“What d'ya mean you're busy! This order is coming from on high, Mr Stone himself! Drop what you're doing and get over here!”

“Sorry Skronsky, sounds like it's your problem. I gotta hot date tonight with a college chick. She pays the bills modelling for f***s sake. I ain't skipping out on that to help your ugly ass.” The phone line beeps, signifying the end of the call.

Russel Skronsky looks at the phone in disbelief. He was, in a word, screwed. He'd gone through his entire phone book trying to enlist backup, and everyone was either busy or not picking up, and he sure as shit wasn't going back to Giovanni's place on his own, not while that psycho drifter could still be there. Therein lay the problem though, as Mr Stone was just as dangerous as any nutcase hobo, and if Russel didn't go back and get the money his boss was owed then Stone would have his guts for garters.

Skipping town was starting to look like the only viable option for him. He could run to New Jersey, he had family there that would hide him until all this blew over. After all, how long could Mr Stone hold a grudge for. Even as he thought it he felt his spirits sink. Stone would never let this go, the man had made a name for himself for being unforgiving. Russel would never be free of him.

He went into his kitchen, small, basic and almost surgically clean, completely unadorned by any personal touches. The bottle of cheap whiskey that he had been swigging from all night was sitting on the counter, an empty tumbler sitting next to it. He poured himself a generous measure and downed it in two swallows, wincing at the burning sensation. Afterwards he held the glass up to his eye, staring blearily at his reflection. His face seemed bloated and warped to him, but he couldn't decide if it was because he was well on his way to being pissed or the circular nature of the glass.

“God. . . You're pathetic Skronsky. Charlotte was right about you.” He spat at the tumbler, pity and self-loathing battling within him. He was so absorbed in self-flagellation that he didn't hear the squeak of the floorboards under the foot falls of an intruder, nor notice The Grim North's visage in the glass as he snuck open him. He wasn't aware anything was wrong until a thickly muscled arm encircled his neck, a scarred hand clamping down on his mouth in the same heartbeat, and by then it was far too late or Skronsky. He tried to struggle, but it was as useful as struggling against the coming winter, the grip he was in was so tight. He tried to scream, but he might of well as railed at an un-caring God, the hand on his mouth muffling all the sound to a weak mutter. He felt himself slipping from consciousness, and there was nothing he could do about it. His last thoughts were of what a pathetic end this was.

---

Didn't take me long to find Skronsky's place, not with Gio's directions. I got into his apartment building by buzzing his neighbours and telling them I was his brother from out west here to surprise him and asking if they'd let me in. People are so trusting when it's not their saftey thats in jearopady. After that it was an easy enough job to pick his locks and use the bolt cutters I got on the way to snip his saftey chain. He was that drunk he never even heard me come in. I knocked him out then before tying him to a chair, blindfolded and gagged o'course. He's just starting to come too now, which means the real work is about to begin.

Skronsky surprised me a bit, his home being neat and tidy. I was expecting a sty, but you know what they say about judging books. In fact his apartment is almost too clean, like it's a showroom in a furniture shop. I've placed him in his bedroom, it being the room the furthest away from his neighbours. It's an old building, good stone architecture, the sorta place that has natural soundproofing, but theres no point in taking in risks. Don't want one of his neighbours hearing too much and calling the cops before I'm finished.

My 'host' is starting to mumble into his gag now, telling me we better get this show on the road. I walk towards him slow, his head perking up at the sound of my approaching feet. I don't know what thoughts are going through his head, but I'm betting they ain't good ones. I put my hands on the side of his face, Skronsky trying to flinch backwards, but the binds hold him tight in place. I always was good at tying knots. I pull his blindfold down, but leave the gag, his eyes widening in terror when he sees my face. I step back, but keep my eyes on his, my facial expression carefully blank. I start speak, low and even. I want his attention on me and only me. He has to know that I'm the only thing that matters now, that and what I plan on doing.

"Glad to see your up again Russel. I can call you Russel, eh? Surprised that I found you? You certainly look surprised, that and terrified sh**less." I begin to pull my jacket off, slowly. In these situations its best that you go slow and smooth. That way the victim knows that you got time, and your planning on using it on them. His eyes are darting round the room now, looking for a way out maybe, but they keep coming back to me.

"Don't mind me Russel, I'll just hang my jacket up over here. It was expensive see, and I really don't want to get your blood all over it. And make no mistake, you will be bleeding. You ain't got a choice in the matter." He's whimpering now. I start roll my shirt sleeves up.

"The only choice you've got is how much you're gonna bleed. You're gonna answer some questions for me. If you refuse to answer, or if I think you're lying, I'm gonna hurt you. Bad. Understand?" He chokes something into his gag, and I think he nods his head, hard to tell since he's tied to the chair. I think he gets the message though. Skronsky's got a iPod docking station in his room, his iPod lying next to it. I walk over and fire on some tunes. It'll help cover up the noise of his screaming. I spend a few minutes scrolling through his albums, finally settling on 'Stuck in the Middle with You' by Steelers Wheel. If you've ever seen Reservoir Dogs you'll know why. Skronsky certainly seems to understand it though, a dark patch spreading on the front of his jeans. I force myself to grin at him, my hand picking up the meat hammer I found in his kitchen.

"Just so you know I ain't kidding around I'm gonna start with this then ask my first question. Sound unfair? It is, almost as unfair as three thugs beating an old man bloody and raping his daughter." Russel should probably be straining to hear me over the music, but I reckon he's only got ears for me. I stalk towards him, that animal grin still painted on my face. I can't tell if I'm really forcing myself to do it now, or if I'm actually just so used to it that it's coming natural.

Gerry Rafferty is just starting to get a feeling that something ain't right when I smash the hammer into Skronsy's knee.

Seems like they can agree on that much.

Randall

As the mercenary stood to leave his contact simply nodded and gave a thin lipped smile. "I'll inform our employers of your confidence and expect that they will not be disappointed." As War Pulse nodded the seemingly emotionless man waved him off and with that the mercenary had departed. Randall lingered by the table for several long moments as the waiter finally brought out the drink that War Pulse had ordered previously. A single tilt back of the glass downed the drink and there was no sign of discomfort or really any reaction at all. His gloved hand slipped into a pocket and pulled out a phone.

He dialed a number and midway through the second ring someone picked up. "It is done sir." Randall spoke. "The mercenary will be tested and the girl brought before you." A moment later. "No sir I don't anticipate any problems and you should have the answers you seek soon. Of course I will keep you informed. There should be nothing here to threaten the projects."

---

Within an unused warehouse, not the same one that had been so incompetently assaulted by a band of fools, an unusual woman worked. One of the walls had been practically covered with a branching series of images and notes, some of which were date stamped in ways that had to be mistakes. It was this wall that the woman was currently staring at. Her strangely canted orange eyes moving over the network of images and notes that she had assembled. It had been unfortunate that those fools had stumbled across her previous workplace, she had been forced to dispatch them, not that it had been difficult in the least but it had meant she needed to relocate quickly again and finding a new building had taken time.

She had briefly considered consuming the human Eric and using his dwelling as a base of operations but the thought had been repulsive for several reasons. Alsia had been conditioned not to see humans as a food source, and there was an odd emotional attachment that made her dislike the thought despite the inconvenience that operating out of another location while still residing in his residence caused her.

Her eyes had once again swept over the wall to fix on a particular image. A flag that had not flown in many years with two sets of three red diagonal lines around a strange hooked symbol flew above.... Her attention was suddenly drawn away as the security system she had upgraded alerted her to a presence in the vicinity. Another crop of foolish disgraces for bounty hunters rushing to the slaughter?

Aubrey Adkins
My powers have been nothing but trouble for me. Look where they have taken me! I’m tied up to a chair (or rather chained up, since, I assume, my captors did not want to take any chances with me breaking out of ropes or zip-ties), with enough anesthesia to knock out an elephant being pumped into me, just to make sure my already weakened powers would not be useful at all. I just hope the police or the FBI or whoever took my call were able to locate this place. I don’t want to know what would happen otherwise.

Then a woman entered into the room. She walked over to a table that was placed against one of the sides of the room and booted up the computer that rested atop of that table. After a few moments, she finally spoke, her voice revealing that she was at least part Eastern European.

“Ready?”

“Go to hell.” I said. In hindsight, I was not in the position to throw insults and use such fighting words. But I was under the influence of the heat of the moment. What did you expect me to say?

“I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to the customers.”

“Customers?” I asked, “Are you going to sell me like a slave?”

“No one will own you, technically,” she replied, “but you might wish that you were one when you learn what you are about to undergo.”

What the hell was she talking about? What the hell is happening? What type of freak show did I land myself in? Why is this always happening to me? What the hell are they going to do to me? Whatever, I don’t want to know. And the police are on their way (I hope). My healing factor should get me through this, shouldn’t it (as long as it is still working)?

As I was thinking these questions, the woman had already came up to me and placed her hands upon my face.

“Don’t worry, I’m killing two birds with one stone. I’m satisfying their needs,” she pointed toward the a video camera that was recording everything that was happening, “and I’m going to make it so that you will fill out that costume, or at least for the short amount of time you will have left alive.”

Suddenly, I felt pain so great that it was as if the very atoms that made up my body were being rearranged. This excruciating pain continued until the woman pulled her hands off my face. Even with my healing factor, I could already feel that I was starting to lose consciousness due to the fatigue of the experience.

When I peeled open my eyes, I saw black locks of hair before my eyes. That can’t be my hair. I’m a blonde!

“What the hell did you do to me?” I said. However, I did not heard my own voice come from my mouth. “Why do I have a freaking British accent?”

“Since you’re wearing a spider-themed costume, I thought it was apt to start out with Jessica Drew, a.k.a. the Spider-Woman.”

The woman pulled a mirror before me, allowing to see my whole reflection. Instead of seeing myself, I saw a real-life version of this comic super-heroine. And when I mean real-life version, I mean that the image I saw looked almost exactly like what this character would look like if someone had directly pulled her out of a comic book, anatomical impossibilities and all.

Due to the shock of what I saw in the mirror, I could not say anything. And even if I could have said anything, that woman would have already placed her hands on me for a second round of ‘extreme make-over’.

“Or maybe you would look better as Julia Carpenter, or Mayday Parker, or maybe even her mother, Mary Jane Watson-Parker? And don’t worry, we don’t have to limit this to spider-themed super-heroines, or even super heroes in general. I can make you look like anyone, fictional or real.”

And three times again I endured the pain that went along with this woman’s “extreme make-over”. And with each subsequent change, I felt myself slip further and further into unconsciousness.

“I can’t lie. You look better as a red-head,” she told me after she had lifted her hands away from my face.

“What makes you do this?” I could barely utter these words due to my fatigue, “Do you get some weird adrenaline rush? Or is it some type of fetish?” I had to take a deep breath in order to finish. “Either way, you’re a sick creep.”

“There’s a simpler, five-lettered answer. Money. As an adolescent, I was so confused. Abandoned by my parents as an infant, the manifestation of these powers. I tried to do right by using these powers to help others look better. And what did I receive in return? I was labeled a ‘witch’ and chased out of the town when some overprotective fathers and mothers incited a lynching mob after they found out that I had ‘enhanced’ their little ‘princesses’. So now, I use my powers to benefit the one important person in my life, me.”

“You’re just as bad as those creeps who consume your shit.” I retorted, struggling with every single word, “You’re just enabling them, which makes you just as bad.”

The woman seemed to have be unfazed by my comments, as she just smiled back at me.

“Don’t worry, MJ,” she said, obviously mocking my appearance, which she gave me, “We’re going to have a marvelous night trying out new looks for you.” She walked up to me and picked up the crucifix that was hanging around my neck on a necklace. “And by the look of things, Playboy might be in your immediate future.”

After she spoke, she again placed her hands on my face and the pain returned as the atoms in my body started to shift again.

Could I please go back to Lost Haven? I would so much rather be fighting demons than go through this, whatever this is.

The Shroud Syndicate was far from the only criminal game left in Lost Haven, despite the extreme successes that the Cowl had managed to bring about, and the large number of rival factions he had either ruined or assimilated there were still some other players left on the board. Even before the Cowl had arrived on the scene in Lost Haven to begin with there had been a group, a loose confederation of various criminals most known for their success in extortion and robbery known as The Crew had existed. It had been a seemingly leaderless and ephemeral group run by a handful of fractious leaders when he arrived. One would have thought they would easily been absorbed or driven out, and yet there was something that had kept them from simply fading away. Conversations and negotiations with members of the organization had yielded little save that there was a leader and that he would return.

Interrogations and attempts at coercion had yielded slightly more information but even when threatened with death few were willing to join the Cowl and most seemed to regard death by his hand no matter how brutal to be less hellish than what would befall them when, and it was always when, their leader returned. Still there had only been so much a somewhat disorganized organization could do, it had faded back into the shadows and there had been little heard from it. At least there had been little heard from it until now.

One of the few who had dared to defect and join the Shroud Syndicate was a man who went by the label of Mr. Shrike. He'd always been a shrewd man, predatory, and not afraid to take risks for what he perceived to be personal gain.He'd been one of the first and only sellouts from the Crew to join the Shroud Syndicate and he'd been rewarded for his defection. There he'd been middle management, with the Shroud he was his own boss heading a lucrative piece of the city. At first he had worried that a grisly fate awaited him after his defection, but the years had passed and there had been no retaliation leading him to believe that he had certainly made the right choice for himself. At least he had believed that until recently.

Several members of his personal entourage who had defected alongside him had been found dead over the course of the last week. It wasn't just that they had been found dead that put him on edge though. No that privilege was reserved for the manner in which they had died. They'd been found as little more than puss and decaying flesh, something that Mr. Shrike had remembered well from the old days. He'd increased his own protective detail, stepped up patrols, and begun to consider reaching out to his new leader especially since he had heard the Cowl was coming back to Lost Haven, surely he would be able to gain protection there.

In fact he had planned to speak to the man at the very gathering taking place this evening, and he had been about to leave his base of operations to go there when the attack had come. He had been prepared for the slug, ready for the shade, he had not been ready for the girl who walked out of every reflective surface in the compound and took the entire place prisoner all at once.

And now he found himself kneeling as the glassy simulacra of a women held a gun to the back of his head, along with the rest of his men. Someone had switched on the intercom and through the static and slight distortion classical music played.There came another sound along with the music, the clicking of metal on the hard floor as footsteps sounded and slowly grew louder. The seemingly fearless and predatory Mr. Shrike went pale as the figure who was the source of the sound came into view. The man wasn't all that intimidating looking, he wore a suit of sorts, black gloves covered his hands, the right hand clutched an ornate cane with a sphere at the top as the handle, his face was hidden in shadows cast by the old fashioned bowler hat he wore, and a lone glowing ember stood out from that shadow, the tip of a long cigar seemingly clenched in the man's mouth.

Flanking the man on his right was a veritable giant who stood at substantially over 7 feet, likely closer to 8 feet tall. He was a massive hulk of a man with pale slimy skin, a suit that was stained and discolored, hair that was long, greasy, and tangled all at once, and a bloated face. To the left was another man, this one however was barely visible as a man at all, it was more like a pillar of shadows had congealed and formed themselves into the shape of a man. With these two imposing figures at his side the central one drew closer to where Shrike knelt.

"You should have known better." The man's voice was a horrid croak that was phlegmy and harsh at the same time. "You were a witness. You knew I would return eventually." The man took a long breath and inhaled through the cigar to draw in a thick cloud of smoke that he seemingly swallowed rather than exhaling. His right hand moved over to the left and pinched the tip of the middle finger to begin to slowly pull off the glove there.

Mr. Shrike was never above begging for his life and with his eyes wide with terror the man began to vomit forth a stream of information. "The Cowl's coming back... Spare me and I can tell you where he is... I can help you... Please god have mercy..." His babbling grew more and more desperate as the glove was slowly slid off all the way to reveal the horror that lurked beneath. The man's hand was diseased, the flesh was purple and swollen, ridden with weeping sores and blisters that oozed a steady stream of noxious puss. There were no fingernails and the tips of his fingers oozed pus from the places where the nails should have been.

"There is..." The man's voice stopped oddly for a moment and so did the motion of his hands before abruptly restarting again. "no mercy for traitors and turncoats." The man leaned over and tilted his hat back so that his face was clearly visible mere inches away from Shrike's. The sight was truly horrifying. His face was a twisted mass of growths and rancid flesh. Oozing sores leaked onto folds of necrotic flesh and sightless eyes stared straight at Shrike's. There was no way the man should have been able to see, the growths and milky coloration of his eyes should have guaranteed that, and yet somehow he did. "You will die and you will suffer Shrike. But I will offer you a chance to speed your death and suffer less."

The terrible hand began to stretch out towards Shrike's face as the man spoke again, the long cigar still clutched in his teeth as he did so. "Tell me where the Cowl..." There was another of the pauses, more pronounced this time as the man completely froze before resuming motion again. "is and deliver my message, and I will let you die swiftly. If you do not I will let you linger in agony for days."

Surprisingly Mr. Shrike nodded and quickly spoke, telling about the place where the party was to be held, and then begging again for his life. But the man's hand simply drew closer again and the oozing fingers gently traced a line down Shrike's cheek. "Go to your new master. Tell him I have returned." As the man drew his fingers away Shrike's face began to blister, pustules growing and spreading like wildfire across his face and then spreading down over his body. "Tell him the Cancer is back." And at those words the many copies of the girl all pulled triggers in unison and all save Mr. Shrike lay dead. The Cancer and his entourage then departed, leaving the dying man gagging and struggling to his feet as his body was slowly consuming itself.

It was several hours later when the decaying husk that had been Mr. Shrike staggered into the Cowl's party. His body had largely putrefied and reeked at the same time as pieces of flesh were sloughing off of his bones. What remained was twisted and malformed, barely recognizable as the man he had once been. He staggered into the center of the room as guests, even hardened criminals drew back in horror and drew a final breath. "He's back." The dying man wheezed out. "The Cancer has come back" And then he collapsed dead as his body continued to consume itself, melting into a sludge upon the floor.

Soon after night fell on the city, Lyger made his way back to the French Quarter alley where he had last encountered the missing boy, Johnny Ellis. After prying the manhole cover from its setting, he finally descended into the sewers below the street. However, as his eyes adjusted, he realized something wasn’t right.

He wasn’t in a sewer.

Instead of the narrow, claustrophobic confines of a normal sewer, he found himself standing in a vast underground labyrinth with high arching walls and a wide walkway.

“I don’t believe it.” Lyger said into his comm. Set.

“What is it?” Harry’s voice echoed back in his ears.

“This isn’t a part of the sewer system, it’s almost like someone built a city under Lost Haven.” Lyger answered with amazement in his voice.

“Interesting.” Harry replied. “I heard rumors that the city had built something like this after World War II in the event of a nuclear strike. The hope was that the city’s best and brightest could survive there until it was safe to return to the surface. But it was always just that, a rumor.”

“Apparently not.” Lyger said as he continued to a cross section.

The path before him had collapsed in on itself, forcing him to turn to the right. Here, the corridor was divided by a stream of sewer water in the middle, leaving the walkway far narrower than the previous path.

As he began to travel down the new path, he soon knew that he was headed in the right direction. Laying on the ground several feet in front of him, he saw still glowing ember of a half smoked cigarette.

“Someone’s been here, recently.” Lyger said into the comm. as he knelt to examine the cigarette. Then, just as he straightened up and began making his way further down the corridor, he suddenly began to get the feeling that he was being watched.

As he continued ahead, he took a moment to look around, and satisfied that he was indeed alone, proceeded. He had followed the cavernous corridor for what must have been several blocks before he knew for sure that he was on the right path. Just ahead, he could see lights emanating from what appeared to be an alleyway that led away from the main corridor.

Then he heard voices.

Children’s voices.

He could hear children of varying ages chattering amongst themselves. It was at this point that he realized that he had indeed found the missing children. However, the children were not the only ones there. As Lyger approached the light, a cold chill ran down his spine.

Indeed he had found the children, most of who were bound to the walls or in cages that were spread out throughout the chamber. The chamber itself was a relatively small area of stone floor, which was encircled by what could best be described as a moat.

In the center of the chamber, there stood a vision right out of a bad horror movie. A pale man, whose skin seemed almost as white as snow. He was dressed from head to toe in black, which was a startling and almost unsettling contrast to his pale pallor. His long black duster, as well as the black bowler which adorned his head made him look to be an imposing figure, however, the thing that stood out most about this man, was his eyes, which were as black as night. There was no white, no iris…just a black void. He had only seen such a thing once before…the night he had found out about Addie.

The night he came face to face for the first time with a Dark Possessed.

“Harry, I found the kids.” Lyger said as he began to make his way toward the children and the dark figure. “Put in a call to the LHPD, send them to—“he was cut off as there was a splashing sound just to his side, and a pair of powerful arms grabbed him and lifted him high into the air, and then sent crashing into the ground.

The sudden impact had momentarily stunned him, however, as he looked up into the face of his attacker, he was shocked by what he saw. His assailant had been neither man nor beast, but something belonging to both worlds. And as the thing smiled down at him, flashing rows of razor sharp teeth, Lyger knew that he could very well be looking at Death himself.

“I don’t get it. You just fought off the Hordes of Hell, and some psychotic chick that Darwin could have wrote an entire book on, and this makes you nervous?” Eric said as he passed the mop over the glimmering surface of the dance floor one last time.

After weeks of anticipation, the club that Eric and Scott had been working feverishly to get ready on time was going to be opening its doors for the first time. They had worked day and night getting the worn down old building into shape and up to code. It was because of this, that Scott, who was usually the very definition of confident, found himself uncharacteristically nervous. What if all their hard work had been for nothing? What if The Hub failed to live up to its name?

“I don’t know what it is, but yeah. I’m nervous.” Scott admitted.

Eric was more than Scott’s best friend and business partner. If it hadn’t been for Eric, there would be no club. Not only had it been Eric’s idea, but it was also Eric who, while Scott was out saving the world as his blue and silver clad alter ego, had done most of the heavy lifting to get the club ready for the grand opening.

“It’ll be fine. I’ve canvassed the city with flyers. I’ve posted the details all over the web, and I got Mr. Brady’s kids acting like a street team letting everyone who doesn’t already, know that this is happening tonight.” Eric said proudly. “We’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

Scott was about to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of knocking at the front door of the club. Scott looked to Eric, who just grinned, as if he suspected that this was an early arrival to The Hub’s grand opening.

“I’ll check to see who it is.” Scott said as he made his way toward the front door, not giving Eric the chance to protest. Scott had no idea who could be coming to the door this early, they hadn’t been expecting anyone, and with everything that had happened within the last few days, he wasn’t sure that whoever it was had good intentions. However, when he got to the double glass doors and peered through the steel bars that protected the club should anyone decide to smash their way in after hours, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

“Amber.” He said as he unsecured the bars and opened the door for her. “Come on in.” he finished, smiling.

“Hey, I’d love to but I don’t have time. I have to get to the airport.” She said hurriedly.

“You’re going somewhere?” Scott asked, genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, I’m leaving town.” Amber said, her voice a mix of matter of fact confirmation and regret.

“What? Why?” Scott asked, genuinely surprised.

“Why?” Amber repeated. “Scott, why would anybody actually want to live here?”

“I-“ Scott started to say before Amber interrupted his thought.

“The crime rate is out of control, there’s always some sort of superhuman threat…hell, we just survived a demon apocalypse. No sane person would want to live here. So I’m getting out while I can.” She explained.

“Where are you going?” Scott asked, still in shock over the revelation.

“My sister has a place in Pacific Point.” She said, pausing for a moment. “Scott, why don’t you come with me? There’s plenty of room and we could eventually get our own place.”

“Amber, I’d love to….but I can’t. I can’t leave now, I…I have responsibilities here.” He said, a bit of regret in his voice.

“Responsibilities? Like what? The club hasn’t even opened yet, and Eric can handle things from here.” She said, her voice almost pleading.

Amber was the girl that Scott had wanted from the moment he got to Lost Haven, and though he had tried to resist his feelings for her, he wasn’t able to do it. And now, she was going to leave him, just like…

“I’m sorry, I just can’t leave now.” Scott said finally, ripping out his heart in the process.

“Alright.” Amber said as tears threatened to ruin her mascara. “Well listen, you keep in touch...and if you change your mind, let me know….but I have to run, my plane leaves in a couple of hours and I have to check in.” She finished, forcing a smile.

Before she could depart, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around Scott, giving him a big hug, the power of which surprised even him. Then, before she let go, she reached up and gave him a lingering goodbye kiss.

“Promise me you’ll keep in touch.” Was all she said as she let go and collected her small suitcase before disappearing down the street.

All Scott could do was watch as she walked out of view. When she was finally gone, he turned around and went back inside the club, his legs feeling like lead as he picked up the mop and again went over the already glistening dance floor, just one last time.

What seems like a whole lifetime ago. . .

Take a walk through Leith, a district to the north of Edinburgh, thirty years ago and you were like to get stabbed by one of the more colorful locals, for no other reason than being an outsider. A hotbed of prostitution, drug dealing and gang violence in the decades following World War 2, it wasn't difficult to see where Irvine Welsh gained his inspiration for Trainspotting, or why it was such a strong contender for Glasgow's 'Murder Capital' of Europe accolade. Of course those wild days were for the most part banished to the past after the Scottish governments 'Leith Project', a major refurbishment undertaking to provide the district with an economic boost in the early noughties. After that Leith became an attractive and charming center for tourists and locals alike, virtually unrecognizable from the pit of iniquity it had once been. Look hard enough though and you can still find a few blemishes on Leith's new squeaky clean image.

One of those blemishes is Christian Salvesen Transport and Logistics Warehouse situated on districts port front. At first glance little more than an abandoned warehouse, the remnants of a once great British company that had suffered a hostile takeover by a more dynamic French counterpart. Dig a little deeper though and you will find that the building is in fact owned, through several umbrella corporations and subsidiaries, by the Prince Foundation, run by none other than renowned entrepreneur and philanthropist Robert Prince. The mere fact that a man with such canny business acumen like Robert Prince would have such a rundown and dilapidated premise cluttering his portfolio may confuse most, but if you knew him better you would understand better why such a man would own such a place, and the easiest way to understand such things is to enter the Salvesen Transport building, to see for yourself what he uses the place for.

Tonight the supposedly empty building is playing host to four men. Robert Prince, Joseph 'Big Murph' Murphy, Martin Mackenzie and Caine MacFondóir. All four are in the large open space that once served as the hub of Salvesen's good's delivery service, the place cold and smelling of damp. Martin, a bald and overweight middle-aged man, is stripped to his underwear while bound and tied to a chair, a ball gag stuffed in his mouth. Prince has a look of dispassionate calculation, as if Martin is a sports car he is considering buying, but only because he feels his station dictates he should have one and not because he wants one. Murph is muttering to himself while setting up a trestle table that he had fetched from a back room, placing a variety of sharp and brutal looking tools and implements upon it. Caine merely waits, his expression fixed like stone while he waits to find out why Prince has called him out here. He doesn't have to wait long for an explanation.

"Gentlemen. Mr Mackenzie here has served my father as an accountant and trusted confidant for several years. Misplaced trust, as it has turned out." Martin wailed wordlessly into his gag, his eyes wide and bulging. If it was a plea to his innocence then no one was listening to it. Robert gave him a sharp eyed glare before continuing on.

"Mr Mackenzie has been feeding both information and funds to fathers rivals, the Morrison brothers. I'm not sure why he's been doing this, but I would like you both to find out why, and whatever else Martin may know that could be useful to me. Afterwards I never want to see or hear of my fathers wayward accountant again." Martin's wailing began again, and even Robert's glare couldn't silence him this time. With a sigh Prince turned to Big Murph, cocking his head at the bound man. Murph smirked and strode over to the accountant, barely pausing to thunder his big meaty fist into the fat man's midriff. So powerful was the blow that Martin was knocked backwards, his chair tipping him to crash onto the cold concrete. Martin's groans and Murph's chuckles mingle in the cold night air of the warehouse, the big man stooping to pick the chair and it's captive back up. Prince turns to Caine while this is happening, MacFondoir's features troubled.

"Talk to me Caine," Beckons Robert, his voice low. In the background Murph strikes Martin again, the thick thuds of a man being beaten providing what should have been an uncomfortable backingtrack for conversation, one that doesn't seem to bother any one present save for the one being beaten. "Tell me what's on your mind."

The big highlander looked glances around the room, his eyes settling on Murph, the trestle table, the implements of torture, a shattered buckie bottle lying in the corner, even upon the terrified Martin Mackenzie, anywhere save at Robert Prince. Caine MacFondóir, a man more than willing to wade into a bar filled to the gunnels with large, violent, borderline psychopathic Glaswegians and call them all a bunch of p**fs, was at that moment feart to speak to his best friend. Caine owed Robert a lot, being closer to the wealthy crime lord than he is or has been to anyone on the planet, including his parents, and the thought of disappointing Prince was abhorrent to him. That said Caine's skewed sense of morality was pricking at him now, and with some effort he brought himself to broach the subject, blowing air through his teeth in an awkward sigh.

"This don't sit right with me Rob. You know there ain't many lines I ain't willing to cross for you, you know I'll face any man you ask me to, or be a knife in the dark when it's needed, but torturing a man in cold blood? I'm struggling with this one, really struggling."

Prince looked back at his friend pensively, lifting his hand to rest it on Caine's shoulder.

"It reassures me so much to hear you say that Caine. Only a mad dog would take pleasure in a task such as this," Focus temporarily shifted to Big Murph then, whistling a jaunty tune to himself as he rhythmically slapped Martin across the face, again and again. "This has to be done though. Martin has betrayed my fathers trust. When the Morrison's rolled over our bookies on Phillips street? Don't you think it's funny they knew when to strike, the day that our money was being moved. That was because Martin sold them information. I want to level the playing field. I want him to tell us the Morrison's plans. . . "

"But torture!" Caine interjected, waving his hands at the scene of violence in the background. "The man's terrified already! He'll talk now, just ask him the questions! We don't need to set Murph on him!" Although he wasn't shouting the tension was thick in MacFondóir's voice. Prince fixed him with another steady look, slowly nodding his head.

"You're right Caine. I've already got the information I want on the Morrisons, and the iron is in the fire for that one. Here, tonight? Martin is going to suffer tonight, all because he knifed us in the back. What happens to him is going to serve as a warning to everyone else. Do not f**k with me, or it will not end well. This is about reputation. You can understand that, can't you?" Robert wasn't a lumbering musclebound giant, like Murph, or a savage with an innate understanding of combat like Caine though, but he was dangerous on a far more insidious plane. Prince could speak and make people listen, to convince them that his logic was the only type that made sense. He had an easy charm that made folk feel like they were the only thing on the planet that mattered, and an ability to read people that allowed him to slip past their defences. All these skills were in full flow now, and Caine's resolve was crumbling faster than a sandcastle during hightide.

"I dunno the first thing about this typa thing though. . ." muttered Caine, shame filling him as he realized he was really about to go through with this.

"Murph does though," Answered Robert, "He's had experience with it when he served. He'll teach you. If we want to make our mark then we need people to fear us. Your my right hand. We need them to fear you. I need you to do this." The two friends stared at each other, the air chill between them. After what seemed like an age a sigh finally dragged itself from Caine's mouth.

"Lord forgive me." He whispered, his fists clenched tight. He turned on his heel and marched towards Murph and Martin.

"Let's do this big-man." he called. Murph turned to him, a fierce grin breaking his face.

"Knew you'd see reason lad! You always do!" laughed the big man. It wasn't long before the two of them had Martin singing a merry tune, Robert Prince already fading back into the shadows.

War-Pulse placed a foot up to the ledge of the building he was on top of, peering over to a nearby warehouse in the abandoned projects of town, conveniently one of the locations that his target had been spotted in. Again he was attired in his signature attire, silver and black, light ceramic nanoweave with titanium layering, a well-made custom fit battlesuit for occasions just like this, given a dynamic flair with a longcoat blowing in the slight breeze of a warm autumn night in Lost Haven. He had this suit made for him so he could be distinguished on the battlefield, so those he encounted knew who they had been annihilated by, and the reputation this battlesuit carried was well known now at least in the criminal underworld, so on most accounts it served its purpose. Of course, now it would have an adverse affect to those in the city, as they all knew him very well as one of the heroes of D-Day, so he never really broke out the suit for interest in not being chased down by interpol.

And yet, today he wore it, because today he had a job to do, and he'd need every advantage he could get.

Before he had come to this warehouse, he had given Warden the vocal recording of what happened to the last team that had tried to bring in the target. As per his usual monotone, paranoid responses, Warden was able to offer him a few bits of advice. One was that this woman was prepared for intruders, if she was where the dossier said she was, she was probably somewhat fortified in her position, as well as wary of pursuers. The other was that she seems to have a superiority complex, by the way she chastised the bounty hunters before she killed them, she indeed thought she was at least a little better than her pursuers.

But she had not met Pulse yet.

Unfortunately, Warden's comforting assistance would not accompany him on this mission, after their conversation, Warden had told him he had some things to take care of, and would be unavailable for the mission. Of course, what originally went through War-Pulse's mind was what else a guy who was in permanent hiding had to do, but he quickly perished the thought from his mind. Warden had set the terms for their working relationship, and War-Pulse would oblige if he wanted the continuous stream of information and data from god-knows-where Warden gets it. He was not to ask about Warden's life or location, he never even met the guy in person. Warden contacted him a few years ago with a proposition, a small cut of War-Pulse's earnings in exchange for connecting him with more high-profile work to suit his needs, and the man had never disappointed him. However, the only real part of Warden that was ever given to War-Pulse was that Warden's mind was genetically-enhanced, and he was part of the U.S. government at some point, anything else Warden kept very close to his chest. He could not argue with results, and if Warden thought this girl was going to see him coming, he saw no reason to doubt the guy.

Hopping off his perch, he quietly glided though the air on energy emissions from his hands, hovering above where the cameras of an average warehouse would be looking, in an attempt to get some sort of element of surprise as he touched down on the roof of the building. The woman was smart, if she was here, she picked a very good spot to hide out. The nearby neighborhood was all but abandoned, this particular warehouse not being in use for a good few years. On top of that, as War-Pulse quietly crept along the dirty plastic scuffling, he noticed another key element to a good hiding spot, a very large lack of windows, be it on the roof, or on any of the walls when he surveyed the building on his way over. Nobody would be able to look in, making this place not only inconspicuous, but almost totally unnoticeable. For a minute, War-Pulse had to wonder if he was simply going to have to tear the roof open to drop in on her. Fortunately, this would not be the case, instead locating a doorway on the rooftop with a nearby plateau. Sliding up to the door, he tested it quickly to check if the door was locked, twisting the handle to hear the familiar click of denial. Undaunted, he simply continued to twist, snapping the handle from its hinges as if it was made out of tin foil. While the sound was indeed audible, it was far more subtle than simply kicking the door down, and War-Pulse figured that it would be drowned out by other strange noises in this part of town.

As he made his way down the steps, into the poorly-lit caverns that was this warehouse, his muscles began to tighten in anticipation, his body reacting to the tension of having no real clue what he was about to face. His hands clenched, eyes darting to and fro for signs of movement, his heart even began to jump a little bit. He had not been this excited for hunting in ages, and he was reveling in every second. There could only be two outcomes of what would happen in that warehouse, from War-Pulse's point of view. She either would not be here and he would have to check her next locations, or she would be waiting for him to put him down like the other mercenary rabble she'd encountered so far.

And he'd be ready and waiting.

I think it is too early for this. I'm still too shaken up after mom... No, I wrench my thoughts away from what I had seen. My eyes scan the street in front of me as I look for any movement in the shadows that doesn't belong there and I don't see anything out of place. I wouldn't have come out here tonight myself, it had taken prodding, a lot of prodding before I finally gave in mostly to get Emily to cut me some slack about it. But maybe there is something to what she said. The cold air is refreshing and if I do find some criminals or Dark Possessed to stop it probably will feel good to get to blow off some steam.

I'm lost in my own thoughts of distractions and walls made in my own mind, trying to think about anything other than what happened to mom. Okay anything other than what happened to mom or those dreams that have started up again. So lost in thought that when the front door of the one of the houses I'm passing by opens I don't notice it until I hear footsteps coming towards me fast.

I whirl, my hands lifting both of my blades up into ready positions instinctively. The golden blade gleams in the light of the street lamps but does not glow now and the jagged black blade glints briefly. As I take a ready position I see my attacker through slits in my mask and suddenly feel foolish for how jumpy I was being. Before me stands a four year old girl who is sobbing and heading towards me. My blades return to their holders as I drop down to a knee and pull my mask up to show my face. "It's okay little one." I say and smile comfortingly as I let the panicked girl wrap her arms around me.

"What's wrong?" Already alarm bells are going off in my head, a little one like this shouldn't have been able to get out of her house to run and hug a stranger.

But the little one is too distraught to answer. I mutter a curse under my breath and hope nothing too horrible is happening while my hands instinctively move and I speak words I can barely understand before releasing the child. A golden bubble of light surrounds her and I turn towards the house, drawing my blades again and noticing that now the golden one glows once more. "Stay there, I'll be right back." I say in an attempt to comfort her and run into the house.

A hand of shadows reaches out from the darkness at the doorway and I slip under it, slashing a luminous blade clean through the spectral limb. The Dark are here. The voice in my mind that is like me but says things I don't know how I know speaks assertively and my lips form another series of words. "Aldras vo narel" A wave of golden light washes out and banishes most of the shadows but not all and my eyes widen. The words had banished all the shadows I had seen in my dreams and driven back the Dark I had fought already.

I see shadowy chains coiling along the walls of the room and I drop to the floor just before they shoot across the room to try and snare me. I raise both blades at once, slicing through the links of the chains to make several of them fall limp. Then I vault over the couch before the next set can hit me, hearing the thuds as they strike it and the frame groans. Another series of words fills my mind and I yell them out in a bit of panic as I start to hear faint and very female laughter coming from the shadows. "Aldras nex volis" A blade of light sweeps a circle around the room, cutting off the chains at their roots and burning away the supernatural dark within the shadows. I suddenly feel drained though and I still hear the laughter as I climb to my feet.

I see the woman across the room and I think she has just descended the stairs. In the light of my blades I think she must be the little girl's mother, but something is very wrong. Her eyes are pools of darkness and the shadows trail from her, ethereal chains twisting and turning around her body. I feel a rush of recognition. I know who, no, what this is. A very long word that never ends plays in my mind before a shorter form fills my mouth. "Krysenna. Release the girl's mother."

"I don't think so." The woman, no, the force possessing the woman retorted, a grotesque grin stretching across her face. "You are all alone now young Adeline. The others of your order are dust, those who have not joined us. As soon you shall." And I see her throw back her head and laugh with that strange echoing laughter the other dark possessed had had as well.

Instinct tells me what to do and I barely am aware as I shout the same words again "Aldras nex volis" and the blade of light whips around the woman, slashing through the gathering chains of shadow as I dive forward with my golden blade outstretched. I see her stagger back and the darkness starts to reform but I can be faster, I can strike her down before... I give a strangled cry and with difficulty move my arm, the blade missing by just a fraction. I cannot kill her, as my instincts scream. I will not take this girl's mother like mine was just taken. Still I crash into her and both the dark possessed and I go sprawling.

She is lost! My mind screams at me and I shudder. The Lords cannot be removed. My mind insists as I try to resist the impulse to just stab with the golden blade. Then the choice is taken from me and I find myself thrown against the wall. Darkness swims before my eyes as I see the shadowy chains that struck me wrap around furniture to haul the woman back to her feet.

"Your humanity is ever your weakness. We are beyond you foolish girl." The woman began to monologue as she walked towards me. I would laugh from the cliche if I wasn't gasping for breath and in danger. "I will enjoy breaking you..." Suddenly it clicked, a scrap of lore appearing that felt even older than the voice that spoke to me most of the time. The name is her.. it was only a fragment and it might not work but it was worth a second's hope at least. I interrupt the monologue, reciting the syllables that popped into my head with the name and I see a scowl form, then a pained expression, then the chains lash out towards me again but I manage to raise my blades and cut through them.

I continue to chant and it seems to be working as she staggers back, the chains falling away into normal shadows as she does. Then finally after what seems an eternity and I am running out of syllables to say a cloud of darkness far more thick and vast than any I had seen before pours out of her mouth and streams towards me. This I do know how to deal with though and I shout the words I have come to know. "Aldras vo narel" The golden light sweeps the darkness away and the woman collapses.

I climb to my feet and rush over to her. I press the blade to her but she does not scream and it does not smoke and I know I succeeded. I suddenly feel completely drained but I help the woman to her feet and lead her out of the house to where her daughter is, the golden globe having just faded away. I watch and then am brought into their embrace and I feel happy for a moment. I had made a difference here and Emily was right. It did feel good.

Aubrey Adkins
Why the heck am I keep blacking out? Seriously, this is getting ridiculous! And you can’t blame me on this one. What am I supposed to do when that crazy b**** seems to be rearranging the very atoms, of which my body is composed? But for real, I really don’t want to know whose body I’m going to be waking up in.

What the hell has this world come to! I’m worrying about what I’m going to look like when I open my eyes, as if people could actually drastically change the appearance of others without major surgery. This all has to be a dream. It got to be. When I open my eyes up, I’m going to find myself back in my room, safe from any crazy people or demons.

Nope. Still tied to a chair. And this is definitely not my body. I have my blonde hair back, but only God knows whom that woman transformed me into. Well, that woman herself probably knows, although I doubt she going to be telling me it anytime soon.

So, Aubrey, what’s the bright plan for getting yourself out of this mess?

“Don’t worry, child, for I have come to your aid.” I heard a voice behind me. That’s definitely Athena. Why couldn’t she had performed some ‘divine intervention’ several hours ago? I have to say, that woman drives me crazy.

“Can’t you keep your voice down? They might hear us.” I told Athena, with a voice that sounded foreign to me. It was strange hearing a different voice resonating out of my mouth. I don’t think I would ever get used to it.

“Don’t worry, Aubrey. Just like in Book Alpha of the Iliad, no one can see or hear us.”

“How the heck does that work? And what obscure reference did you just pull out of thin air?”

“οἴῳ φαινομένη: τῶν δ᾽ ἄλλων οὔ τις ὁρᾶτο.”

“That’s all Greek to me, Athena. English please?”

“Well, it is indeed Greek,” Athena said with the biggest smirk on her face. I bet she enjoyed pointing that one out. “Anyways, I said: ‘(she, of course me) appearing only to him. Not anyone of the others saw her (i.e. me again).”

“Okay.” I began, leaving a pause afterwards because I really didn’t know how to respond to that. “What’s the plan?”

“This.” After Athena made that quick comment, I heard the chains that had bound me crackle as they were forced apart.

“What? You’re not going to do anything else?” However, I would not be getting a response from that mysterious woman, for she disappeared just as suddenly as she had appeared. That woman. She just drives me up a wall. And that’s without my wall crawling ability.

Then the door creaked open. Well, looks like I just traded one insane person for yet another equally disturbed person. This is just spiteful.

“That’s quite a wonderful idea.” The woman mumbled to herself, “That combination of body parts would actually look quite good on this girl. However, as countless times before, things don’t always look as good as they seem to on paper.”

The woman walked up to me and was about ready to place her hands upon my face, intending to inflict even more pain on me by changing my very genetic make-up. However, since Athena had released me from by bonds (but made it seem like I was still tied up), I immediately retaliated before that insane woman could even lay a single finger on me. Before I knew it, she was sprawled on the ground, grasping at her nose as blood soaked her hands.

“TURN ME BACK, YOU BITCH!” I yelled. I have had enough of this body manipulation crap.

“Why would you ever one to be changed back? You will be the paragon of female beauty.” The woman said as she still gasped in pain from me probably breaking her nose.

“Or do you mean the paragon of the objectification of women? I don’t want to be some weirdo’s sexual fantasy. I just want to be ME! NOW TURN ME BACK TO NORMAL!”

“Fine, you win.” She said, “Come down here and I will change you back.”

In my own eagerness to return back to normal, I blindly obeyed her, thinking that she would indeed turn be back. I had just broken her nose. What more could she do to me?

“But before I do that, I’ll show you the true meaning of objectification.”

How did I not see this one coming?

Isaac woke from his own bed with a jolt, as if he had electricity running through his veins. It’d been a few days since he’d woken in the hospital and he’d made short worse of leaving without a trace. Unhooking himself, stealing his file from the nurse’s room and making an unceremonious exit between their nightly rounds out the window.

Since then he’d put himself to work on establishing himself once more in this version of Lost Haven. Again, he leased several properties under a wide array of pseudonyms, with rent funneled via an untraceable offshore account carefully selected for its own lax extradition laws. None of the houses or apartments were particularly fancy, but they’d all serve a purpose. A quick refuge and a way of splitting his time, leaving no set patterns in terms of his place of residence.

He’d learned a lot about how to protect an identity over the past decade. And in this world, he knew that there were no cost for those experiences.

He also had the pleasant surprise to find that his trip to Gunny Bracken had paid off. Presumably, the old man had seen his exploits on what they now called “D-Day” and packed a kit bag full of supplies, leaving at the previously agreed upon dead drop.

In terms of his other activities, and alternate “nightlife” he’d been pretty quiet since that night. The finger had been healing, and he knew his priorities should be towards setting himself up. Bouncing around fighting a one man war, unprepared, and with less than full dexterity did not seem remotely intelligent. He knew there were others who could pick up slack in the short term – it’s not like the world was going anywhere, not yet anyway – and he had no cover story. A stranger from a foreign land with little plausible reason or alibi for being anywhere.

That was what he was getting ready for now...

He dressed decently, Terrarian Warriors jersey his response to the bitter cold weather, and shaved to make his first impression a respectable one. He checked the mirror and straightened the crooked collar over. Big day this one.

Isaac pulled the car up into the Visitors car park of Lost Haven University and stepped out. He walked across to the main quad where a girl 5 to 7 years his junior stood with a clipboard and a bottle of water.

A clipboard, a bottle of water and a group of kids closer to 10 years younger than himself.

“Okay! We’ve lot’s to go through today, and I have about 5 more groups to go through this morning!” she explained with far more enthusiasm than Isaac saw as necessary – or even possible – for what must surely be a tedious task at hand. The girl crossed off names on the clipboard and took off, with the group scrambling behind.

Isaac no longer had to ask himself the question of why she had the bottle of water on an otherwise cold and overcast day.

Isaac got dragged around several areas and sections of the school that had no relevance to himself. The sciences wing, dorms, had the odd frat house pointed out as they passed, the gymnasium. The girl pointed out a distant building as the Legal/Historic wing, which was of interest to him since he’d have a number of classes there, but was informed there’d visit that later in the tour.

“No time now! We hit that on the way back around!” she called back, zooming onwards ever faster. She had stragglers at this point, a few struggling to keep up with her breakneck pace. But the girl had a mission.

Liberal Arts building, more dorms, the on-campus post office, campus security building, Medical wing... Then Isaac saw something which took him back and gave him a nostalgic feeling he just couldn’t explain. The sports field they were passing. A dozen or so students playing rugby in the Maine mist and mud. Isaac gazed across the pitch with a smile crossing his face. He hadn’t played for years, but still it was something from home.

A mud-covered student limped to the side. Isaac looked for the girl leading the group but she was long gone. Apparently his wistful few seconds had been longer than they had felt.

“Oi kid. Need one more? Which way were you going?”

The student pointed in a direction, but Isaac never saw. He was already 20 metres across the pitch, running towards the ball.

The prow of the ship cut smoothly through the clear moonlit waters of the harbor. It was made in an olden style and sails spun from an emerald cloth billowed as a strong wind propelled the ship forward. But the other ship's flags did not stir at all. The ship came up to the pier and the sails fell slack as the wind abruptly died away. A group of men in dated formal wear waited on the pier and tied up the ropes to connect that ship to the dock. A ramp was wheeled over to the side and hooked to the ship as several more men whose skin were tinged with green walked down the ramp and disembarked. They dragged a bag that poured out dirt onto the ramp

The tallest man turned and then bowed along with the others as another figure drew close to the ramp but did not yet disembark. "Highness, we welcome you to Lost Haven, our Lady in Green."

Alannis' full emerald lips quirked upwards and she took a step forward onto the dirt covered ramp. Her green dress trailed behind her and she flowed more than walked forward with grace and poise broken only once. A higher wave broke against the ramp and water spilled over to wash away some of the dirt. She moved around the water but a hiss of displeasure escaped as her hand brushed against the railing on the ramp.

Her eyes were hidden but the tall man felt them boring into his own as Alannis flowed down the rest of the ramp. She spoke not a word and turned dismissively away from him. Two of the men walked before her and two followed with the tallest man walking beside her but subtly behind. The silence lasted until Alannis and her escort reached a waiting limo. The men opened the door for her and with a graceful motion she slipped inside.

"Have you prepared my residence?" Alannis' voice was life itself and resonated gently. "And identified the prey?"

"Yes Highness we have. The man called Cowl is merely human but commands many followers throughout the city, and the pestilence that walks like a man has returned to challenge him for lordship."

Alannis was quiet for a long moment before her full lips formed a smile. "When two alphas clash one emerges broken and defeated, the other broken and triumphant."

"Highness?"

The Emerald Queen caressed his arm and smiled a secret smile. "When they have spent themselves then we will strike and devour." Her voice was throaty and dripping with anticipation as her tongue licked her emerald lips. "But now we will send messengers to both of them. We have to prime the pump."

The rotting, putrid body of what was previously known as Mr. Shrike now lay at the feet of The Cowl, bubbling audibly as his muscle and bone degraded into a putrid mass of guts and liquid. He had barely made it into the doorway before this thing followed him, delivering his cryptic message before collapsing to the floor. The door guards gasped and tried not to vomit, a few of the guests who were near one of the factory doors were either shrieking in terror or had fainted. Of course, at this point nobody knew it was Mr. Shrike, or even anyone they could recognize, but the idea that someone infiltrated The Cowl's welcome home party and delivered a biohazard wrapped in a message was enough to cause panic to the guests who could either see it or hear it deeper into the factory.

However, The Cowl simply took a step towards the melting flesh, letting out a unsettling, amused chuckle at the sight, kneeling down to get a better look at it.

"Well, it's nice to know someone out there considers me enough of a threat to give me my first welcome home present." He mused, surveying the damage. "I haven't been forgotten, it seems." His gaze shifted to a few thugs nearby, collectively jumping at his glance. "Get the Hazmat Suits and get this cleaned up, this was a factory at one point, they should be nearby."

As he rose to his feet, Wesson stepped to his side, gun drawn and pointing at the flesh puddle now oozing onto the carpet. "The Cancer...the name sounds familiar."

"It should, dear Wesson." The Cowl responded, placing his hands behind his back and leaving the scene. "I suppose one could call him metahuman as well, though he predates this new metahuman crisis...and myself in terms of this city's criminal organizations. He leads a group called the Crew, while not as well-known in the underworld as our esteemed organization or groups like the Cyning Family, they are not the type of group to be underestimated."

"You've...met them before?"

"Hah, met them? Wesson, they were the first to reject my offers for partnership. I sent them a emissary, they sent me his body in pieces...they are a very paranoid bunch. They probably think I'm back in town to take them down...poor fool..."

"So...how do we respond?"

The Cowl paused for a moment at the question, halting in his tracks to consider the option laid before him. A few seconds passed, before The Cowl responded in a surprisingly delightful tone.

"Well, I suppose if they want a fight, we can oblige...for now, I want you to send The Cancer a fruit basket."

"A...what?"

"A fruit basket, apples, bananas, oranges, grapes...the works." The Cowl chuckled as he spoke, beginning to ascend a large series of staircases, moving through the scattered crowds of partygoers that parted as soon as his presence was known, their faces struck with awe. "Add a 'thank you' note to thank him for his generous warning."

"I...I'll get right on it..."

"Good," The Cowl stated, stopping short of the large office situated at the top of the factory, with windows looking into what used to be the production room. He gave the guards covering the room a look, and they scooted aside for him. The Cowl turned to Wesson one last time, finishing his sentence. "I have a Syndicate to address now, do you have any other questions?"

"A few." Wesson replied. "But we can talk more after."

"Very well." The Cowl said. "Then I will leave you to it."

And with that, he passed the mighty armored guards, gliding into the office to a few more guards inside, with Wesson trailing in behind. The Cowl passed by the desk, looking out the window to the party going on below, his eyes surveying the guests who had dared to make their appearance. The party itself was a mixture between a refined, graceful gathering and a rave, an odd amalgamation between those of the upper class and those of lesser fortune. There were all sorts of people attending, from millionare playboys, esteemed members of high society to common gangsters, pimps, and prostitutes. The sheer variety would astound most outsiders, but this was who the Cowl drew in, the people in this building owed the Cowl their very livelihoods, many of the public official's representatives attending knew they had to attend on risk of losing their funding, but many seemed to be enjoying the more risky activities offered at the party. There was music, dancing, drinks, drugs, a celebration of their current wealth and power, all thanks to the Cowl.

And yet everything came to a stop once The Cowl spoke into the microphone, carrying his smooth, charismatic voice to the ears below.

"My friends! It has been too long!" The Cowl spoke to a small cheer at his very voice. "Too long since I walked the streets of Lost Haven with you! Too long since I've enjoyed the sights and sounds of this little island on the coast of Maine. Too long since I have shared a drink with those I call our brothers and sisters!"

Another cheer from the crowd, pleased with the beginnings of The Cowl's speech.

"However, this is not a time for celebration, nor is it a time for reminiscence." His voice dropped to a baritone as he spoke, his original cheery voice fluctuating to a serious flat tone. "No, this is a time of far greater importance to our organization, as it is a time for action." As he spoke, he grabbed one of the papers from his desk, staring at it as he spoke into the microphone. "As many of you have become increasingly aware, Lost Haven is changing...altering under its own urban mantle, it no longer is a city of cops and gangsters...no, this city is changing to become a city of capes, a city of tights, a city of superpowers, demons, and forces many cannot comprehend."

At his speech, many below began to boo at the mention of superhumans and demons, many probably still sore from the events of 'D-Day'.

"No no no, calm yourselves, my brothers and sisters!" The Cowl assured them, his silky voice calming their ire. "This is not the end of our operations as we know it, nor is it the end of the Shroud Syndicate. This is merely...an alteration, a change, a test of our resolve. In order to exist in this new city, we must not remain stagnant in our approach, or we will risk loosing this city to men like The Cancer, who actually just gave me a very lovely welcome home present, as many of you are aware."

Another boo at the mention of The Crew's leader. It looked like a few were aware of this man.

"No, if The Shroud Syndicate is to continue its operations here in Lost Haven, then we must adapt, we must change and evolve for this new city. The superhuman intrusion is not a destroyer of our way of life...it is an opportunity for greatness! A new arms race, a new market that we, The Shroud Syndicate, should jump on without haste! After all, who are we if not opportunists? We are the whispers on the backs of politicans, we are the hands that feed the hungry and the poor with the goods we take from those in excess. In every shadowy alley on Earth, we exist, on every continent we sow the seeds of great network! We are the Shroud Syndicate, and we take what we want!"

A rousing cheer from the men below, approving of The Cowl's short speech.

"So we will take this superhuman market by storm, and we will show every metahuman in this city that The Shroud Syndicate is not a organization to be trifled with! So enojy this party! Enjoy the people, the food, the drink, the drugs, whatever you are into! For tonight is the last celebration we will be doing for a long, long time. We start tomorrow, and we will sink back into the shadows of this City, manipulating what needs to be done to secure out position. There is much work to be done, ladies and gentlemen, and I trust each and every one of you to pull through, as you trust me to lead you into a new tomorrow!"

And with another rousing cheer, The Cowl placed his microphone back on the desk and walked out of the office.

"Excellent speech, sir." Wesson said, trailing behind the Cowl's graceful pace once more as he passed by the door guards. "Will you be attending the party?"

"No, I won't." The Cowl responded. "I have no time for celebration, gather a handful of men and prepare to leave to a the compound. If that corpse made it here, The Cancer and Crew may know this party exists, and I'm not going to be caught with my pants down here."

"But the guests?"

"Are all very good at self-preservation, and the men here will be sure to give any intruders a hell of a fight, one not worth the resources if I'm not here to be killed." He then motioned to the building. "Also, once the party is over, destroy the factory."

"Sir?"

"I don't need it, and we don't need any outside forces thinking we use this thing as a base. Tomorrow the others may begin work, but we start tonight. On the fruit basket, I need you to give the Cancer a number."

"A what?"

"A phone number, I'd like to speak with him personally, see if he is dead set on this war between us." The Cowl hurried out of the building back to the nearby car. "Then I will begin preparations for giving these 'heroes' a taste of what this city can really offer."

"As you wish, boss."

Zac WIlson | Kelly Brown
Friday night. For Zac and Kelly, that meant movie night at their apartment. This night, it was Kelly who was in control of the movie selection, which of course meant that Zac would have to endure another chick flick. But that what relationships were all about: compromises. And this time next week, it would be Zac’s turn to pick the movie and Kelly’s turn to suffer through a sport’s movie or whatever Zac would pick.

Curling up on their couch, the young metahuman couple proceeded to watch Kelly’s selection, accompanied by a bowl of popcorn. And even though Kelly was technically now taller than her boyfriend, she still laid in his arms. It was just what felt natural. When you have lived the majority of your life under the six foot mark, some habits just cannot be broken easily.

“I haven’t lost my appeal ever since I became taller than you, have I?” Kelly suddenly asked her boyfriend. This question took Zac by surprise. Kelly had been acting very strangely as of late, and this occurrence was no exception.

“What type of question is that?” Zac asked, turning his attention away from the movie.

“It’s just a question.”

“Well,” Zac began, trying to gather his words together so that he would not say anything stupid. “Of course you have not lost any of your appeal. Although I would be lying if I said that I did not wish to be the taller one in this relationship, I would bet that almost any guy would think that. You’re still my beautiful girlfriend.”

“And what about my wasp appearance?”

“Kelly,” Zac said as he turned to his girlfriend, “I wouldn’t change anything about you, even though your DNA happens to be spliced with the one animal that scares me silly.”

Zac bent over and planted a quick kiss on Kelly’s cheek. When he sat back, he saw that Kelly’s mood seemed to have improved. He hoped that this would help Kelly get whatever that was causing her to act so strangely behind her.

“Could we pause the movie for a sec?” As soon as Zac had pressed the ‘pause’ button, Kelly immediately hopped from her spot on the couch and darted into their bathroom. While waiting for his girlfriend, Zac switched the input setting on their TV, changing the channel to ESPN. However, what was on that channel made him want to turn back to Kelly’s chick flick.

ESPN was milking the controversy that had surrounded ever since someone leaked some information that suggested that Zac might be a metahuman. While the ASC athletic program had at least convinced both the media and the NCAA investigation that Zac was not a metahuman, the most recent ‘development’, if one could call it that, was that Zac was now (or rather has been) taking MGH, or Metahuman G[/b[rowth [b]Hormones.

Zac knew that he was not a cheater or a fraud. Yes, Zac was a metahuman, but he never used his powers to benefit the team. Heck, it would be blatantly obvious if Zac was using his powers. The raptor tail alone would give him away. And he did not have a significant healing factor at all, so he could not heal faster than any of the other athletes. This whole mess was just a giant headache.

Zac flipped back to the paused movie. And he did so just in time, because he heard the backroom door open back up.

“Ready to start the movie back…” Zac began, but he cut himself off when he turned toward his girlfriend. Kelly had changed into her pink bathrobe. But that was not all that had changed. She had deactivated the power-nullifying wristband that clung to her arm. Her lips were glossed over with a dark yellow lipstick. And Zac could tell that his girlfriend had tried to apply some make-up that would complement her yellowish skin tone.

“Do you still think I look beautiful?” She asked her boyfriend as she took a seat next to him.

“Of course.” His trembling voice did not help Zac’s case at all. Nevertheless, Kelly began to lean towards her boyfriend. In response, Zac just took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips against Kelly’s. After a few moments, they parted their lips.

“Maybe we should hit the sack early tonight.” Kelly suggested to her boyfriend as she began to rise form the couch.

“I thought you really wanted to watch this movie? And it’s not even midnight yet. Isn’t it a little early for bed?”

“I think I know something we can do that we both would like better.” Her voice sounded more distant than the last time she spoke, since she had already started to head toward their bedroom.

“Okay. Just be warned that next week is my turn to select the movie.” Zac said as he pressed the ‘stop’ button on the remote controller. However, Zac didn’t heard a response, or rather he did not heard one from Kelly’s voice. Instead he only heard the bedroom door click.

When Zac peered over his shoulder toward their bedroom door, he realized that Kelly’s robe had been abandoned in front of their bedroom door. Then it dawned upon him: Kelly really did mean hitting the sack.

“I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t” Zac mumbled to himself. “Now I’m really between a rock and a hard place.”

The thing that bothered Zac the most was the conversation that he and Kelly had in Lost Haven about their living arrangement. Could Zac live with the consequences? But if he did not go, Zac assumed that Kelly would accuse him of lip service. Indeed, he was between a rock and a hard place. After a few moments pondering over what he should do, Zac finally rose from the couch, picked up his girlfriend’s discard robe, and entered their bedroom.

“I see we have an interloper, my dear children.” The black clad figure said as the man beast stood over Lyger, glaring down at him with his razor sharp teeth bared. “I fear that this intruder is here to take you from your family. To take you from me.”

Lyger rolled to his feet and took a step towards the figure in black, however, the reptilian man beast blocked his path.

“Well, indeed. We can’t allow that, now can we?” The man said, shaking his head emphatically. “No, no we can’t. Korda, dispose of this…intruder.”

No sooner had the figure in black given the order than the large reptilian man lunged at Lyger, who’s quick reflexes allowed him to roll out of the way before the man beast’s claws slashed against the concrete where he had just been. Korda let out a snarl as he looked around to find Lyger already on his feet.

Before Korda was able to pounce again, Lyger held his fist out in front of him, and fired several of the tranquilizer darts that Harry had dubbed as “stunners” at the reptilian. The stunners, Harry had told him carried a payload of a strong tranquilizer that would “put down an elephant.” Though Lyger didn’t know if these claims were true, the darts had saved him life on more than one occasion, most recently when he had been outnumbered by The Franchise’s men at the weapons warehouse.

However, to his dismay, Korda’s thick, leather like skin proved too tough for the darts to penetrate. Instead, the stunners bounced harmlessly off of the reptilian’s hide. The large man beast looked down at the spot on his chest where the darts had contacted, and as his gaze returned to Lyger, a thin smile appeared on his lips.

“Nice try.” The beast said, his gravelly voice echoing within the chamber as he charged the young hero.

Lyger again tried to dodge Korda’s attack, however, this time the man reptile man was too fast for him, snatching Lyger’s arm in his powerful grip as he was trying to escape. Korda pulled Lyger closer to him, then lifted him by the arm and again pulled him to the ground, positioning himself on top of the hero. With Lyger beneath him, Korda began snapping his jaws, his razor sharp teeth coming inches from Lyger’s face.

Lyger grabbed Korda by the throat and pushed with all his might to keep the brute’s razor sharp teeth from sinking into his flesh, however, the oversized reptilian man was too powerful, and Lyger found it nearly impossible to keep the monster at bay. As Korda brought his gaping jaws closer to Lyger’s face, so close that the young hero could feel the hot, putrid breath of the monstrous reptilian seeping through his mask.

Lyger managed to wriggle his other arm out to the side, and with it free, he was able to land a powerful punch to the left side of Korda’s jaw. Surprised by the sudden attack, Korda gave a pained snarl as he tried to bite down on Lyger once again. However, the hero pushed against the reptile man’s face with his hands. Lyger pressed his thumbs into Korda’s eyes, which elicited a cry of pain from the man beast.

The distraction gave Lyger the opening he needed. He was able to slip out of Korda’s grip and get to his feet. Lyger knew that he was overmatched by the powerful reptilian man beast, so before Korda could recover, Lyger pounced. He unleashed a volley of punches and kicks, knees and elbows that battered the reptilian’s head, neck, and face.

Korda lashed out with his claws, slashing at the air, however, Lyger was able to easily block or dodge each attack. Korda got back to his feet and hissed angrily and he lunged again at Lyger. However, Lyger lashed out with a powerful front kick which made contact with Korda’s knee. The kick knocked Korda’s leg out from under him, and as he fell forward, Lyger leapt forward and delivered a knee to the butt of the reptilian’s chin, shattering several of Korda’s teeth, and causing him to land in a heap on the cold stone floor of the cavern.

Lyger waited for a moment, and when Korda didn’t get back up, he turned his attention back on the mysterious figure in black.

“You’re done.” Lyger said as he approached. “I’m taking these kids out of here.”

There was a flash of movement behind Lyger, and judging by the grin on the man’s face, he knew that Korda was once again about to be a problem. However, when Lyger turned to face the reptilian, instead of seeing the jagged teeth of the monstrosity, he was instead met by the sounds of splashing water. Korda was gone. Beneath his mask, Lyger smiled as he again turned to face the man in black.

“Now, where were we?” He asked as he closed in on his foe.

Aubrey Adkins
I finally opened my eyes after I had been knocked out after another session of ‘extreme make-over’. After quickly scanning the room from where I laid, I concluded that no one else was left in this god-forsaken room. Still a little groggy from the effects of having your atoms being rearranged, I slowly picked myself off the ground.

Then I remembered what that woman said before I lost consciousness: “I’ll show you the true meaning of objectification”. As I peered around the room, I forced myself not to look down; I didn’t want to see what I had become because of that sick woman’s mind. However, that plan of action was rendered obsolete when I looked into the reflection given off by the free-standing mirror which that crazy woman used to show me how she had transformed me.

OH. GOD. That can’t be my reflection. It can’t be. This has to be a twisted dream.

I closed my eyes and pinched my arm, hoping that this would make me up from this ‘dream’. When I reopened my eyes, that same reflection still stared back at me, to my disappointment. Heck, I knew that this nightmare was real even before I gazed into the mirror for the second time because I had to pull reddish-orange hair away from my face.

I stepped closer to the mirror in order to get a better look at how that woman defiled my body. How in the world is my body functioning when it’s so outrageously disproportional? How is my waist not snapping in two? Heck, I would bet that my current waist would have troubles supporting someone who is otherwise regularly proportioned. And how is my back not straining under the weight of my new, um, assets? 50 bucks that my healing factor is saving the day. Well, if that woman was intending to transform me into some sort of sex slave or whatever, she got my body right. At least she didn’t change my personality to match my body.

I then took a firm grip of the mirror and hurled it towards the wall on my left, causing glass shards to scatter as the mirror collided with the wall. Of course destroying the mirror wouldn’t change the reality of my current appearance, but I needed to do something to blow off steam. And to be honest, throwing that mirror actually made me feel a little bit better.

Crap. And I’m not talking about the bad luck that is supposed to follow from breaking a mirror. Heck, considering my luck, what else could go wrong? What I was really worried about was that breaking that mirror created a loud crash. If the police had finally arrived, they might stumble upon my, fully clad in my super-hero attire. While I was not worried about them discovering my identity from looking at me because I did not look anything at all like myself, I was actually worried about explaining where Aubrey Adkins went, since it was Aubrey Adkins who called the police.

At the same time as my spider sense was blaring in my head, alerting me that someone was opening the door, I shot a webline at my mask that was laying on the table and yanked it back to me. And then, in one swift motion, I pressed a button on my wristband, causing my superhero tights to be replaced by my regular clothes, which now obviously did not entirely fit me properly.

Luckily, my regular clothes finished replacing my spider-themed costume right when the door opened. Into the room walked two men, who had bullet-proof vests that had ‘FBI’ plastered on the front. I would have guessed that the older of the two, who seemed to be in his mid-thirties, had an Italian heritage. The other man seemed to be closer to me in age. Both of them had their handguns drawn in their hands.

“I don’t think she’s the mastermind behind this, Mario,” the man, who was closer in age to me, said as he lowered his weapon.

“What makes you so sure, Matt?” Mario responded while he gave his colleague a puzzled look.

“I just don’t think that the person who is behind all of this would transform herself into the Sorceress from Dragon’s Crown.”

Mario just continued to give Matt a puzzled look. “English please, genius. Not Nerdinese”.

“Well, when the game was announced and subsequently released, there was a controversy over how women were portrayed in the game. Of all possible people and fictional characters, I think that this character would be the least likely choice.” He gestured towards me to prove his point.

From what I could read from Mario’s body language, he still seemed suspicious of his colleague’s reasoning. Even I would be suspicious, since what would stop that woman from performing her ‘extreme makeover’ on herself so that she could slip out as a ‘victim’? Luckily for them (but not for me), I was actually the person who was transformed into a very physically exaggerated video game character.

“He’s right. I’m Aubrey, the girl who gave the tip where this place was located.” Gosh, I have another British accent (or a quasi-one. Something just did not sound quite right).

Now here comes the difficult part. How do I prove that I am Aubrey Adkins? My captors took all my person possessions that I had on me, so even if the FBI found my stuff, it wouldn’t prove that I am Aubrey Adkins. What was I going to do?

Then one of their phones went off.

“This is Russo.” Mario answered. As the FBI agent listened to the person on the other side of the line, Mario glanced at me for a few seconds, then looked to his partner.

“What happened?” Matt asked his colleague while Mario was hanging up his cell phone.

“We found the woman behind all this.”

“Great!” I said, “That’s mean she can change me back. I don’t want to be in this body for any longer than I have to.”

“Well, that might be a problem,” Mario replied to me, a sorrowful expression appearing on his face.

“What do you mean?” I asked. What was the problem? I need to be changed back. I can’t live the rest of my life in this body.

“Well,” the FBI agent began, “she tried to escape by pretending to be one of the victims. However, when one of the actual victims recognized her, she pulled out a gun. And, well, in response to this, one of our agents shot her in order to protect the other victims.”

“WHAT! SHE’S DEAD?” I sunk to the floor, weighted down by this revelation. How was I going to return to normal? This woman’s death has trapped me in this body. “This must be a mistake. I can’t be imprisoned in this body!”

“Well, taking into consideration all the fan-art for that character, you’re actually lucky that your current transformation is quite modest compared to other, um, interpretations.” Matt said as he tried to console me about my current situation.

“This is modest?” Well, that sealed it. There are some crazy perverts in this world.

But before I could heard the FBI agent’s response, I felt an immense pain roll over my body, pain that felt just like what I endured when I was undergoing the ‘extreme makeover’. But how could that be? That woman was shot down during her attempted escape. But when the pain was finally over and when I looked up, the two FBI agents had blank stares.

“What?” I asked. However, my voice no longer had a British accent. In fact, it was my normal voice! And when I grabbed a lock of my hair, I saw that it was no longer that reddish-orange color, but my natural blonde! Then I immediately asked for one of their smart phones so that I could check if my whole head was back to normal. And I had to ask for a smart phone because I kind of already smashed the mirror that was in this room.

And when I turned on the phone’s camera and held it as if I was going to take a selfie (of course I wasn’t going to take one, because it would be weird taking one on an FBI agent’s phone), I saw my normal face on the phone’s display screen. It was such a relief to see my own face, not some fictional character’s face. Unfortunately, it appeared that only my head and skin had returned to normal. Everything else had remained the same. Well, one thing at a time, right?

“Are you a metahuman?” Mario asked me.

“What? Me? Of course not! Maybe the transformations caused by that woman are only temporary.” I tried to lie my way out of this mess and I hoped that my excuse would cut it.

“We know for sure these transformations are not temporary. None of the other victims have shown the same symptoms.” Matt countered my attempt to hide the fact that I am indeed a metahuman. Now what I was supposed to do now? Continue to try to lie my way out or come out clean?

Or I could tell a half-truth. I could let them know about my healing factor, but there was no reason to reveal my spider powers.

“Okay, I’m a metahuman. I heal very quickly. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Well,” Matt began to speak, placing his hand on his chin, “mattering on the nature of you healing factor, your body might be attempting to repair itself. It’s kind of similar to how DNA ligase checks and fixes mismatched amino acids. However, in your case, it seems like the margin for error is probably close to zero, if not zero exactly.”

“Is he always like this?” I asked Mario.

“You have no idea.” Mario chuckled as he answered me.

Zac WIlson | Kelly Brown
Zac stared up at the sealing of their bedroom while the rays of the sun began to peak through the blinds that covered their bedroom windows. In his arms laid Kelly, still enjoying her deep sleep. As Kelly softly breathed in and exhaled in her sleep, her insect wings gently buzzed, matching her breathing pattern. While this sound would have usually freaked Zac out, for some strange reason, at this time, it did not bother Zac at all. In fact, somehow it almost seemed soothing to him.

This situation felt so unreal to Zac. Over the last two years that Zac had known her, Kelly seemed to have been the type of girl who would abstain until marriage. With that said, it seemed entirely bizarre that Kelly was the one who initiated it. Even Zac had some worries about taking their relationship to this step. However, after the fact, something just felt right, as if something clicked. He just did not care that the girl clinging to him had the physical features of a wasp. She wasn’t just a wasp-girl to him; she was his girlfriend.

However, this blissful atmosphere was interrupted by the ringing of Zac’s cell phone, which he had left back in the living room. Intending to catch that call, Zac wiggled his way out of Kelly’s four-armed vice-grip, almost waking her up in the process. But to Zac’s relief, his girlfriend just rolled over in their bed, facing the other direction.

Once free from Kelly’s grasp, Zac hurried as silently as possible over to his phone, reaching it right before it went to his voice mail.

“Hello? This is Zac Wilson.” He said into the phone, trying to keep his voice down enough to not wake the slumbering love of his life, but loud enough that whoever was on the other side of the line could still understand him.

“That’s wonderful news.” Zac responded to the voice. “I’ll come down to the Athletic Center as soon as possible.”

Zac rushed through his morning routine, even though it was a Saturday morning. In his rush to get to the Athletic Center, Zac showered, scarfed down his breakfast, and threw on some clothes. However, before he departed, Zac entered into their bedroom again and stood next to the bed. He bent down and planted a quick kiss on Kelly’s cheek.

“You were right, Kelly. You are beautiful.”

Before leaving, Zac scribbled down a short note on a sticky note for Kelly, letting her know where he was going. And just to leave a little mystery to it, he only mentioned that something good had happened. He gently placed it on her nightstand. While he thought that she might have been humored if he had placed the note on her forehead, he decided that he would rather not risk her taking it the wrong way.

---

A Few Hours Later
“I feel like discarded trash.” Kelly cried as she described what she saw as her plight to her best friend, Sammy. “When I woke up, he was gone. First I thought he might have been in the other room, but he was nowhere to be found.”

Sammy sat next to her best friend. Even though Sammy had told her (or rather typed out for her) not to do anything rash or stupid, Kelly still went and slept with her boyfriend. And in Sammy’s book, Kelly really screwed up. Kelly, while feeling paranoid about whether her boyfriend was cheating on her, rushed the most intimate part of any relationship. She warned her not to do it, but Kelly did it anyways. But since she was Kelly’s friend, Sammy had to be there to support her, no matter what. In times like this is when friends show their true colors, and Sammy’s were obviously golden.

“And the note that he left was even worse.” Kelly wiped away the tears that rolled down her cheeks, even though they were almost instantaneously replaced by new tears. She then took a sip from her cup of Coca Cola. While she usually would drink the diet brand, Kelly was craving sugar and the diet version just could not cut it. “He wrote that Victoria is better in bed than I am. And that means that I wasn’t his first.” After saying what she thought she saw on the note, Kelly broke into more tears.

What Kelly claimed Zac had written sounded off to Sammy. While she did not know Zac as well as she did Kelly, what Kelly said just did not sound like her boyfriend. Heck, he still remained with her over the past few months even after they got their powers. If he had wanted to get a ‘normal’ girlfriend, he probably would have done so sooner than now. Therefore, Sammy hopped over to her laptop and, using her cat paws, typed “Can I see the note?”

Kelly nodded her had to Sammy’s request, pulling out a wadded up sticky note from her pants pocket. However, when Kelly dropped it in front of her best friend, Sammy threw up her paws, trying to show that she does not have thumbs and therefore cannot open the wadded up paper. Kelly immediately saw her mistake and began to unfold the stick note.

Then a TV bulletin appeared on the television screen. The anchorman began speaking about how two super powered individuals had foiled a bank robbery. Then, the TV station showed some amateur footage shot by a bystander at the bank. In the footage, Kelly saw Victoria, but she was dressed in a flowing, silver dress and was using what seemed to be magic to stop the bank robbers.

But then there a tan and brown blur rushed onto the screen, landing a kick on one of the robbers. When the blur slowed down, Kelly saw that it was Zac, wearing his brown and tan costume! But this was not the worst of it. After the two super-humans had foiled the bank robbery, Zac kissed Victoria, almost as if both of them knew that someone was filming them!

Kelly rose from her seat, setting down her cup and the sticky note, unfolded now, on the coffee table that sat in front of the couch. “I’m going to have a few words with my dear boyfriend. You would think that someone, who is terrified of wasps, would think twice before upsetting his wasp-girlfriend,” Kelly announced, despite the fact that Sammy could not do anything to stop her. What could a girl, whose head is attached to a cat’s body, do against a meta-human that had super-strength? Therefore, Sammy just sat there, watching her friend storm out of her apartment.

Once Kelly had left the apartment, Sammy turned her attention to the note that Zac had left Kelly. After she had read it, Sammy sighed, knowing that Kelly had to have misread the note or that something was wrong with her. It did not even mention this Victoria girl at all. In fact, it only mentioned that he would be gone until this even, but he would have pizza and some wonderful news when he returned.

Me and Skronsky finished having our 'little chat' about five minutes ago, now I'm just scrubbing myself clean in his bathroom sink while the man himself is having a much deserved break. As I wash my hands the water comes away a deep blood red. Funny, Lady Macbeth went mad cause she couldn't get the blood of one man of her hands, yet I've had the blood of hundreds try to stain mine and it seems to me it gets easier to clean off every time. Maybe all she needed was practice. Doesn't take long before I'm squeaky clean, ready to move on to the Forge, a gym owned by Redford Stone that Skronsky tells me he can be found at most nights. Apparently the Forge was the first premises that Stone ever owned, and still serves as the epicentre to his empire, both legitimate and illegitimate, to this day.

Now I'm going on the hope that what Skronsky is telling me is on the level, which it may well not be. The thing about using torture as a means to gain information is that eventually whoever being tortured will just start spouting out anything they think they oughta be saying, hoping that it'll make the hurt stop, whether it's true or not. A quick scan of google tells me that the Forge is, in fact, owned by Redford Stone though, so chances are good that he is there, or failing that I'll be able to find someone else who can tell me where the boss man is hiding.

Suitably clean, I had back through to Skronky's room. He's still strapped to the chair, half passed out but still groaning softly. I feel a pang of guilt at the mess he's in, all because of me. Left foot pulped to a bloody mash, bone and blood staining the carpet. Both his knee caps are shattered, he'll be lucky if he ever walks again. His left hand ain't nothing but and onion looking ball now since I removed his fingers. That's an old practice that Big Murph was partial too, apparently ancient cultures used to cut off the fingers of captured warriors left hands so they couldn't hold a shield any more, making them useless as soldiers. Dunno how applicable that is nowadays, but Murph always liked the symbolism and I ended up picking up his bad habits. The rest of Skronsky is a mess of bloody welts and cuts, his face so swollen and bruised that he barely resembles a person any more. And that's where the real value of torture reveals itself. It's all about sending a message, of letting everyone know that your not to be trifled with. It's saying 'Don't mess with me, or bad shit will happen.' Prince taught me that, and here I am years later, calling myself a better man but still up to the same old tricks.

I'm throwing my coat back on when Skronsky's phone begins to vibrate on his bedside table. The man himself comes to, eyes opening groggily as he hears the incoming call. He's still gagged, but I can hear him groaning something through the cloth in his mouth. Sounds like 'who is it?'. People's minds work strangely when they're suffering as much trauma as Skronsky is right now, their priorities get all skewed, the mind struggling to put everything in order. Why else would he care who's calling him. I've got a passing interest in who might be phoning too though, so I pick up the phone, the caller ID telling me it's 'Mr Stone'. Perfect.

“Hush up now Russel, or I'll lose my temper with ya.” My host complies quick, seems he's much more amicable to my demands now. What a surprise.

“Skronsky, it’s Stone. I’ve got a lot to say and not much to say it, so keep your mouth closed.” That works for me. “We’re getting word from the Shroud Society, and its not good. That Crew’s rearing its ugly ass head again, and it seems like they’ve got some sick Meta leading them. Stands to reason that it was one of their guys that clipped you boys earlier. I’m gathering all our soldiers, ready for when the Cowl takes it to them. I need you back here at the Forge, so forget the diner, that can be dealt with later. First we deal with the Cancer.”

“The only cancer I’ll be dealing with is you pal, and it’ll be a damn pleasure to cut you out.” He set me up so well with that cancer line that I had to interject. Completely worth it too, I can almost hear his tiny mind working at the other end of the line. His breathing increases in noise and tempo. Something tells me Redford is gonna be a screamer.

“WHO THE F**K IS THIS!” Looks like I was right.

“Me? I'm the Grim North, and I'm coming for you. Best you get your affairs in order quick.”

“OH IS THAT SO?!? YOU THINK YOUR TOUGH!?! YOU THINK YOU CAN TAKE ME OUT!?! I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU TRY YA MOOK, I'LL KILL YOU WITH MY OWN HANDS!?!”

“We'll see.” I answer, then hang up. Man like him, wont be used to being hung up on, probably infuriate him. Couple that with my casual death threat and let him stew on that for a while, by the time I make it to the Forge he'll be hopping mad. Good for me, mad guys make mistakes. Just like Da always said, “Keep em' mad Caine. You make a man mad and you got him outnumbered, cause he'll be scrapping with himself as much as he is with you.” Every move, every decision, every choice Stone makes with me in mind now, they'll all be that much closer to being the wrong ones, all because he can't keep hold of his temper.

One other plus side of me and Stone's wee pow-wow is that I now know him and all his guys are gonna be at the Forge for definite. Might sound strange, being pleased that all a gangsters soldiers are gonna be near at hand when your planning a one-man raid against him, but it works out in my favour. See, its not just Stone I gotta take apart, nuh, I gotta put paid to his entire organisation, otherwise there's a risk of one of his lieutenants moving in to fill the void that Stone will leave after I've dealt with him. So I might have to assault his home base with all his boys manning the ramparts, and sure that's dangerous as all hell, but once I'm done those boys will be so scared of me that half of them would rather go straight than risk crossing me before. I've done this sorta stuff before, so I know what I'm talking about.

My only concern is this talk of the Shroud and the Crew, the Cowl and the Cancer. That all stinks to high hegion, probably some type of shadowy criminal organisation, something like what my old buddy Prince is running. If Stone is a member of one of those typa clubs then that means even if I do put him down, and even if I do get rid of everyone of his guys, then chances are that somebody else will be waiting in the wings to jump into those shoes. If that is the case then I could be about to bite offa lot more than I can reasonably chew. With limited information and options, couple with the fact I'm the kind of guy that thinks he has a hammer while the rest of the world is a nail, means I ain't got no choice but to go ahead with assaulting Stone regardless, and deal with whatever fallout that the Shroud Society throws my way.

My course set, I begin to prep myself for what's to come, stuffing my jacket pockets with makeshift weapons. Good thing about this jacket, the pockets. I lifted it off a French gangster, a former rival of Prince's, who was also a amateur stage magician. The gangster had the jacket custom made with bloody hundreds of hidden pockets, all the better for conceal handkerchiefs up his sleeve. Been wearing it for three years and I'm still finding new pockets in it.

I take a rake of knives from Skronsky's kitchen. Da always said “Never can have too many knives”, that being advice I've lived by. I lift his glock, and after a bitta rummaging I manage to find a few spare clips to go with it. I ain't the best gunslinger in the world, but I know enough to know which end the bullets spew outta, and besides I'll probably need every edge I can muster. I craft a few more fun lil toys from some odds and ends that I find in Skronsky's apartment until I'm satisfied that I'm ready to party.

Before I disappear I untie Skronsky, stuanch his wounds and call an ambulance. Might seem strange, considering I'm the one that put him into the state he's in, but I need him being a message for everyone to see. Dead men make poor messages. Death's too final, at least for my purpose. Russel looks ready to pass out as I'm leaving. Not all that surprising considering.

Russel's excitement is coming to a close. Mine's just about to begin.

Another long day had passed for a man named Julius Dorian, a City Councilman and wealthy entrepreneur who funded most of the development of the French Quarter, as he had spent most of his day helping the rest of the Council divert resources to fixing the damages done by the infamous 'D-Day'. For them, there was still much to do, even though the initial crisis had passed thanks to the intervention of the many colorful heroes of Lost Haven, including no other than the city's newest mascot, the hero known as Icon. Of course, Julius had his own opinions about superpowered unknowns flying around his city, breaking and smashing their way to what they considered 'justice' but at the moment he was being overruled on the subject as the Council decided not to look this gift horse in the mouth while their city was in dire need of enforcement and control.

As he unlocked his front door, he noticed something particularly odd about his home, mainly that all the lights were off and he did not hear the familiar footsteps of his housekeepers or his family. It was 9pm at this point, his family would have no business being in the city without him, and his housekeepers did not typically leave the home until midnight or later.

Something was definitely askew about the whole affair, moving to his Study, he called out into the darkness of his home.

"H...hello?" He called. "Sheryl, are you home?"

No answer, the proverbial silence allowing his voice to travel through the surrounding darkness. He reached the first light switch in his home, revealing the hallway to be barren and empty, almost untouched from when he left for his meeting this morning. He began to feel the cold sweat dripping down his spine as he continued towards his study, once again calling out into the darkness.

"Miguel? Bethany? Sara? Is anyone home?" He called out again, his eyes drifting now to outside to see if his bodyguards were at least in view of the household. Again, no answer, the house still entrenched in darkness and silence. He reached into his coat pocket, his fingers sliding along the .22 Revolver he keeps strapped to his torso, rounding a corner to reach for another light, hoping his study would be unmolested as the rest of the house was.

As the lights came on, he realized his hope was woefully unfulfilled. Sitting in his favorite chair, at his desk, sat a man dressed in black, a hood over his head and a mask hiding his face, calmly waiting for Issac to return home.

"Y-you!" Was all he managed to get out before he felt four large hands grab his arms and force him to his knees.

"Yes, me." The Cowl said, slowly rising from his chair and leaning onto the desk. "And you and I have some things to discuss."

"Where is my family!?" Julius asked, struggling as his two captors wrestled him to another nearby chair, their hands reaching into his coat and grabbing his pistol, tossing it to the ground before the desk.

"They're fine, no need to panic, my dear Mr. Dorian." The Cowl responded. "I managed to get your wife and children to enjoy themselves with a night on the town, and I told your housekeeper that he had the night off. You should really pay Miguel more, by the way, he keeps this place fairly spotless." He sighed, moving from the desk toward the center of the room in a calm, graceful stride. "You bodyguard, however...he was much harder to convince...unfortunately he had an 'accident' with the nearby cliffside of your manor...my condolences in advance."

"You...what do you want?" Julius huffed, trying to keep his composure. "The word was that you would be in Asia...I had been informed that as long as I stayed out of your way and kept quiet you wouldn't come back here anymore."

"Yes, that was the case when I left..." The Cowl mumbled, now pacing in front of Julius, reaching down as he passed to pick up the revolver. "But in my short absence, times have changed, haven't they? Last I checked, demons weren't walking the Earth when I was building my empire...which leads me to the reason I'm here..." The Cowl placed a finger under Julius' chin, lightly coercing the Councilman to look up at him "These new occurrences have changed the way we have to do business, and how you're going to help me keep this city under my thumb."

"Fuck you, you hooded thug!" Julius responded, breaking his composure at the mention of the new elements of the Lost Haven. "I did my part for you, we had a deal, you can't extort me like this again!"

"I can't?" The Cowl scoffed, walking a few steps forward, very friendly in tone as he extrapolated "Last I checked, I could do what I pleased in this town, because I'm the one that keeps the seedier parts of this city in check. Thanks to me, this city is not constantly embroiled in gang wars like it once was."

"Bullshit! You just say that because you unified most of them under your banner!" Julius retorted.

"Which I think is better, don't you? A city with only a few organized crime lords seems much more functional than the mass of gangs that once plagued lovely Lost Haven. Admit it, since you became much more lenient on us, The Shroud Syndicate has done you quite a service in terms of how crime is conducted." He gestured out the window, motioning to the city beyond Julius' manor. "I mean, your wife and children can go enjoy a night in the French Quarter without too much worry, am I right?"

"Even so, we...we don't need your kind of help anymore. Haven't you heard? The city is under new enforcement now, better enforcement, ones who wear capes and tights, people who could flatten your whole shadow regime in no time!"

"Oh?" The Cowl seemed genuinely curious about Councilman's speech, though hardly threatened. His shadow now circling the chair as Julius continued to berate him, his motions like a vulture waiting for the dying lion to quit roaring before it finally choked on its own blood. "This I need to hear, do go on."

"That's why you're back, isn't it? You slimy degenerate, you came back because you're afraid of losing power. These heroic types are going to rip everything you spent so much time building to the ground, they're going to bring a much-needed light to this dark city, and you're finally going to taste the receiving end of a beatdown. Your time is up, and you're just in denial. Face it, Cowl, the Shroud Syndicate is about to come tumbling down."

The Cowl paused in his circling, taking a direct b-line to Julius' chair. He leaned down, staring Julius directly in the face, the two steel blue pupils leering out from under the hood like two stars encompassed by the abyss, nearly glowing in the dim light of the room as he spoke in a direct, serious tone. "Your words are hollow, Mr. Dorian. Much like your marriage from what your wife said to my men. As much as you want to believe what you are saying, these 'heroes' as you call them have to do much more than punch out a few street thugs, and both you and I know this as fact. This new element is not the final nail in my coffin, it is simply a test of my structure. I will adapt and change to fit this new world, and I'm going to have your help to do it. You want me to step into the light? Sure, I could do that, but I'll drag you and half this city into the light with me, so what's it going to be? Are you going to help me, or am I going to tell this city how you really get funding for your business?"

A brief silence filled the room, the Councilman lowering his head and thinking about Cowl's threats, a sigh left his hips before he stated in a defeated whisper. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to ask questions, ask the people of this city how comfortable they are with these masked vigilantes, what they really worry about when one of them comes crashing through their homes." He motioned to Julius. "Do not take a side yet, however. I just want the people of this city aware that having these new protectors should be debated, not willingly welcomed with no opposition."

"F...fine." Julius leaned back in the chair. "I'll start asking around..."

"Good, I'm glad this visit did not have to get too violent." The Cowl motioned to his men, ordering them to release the Councilmen and head for the door. "I'll have my people keep track of your progress, and we will let you know if your plans change." He chuckled as one of the men opened the front door for him, turning back to Julius before nodding. "Keep up the good work, and we may support you in your run for Mayor next year."

"Mayor?" Julius asked. "But I wasn't--oh..."

Aubrey Adkins
I splashed some water into my face. After the FBI and the police had found where we were being held, they rushed all of us, except for me, since I was the only captive who did not show symptoms of anesthesia over-dose, to the Riverside Methodist Hospital. I however, found myself in the Columbus Police Station, splashing water in my face, hoping that I might wake up from this nightmare. But when I stared back my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my wish was not fulfilled: I was still in this nightmare of a situation.

Okay, my situation wasn’t as gloomy as I made it out to seem. Even though that crazy woman, who did this to me, was dead, my body seems to be repairing itself. My entire head had returned to normal back at that nightmare of a place where that woman had held me and the other captives and my hands changed back on the way to the police station. At least eventually I will have reverted to my normal self.

But what about the others? How would they return to normal, since that woman had been killed? Unless there are some super humans amongst the captives, none of them have a healing factor like me and therefore cannot change back to their original appearance. The FBI mentioned that they would try to make a deal with some other super humans that they apprehended back in New York, but they were not sure how effective that plan would be since the type of transformations exhibited by these super humans were slightly different.

I felt a buzz in my pants pocket. I pulled out my cell phone and discovered that I had dozens of worried texts from my roommates, which wasn’t a surprise at all. This would be, what, the second time that my roommates had to come and pick me up from somewhere after I had been kidnapped. I texted them “I’m at the police station.” After a few seconds, I felt a second buzz.

“What happened?” The text message read.

I thought for a few moments on how I should respond. Well, as the saying goes, a pictures tells a thousand words. Therefore, I extended my hand out and took a selfie of myself with my cell phone. I tried to make my face look as indignant as possible so that they might see how much I hated my current situation. After checking the image and feeling satisfied with the facial expression I made in the picture, I sent it off. It took several moments to receive a reply, probably because they needed time to digest the images they were sent.

“Do you need us to buy you some clothes?” The response text said, “What letter (or letters) are you now? ;D”

It took me a few moments to understand what they meant by ‘what letter’, but I just rolled my eyes once I had. A little more than a half a dozen people have been altered in a way that might not be able to be reversed and my roommates were joking about my ‘exaggerated’ anatomy. If my healing factor wasn’t changing me back to my ‘normal’ self, I might have given them a harsher response.

“That’s none of your business.” I typed into my phone, “Anyways, hopefully my, well, ‘you-know-whats’ will hopefully revert me back to my normal appearance.”

“’You-know-whats’?” They typed back, seemingly unaware what I was talking about.

“You know, spiders. Healing. Ring any bells?”

“Oh, you mean your super powers! Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Well, I was trying to avoid admitting my metahuman status over text messaging, but looks like it’s too late for that.

“Yes. Hopefully I’ll be home soon.”

“Don’t let anyone else kidnap you in the meanwhile!” They texted me.

Really? I could take the ‘letter’ joke. But telling me to not get kidnapped again? Really? That’s not funny at all.