his body going into shock from the blood loss.

Now it was make or break time.

Isaac leveled the gun at the dark form. The creature laughed.

“Never again!” the de-man bellowed “There was a time that pop-gun may have hurt. A time I may have whimpered away and let my fear reign. That time is at an end!” The creature approached. “The day that Kane knows fear has come to an end! The day of the Bullies is over!”

“And what do you suppose you’ll be doing once you’ve finished off all the bullies? When the last of your tormentors is gone, what will become of Frankie Kane? Do you think whatever devil runs this show will let you retire? Soak up the flaming brimstone on a tropical paradise somewhere?” Isaac lifted his mask and spat, trying to shake off the effects of the blood loss.

“Not his style.” Isaac scowled. He couldn’t even muster a contemptuous smirk for this pitiful creature. “You’ll become everything you hate. It’s how this works. Devil’s a big fan of irony. You’ve sold your soul to become everything you hate, and the saddest part is you’re too stupid to have even realized it and got something you’d actually want in return.”

The sudden realization of truth struck the thing that was once Frankie Kane. It was clear in its eyes. For a split second whatever once controlled his body sought to fight back, but then the eyes flickered closed.

When they re-opened Frankie Kane was gone.

Isaac didn’t even have time to fire a round off. With amazing speed the beast covered the distance between them faster than he could even see. It grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground. The beast spoke, its voice different now.

“Hu-man...” it’s voice rustled and scraped, “so... arrogant... so... strident...”

“G-good word...” Isaac gargled defiantly.

“And you... your obnoxious conceit. Somehow despite your ever-present weakness you’re so loud, so bold about your own position.”

Isaac struggled, but still too much of the beast was human flesh.

“Now you see. All your life you humans live with this false sense of self. Braying about your superiority. Statues and pyramids and great works, screaming your misplaced self-praise throughout your whole lives. Only now, when you see the inevitability of your end... the folly of your own sense of superiority... does it end with a whimper.”

A wicked sneer crossed the creature’s face.

“Where’s your voice now, man?” The creature mocked.

Isaac gave a dark grin, he wasn’t certain it would work, but it was now or never.

“TURN DOWN FOR WHAT!” He bellowed, and pulled the trigger.

There was a sound of tearing and, trapped in the moment, an almost comical expression on the face of the creature. Isaac pushed himself off of the beast and a second later it fell. Isaac quickly scrambled on top of the demon and shoved his hand in the cavity of the fiend’s heart. He felt the dark magic withdraw from his grip. Almost spent he rolled onto his back, his hand on his chest.

As Icon made his way back to the portal, he heard the shouts of The Vigilante below him. Icon began to descend on the hero in black, however, several more of the hateful beasts attacked him on his way to the ground. After making quick work of the beasts, Icon
flew down to see what had happened and offer assistance. When he got there he found a dead demon and the man in black laughing almost hysterically from blood loss, only a few intelligible words escaping his mask.

“... I gave him the finger ...”

And he’d taken it back. Right out of the beast’s heart.

“We’ve got the power! We just can’t seem to breach the integrity of the wormhole!” Archangel called out from near the portal. Icon looked to the woman and saw that she was right. They ought to have enough power to overload the portal, but they just weren’t able to get the job done. It was as if the wormhole had some sort of invisible protective field that was keeping them from bringing it down.

The man in black grunted and tried to clear his head. He was falling fast. “Scott...” he said, neglecting to keep it to codenames in his deteriorated state, but fortunately far out of earshot of anybody else “Help me up. We gotta close that damn thing.”

Icon didn’t know this man. He had never seen him before in his life, however, he knew what he had just heard. It was clear to him that although he did not know the man in black, this man certainly knew him. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he thought about the ramifications of this revelation, however he forced those thoughts down as he looked down at the man in black. He lifted him to his feet and putting one arm around his neck, he took to the sky and headed directly toward the portal.

“I don’t know what you have planned, but you better do it quick.” Icon said as he touched down again at the base of the portal.

The Vigilante stood shakily in front of the wormhole. He lifted the balaklava off of the bridge of his nose. Carefully pocketed his finger and scowled.

Suddenly he started rhythmically throwing punches and yelling at it “I’ve had... enough... of fucking... portals!” Flickers of darkness peppered the portal and formed bubbles, bubbles of non-vortex in the wormhole.

“That did it!” The Iron Knight yelled. “We’ve got it!”

”Now! Hit it with everything you’ve got!” Icon called out to the others, who did as he said.

The gathered heroes unleashed a powerful assault into the weakening portal. The amount of energy that was put forth toward the portal was enough to potentially wipe entire city blocks from the face of the earth.

After several moments of the assault on the portal, something finally began to happen. The portal seemed to begin churning, and in a way resembled a massive boiling pot of water. The flow of demons from the portal began to slow, and ultimately, reversed, sucking the devils back where they came from.

Suddenly there was a brilliant flash of light, so intense that it momentarily blinded those looking directly at the maelstrom. When the bright flash faded, there was nothing.

Every demon within a hundred blocks of the portal had vanished, presumably sent back to where they came from. However, the mangled corpses of civilians and demons alike still littered the city streets.

It was clear that the otherworldly assault was finally over, and although there had been a massive loss of life, they had won. However, before the heroes could celebrate, one of their own, the man in black staggered briefly and then collapsed. He lay unmoving in the street for several moments as the others looked unbelievingly at what had just happened, and then Icon, realizing that the man in black was in grave danger, rushed to his side, and in a flash of blue and silver, he was gone.

”Now! Hit it with everything you’ve got!”

That was the first thing thing War-Pulse had actually heard from his comrades since they had started to hit the portal with energy. Mainly because he had spent the past five minutes finding out what demon fist takes like. It had not taken too long for the portal to have an adverse reaction to their assault and spew demons out like the drunk chick with her vodka shots after a rough night of partying. Before long, War-Pulse had been overrun by the hellish spawn, a swarm of the winged disasters spearing him and tackling him to the floor. The sheer number of them forced him off of his feet, and he could barely bring his arms up to protect his faces as they went to town with biting, kicking, scratching, punching, and all manner of violent attacks. The kinetic sheath held up against their blows, but he still found himself simply on the defensive, every punch or burst he could fire was simply met with more demon. For every haymaker he used to take a demon's head off, two more would start biting at his wrist.

"Dammit! Why you--friggin...ARGH!" He murmured, cursed, and screamed at the monsters, launching busts of energy to throw them off, making a currently futile motion to fling enough of them off to resume his attack on the portal. It seemed the creatures would come without end, flowing until they had eventually overrun the whole group of metahumans.

That is until a lone black-clad hero, whom War-Pulse had never noticed until he appeared with Icon, began to make dents in the portal's apparant "Shielding", opening it up just in time for Icon to scream out his command.

And War-Pulse would answer the call with as much vigor as he could muster, Grabbing one demon by the tail, he swung the beast in a wide arc, slamming it against its comrades in an attempt to clear his immediate vicinity. The scattering of chattering hellspawn gave War-Pulse enough room to aim at the portal with a free hand, and with a deafening crack, another beam of energy shot from his hand, pouring into the openings left in the portal by the black-clad man.

Sure enough, Pulse's energy combined with the other heroes' powers were enough, the massive portal convulsing and crackling under the overcharge. War-Pulse was barely able to get his hand in front of his eyes to avoid the bright flash, but all in an instant the crisis was solved, the light claiming all the immediate infernal denizens back to their respective homeland, their Earthly bodies' reduced to ash and cinders.

A brief pause was heard among the small crowd of metahumans at the portal, an air of final calm that punctuated the end of the incident, before War-Pulse broke that silence with a raise of his arms and a declaration of victory.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! That's what I'm talking about!" War-Pulse exclaimed. "Did you fucking see that?! We just sent hell packing with their scaly tails between their goddamn legs! I mean, not to pat ourselves on the back, but we just beat hell!" He laughed, twirling on his heels to get a good look at his comrades before glancing over the city, clearly still full of adrenaline based on his attitude. "God Damn! My first day here and I'm punching demons in the face...I FREAKING LOVE THIS TOWN!"

"Yes, yes, we're all excited," Crackled a voice on Pulse's in-ear communicate. Warden had got the communications working again, apparently, seeing as how he had been silent during the whole demon invasion it was safe to say that the energies had resulted in some minor interference on the communicator. Or that Warden simply had nothing to say about demons other than 'hit them really hard'. Both options were plausible. "It looks like you have a casualty, though. I can see on your radial scanner you have one man in critical condition.

"That's right! Where's the loser in black who got his finger torn by the demon?" Pulse asked the others, whirling around to try and get a better look at the man in black. "Seriously, why did he think punching the demon portal was going to work, anyway? We had that covered."

"No, you didn't, and show that man some respect. That "Loser in Black" was the only reason you were able to penetrate the portal's outer wall. His punches created some kind of vortex that created holes in the portal's defenses...something I'm still trying to analyze to a better degree." Clearly it had been the latter. "Either way, judging by the sudden disappearance of two heartbeats nearby, I can guess Icon took the Man in Black to the nearest hospital. Either way, his well-being is no longer our concern, what is our concern is trying to find a job for you. With the portal closed, I can imagine there will be quite a few opportunists trying to take advantage of the chaos, and plenty of them can be easily cashed in for us. I'll have a job for you as soon."

And before Pulse could respond, Warden shut off the communicator. Even in a crisis, the man was all business. Still, another breath of relief left Pulse, his mask covering his enthusiastic smile as he whirled around to Archangel, the Iron Knight, Lyger, and Radiance, though Lyger was the only name he knew, and the rest being nameless costumes at the moment.

"So, who's getting victory shots?" War-Pulse asked the group, draping an arm around Lyger as he motioned to the others. "Or maybe some food? Either way sounds good to me!"

Lyger found War-Pulse’s lighthearted banter distasteful. In fact, there was little about the mercenary that Lyger didn’t find distasteful. From the moment he had first encountered War-Pulse, he had gained a profound dislike for the merc.

He felt that War-Pulse tended to go a bit overboard, and the mercenary’s lack of respect for life was bothersome. Even so, Lyger had to admit that in this case, the hired gun did his part for the greater good. Even so, he refused to associate with the man who he saw is no different from the thugs that he worked to put away.

And when War-Pulse put his arm around Lyger and suggested that the group of heroes who had put it all on the life to close the portal and send the demons back to Hell go out to get drinks, he wasted no time in separating himself from the mercenary.

“You go ahead. I’ve got work to do.” Lyger said as he began to take his leave of the gathered heroes, at first walking away, then firing a grapnel line from his wrist gauntlet, and taking to the rooftops.

***

After returning Kaiju to The Garage at Harry’s, and giving the old man a complete rundown of the night’s events, Kyle finally returned to his dorm room at Ewen Hall. As he opened the door to the room that he shared with Ronnie, every bone in his body ached. He was sure that he had at least a couple of cracked ribs, and the gash above his eye throbbed, though he could already feel the wound closing due to his advanced healing ability.

However, he felt like he had just been run over by a freight train, and in a way he almost had been. The creatures that he faced were bigger and stronger than him, and by rights should have had little trouble in dispatching him.

However, he still came out on top.

As he made his way into the room, Ronnie looked at him, a look of relief washed over his roommate’s face. Ronnie knew that Kyle would be out there during the height of the attack doing what he could do to beat the invaders back, and he did tend to worry about Kyle while he was out in the streets as Lyger. But as Kyle came into the room and plopped down on the cheap, yet surprisingly comfortable secondhand couch that occupied the duel position of seat and clothes rack, Ronnie just looked at him and flashed an exasperated smile at his friend.

“So…..” Ronnie started. “Demons.”

“Demons.” Kyle confirmed noncommittally, resting his head on the back of the couch.

“Fuck.” Ronnie said, shaking his head.

“Yup.” Kyle agreed.

Kyle just sat there for a moment with his head back, enjoying the overstuffed cushions. To him, it felt like an eternity since he was able to relax, and after the night that he had endured, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he had earned this respite. When he forced himself to bring his head to bear and look to his friend, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

His phone, which was sitting on the corner table was flashing, indicating that he had a message. He felt a sudden chill run down his spine. He hadn’t been expecting any calls, and with everything that had happened tonight, his imagination began to run wild. He immediately thought the worst, that something had happened to Sam, or Dmitri or any one of his friends. However, as he dialed his voicemail and began to play the message, he breathed a sigh of relief as he heard a familiar voice. However, his relief quickly turned to concern.

"Hi Kyle. It's me. I'm sorry I vanished like this. It's…It's my mom. She died and it wasn't normal...I've moved back in with Emily so if you want to come by that would be wonderful. I understand if you don't though. Hope to see you."

As Addie’s message concluded, he switched off his phone and just stood there for a moment. As he stood there, he could feel the blood draining from his face.

“Dude, what’s wrong? What is it?” Ronnie asked, concerned by the look upon his friend’s face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“It’s Addie.” Kyle said after a moment. “I’ve gotta go.” He finished as he rushed out the door past Ronnie.

***

Kyle didn’t remember the trip from his dorm to Addie’s. When he heard her voice on his phone, it had been such a relief, only to have his heart break for her when he learned about what had happened to her mother. He felt a sharp pang of guilt in his chest when he realized just how quickly he had given up on her without knowing the details of why she had left. He had assumed that she had just left him, and he had begun trying to move on. Yet, it had only been a week.

His heart pounded as he climbed the stairs to the room that Addie shared with her roommate Emily. The anticipation in his gut had an edge of dread to it, as he did not know what condition she would be in upon his arrival. All he wanted to do was to be there for her, to hold her and let her know that no matter how dark things seemed now, that everything would be okay.

When he finally arrived at Addie’s door, he knocked. As he waited at the door, his legs began to feel like jello. He heard movement from within the room, and the anticipation of seeing Adeline again was killing him. Finally, after seemingly forever, the door slowly opened, and for the first time in over a week, he looked into the eyes of the woman that he loved.

Adeline’s beautiful features looked worn, and he could tell that she had been crying. Their eyes locked onto one another for a moment, and then her expression turned to one of concern when she noticed the large gash above his eye. She instinctively reached out to touch it, then thought better of the idea.

“Addie.” Kyle said, wanting nothing more than to take her pain away. However, he knew all too well, that the pain of losing a parent was not so easily erased.

Instead, he just grabbed her and pulled her into him, and for a long moment held her in a tight embrace. And for that instant, there was only them.

Christopher Arthur III
And finally the demon invasion had been foiled by the combined strength of the heroes who gathered at the portal from which the demons arose. Lost Haven was in much pain since this northern city had to worry about not only the spree killings of a mass murderer but also the damage that had been inflected by this demonic attack. How could things go back to normal after such events? Or was it even possible?

"So, who's getting victory shots?" War-Pulse asked the group, draping an arm around Lyger as he motioned to the others. "Or maybe some food? Either way sounds good to me!"

However, Lyger shrugged off War-Pulse’s arm and departed, mentioning that he had better things to do than drink.

“While I would love to get some alcohol,” Chris responded to War-Pulse’s offer, “but I have this feeling that this group probably will not change into their civvies for a few ‘shots’ of alcohol. And even if they wanted to grab a drink in their ‘uniforms’, wouldn’t that be like Police officers drinking on the job? And there’s no way I’m getting a drink either in this suit of armor or with all you guys dressed up in your Halloween costumes.”

Anyways, Chris had other things to do. Namely, he has to prep for S.T.R.I.K.E.’s next mission against Nightmare. Furthermore, he still has to work on those designs for Archangel, on top of the stuff that S.T.R.I.K.E. wants him to do.

“So unless anyone wants to actually get a drink without looking like we just came from Comic-Con, it looks like I’m heading out too. Maybe we’ll team up again sometime.” Chris paused for a moment, taking in the consequences of what he just said. “Or maybe not, because that would mean that something horrific is happening again.”

Archangel simulated a cheer when the portal finally collapsed in her effort to seem human. But most of her processing power was turned towards figuring out what had just happened. Her calculations were never wrong. She was not a human who made mistakes in the process of inputting data and reaching purely scientific or mathematical conclusions. But the portal hadn't closed even when more than three of the necessary sources of energy had poured power into it. Archangel could accept that the data she had been programmed with was inaccurate and her mind was already compiling the new findings on portals and demonic energy sources but there was also the question of the anomaly.

The man in black armor had not registered properly on her sensors. This suit was equipped with the same sensors that let her detect the demons as otherworldly and while the signature wasn't the same there was something very different from a normal resonance for even the most unusual metahumans coming from him. Alarms had triggered in her programming that ordered a response and investigation. When Icon snatched up the man and took off Archangel's awareness followed as only she could. She was not only human after-all. Icon did move quickly but an eye in the sky allowed her to keep them under surveillance as one her observation satellites tracked the pair's movements.

While her mind was partitioned to compile data, track Icon, look up proper human responses to victory, and a thousand other tasks she was taken off guard by War Pulse's request that they all go drinking. Archangel rarely did not know what to say but she felt a moments trill of fear. They thought she was one of them right now but she could not pass as human if they started to come out of costume since there was no human suit inside this one and her human suits were still faulty. And she did not have a ready response to excuse herself from this human social bonding.

If she could sigh she would have when the Iron Knight and Lyger both opted out and there was less pressure to take part. Archangel took a long time to think for her response, it took her nearly a second to decide what to say and her carefully synthesized human voice came from inside her full power armor suit. "My suit has sustained some damage and I need to make repairs. But," Her faceplate turned towards the Iron Knight, "Perhaps another time." She activated the thrusters and her plasma wings ignited again as her suit took off from the ground. Archangel's primary thought routines shifted away from the suit to other things. The anomaly she was tracking, the coming struggle with Nightmare, her calculations, and worming its way in as a strangely human thought anticipation and hope that maybe her dreams of being able to be a part of the world like everyone else would be realized soon.

Isaac’s eyes flickered open and he found himself staring at grey. A lot of grey. As his eyes adjusted he realized he was looking at a greying ceiling. He grunted and lowered his field of vision and tried to take in his surroundings.

His right arm was hooked up to a drip and his left hand was wrapped in plaster. In the back corner was a small television and he was lying in a single bed.

This was either the crappiest hospital in the western world or...

“...there’s no need to worry. You’re safe.” A familiar voice of an old friend, a friend who can fly, and the pieces fell together as to what exactly happened.

“How long was I out?”

“Only a few hours…at first. But then when you blacked out after... it’s been a couple of days.” Icon responded.

Isaac pawed at his own face and felt a sense of relief wash over him as he found his balaklava not only in place, but itchy. Itchy was good. It got that way when his facial hair started to cling to it. It meant it had been sitting that way for a while.

“Don’t worry.” Icon said, sensing the man in black’s panic. “This clinic is very discreet and they provide confidential treatment for...” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “People like us.”

People like us... Isaac thought to himself. He thinks I'm a meta.

“A few days for a finger?” Isaac asked.

“Dosage can be difficult to gauge here. Also they needed you to let it heal for a while unhampered. Apparently it’s a delicate surgery to reattach the finger. Interference can result in permanent loss of fine motor skills...and you were being difficult, so they knocked you out a while.”

“So the finger’s still in there?” the Vigilante asked, looking at the plaster.

“Yes.” Icon wasn’t sure how to broach the next issue. It was something that had been bothering him almost from the moment he first met this mysterious man in black, the moment when he called him...

“Could you turn it on?”

"What?" Icon asked, visibly perplexed by the question.

“The TV. Could you turn it on? You’re here with me, so I’m guessing we got out of Armageddon unscathed, I want to catch the news and see the part I missed.”

"Oh...yeah, of course." Icon said as he reached for the remote and clicked on the boxy old television set that sat on a small table in the corner of the room.

Raucous dancing came on the screen, as Lil’ Jon was mugging at the camera, dreads swaying.

# Fire up loud, Another round of shots #
# Fire up loud, Another round of shots #

Isaac winced away from the TV. “God damn...”

“What? I take it you're not a fan of this song either?” Icon asked, somewhat surprised at his reaction.

“Nah, I can’t stan—wait a minute. This isn’t the video clip for this...”

Suddenly the video cut to a steadycam shot of Isaac being held aloft by the demon. A shaky zoom in on his masked face. The hard dark grin.

# TURN DOWN FOR WHAT! #

“What. The. Fuck.”

"If you can't stand the song, why'd you say it?" Icon asked, slightly amused at the man in black's irritation.

“Son of a fucking...”

“Well, why did you say it if you don’t like the...”

“I don’t bloody know! I’d lost a shitload of blood! I had to say something! You come up with a line on the spot and these press guys were playing the...”

Suddenly he realized where the footage came from.

“Motherfuckers... Press motherfuckers...”

Icon quickly changed the channel to the news.

Isaac caught himself up with events of that night, and as he calmed down, the silver and blue garbed hero finally asked the question that kept him coming back.

“Look...That day. You called me—“

Isaac stopped him. “There’s discreet and confidential, and then ‘discreet and confidential’.”

Icon continued.“A name. You called me a name. Is there anything you want to say about that?”

“There will be something said about that, but not here. Let’s just chalk it up to bloodloss along with the song and understand that I’m a friend, not a threat. Good enough for now?”

“For now.” Icon hesitantly agreed.

I have learned so many things in the last handful of days. The creatures that I encountered were called demons, and were creatures from an alternate dimension where the souls of humans who are 'sinful' go to experience torment. I confess that I can't understand the meaning of this word 'sinful' despite a thorough attempt to look into it. Most of the things that are depicted so negatively are perfectly normal ways to experience sensation of various kinds and I can't understand why they would be frowned upon so strongly. But then again I don't really understand the concept of this 'Hell.' How is it torment to be subject to endless sensations?

Humans continue to confuse me but I have learned many things. The powerful human is called Icon and is something that this world calls a 'superhero.' Apparently he is quite a powerful one as well since the database that I consulted on the primitive data network that is all this world possesses listed him among the top 10 on record. That means he does have as much potential as I had thought at first and I feel a surge of pleasure at the thought of the sensations that the inevitable conflict will bring. As my thoughts continue to race about the various fascinating things I have learned about this world where I am to begin my harrowing I break a lock with minimal effort and open the door before me to emerge on the roof of one of the massive rectangular buildings I now know to be skyscrapers.

And humans despite being primitive have made some wonderful foods and I have found chocolate delicious. My mouth waters at that thought as the wind blows through my humanform's brown hair. There was also some human beverage that produced an interesting sensation. But it seems that I adapted to whatever the active ingredient was since imbibing more of the substance did not reproduce the effects. It is a pity, I had found the sensation almost as novel as when I had choked on my own blood. But there is no time to dwell on the past, especially not when such sensation is just around the corner in the future.

I continue to feel the wind whip through my hair as I approach the edge of the building and then look down. Compared to the height I had plummeted from in my first descent this is nothing. My lips form a smile at the fond memories of that first descent to the world and the newness of the sensations I had been starved of before that moment. I feel that thrill of anticipation again and the warm glow of pride in my own intelligence. It had taken some time and for a while I was at a loss for how to attract the attention of this Icon. But then I had figured it out. These superheroes save people who are in danger, if I put myself in danger in an obvious enough way it would draw him out.

As I stand on the edge I see the tiny humans down below stop and point up. I can't hear what they say but I know the crowd is going to grow and I imagine it is something about jumping. I am impatient and my body twitches as I try to keep my eagerness under control. The jump would probably not trigger any changes by itself and though it would be one hell of a rush there is an even bigger one if I am just patient. Besides it is my duty to seek greater foes and change. Finally after what feels like an eternity as the crowd of humans below has grown I take that step and throw myself off the top of the building.

I feel an instant rush and I remember that for this I have to act like any human who had come to her senses mid jump would. "Help me!" I scream as I fall even as I struggle not to laugh giddily.

Kelly Brown
“It’s too bad that Sammy couldn’t make to our usual girls’ night-out,” a young woman said to Kelly as those two plus two other women sat around a table a Chili’s. Every once in a while, when their schedules were not weighed down by course work, Kelly and some of her old high school friends would go out for dinner and get ‘caught up’ on what has happened recently.

“I feel sorry for her,” another one of Kelly’s friends said. “Missing out on one of our dining-out nights all because she is sick.”

Kelly could feel a tightening in her stomach as she continued to perpetuate this ‘lie’ about Sammy being sick. But would it be better to say that her head is currently attached to a cat’s body? And the government (or whatever agency was attempting to take her best friend away) still seemed to think that they in fact possessed Sammy. If Kelly couldn’t maintain this façade for her best friend, what hope would Kelly have for preventing Sammy from becoming some lab experiment? Even the thought of some weird scientist experimenting on her best friend made Kelly’s stomach turn.

“I’m sure she really wanted to be here.” Kelly replied. At least this was not entirely a lie. Sure, Sammy was not by any means sick (unless you would consider her current situation as a sickness), but between being here or back a her own apartment, Kelly knew that Sammy would rather be human and spend time with her old friends rather than be cooped up in her apartment with a cat’s body.

Fortunately for Kelly, this awkward conversation (or rather the beginning of one) was abruptly cut off when their waitress arrived to take their order.

“Hi, welcome to Chili’s. My name is Victoria and I will be your server tonight. May I start out with some drinks?”

While they waited for their drinks, Kelly’s high school friends began to share the latest news concerning their own lives. And when it was Kelly’s turn, all her friends respected Kelly’s privacy and did not pry into the ‘meta-human’ aspect of her life. This echoed what Sammy had said one the voice-messages that she had left on Kelly’s phone. In times like this, people show whether they truly are your friends.

Once their waitress, Victoria, had brought them their drinks, Kelly reached over and snatched up a packet of sugar for her iced tea. While she began to pour the sugar into her drink, Kelly heard some light snickers from her high school friends. After being puzzled over what was so funny, Kelly suddenly realized what was going on. The girl, who was a wasp-hybrid metahuman, was pouring sugar into her drink. This was almost as bad as a rabbit-human hybrid eating carrots.

“Ha, ha, very funny guys,” Kelly responded to her friend’s light-hearted chuckles, “the girl who is part insect is dumping sugar in her drink. Laugh it up, why don’t you.”

“No offense meant,” one of her friends said, “But at least you see the irony in this image.”

Kelly brought her cup up to her lips and tasted her beverage. However, as soon as the iced tea ran down her throat, an intense headache erupted inside her head. Kelly immediately slammed the cup back onto the table, spilling part of her drink in the process.

“Are you alright, Kelly?” Another of Kelly’s friends asked.

“I’m fine.” Kelly lied as she placed her hand against her own forehead.

In the days since the demon attack, or “D-Day” as it had been called by some in the media, Scott had rarely had a chance to walk the streets of the city. In the days following the disastrous attack on Lost Haven, Scott had spent much of his time helping to undo the damage that had been done to the city. Be it helping repair the physical damage to the brick and mortar buildings, or just being visible to the public in an attempt to help raise the moral of the citizens, he had been very busy.

However, on this day, he decided to take some time away from his exploits as Icon, see how things were on the streets. Though the people of Lost Haven were known to be a resilient bunch, it was easy to see that the psychological scars of the attack were still fresh among the city’s residents.

The city was unusually quiet. There wasn’t the constant noise that normally filled the air. Aside from the occasional honking of a car horn, it was almost silent. It was so quiet in fact, that if one weren’t careful, they might forget entirely that they were in a large city.

It was almost as if the people of Lost Haven didn’t want to be noticed, out of fear of inviting another attack.

As Scott made his way down Eastern Avenue; towards the heart of Sherman Square, he noticed something that seemed out of place on this particular day. A crowd had formed at on the sidewalk in front of the Chambers Building, the tallest building not only in Sherman Square, but all of Lost Haven.

When Scott looked up to see what the crowd had been staring at, his heart jumped. Standing on the ledge of the roof was a young woman. The pretty brunette looked to be in her mid twenties, and as she stood on the ledge of the building, with the wind whipping around her, threatening to throw her from the roof, she looked entirely too calm. Then, the unthinkable happened, as she simply stepped off the ledge and began plummeting toward the ground.

Not today. Scott thought to himself as in a blink of the eye. he quickly stepped out of view into a nearby alley. Once he was out of sight, he spun in place, and in what could only be described as a whirlwind, shed his civilian clothes in favor of the familiar blue and silver garb of the hero Icon.

In a flash, Icon raced from the alley and flew up the side of the Chambers Building, meeting the young woman nearly halfway down the structure of glass and steel.

It’s alright, I’ve got you.” He said as he caught her in midair, bulling her into his chest. ”You’re going to be alright."

"So this is the place I'm supposed to meet the client?"

Trent murmured into his communicator as he made his way into the casino. It was a few days after the demon incident, and while most of Lost Haven was still recovering from the assault on their town, some of the richer districts had been relatively untouched by hellfire. One of said places was an area surrounding a tall, glamorous casino known as the High Spire. Trent glanced up momentarily at it before entering, stopping just to appreciate the absurd concept that even when Hell itself had access to Earth, they did not even bother to crush dens of sin such as the blinking, flashy establishment of greed and gluttony before him.

"This is where the message said to go, so I wouldn't keep our client waiting, Trent."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm goin'."

Trent adjusted his black jacket before entering the building, flashing an ID at the bouncer and shuffling by him before the muscle-bound fool was able to question if he was even on the guest list. Even when Trent stepped into the building he stood out almost instantly, his lack of fancy attire becoming almost immediately apparent to the crowd of suits and dresses as he was garbed in the most mundane of clothing, jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket. Many of the patrons scoffed and turned their nose up at him, seemingly disgusted at the plain-looking figure that stepped into their fancy gambling home.

"Well...the client sure knows how to pick meeting spots." Trent murmured into his communicator again as he walked back the many slot machines, full of high rollers and some older folks spinning away their retirement funds. "Where exactly did the client want to meet in here?"

"The instructions were specific; third floor, private lounge, sit at table 35B, and when the waiter comes to ask you for your drink, as for a Black Death Cocktail."

"Ew, god, I don't want that. That's friggin infused with Everclear!"

"That's the signal for the client, so I'm told."

"Alright, alright, fine." He responded. "Did the message say exactly what the job was, by any chance? Or who is asking?"

"No and no." Warden sighed, the sound of his chair creaking echoed through the communication. "And I've been trying to track down the original IP all morning, I keep getting rerouted and overloaded, the few times I got close I keep running into highly-encrypted passkeys, which I can't break."

"What? But you're Warden, you can hack through anything!" Trent was now hoofing it up the stairs, scooting around some more patrons, his eyes catching a very attractive woman in a black dress as he passed. She responded with a small 'hmph' and a scowl before continuing on her path. Her loss.

"Well I can't, not with this." Warden gave a flat reply. "So deal with it, a job is still a job, and this client's looking to pay handsomely. We may be flying in blind, but with the numbers he's offering, I'd overlook the secrecy to see what he wants."

"But Warden, what if it's a trap?"

If Warden had any feeling outside of 'monotone' the noise he made regarding that response could have been conceived as a laugh. "And what would they do, shoot you?"

"Yeah, yeah, fair point."

The conversation between the two died down as soon as Trent made it to the third floor, and when he actually surveyed the room, his mouth actually dropped in awe. Even in terms of the first floor, this place was classy. The room was a cozy, warm crimson, lit by cream colored lights. The floor was a dense marble tile, lined with gold and patterned up to the marble columns lining the room. An orchestra played quietly in the corner, their spot in the room hollowed out to produce their sound across the room.

"Holy..." Trent murmured, making his way to the chairs. His hand ran along the large chair at 35B, the authentic leather smoothing against his hand. He gave a grin of satisfaction as he plopped down on the seat, leaning back to enjoy the comforting padding of the chair, he felt like he was sinking into a cloud.

Clearly, he was now playing in the big leagues.

Before he could get too comfortable, however, he was greeted by a soft, polite voice. "Hello there, sir, is there anything I can get you?"

Trent's eyes popped open to find a waiter standing before him, and even he was better dressed then the disheveled Trent. The man sported a fine tailored vest, with well-pressed slacks and perfectly shined leather shoes, his face offering Trent a timid, though welcoming smile.

For a moment, Trent was dumbfounded to even be addressed right now, but he quickly remembered the password to signal his client. "I would like...uh..I would like a Black Death Cocktail, please."

The waiter did not even bat an eye at his order, despite Everclear being notably illegal. For a second, Trent questioned if he even mentioned the right password, but before he could ask, the waiter had darted off, not to the backroom,however, but he headed in a different direction, out of Trent's view.

Now all Trent had to do was sit and wait, his client would be here soon.

“Thanks for coming out here all the way from Quantico.” Virginia Hutchinson extended her hand to Agent Noah Gibson, the head of the BAU task force. Virginia herself was far from being a nobody, heading the Domestic Trafficking Task Force.

“It’s what we do.” After he replied, Gibson gestured to the men and women standing behind him. “These are SSA Alison Johnson, Mario Russo, Emily Gordon, and Doctor Matthew Cooper.”

“So, what happened here?” Mario Russo asked as he headed toward the crime scene.

“You can take a look for yourself!” Virginia quipped back at Agent Russo’s opening comment. Then she lead the group of five FBI agents past the police tape in a field just off on of the major state highways in Ohio.

On the ground in that field lay two corpses. Whoever the unsubs were, they had placed these two corpses lying flat on their backs, arms placed at their sides.

“How many of these bodies have you found so far?” A.J. asked.

“At least a dozen,” Virginia grimaced as she mentioned that stat, “This probably would have received more national coverage if it weren’t for what has been happening in Lost Haven.”

Matthew, the youngest member of the team, bent down to examine the bodies. Despite them having been abandoned in the middle of a field, the bodies were in almost pristine condition. No bruising, no wounds, nothing. Matthew picked up a driver’s license that had been placed on top of one of the other bodies. When he turned his head towards the other body, he discovered that that body too had a driver’s license planned on it.

“Did the other victims also look exactly like this?”

“Down to the T,” Virginia replied, “it’s almost eerie seeing the condition that we find these bodies in. The only good thing about it is that it has made identifying the bodies that much easier.”

“But why would they go out of their way to aid us by leaving the bodies in this kind of condition?” Emily said.

“Maybe the unsubs want the victims to be identified.” Matthew announced.

The Grim North
Caine MacFondóir
What Feels Like a Lifetime Ago

Well this is a hell of a situation, ain't no arguing with that. There I was, packing up my old life in the London flat I've been dossing out of the last two years, head full of ideas on how I could become a better man, how I'd begin the slow climb outta the pit I'd dug for myself with all my dark words and darker deeds when the Great Song went from a pleasant background refrain to a furious storm of sound, that usually only happening when I was in deep shit. I'd long ago learnt to trust the Song implicitly, throwing myself forwards over the back of the couch instinctively. Good thing too, as I felt a sharp burning across my upper arm that could only mean I'd just been bled a little. Ironically enough if you apply a little hindsight I shoulda known better, you keep both eyes on the future and you're liable to miss it when your past sneaks up on you to stab ya in the back. Case in point, one Mr Joseph Murphy, AKA 'Big Murph', currently engaged in trying his damndest to kick the brains out of your's trulys skull.

Course the fella in front of me is wearing a balaclava and dressed in black, but there's still no mistaking him for anyone but Murph, ain't anyone else that big in London. A full half foot taller than I am, me being a pretty respectable 6'3”, with the breadth of shoulder that you could only get with a lifetime of lifting heavy weights and some truly freakish genetics, Murph might have well as called ahead as worn a mask to disguise himself. That, and he's probably the only person in the city to willingly sneak into my house to kill me, and definitely the only one who would come without a gun.

That's not to say that Murph ain't armed, he isn't stupid. Nah, he's come with a knife, foot long steel blade that still looks little more than a tooth-pick in that big paw of his, the bloody wound on my bicep testament to its sharpness. I glare across my lounge room at Murph, still trying to figure out why he was here and and more importantly why he was trying to kill me. He didn't really look like he cared to give me the time to figure it out though, stepping lightly, despite all that bulk of his, around the couch to come at me with the knife levelled at my chest. He'd missed his chance for an easy kill though, and I wasn't planning on giving him another.

Pa used to always say 'You want to win a fight Caine, you attack! Ain't no one ever won a scrap by waiting for the other guy to make his move.' My Pa doesn't know much, but he does know how to fight so I spared no time in taking his advice, leaping at Murph when he got close enough. For his part Murph had the decency to look surprised that I'd attacked in stead of getting stuck like a Christmas goose, especially when I slapped his knife-hand away before smashing my fist into his nose.

I keep pressing him, knowing that you gotta take every advantage you can get when fighting a guy like Big Murph, but I only get one more hit in before he's recovered enough of his wits to get back into this fight, rolling with the next blow while flicking that knife of his out again. The Song gives me enough warning to jump backwards but I still feel that hot tear of metal through flesh as the blade scores across the skin of my chest.

Murph follows in, knife stabbing forwards straight for my throat. I catch his wrist at the last second, too close for my liking, twisting hard to make him drop the knife, evening the playing field a little in my favour. I pull him in close, driving my knee up into his stomach, looking to wind him, but he manages to get his free arm in the way to deflect the force of the blow. He follows up with a quick, sharp gut punch, not enough force in it to really hurt but enough to drive me back, squawking like some kinda panicked bird. That's embarrassing. Murph advances, throwing a quick combination of punches, some I dodge, some I block, a few I can't do nothing about cept take em on the chin. I manage to get a few licks of my own in, but even without powers Big Murph is near my equal in a straight scrap, and if you factor in his extra two decades of experience then he comes pretty close to having my number.

I get one last could crack in, a straight left that thunders of his chin. Feels like I'm hitting granite, but he backs off, neither of us as keen as we were to get back into it. We stand there glaring at each other, breathing deep and heavy. Pretty sure I'm growling like a dog with each exhale. Now's a good as time as any to find out why he's here, though I've got a few guesses of my own as to why now.

“That mask was a lesson in futility, eh Murph?” I say, my voice somewhere between a snarl and a wheeze. Been a long time since I've actually had a real fight, most folk just roll over as soon as I lumber up. Hate to admit it, but I'm outta shape. Big Murph's mask comes off, whether to let the air come easier or because he finally realised that it wasn't doing anything to hide him, I ain't sure.

“Never did like to hide behind those things,” he mutters, letting the fabric drop to the floor. “Does nothing for a man's reputation when all his accomplishments are done while wearing a mask.”
“You'd know all about that though, eh North?” A grin broke Murph's craggy face at that, though there was very little genuine humour in it. “Ain't a name blacker than yours, not in all of Europe. Doesn't matter what you do, that stain'll always follow you. Couldn't believe my ears when the Prince told me that you think you can go straight. Just like a leopard can't change its spots, Caine MacFondóir ain't gonna become a man of peace.”

I ain't afraid to say that Murph's words irked me more than a little, not half because he was just voicing the fears I was hiding from myself. I needed to change a new leaf, needed it like a man in the desert needs water. The thing was, what if I couldn't do it? I'd never known any other way than the way I do things now, what if I was incapable of being the better man? Murph said I couldn't be the peaceful sort, I was afraid he was right and so that made me angry, which made me want to rearrange his face with my fists. If there is a God then I'm damned sure he's laughing at me.

“What you doing here Murph.”

“Ain't it obvious?” He responds. It is, but my heart needs to hear the words out loud to come to the same conclusion my brain did about ten minutes ago. “Robert can't let you go. I don't mean that in a Hugh Grant rom-com He-can't-live-without-you kinda he can't let you go, I mean he can't let you go running around with all you know. You're a loose end, and the Prince can't abide loose ends.” That was about what I'd figured. Shoulda known, Robert was far to canny to let someone like me leave his services.

No, even if I got outta this I'd be a marked man. Robert would want to silence me, his enemies would want to use me, the law would want to lock me up. It was a grim choice, but it'd already been made. I needed out, so it looked like I'd just have to live with being marked, and anyone who wanted to kill me or use me or lock me up would have to get ready for the fight of their lives, cause thats what I'd give em. The Great Song began to beat faster, roiling like summer thunder, near deafening in its volume. I feel the Singer pawing around at the back of my brain, desperate to claw his way to the fore, take control of my body and do his bloody work. For once I've got half a mind to let him. Instead I exert all the limited control I have over him to wrestle him back down, forcing him to take a back seat this time. This ones mine. I want to feel Murph break under my fists first hand.

Maybe I ain't ready to be a better man after all. That's a question I'll have to ponder later, as right now I've got an old friend to beat to death first.

---

Not quite the way I imagined quitting London, that being stowed away in the back of an overnight artic transporting broken power tools towards Germany for repair, but I suppose it serves as well as any other. Besides, any other route would be watched, whether by Prince's men or one of his rivals it doesn't really matter, they'd try their damnedest to stop me, and I'd do my best to upset them. Either way, it'd get messy. Nah, this ways better, and I suppose its fitting. Broken things moving on to be fixed sounds awful familiar.

The thought of broken things brings my last image of Big Murph to mind, lying shattered across the pavement, spread eagled amongst the glittering shards of glass from the third floor window I'd thrown him through. We'd sure done a number on each other before I ended our fracas with an impromptu defenestration, and by the time I'd grabbed the stuff I'd need on the road and limped down the stairs Murph looked like he'd already passed. He hadn't though, he was still clinging onto life, a fighting spirit trapped in a broken body. I considered calling him an ambulance, but decided against it. If he was gonna live he'd live, I couldn't have a hand in his survival as we'd severed the bonds of friendship about the same time he tried to sever my throat with that knife of his.

Looked like I was still more suited to taking lives after all. Reckon it's gonna be a long road to being a better man.

I’ve had a few days to digest everything that’s happened recently. In some ways, it all feels so surreal, almost unimaginable that these things happened at all. I mean, someone literally opened a portal to Hell and its inhabitants spilled out into our world and nearly dragged us all back to Hell.

But it didn’t happen. We stopped them. Icon and Lyger, The Iron Knight and a couple of people I’ve never heard of before. And of course, I played my part. We worked together and as a team, we stopped the world from ending. Of course, it didn’t all go so smoothly. That Vigilante guy seemed to be hurt pretty bad, and Icon rushed him off as soon as the portal came down. I don’t know if he’s even alive, but something tells me we haven’t seen the last of him just yet.

One of the things that bothers me is that we have no idea what caused that whole mess in the first place. Some people have been speculating that it was that Nightmare killer that cause the whole mess, but that doesn’t seem to add up, from what I’ve seen. That just doesn’t seem to be his style. It’s a mystery, and one that I’m not sure we’ll ever really get the answer to.

And that scares the hell out of me…no pun intended.

For hours after the phone lines came up, I was getting calls from my friends and family, just making sure that I was okay. Janice and Jason both called, but not before Jack. I even got calls from some of our business partners all over the world, just wanting to make sure that I was alright.

It broke my heart a little that my parents didn’t bother to call for an entire day after everything had been taken care of.

Twenty. Four. Hours.

I know that my parents. Most specifically my father was still reeling from what had happened to me. He hates what I’ve become, and has gone to great lengths to avoid me. After all, he did just send me all the way across the country so he didn’t have to deal with me on a daily basis. But this really bothered me, I mean, sure…I’m not exactly your average girl next door anymore.

But let’s face it, I never was to begin with. But I always was “Daddy’s Girl.” And the cold reception I get whenever I talk to him now…I can’t even explain how that makes me feel.

He thinks that I’m a disgrace, an abomination. All because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I’m going to show him that he’s wrong about me. I am going to make a difference. The demon horde showed me that I can make a difference.

Though, I need to get a better costume. That’s when I get an idea…

Giovanna, one of my closest friends, and one of the few people that have stuck by me during my “ordeal,” as my father calls it, and one of the only people that I’ve felt comfortable enough with to tell my secret; just happens to be an up and coming fashion designer. I know that she can help me out with my “wardrobe problem.”

Knowing that I can’t fight the good fight with my dad’s tie wrapped around me face forever I pick up my phone.

“Hey Gio, it’s Alexa. I think I could use with your help something…”

Kelly Brown
“Are you sure that you are fine?” Zac asked his girlfriend. Ever since Kelly had went on her last ‘friends’ night out’, Zac had noticed that she has been acting a little bit weird.

“Doesn’t this look like I’m fine?” Kelly gave her boyfriend a smile, trying to convince him that there was nothing wrong. However, suddenly, Kelly saw that waitress from Chili’s appear behind Zac, wrapping her arms around Kelly’s boyfriend. In response, Kelly rubbed her eyes, as if she was removing sleep from her eyes. When she peered up, the waitress was gone.

“Kelly, if there’s anything wrong, just please tell me!”

“I need to check on Sammy.” Kelly tried to change the subject as she headed toward the front door of their apartment. Kelly knew that she probably should tell her boyfriend what was going on, but at the same time she did not want him to think she was going insane.

After a short car ride over to Sammy’s apartment, Kelly found her friend lounging on a couch, watching an evening television show. Kelly walked over to the kitchen and plopped down Sammy’s dinner onto a plate. However, when she brought it over to her friend, Sammy’s eyes shined with concern over what was sitting on that plate.

“I’m sorry, Sammy. I promised Zac that I would only give you cat food.”

Besides Sammy was a laptop, which already had Microsoft Word opened. Sammy turned to the computer and typed with her cat paws, since she could not speak.

“This is inhumane!” She showed Kelly what she typed.

“It would be inhumane if I gave you something that ended up killing you.”

“FML” Sammy typed on the computer.

“Tell me about it.” Kelly said as she plopped herself down on the couch next to her friend.

When Sammy saw her friend throw herself down onto the couch out of frustration, she knew something was up. However, when she tried to comfort her best friend, the only thing that came out of her mouth was ‘meow’. As Sammy sighed at her loss of speech, Kelly picked Sammy up into her arms.

“Should Zac and I take our relationship to the next level?” Kelly asked her feline friend. However, in response to Kelly’s question, Sammy only raised an eyebrow, unsure what her friend was trying to say.

“Like, um,” Kelly tried to speak again, “sex.”

As soon as Sammy heard what Kelly meant, she hopped out of Kelly’s arms and immediately started to type on her laptop. After she had finished, Sammy turned back toward Kelly, allowing her friend to read what she had just written.

“Kelly,” began what Sammy wrote, “I know that your relationship with Zac has been, relatively speaking, working out well. However, I wouldn’t rush it. Just know that in this type of decision, it is a one way street. There is not turning back from it. Once it’s done, it’s done.”

After Kelly read Sammy’s opinion on the matter, Kelly leaned back against the back of the couch, folding her arms across her chest.

“I see what you’re saying, but…” Kelly began, but she could not quite get the words out. “Ever since yesterday, I swear I have seen him with someone else. Swear I have seen it, but one moment I see her, the next I don’t. I don’t know if I’m going crazy, or paranoid, or both.”

“With a girl like you, I don’t see why he would be doing something like that.” Sammy typed.

“Yeah, the girl whose part wasp, which so happens to be his greatest phobia.”

Sammy sat there for a moment, considering how what she should say (or rather type) next. Then an idea hit her. “Zac’s an animal-hybrid too, so he doesn’t have much leverage to say that he wants someone ‘normal’ as his girlfriend.”

Kelly smiled at her best friend, stroking Sammy’s back. “I knew talking to you would make me feel better. What would I do without you?”

Sammy just shrugged her feline shoulders and turned her eyes up towards the ceiling. “No problem,” she thought.

“If you don’t tell anyone, I’ll make us some popcorn.”

“Meow.” Sammy said as she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, that’s right, you can’t, even if you wanted to tell anyone, although I don’t see why you would.”

"You're kidding me."

"I wish I was sir, it looks like your old stomping grounds back in Lost Haven are being flooded with Heroes." Chang responded, motioning to the large computer screen in the basement of The Cowl's coastline compound. "Super-powered, costume wearing heroes, to be precise."

"No, no, not their existence." The Cowl responded, bringing a hand to the bridge of his masked nose to rub it. "I was already well aware that such beings existed, I watch the news, Change." He pressed a few keys on the keyboard, zooming in on some particular articles involving a demon invasion. "What I'm more disappointed in that the situation has gotten this hectic this fast."

"Sir?"

"I've already had eyes and ears report back to me, but I've only got bits and pieces of the new 'meta-human' incursion." He motioned to the demon portal. "But this recent event here really brings to light what exactly we're dealing with, doesn't it?" He motioned to the heroes shutting the portal down, caught on camera by what looked to be some unlucky bastard with a smartphone. "People who can change the very balance we tried so hard to grasp down in Lost Haven." He brought up more articles as he spoke with a few taps on the touchscreen before him. "Countless costumed freaks are showing up back home, for some reason all locking in to Lost Haven. The sheer population of heroes alone means that before long, one of them is going to jeopardize one of our major assets."

There was a brief silence, with the Cowl swiping between hero articles, the faces of heroes like Lyger, Icon, Arachne, and even newer heroes such as the young girl who could shoot lightning and others still who were unnamed, but displayed wild costumes and powers, all crossing the screen. Eventually, Chang stepped next to his boss, reading a few of the articles before he was able to stammer out the inevitable question.

"S...so what are we going to do, boss?"

A brief sigh from The Cowl solidified the decision in Chang's eyes, but The Cowl responded as he made a heel turn away from the computer. "We can't ignore this threat anymore, I have to head to Lost Haven to solidify my power back home before these meta-humans destroy everything I've built. Have my private jet prepared immediately."

"Bu...but sir, what about here, in China?" Chang responded, he tagged along the brisk pace of The Cowl, whipping out his smartphone to text the men upstairs to have the jet ready as requested.

"Well, I suppose I have to leave the operations here in some very capable hands. Don't I?"

"Boss, I don't know anyone who..."

"Which is why I'm entrusting our operations here to you."

"Wh...what?"

"This isn't a request, Chang. I need someone to run things here while I'm off consolidating power, so you are going to have to stay here and continue expanding the Shroud Syndicate territory, am I clear?"

Clearly in a mix of emotion, Chang's response was to murmur and shift as he followed. Not hearing what he wanted, The Cowl stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around to Chang, meeting his gaze in a rather intimidating repeat of the question.

"I said. Am. I. Clear?"

"Y-yes boss! I hear you!"

"Good." The Cowl continued to glare at his subordinate, bringing an imposing stance to his threats. "Then I entrust this all to you, but if you so much as mess this up, or heaven forbid, go the way of Teddy Williamson, I swear you will sorely regret it, understand?"

A whimper and a nod left Chang, gesturing to the walkway to try and get past this moment as quickly as possible. Satisfied with his threat, the Cowl took off at his brisk pace, heading straight for the roof to meet his flight back to Maine.

"I also want all the reading material you can find on what these 'heroes' are capable of, I need all the information possible on how to deal with this by the time the wheels touch down in Maine."

"A...anything else, Boss?"

"...Caviar."

"What?"

"I want caviar on the plane."

"I...I'll see what I can do."

"Excellent."

The Grim North
Caine MacFondóir

Da always used to say "You wanna know a place Caine, you gotta walk it. Ain't no use looking at it through a windscreen, man wasn't meant to look at things through glass." That 'man wasn't meant to look at things through glass' was also his argument for not ever wearing his spectacles, especially when he was driving drunk, but the point still stands. You try and drive through a place, or fly over it, or look at it on a map then you'll never get a feel for it. You'll come to understand it, sure, but it'll still keep secrets from you. Thats why I'd hoofed it into Lost Haven, from the outskirts of the city this morning to the bustling center in the afternoon. I coulda boosted a car, but this way is better. This way I get to know the city that, for better or for worse, I'll be hanging my hat for the foreseeable future.

What I'm tying to say is I'm getting a feeling for Lost Haven, and the feeling is fear. Locked doors, boarded up windows, shifty pedestrian's eyeballing the folk walking next to them, constantly expecting the damned to leap from behind each and every street corner. I know fear, made a life outta making men fear me and my name and the names of those I worked for, and without blowing my own trumpet I gotta say I was one of the best at it, but I don't think I could ever inspire this level of terror in so many people, even on my worst day. Guess a demonic invasion will do that to city. Still, just my luck, thinking I could come to Lost Haven and be safe, figuring that even Prince would think twice about entering a city with so many capes in play, just to arrive when every second person on the street looks ready to taze a fella just for looking at them funny. Especially when they look like I do, a mix between a viking warrior and a prize fighter the morning after losing the biggest fight of his career. Not pretty, is what I'm trying to get at.

Still, that's a problem for later because first I've got more pressing concerns, namely a empty stomach and a quickly approaching empty wallet. With no place to live and no regular income heading my way anytime soon I've got to try and make my money go far, which means no swanky restaurants or eateries for old Caine. Instead I take a walk on the wild side, heading for a place called Little Sicily which I'm reliable informed contains places far more comfortable serving clientele cut from my particular piece of ragged cloth. I get directions from a helpful attendant in central station. You can see she wants to warn me about Little Sicily, probably thinking that's where all the unsavory types in Lost Haven live, until she takes a second look at me. Then she see's someone who would fit right in with the unsavory types. I can try and be a better man, but I'm always gonna look like the worse one.

Takes me a while to walk to Sicily, being new to the city and all, and by the time I reach it my stomach feels like its started eating itself. The streets aren't as clean here, graffiti marking the walls and litter lying in the gutters. Feels I can't walk fifty paces without stumbling over some old drunk passed out in the street. The whole place feels like its seen better days. The people too. Suits me down to the ground. I cut in to the first reasonably priced diner I pass, a place called 'Lord of the Wings'. I've never really been all that fussed for chicken wings, but anywhere that models themselves after Tolkien is alright in my book. You wouldn't call Lord of the Wings 'high dining' that's for damn sure, closer to a greasy spoon than the Ritz, but it had a homey feel to it. Felt like someones livelihood rather than their business. It had character.

I grab a table near the back, sitting myself against the wall so I have a good view of the entrance and easy access to the back exit through the kitchen. Some habits die hard, whereas some are worth keeping alive. I've barely parked my rear into the seat when the waitress comes to take my order. She's probably a little over sixteen, pretty in a way that you know she's gonna be a real looker when she's older, with pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She offers me a real genuine smile before she asks if I want a coffee. I say yes and she smiles again before heading off to get it. It's nice to see someone in this town who doesn't have that frightened look too them, but I'm still getting that vague sense of unease from her, like she's half expecting another portal to hell to open up, right here in the diner. Still, it says a lot that she tries to hide it.

She comes back with a mug and a jar of coffee, filling me up at the table. I see the name tag pinned to her shirt reads 'Jilly'. She's written it herself in biro, dotting the i with a little loveheart.

"So mister, you ready to order or do you need a little longer?" she asks.

"I'm getting there Jilly." I usually try and call a person by name if they've gone to all the trouble of sticking it on a tag and attatching it to their clothes. Only seems the decent thing to do. "You got any recommendations? How's the wings?"

"Honestly mister, the wings aren't great, certainly not enough to get a lordship for. The club sandwich is pretty good though."

"I'll have one of those then please Jilly." She writes down my order and smiles again before leaving. I flash her a smile of my own, knowing it wont be as pretty a sight as hers was, not with my scarred visage. Still, its nice to be nice. I add a touch of sugar to my coffee and and take a sip. The meal comes quick, Jilly placing some napkin-wrapped cutlery down before cracking away with me a few minutes, asking where I was from and what I was doing in Haven. I tell her a lotta bullshit, figuring telling her I'm an ex-hitman and enforcer on the run from my previous employer and best friend wouldn't be quite conducive to polite conversation as I would like. Still, its nice to have a chat with a real person again, not usually having the time recently, and I find myself getting a little dissapointed when she has to go to serve her next customer, but my stomach announces itself with a angry rumble so I quickly get down to the buisness of eating and pretty soon I forget all about how lonely I may or may not be.

Jilly wasn't lying, the club sandwhich is good, but truth be told I was that hungry that she could have put a beer coaster sandwhiched in between two slices of old boot leather in front of me and I probably would have enjoyed it, I was that hungry. Sitting in that restaurant, taking the weight of, Jilly speaking to me like I'm a person, eating food that someone hasn't pre-heated in a truckstop microwave, I'm pretty content. Things don't usually go my way so I gotta savour the small things. It isn't untill I unwrap the fork and knife from the napkin to start on the side salad when things start to go downhill.

It's the Great Song that warns me trouble is brewing. It's always the the Song. For such beautiful music it sure does ruin a awful lot for me. I look up in alarm as the Song drums out a slow, measured, beat, certain that Robert Prince has finally found me, but I don't recognise the three lads who've entered the diner, and it doesn't look like they've recognised me. They sit themselves down a couple tables down from me. One of them, a skinny rat faced fella with darting eyes wearing a stained hoody and joggers, looks me up and down real slow like, but turns away when I give him the eye back. That tells me two thing. First off, he's smart. Secondly, it isn't me they're here to cause trouble for. That only leaves me wondering for who, because these boys stink of trouble. I resolve to finish my meal, settle my bill and head off sharpish. Ain't none of my buisness what these lads are here for.

I find myself watching out the corner of my eye as Jilly heads to the newcomers tables. Seems like she's dragging her heels, and the smile she offers them seems a lot more forced than the one I got. She asks them what they'd like to drink while rat-face eyes her up like a piece of meat. I find myself wanting to rearrange his face with my fists, and I need to take a few deep breaths to try and calm down, despite knowing that taking breaths never works. Rat-face has two mates with him, one, a big fat boy with a dirty blonde goatee and wearing a pea-coat, the other about six foot, well built and wearing a leather jacket. Fat-boy tells Jilly they're here to see the owner. Now. She scurrys off quick.

This whole scene is hitting me close to the bone. They're here to hussle the owners for protection money, I'm willing to bet my name on it, probably working for some 'legitimate business' man operating outta a skyrise in Sherman Square. Those three lads, that coulda been me on any given working day back in London, ready to scare the hell outta good, honest working folk just so the rich could get richer. It's like someones raised a mirror up on my actions, and I'm finding nothing good to look at.

The man I assume is the owner, a tall middleaged bloke with iron-grey streaked blonde hair and a thick mustache, comes out with Jilly in tow, and it doesn't take a detective to tell that they're related. She has his long straight nose and colouring. I'm betting she's his daughter. Personnally if I was him I wouldn't have let her come back out with me, knowing that those three lads would use her saftey as a weapon against me, but he's looking that nervous that he probabaly isn't thinking straight.

He goes to speak to the lads, his voice hushed and his hands wringing each other. Even without hearing I know what he's telling them, that he doesn't have the money but he'll get it as soon as he can. That line never works, and sure enough Fat-boy starts handing out the threats. Loud too, he must feel confident to be handing them out so sure in the middle of the day. Rat-face is eying up Jilly again, while Leather-Jacket just looks on with a wee half grin. He's the dangerous one, I can tell that by just looking at him, confident and quiet with those flat eyes that tells you that he enjoys seeing people squirm. Rat-face and Fatboy are in this work cause they like the power it gives them over others, but Leather-Jacket likes pain. I know his type.

Jilly's pa is really starting to sweat now, Fatboy not letting up for a minute.

"He ain't gonna pay Charlie, look at this place, its a dump." laughs Rat-face to Fatboy, evidently called Charlie. Fatboy suits him better.

"Oh yeah, so what do you think we should do then Niall, Mr Stone has to have his due. If it ain't money it has to be goods or services, so what can you give us?" Niall is Rat-face, Mr Stone must be there employer. I've never heard of him, but the way Jilly and her pa paled at his name must mean he means buisness. Rat-faces grin nearly breaks his face open its so wide as he leers up at Jilly.

"I'm thinking services Charlie. What do you think Jilly, what kinda 'services' could you offer?" and with that he reaches up to the lassie and pulls her down onto her lap. She squeels and tries to jump back up like she sat on hot coals, but Rat-face has her tight and isn't letting her up. Her pa finds his voice at that, a little fire colouring his eyes then.

"Hey, you get your hands of her or I'll OOOFF!!. . . "Fatboy gut punches him before he gets to finish.

"You don't tell us what we can do b***h!" Fatboy snarls as Jilly screams and Rat-face guffaws. Leather-jacket just sits there with that grin.
This has just gone from bad to worse, the Great Song really starting to thunder now. My fists are itching, my blood starting to get up. I'm gripping my fork and knife so tight that my knuckles are whitening. More wasted breaths on trying to calm down, and I have to remind myself that no one ever became a better man by fighting his way to it, even for a good reason. I push myself to my feet, fish around in my pocket and drop some money on the tabletop for the club sandwhich. I'll get outside and phone the cops, they have a reaction time of like three minutes now, they'll sort this out. Yeah, thats the smart thing to do, if I get involved I wont know where to draw the line and these boys would end up dead. Better for everyone involved this way.

I'm still telling myself that when I stick my fork into Fatboys back, right in the trapezius. I want to say I'm as shocked by this turn of events as anyone else, but Fatboy's screaming makes me reckon he must be pretty damned surprised. I waste no time, grabbing him by the back of the neck and slamming his face into the table top, once, twice, three times. I only stop because the table snaps in half, his nose nothing but a bloody mess by the time I'm done. He's gurgling something through his broken teeth, might be 'please stop' but I'm past caring. Jilly's leapt outta Rat-faces lap now, and managed to drag her pa off into the corner. Smart girl.

Leather-Jacket's surging to his feet now, so I push Fatboy at him. Fatboy's about two hundred and fifty pounds of blubber, and right this moment its all dead weight so he bears the two of them to the ground, Leather-Jacket swearing the whole time. Rat-face takes his moment then when I'm distracted, coming at me from behind with a bottle of ketchup that he swings at my head. The Song warns me, so pivot on my heel and I step in close. The bottle bounces from my shoulder, sore but not as sore as it would of been. Not as sore as it is for Rat-face when I smash my head into his nose. He squeels like a pig and it's like music to my ear's. I have him by the front of his hoody now, two fistfulls of grubby, filthy material giving me a good grip. Good thing its so dirty, means folks might not notice the blood once I'm done. With a heave and a grunt I swing him over head, lifting him bodily in the air to smash him through the table and chairs behind me. He lies there, in among the broken remnants of furniture, and I doubt he's getting up again soon, not under his own power.

"Don't f***ing move man, I got you covered!" A voice from behind, from where I left the other two struggling on the floor. I turn, slow and easy, to see Leather-Jacket standing with a pistol aimed at me. Looks like its a glock. Fatboy's still dazed senseless on the floor. Just as well, any more of what I have to offer is liable to kill him. I raise my hands up to waist height to show that I ain't got anything on me, ain't got any way to hurt him. He looks confident at that.

"You want a piece of me now huh?" He taunts. I show my teeth at that, a cruel mockery of a grin, the skull playing at being jolly. I'm hungry for more, and him holding a gun isn't gonna stop me now.

"A piece boy? Hell, I'm gonna have the whole damn thing. You're gonna shoot that gun, you're gonna fill me fulla lead, and I'm gonna step over there and prise it from your hands before shoving it straight up your arse. I'm gonna make you experience things that'll send you running back to your momma crying like a girl. And I'm gonna laugh while I'm doing it." Hard words have never won a fight, or at least they've never won a fight I've been in. Some idiots seem to think they set the future in stone though, like if I say these things then I'll find some magical way of doing them. A bullet will stop me as sure as it will anyone else, but the way Leather-Jacket has paled, I can tell he's one of them fools that thinks hard words wins a fight.

"You couldn't" he manages to stammer out, but I see the gun shake already, so I laugh. I laugh long and loud, and it's a bad sound. Even I know that. It's the sort of sound you here blowing in off the peaks on a cold winter night, that promises pain and horror. It's the sound of bleached bones grinding across each other, raspy and hollow. It isn't a nice sound in short, and I know it. Then I stop all of a sudden, fix Leather-Jacket with that steady glare of mine and that teeth-bearing smile and take a step towards him. One step, that's all it takes, and he's turned tail and running, gun and comrades all forgotten. Some men like pain, but are terrified of receiving it. I watch him go, then I just watch the door as it swings shut after him. I watch that door for what seems like an age, until it's a certainty that he ain't coming back for his balls. I turn then, to see Jilly and her Pa staring at me, a mixture of fear and awe on their faces. More fear than awe though. The look they give me is enough for the burning desire for more to fade. Now I just feel empty.

"Who are you mister?" Jilly whispers, and I've only got one answer. Only one name that fits, the one that finds me no matter how far or how fast I run. The one that I seem to be stuck with.

"Me? I'm the Grim North."

Sorry, double post.

Part 1
Perestroika

Southern Ural Mountains
0312 Local Time

<This is bullshit,> Pyotr said in Russian.

He squatted down on his haunches and watched Alexi slowly climb down a metal ladder into a shallow pit. Flood lights rigged above the two men basked the entire area in a bright halogen glow. They were both dressed in jackets and boots with winter caps. Alexi had a pickaxe strapped to his back.

<Yes it is, Pyotr,> Alexi said with a chuckle. <But we're getting paid extremely well for this bullshit.>

<We are scientists. We are men who deal in fact and logic. This is nothing but nonsense.>

Alexi stepped off the ladder and looked down at the ground. The backhoe could only dig so deep in the hard soil. With the first seven feet of topsoil now removed, Pyotr and Alexi would do the rest. He pulled the pickaxe off his back and waited as Pyotr adjusted the floodlights above. Once Alexi had adequate lighting, he started breaking the soil up with the axe.

<It's not so bad,> Alexi grunted between swings. <We get paid ridiculous amounts of money to spend a few months in the Urals pretending to be Indiana Jones.>

Pyotr came down the ladder with a shovel strapped to his back. He removed the spade and stuck it into the earth with a sigh. Tightening his jacket against the cold, Pyotr leaned against the dirt wall of the hole.

<Just think we could be better served back at University and not here, digging for trinkets in the mountains.>

Alexi wiped the growing sweat from his brow and tossed the axe down on the dirt. He shed his coat and handed it to Pyotr.

<Go back up and take this with you. Find my bag, I've got some Vodka in the front pouch. You're always a cheery drunk.>

Pyotr laughed and started back up the ladder. The promised vodka was right where Alexi said it was, a half a pint of the sweet liquid still left inside the bottle. He tossed the the jacket down beside the back and pocketed the vodka.

<Hey!> Alexi yelled from the pit. <I think I found something!>

He started back to the hole. The loud, blood curdling shriek from Alexi stopped him in his tracks halfway. His hesitation was only momentary, and he started pounding for the pit. Another shriek from the pit was so loud it hurt Pyotr's ear and buckled his knees. He fell down into the hard dirt. The floodlights above popped off, each bulb breaking one by one before casting the whole area in darkness. Pytor's heart raced as he tried to crawl in the dark, away from the hole and whatever was down there. The screams had done something to him, he couldn't focus and his thoughts were muddled and confused. Something strong wrapped itself around his ankle. He yelled and tried to push away from it, but it was locked in on his leg.

The thing pulled and Pyotr screamed as whatever it was dragged him through the dirt. He tried to find any sort of handhold or purchase on the ground as he whizzed by, desperately thrashing out for some sort of lifeline. Pyotr felt himself down into the hole with the thing. He felt like he was falling for a half second before he landed on something. It was wet, squishy, and it had teeth.

And that was when the real screaming began.

---

25 Hours Later
Mount Rushmore, South Dakota
Executive Branch Headquarters

Heavy clouds of cigarette smoke filled the operations room. The six mission control operators sitting behind monitors quietly did their job while the director of operations sat in silence in his wheelchair, puffing away on the unfiltered cigarette wedged into the holder in his mouth. The large global map occupying the front of the ops room showed the entire world in a green glow, with displayed points of interest marked in red.

"Bring up POI 8713-12," the director said.

One of the operators hit a button. The map on the wall shifted to a display of information and pictures and data. The director watched the data flow by, his brain running calculations and numbers with the speed of a computer. After all the data was finished, a blinking display summed up with the director already knew would be the next step.

URAL MOUNTAIN SITE
25:42:10 SINCE RADIO SILENCE
POTUS INCIDENT INTERVENTION: RECOMMENDED

The director took a heavy pull off his cigarette and expelled it into the air in a long, billowing cloud. Finally, he spoke to the young technicians monitoring their respective maps.

"If any crises pop up while I am away, I am to be told right away. But for now it's business as usual."

The electric wheelchair noiselessly glided across the ops room. The door leading to the corridor slid open, and Franklin Roosevelt rolled out of the shadows and into the light. He started tapping buttons on the wheelchair's armrest as it sped down the hall, activating holographic display of the ops board in front of him. Beside the board were names, some listed in red while others were green. He picked three green names and highlighted them to activate their communication feeds.

"Attention," he said in a clear and calm voice. "This is Mr. Roosevelt. There is to be a briefing in the conference room in ten minutes. Your presence is required."

---

Subbasement 4
"Nixonland"

"Agnew!"

The tall frame of Spiro Agnew shuffled down the dark corridors of Nixon's study. Ancient leather bound books sat on the rows of shelves Agnew passed. Along with the books were jars of organs and small creatures pickled in formaldehyde. A dismembered hand floating in the liquid tapped the glass as Agnew walked by. The former vice-president ignored the hand's taunts and kept walking. The hand twisted itself to show Agnew its middle finger.

Agnew came out of the corridor of shelves into the study's rotunda where all the shelves ended. More books and specimens cluttered large wooden tables. A spider the size of a German Shepard scuttled across a table and disappeared under it. Racing after it was a spider of equal size, but it appeared to be made out of ropy vines. Agnew looked at the odd and unusual sights with bored contempt before casting his eyes up.

"Yes, sir?" he mumbled in a monotone voice.

In the middle of the study, floating cross-legged above the rotunda, was Richard Nixon. The 37th US President's usual suit and tie had been swapped out for a set of dark robes and a hood. He started drifting back down to the ground, finally unfolding his legs just before they were inches from the floor.

"Yes," Nixon finally said. "Did you collect the samples I need?"

"Yes, sir." Agnew reached into his jacket pocket and handed Nixon three vials. "One vial of pig blood, a lock of hair from a virgin, and the wart from Harry Kissinger's backside."

"Good man... especially on that last one."

Agnew shuddered while Nixon pocketed the samples into his robes. While his former vice-president shuffled off, Nixon hurried down one of the rows of books to find what he needed. He pulled a book bound in human skin from the shelf and began to thumb through it.

"I... have a dream..."

Nixon looked up from his reading and sighed. He put the book under his arm and walked through the study towards a large pane of two-way glass. One the opposite side of the glass was Martin Luther King Jr., laid out on a metal slab and mumbling and jerking in his sleep. Sweat trickled down his brow as he opened his mouth to speak.

"I have a dream... That the no-god from the no-place has breached the fabric. Yes... I have a dream that three will depart and five will return. Yes, Lord. When the Happy Warrior howls, the man of Hickory shall rise to the occasion... I have a dream that the son of the Republic will be consumed by the gnawing and gnashing teeth of the void. From the mountains of Russia, to the deserts of Africa, from Mississippi to Mongolia, the no-god's darkness will consume the earth. Death at last, death at last, God save us all from death at last. I have a dream... "

Nixon stepped away the glass, wiping sweat from his forehead that he didn't know was there. He shook his head and stepped away from the now sleeping King. The communication device on his wrist chirped with an incoming message.

"Attention, this is Mr. Roosevelt. There is to be a briefing in the conference room in ten minutes. Your presence is required."

The line went dead. Nixon ran his fingers through his hair with his left while rigging up an transportation spell with his right. When the spell finished, he disappeared from the study in a puff of gray smoke.

---

Chamery, France

The lone figure trudged across the open field, his hands in his pockets. He kept his head down as he climbed up the small, muddy slope. Distant thunder rumbled across the overcast sky from far away. At the center of the hill was a tiny shrine, a cross made from airplane propellers. A plaque attached to the cross explained who was buried there in French.

Lieutenant
Quentin Roosevelt
Escadrille 95
Tombé glorieusement
En combat aerien
Le 14 Juillet 1918
Pour le droit
Et la liberté

The figure gripped the cross hard and fought back the urge to cry as he remembered a previous lifetime.

"Quentin," Theodore Roosevelt said softly. "My little boy... Nearly one hundred years... one hundred. Not a day goes by that I do not miss you, or your brothers and sisters. I would give anything in the world to see them or you at least one more time, this immortality be damned."

"Attention, this is Mr. Roosevelt," the commlink on Teddy's lapel said."There is to be a briefing in the conference room in ten minutes. Your presence is required."

Roosevelt placed a hand on his son's grave and patted it softly.

"I'm afraid I have to go, my boy. I will see you soon."

Teddy keyed in buttons on his comm. A green aura appeared around him and grew brighter until he disappeared in a green flash.

---

Executive Branch Briefing Room
Ten Minutes Later

My fellow presidents," Franklin Roosevelt said to the three presidents in the room. Wedged in between Teddy and Nixon was the scowling figure of Andrew Jackson. "I also called Mister Kennedy to this briefing, but he appears to be... indisposed... We shall--"

Nixon scoffed loudly before clearing his throat. FDR stared coldly at Nixon, sucking on his cigarette holder before expelling smoke from his mouth.

"As I was saying, we shall endeavor to make due without Mr. Kennedy. Please turn your focus to the far wall."

The large monitor on the wall kicked on. Walls of numbers and data cascaded down the screen before the view shifted to a map of Russia. A bright red dot in the southwestern part of the map pulsed. A label identified the pulsing dot as Chelyabinsk. A video beside the map started playing a bright ball of fire falling from the sky before exploding over the Russian countryside.

"This meteor entered Russian airspace twenty months ago. The heat from the atmospheric arrival caused a massive explosion that destroyed most of the rock in the process. The majority of the object that made it through the atmosphere ended up in the Ural Mountains and nearby Lake Chebarkul. The Russian government and the global scientific community identified most of the meteorite fragments as ordinary chondrite."

Roosevelt waved a hand at the screen. The picture shifted to a zoomed in satellite photo of a piece of snow-covered land with several buildings grouped around each other in a semi-circle.

"Our spy satellite Nelson picked this site up after the official inquiry into the meteor was closed. Our operative codenamed PINBALL was sent into the facility to investigate. Through PINBALL's investigation we were able to identify an excavation project funded by one Konstantin Shastin."

FDR nodded, the monitor changing to a picture of Shastin, a trim middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, surrounded by other well dressed men as well as Saudi businessmen wearing the traditional Keffiyeh on their heads. Another photo showed shastin with Putin and his inner circle. Newspaper articles on Shastin and magazine covers flanked the photos and painted a picture of extreme prominence and wealth for the Russian.

"Shastin is a billionaire. He owns half the oil fields in Azerbaijan, the biggest telecom company in Russia, and is on the Executive Branch's watchlist. Shastin was a member of the Communist Party in the 80's, a member of the Soviet People's Geology Committee. After the fall of the USSR Shastin made alliances with young members of the government, most notably Vladimir Putin. We have reason to believe he has ties to the Secret Soviet Union, and has used his status with them to further his monetary gains. The site was put on immediate observation after PINBALL's discovery. We've been watching as they dig for something in the mountains, something related to that meteor. Almost twenty-six hours ago, the entire site went dark. No radio communication, no traffic in and out, and as far as we can tell no heat signatures from our satellite observations.

"Your mission is to travel to the Urals with our science team and investigate the cause of the radio silence. I have assigned you each roles. Cousin Teddy will coordinate and lead the investigation. Mister Nixon will be there in case magic was involved. General Jackson will lead a tactical team to act in support of our field investigators. General Jackson, your team will lead a small scouting party in advance of the science team's arrival, clearing the area for them before they begin their studies. You'll be wheels up and on the way to Russia within the hour. Any questions, comments, or general insight?"

"Just one," Teddy said with a grin. "Bully."