Eva ‘Mouse’ Walsh

Months earlier.. Before D-Day and the current events.

I was flying through the clouds as if my body was weightless, nothing tethered me to the ground. The wind blew across my face as I punched through fluffy clouds, it was fantastic like nothing I had felt before. And then he appeared Arthur, and my dreamworld had shifted to that of a medieval castle. We were standing next to a lush garden and I couldn’t tell if any of this was real.

I looked at him confused.“You said your name was Arthur, of Arthurian Legends?”

“Yes. None other.” He said as he floated about next to the flowerbed.

“So.” I said looking about. “Is this, real?” Arthur chuckled.”No my dear, this is your dreamworld. A Ghost of my power can do many things, such as infiltrate one’s dreams. Although It’s far easier with one of a similar wavelength, such as a descendants or a Medium, a Psychic if you will.”

I gazed towards the gardens of roses, daisies and saw birds chirping away as they danced from flower to flower. “This is not my dreamworld, I happen to hate all these things. But if I’m here, where's my body.”

“Don’t worry about that, you’re in the finest of medical care. An Ambulance has already delivered you to a Hospital.” Arthur said as he began floating slowly past the flower garden. “And this, I had to alter your Dreamworld for a better locale to have a proper conversation.”

I walked alongside him, it wasn’t like there was anywhere else to go. “Right. Hospital, this invasion of privacy aside. I need to inform the Police about what happened.” Arthur cocked one of his ghostly eyebrows.”Wouldn’t you rather have revenge? A lot has transpired in the last few hours, and you now have that power. You have Excalibur’s power.”

Listening to Arthur I had to admit, I wanted them to pay for what they did, they needed to hurt. But I also knew something about all of this was wrong, Metahumans of that caliber don’t just break into a Museum and steal priceless art. There’s no way I would ever know, but I wanted to. I wanted to know why my friends were murdered, I lowered my head.”My friends were killed for something, and I need to know why. And a part of me wants to hurt them. But I’m not sure I can handle this, I’m not a Metahuman how can I compete on their level..”

Arthur drifted closer handing Eva a dreamworld copy of Excalibur.”You learn to wield it, you learn to use it like an extension of your body. In my day I fought Monsters and Witches, Slayed armies and built my Kingdom. It was beyond the power of a normal man, and I nearly lost my life on dozens of occasions if it weren’t for my loyal friends. That’s how one rises to the occasion. And I’ll teach you what you need to know.”

My head rose slightly higher as I looked at Arthur’s face, he shined like a beacon. An I wanted to believe everything he said. “So I’ll be able to master Excalibur and track down those who wrong me?” Arthur clearly tried his best to stifle his laughter.. But he broke out into a roaring laugh that echoed throughout the gardens. “Master, Excalibur!? Goodness no. It’ll take years just to master the basics of sword fighting. But. You’ll learn eventually. I am a trained Master, so even I can whip you into fighting shape.”

Arthur waved his hand over the landscape and the world shifted into that of a training field with dummies and an obstacle course.”For now I’ll drill the basics into you as you sleep. It is unfortunate that the doctors say you’ll be bedridden for months, but at least here there won’t be any interruptions.”

“Great.” I said sarcastically. “So where is the real Excalibur?”

“That.” Arthur paused.”It’s in a safe place hidden in the Hospital’s walls. Well sort of, it’s in the air ducts.”

Lamar arrived on scene at an inopportune moment, the battlefield was buzzing with police, their cohorts already seated in the back of cruisers. Thankfully, Ashley was still encased in her dome prison. Getting her out was the main priority, something the police were also attempting, as a small group of cops had surrounded the bubble, looking it over as if to find some sort of off switch. The tech deployed here was well over anything Lamar had ever seen, and with little chance in actually fending off the law here, he observed the situation as close to the police barricade as possible. Luckily, one of the officers received a call over his radio, and then most of them left the scene at a hurried pace. It had something to do with riots incidentally, leaving only three officers to oversee Krimson, who was still bashing away at the energy walls that encased her.

By now a sizable crowd had gathered, which wasn’t surprising considering the wonton destruction that littered this city block. Every eye was center stage when the energy bubble that contained the unconscious Ashley dissipated, leaving the blood that encased her body to lurch forward, puppeteering the girl away from the police and in the direction of an alleyway located to the side. In retaliation, two of the officers blocked her path while the last covered her backside, all aiming their pistols at the red menace. “Stop and put your hands over your head, now!” Barked one of the policemen, and to the surprise of many this was enough to stop Ashley in her tracks. But instead of raising her hands in the air, her suit extended over her head, covering her body completely, creating the unnerving image of a faceless bloody figure. When she started walking again, this caused the officers to force their hands.

The one directly in front of Ashley let off a shot, causing the crowd to gasp. The bullet impacted, sunk into the blood slightly, but fruitlessly dropped to the ground doing little. From behind, the single officer brought his nightstick across the back of the legs of Krimson, knocking the girl to the ground. The crowd started to cheer for a brief moment until a bloody hand wrapped around the leg of the officer who dealt the blow and a goop of blood began ascending up his leg. Cold terror filled the area once the man began screaming and the blood on his body began stabbing into his leg like hundreds of tiny needles. He too fell to the ground, causing one of the other men to rush to his aid.

That was when Lamar jumped in, quite literally, he jumped the blockade with pistol in hand, effortlessly shooting and putting down the last man that was standing in front of the alleyway before he even knew what hit him. The final officer rose from his fallen comrade and was prepared to shoot Lamar, but another goop of blood was launched at his face from the still ground bound Ashley. That attack ended much the same as her first, only the screams of this policeman were muffled when the foreign substance tore away at his face. With fresh prey, the bloody figure rose to an almost animalistic crouching position, placing her hands on the wounds of one of the bloody men and drawing their blood into her system. Once dry the drained officer resembled a mummified corpse more than anything. With one down, Ashley moved on to another, and the threat of ending up just like them made Lamar advance slowly. “Hey Ashley…” This did little to stop her, she continued work on the second man until he looked like the first. “Ash, we gotta move. If we stay here, we’ll be dealing with more than the police…” Still nothing, until the third was mummied up, that was when Krimson stood, and turned to face the crowd.

So many people. So much blood. The amalgamation of her cells that formed a consciousness practically squealed at the potential feast that stood before them. “We must make them join us, we must free our brethren!” Many replied yes, but few spoke in murmurs of uncertainty. Something was off, someone was off. The boy. The one that she called “friend”. He was speaking in urgent tones, signaling potential danger. “The boy is right. Such an act would draw much attention, bringing fatal danger. We can’t die now, not when we are so far from our goal!” Unheard chants of yes and no stormed inside Ashley until one side overpowered the other. Solemnly, her head nodded, giving Lamar ample room to sigh in relief.

“Alright, let’s kick this bitch!” Snatching the keys from one of the dried officer’s belts, the two hopped inside one of the cruisers and set out for the apartment. As they sped down the road, it became ever more apparent that the city was in riot. Looters broke into storefronts and anything that could be was set ablaze. Their apartment building wasn’t safe from this fate either, and what made it worse was the presence of another geared up so and so engaging in battle with a group of thugs. “Shit, we may have to knock some heads to get up th-“ The slam of a car door cut Lamar’s sentence off; Krimson was raining down on one of the fallen thugs, killing him with a slash to his neck and feeding. This angered his still standing friends, but they were split on if they should deal with Krimson or Reaper.

Being an unknown in this equation, Lamar jumped from the driver’s seat and used the cruiser for cover, taking aim at the thugs and nailing one right in the head. If anything he hoped this came across as a signal of friendliness to the large man with the scythe, as he didn’t like the idea of having that thing swung in his direction.

“So, do you think whatever is in the syringe is safe?”

The mercenary had maintained contact with his information broker ever since he left the warehouse, trying to get a grasp on the job that was very quickly described to him before all hell broke loose and his previous target escaped in a sea of electricity. He maintained a rather high altitude while flying, wanting to keep a somewhat low profile as he zipped through the air, staying out of distance of close scrutiny from the eyes below.

“In my professional opinion; the client has no reason to hand you something that would kill you unless he wants to off you before he has to pay up, which also makes no sense.” Came Warden’s stern advice, his stoic tone never wavering in his speech. “You have already shown that you are an asset, willing to work for your pay and can get a job done. If he was going to try and kill you with poison, he’d be needlessly wasting a resource.”

“Plus, if I feel woozy, I’ll just grab a car battery, and then blammo! My body can beat the poison!”

“Also true, I’ve seen you touch radioactive materials with little to no effect other than increasing your kinetic power, so there is a decent chance that even if it is a powerful toxin, you won’t have any ill effects from it.”

“Okay, so no problems then!”

“In my personal opinion, however, I don’t trust it, and I don’t like it.” Warden snapped abruptly, almost interrupting War-Pulse’s confirmation. “You inject yourself with chemicals and you...dump these vials in drop points?”

War-Pulse’s flight path slowed as his eyes drifted to the ground, brow furrowing at Warden’s words. “Yea, that seems to be the plan…”

“And you don’t see a problem with this?”

“Of course I do, this is clearly terrorist-style havoc we’re about to cause, here.” War-Pulse retorted, offering a shrug. “What, you thought I was assuming we were dumping the cure for cancer into these drop points? I’m straightforward, Warden, not friggin’ stupid.”

There was a pause on the other end, Warden’s breath coming to a halt as he looked for words. “You...you know it’s wrong, and we’re going to do it anyway?” He asked, his monotone almost coming to a bit of a waiver.

“Yeah, we are, Warden.” War-Pulse replied. “We’re professionals, Warden. We said we’d do the job, so we’ll do the job. That’s our guarantee.”

“Even if that job will undoubtedly cause civilian casualties?”

“We’re mercenaries, soldiers of fortune, and at the moment, this guy is offering the most fortune.” War-Pulse said. “Look, I know I said we would take more jobs on the straight and narrow, but with a shrinking budget for our high-tech gizmos and the Lost Haven police already well-aware of my interpol reputation, we don’t have a lot of options yet.”

“And you think this will improve our clientele?”

“Not in a ‘hey, War-Pulse is an upstanding member of society’ kind of way, but people in Lost Haven need to know I can get shit done, y’know?”

“You really want to go through with this? You help save the town from demons, and now you’re going to pour potential contaminants into their water ?”

At this point, War-Pulse’s flight path had come to a grinding halt, his hand on the comm link as his voice dropped to a very direct bass tone. “We do the job, that’s our promise, now stop pushing the issue, Warden.”

“Trent, I thought after the incident--”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Another long, tense silence echoed through the comm link, the only sounds recognizable were that of War-Pulse opening up the metal latches of the suitcase to pick out the syringe. He temporarily removed his kinetic sheath, rolling up a sleeve just enough to expose one of his arms. He quietly jabbed the needle end into his forearm, the plunger slowly sinking to push the mystery serum deep into his bloodstream.

“I…” Came the first few words, interrupted by the slamming of the suitcase. “Your closest drop point is the Water Treatment Plant just outside of Little Sicily.”

"Well, sounds like we should get to work."

The rest of the short flight was done in continued silence, then tension slowly beginning to alleviate with each gust of wind whipping War-Pulse's coat. This was not the first time the mercenary had this argument with his info broker, and it would not be the last. Out of all their conversations it was one of the rare times that the mercenary would be deadly serious, no jokes, no banter, an incident that the silver-clad metahuman would prefer to forget.

And for now, he would, as the water treatment plant came into view, which he quickly acknowledged to his comrade.

“Okay, I’m at the Plant, how should we go about this?” War-Pulse asked, descending to a nearby building rooftop. “If the goal is to get to the main reservoir, the quickest route would be to come down from the top, blast my way, then throw the vial in and hightail it out before anyone knows what’s up.”

“Sure, that sounds like a great plan.” Began Warden, “If you want to cause unnecessary civilian casualties and alert every metahuman with a hero complex to an otherwise covert operation. I’ve been keeping tabs on current police reports, there are enough metas running about right now that stealth may be the preferred option.”

“Yeah, but my way more fun than the sneaky way…” War-Pulse snickered as he hopped down from his position, sliding down a fire escape into a nearby alley. “I get to blow stuff up and punch people!”

“Yes, but you and I know this isn’t just about fun.”

“Alright, alright, you got a good point.” War-Pulse said, pulling his silvery coat from his shoulders and tossing it into a nearby dumpster. Reaching into one of the coat’s pockets, he pulled a change of clothes, carefully folded into a neat and compact square that fit snugly into one of the auxiliary pockets of the coat. If he was going to do this covertly, dressing in a gleaming battle suit was not the best way to go about it. A red cloth t-shirt and some khakis, light, easy clothes he could wear over the battle suit, his face mask easily pulled down and changed into a small neckerchief. This was a tactic he used often, hiding his battle suit underneath a light pair of normal clothes to prevent detection, a great way to get the drop on an unsuspecting assassination target, or infiltrate a compound. “So what’s the plan, how are we going to get inside?”

“I’m analyzing the security now...it’s not very tight.” Warden sighed, “Which is fair, considering it’s a Water Plant and not something important.”

“Was that sarcasm in your voice, Warden?”

“No, apparently I’m just the only one that values living resources instead of monetary wealth.”

“Right, well we can discuss the importance of the community values another time. What can you tell me?”

“In about 25 minutes, 14 seconds an electrician will be clocking in to tighten up some of the plant’s mechanisms.”

“Okay, so where should I go and...meet him?”

“There should be a service entrance about 100 feet from the main entrance. He clocks in there every day.”

“Okay, I’ll radio you when I’ve suited up.”

And with that, Trent severed the connection with Warden, subtly playing it off as a thank you wave to the car as he began to jog across the busy industrial district street to the Plant’s front gates. As Warden explained, there was indeed a secondary entrance down a small alleyway between the Plant and the nearby warehouses. Following the alleyway, he made the mild walk and a turn to the right into the layered brick entryway to find the door further into the building. Of course, he walked over to give it a quick tug, just to see if it was locked. It was, but War-Pulse’s strength severely tested its limitations, his light pull almost snapping the handle clean off. He cursed under his breath, covert operations were hard when everything had the durability of tin foil to him.

It did not take long for the white electrician’s van to come rumbling along the cement, passing by the entryway to get to the nearby parking log. War-Pulse took the time to provide a non-suspicious alibi, grabbing a fake cigarette from his pocket, one of the electronic ones with no tobacco, and pretending to inhale the water vapor as one would a normal cigarette.. Trent had never smoked a day in his life, but pretending to do it gave a reason for him to be out here, leaning against a nearby wall with an eye fixed on when the electrician rounded the corner to get to the secluded entryway. By all standards, the man looked completely and entirely average. Short brown hair, not out-of shape, but by no means engages in regular exercise. He was clean cut at the very least, his uniform well-pressed and cleaned, no visible dandruff, and no distinct smell, either. He was average, and much to War-Pulse’s glee, clearly forgettable.

“Hey buddy, how’s it hangin’?” Trent called to the passerby, attempting to get his attention.

At first, the electrician jumped, not expecting a voice before he entered the Plant, he leered up from behind his clipboard to the disguised mercenary, and momentarily found himself speechless before offering a polite smile in return.

“Oh, fine I guess.” The electrician said. “Same as every other day.”

“Oh? This is every day?” Trent replied, pushing himself off the wall as he took another pull of water vapor, letting it eke out the side of his mouth as he took a step towards the electrician.

“Well, yeah, ‘cept for weekends.” The electrician responded, adjusting his hat. “And even then, sometimes I get called in...do you work here?”

“Nah, just needed a place for a smoke.” the merc replied, tossing the fake behind a pile of nearby rubble, probably the remnants of D-Day still needing to be cleaned up. “Sounds like a lousy job, is the pay good?”

“Oh, yes, it keeps me housed and fed, I guess.” The electrician replied, trying to scoot around the larger man. “Plus I get vacation days every year.”

“Oh yeah? What about workman’s comp for injuries on the job?” Trent turned to the side, giving the man some space.

“Of course.” The Electrician said, “Wouldn’t be a good full-time job if it didn’t.”

“Good, because you’ll need a paid vacation after this.”

“After wha--” The Electrician was cut off by the feel of War-Pulse flicking him in the chest. To War-Pulse, this was a flick, the same way a normal person would flick away a pesky fly on their jacket, but to the electrician, it was like being pounded in the chest by a sledgehammer. The man was launched backwards, connecting hard with the concrete wall behind him, the air leaving his lungs in a sickening exhale, his skull possibly bouncing off the hard surface to further incapacitate him. War-Pulse chuckled to himself, pulling the electrician’s body out of line of sight, he had already scouted the area for cameras, but this was a Water Treatment Plant, so outside the facility was all but unguarded. Dragging the man to a nearby alleyway, he spent no time switching his clothes for the electrician’s, donning the ‘smaller than hoped for’ uniform and leaving the man bound inside of an empty dumpster. Secretly, the mercenary had hit the man hard enough to prevent memory, but that was an unlikely scenario, so the ‘forget me’ serum Warden had equipped him with was War-Pulse’s best bet.

“Seriously, that guy thinks of everything.” War-Pulse murmured to himself as he pulled the syringe from the unconscious electrician’s arm.

“Of course, because you wouldn’t.”

“Gah!” War-Pulse jumped when he heard the broker’s voice, clapping his hand over his mouth as he hoped nobody else had pass by to hear him shout. “God, I thought I said I was going to radio you when I was ready to move to phase two.”

“You did, but you know me better than to leave you all alone. You already have a key to the building in the uniform, so all you need to do is follow the map I uploaded to your retinal interface.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got the drill.” War-Pulse said, re-adjusting his uniform as the map appeared in his right eye. His eyes glanced back to the door, a smirk appearing on the metahuman’s face. “Let’s get to work, then.”

Reaper sliced up through his current target, noticing the crimson humanoid thing appear. She, her body shape suggested she anyway, got out of a police car with another individual. Neither of them cops interesting. However he never got that much time to think about it as more gangbangers appeared, pulling back the hammer on his old .45 he let out the last remaining five shots hitting all of them square in the chest. Whoever these gang members were, they weren't the most experienced of individuals. In fact he was somewhat disappointed in their level of skill. He merely shrugged it off, it didn't really matter. After all he had a new problem to worry about. Twisting around the scythe was brought round near the boy, man, teen. Whatever.

Thirty centimeters could seem like a lot, however it was a deadly weapon poised to strike. He didn't direct his question at either of htem in particular, however it was one that needed answered. "So where'd two young-" He looked at the one covered head to toe in crimson. She was obviously some kind of meta, some kind being the operative part of the conversation. Though he couldn't really talk, century old cowboy who wielded a scythe and had the possibility to turn into a monster. He was about as weird as they came. "-people get a cruiser?" He swung the scythe round in a show off force until the top of the staff touched the ground beside him, the blade curving up around behind him.

"Normally I wouldn't complain about the help. Though a police cruiser isn't exactly easy to come by." Lesson one, look relaxed. Throw them off guard, they knew he could cause hurt but the point was to let them think they had the advantage and he had let his guard down. He even lessened his grip on the scythe. His guard was essentially down, however he had trained for these situations so many times he'd be ready no matter what happened next, or at least he'd hope so.

Lamar had expected a long and grueling shootout, so it was surprising when the masked man gunned down the hostiles in one fell swoop. “Damn…” He mumbled, returning his own weapon to the band of his pants. Yeah, it’d be a bad idea to mess with this guy. The way he shot and his stance with that scythe… maybe he was just being paranoid, but this looked like the start of about a thousand horror movies. Of course, Ashley wasn’t really amended from that, considering her vampire like tendencies. Speaking of, the girl’s unconscious form very greedily pounced upon the fresh bodies, extracting their burgundy juices. Lamar hoped that his friend would regain consciousness soon; he wasn’t sure if he could deal with much more of this gluttonous entity that’s puppeteering her around.

At the questioning, Lamar raised his hands, signaling that he was in fact not hostile. “The cop car? That’s a long story. We… had to borrow it.” They really didn’t need to get into a fight right now. Even though he figured that Krimson would be able to take this guy, they didn’t need somebody after them so close to home. “Listen. Me and my friend here, we’re just trying to get home. She…” Pointing at Ashley “Has already been in one fight today, and lost. If you’d just let us head up to our apartment, that would be great.”

Eva ‘Mouse’ Walsh

Current day

When I awoke the Police had plenty of questions for me, and while I did my best not to let on that I knew too much I suspect the detective, a man named Alan Sutlher had visited me on several occasions after that asking small questions like how I was holding up, and I would respond nonchalantly. And Arthur followed him everytime he left, and unsurprisingly he’d hang around long for an hour or so he’d walk the halls or sit on the roof of his car and eat watching my room.

I needed three surgeries to set my bones and numerous stiches. All the while Arthur mercilessly trained me in my dreams. Just like a Ghost to haunt my sleep, but he was right about one thing I had power nothing so immaterial as flight or eye beams; though I wouldn’t mind something anything like that. But as the days went on and turned into weeks, then ran for a few months, I began to doubt my own self. Arthur had encouraged me even as he ran me ragged to the point where even after I had a full eight hours I still felt exhausted. I dragged my feet between the check-ups and visits with my Aunt.

I had the feeling Arthur knew I was unable to properly wield Excalibur, I just hadn’t built up the muscles for that. But he assured me mere strength wasn’t all that mattered. It didn’t help the news was nothing but Alien invasions and the Demonic apocalypse for weeks. Icon was simply amazing all the Heroes were, they felled impossible foes. And no matter what Arthur says I still don’t think I could match them.

And like that the day of my release finally came, my Aunt was worried and excited all the same. She walked me out of that Hospital with a wide smile that exposed years of wrinkles along the bridge of her nose and cheeks. And somewhere Arthur followed closely behind as I took my first step in to her silver Buick carrying Excalibur in his ghostly arms. I’m sure someone saw a floating sword, the thought is kinda funny really.

“The Doctors said to take it easy Eva, promise me you won’t sneak out late anymore?” Aunt Briley said with a tilt of her head as she turned the ignition.

I sighed heavily dreading ‘the talk’ as it were.”Aunt Briley -” I said dragging it out. “I won’t get attacked by any dangerous criminals I swear. It was a horrible accident, and they were obviously there to steal valuables, not kill little ol’ me.”

Her eyes struck me sharply as I could tell she was beginning ‘the talk’. “Eva Walsh! It’s dangerous now more than ever. You’ve seen the news, gangs and violence are at an all time high. And to top it off there’s been public threats to the Mayor from a supposed Evil Scientist a Dr. Coil. It’s all over the news.”

“Aunt Briley.” I rolled my eyes at the thought of being cooped up all day and night. Her eyes burned into my skull as the look she gave me sent cold chills down my spine. “I promised your Parents I’d keep you safe, and I’ll be damned if anything were to happen to you. Now you will obey my curfew or so help me I’ll throw you into a Military School.”

The car pulled up to her house, a rather large house by New York standards. Aunt Briley ran a successful company Poseidon Energy, not that I knew too much about what they did. But I think she mentioned the government a few times. That much I did know, and she could easily throw me into any Military School. A part of me just wanted to die, the other had doubts that I could track down those criminals.

As Aunt Briley took the key and opened the car door. She kept glaring, and it was best I kept quiet at least for now.

“Go inside Eva and clean up, I’ll prepare dinner.”

It felt like forever since I last saw these doors, as I walked through the house and into the Bathroom. The water poured over my hands as I splashed my face, when I looked up Arthur was floating behind me and I tensed up and bumped into the counter. “It seems your Aunt is distressed, she must be worried about you.”

“Worried! She has me on lockdown, how am I supposed to train?”

“Eva, she’s distraught. I’m sure these past few days have put a toll on her. You’ll understand how she feels one day, for now. I see plenty of room for daily training, we just some weights and exercise equipment.”

Ignoring Arthur’s comment about my Aunt I went straight to the point.”My Aunt keeps some, a few light weights and an exercise bicycle.”

“Good, tomorrow we’ll begin, after your Aunt leaves. Till then eat and rest, we’ll take tonight off from training.”

“No.” I said immediately shocking Arthur with my abruptness.”I don’t think I can afford to rest. Not when there’s Metahumans saving the world, a night’s sleep is nothing.”

“Fine then, but we stop when I say so.” Arthur said as he phased through the wall and disappeared.

Boisterous laughter and cheering echoed throughout the halls of Ares' shrine. Dozens of long tables held a hundred men, each feasting on more meat and fruits than they had ever seen in their short lives. At the head of the master's table, which was situated at the top of the room right under the statue of Ares, sat a great throne. The God of War sat upon the golden monument to his glory. His cape, as crimson as a man's blood, lay strewn across the seat. Ares stuffed his pale face with a leg of pork the size of a human thigh, smiling as he devoured the meat. Seated on his right hand was Chike, who was taking a conservative sip of red wine out of a brass chalice. To Ares' left sat Ceri, who seemed intent on matching Ares gluttony with lamb's meat. Dr. Eric sat across from her, looking quite out of place in his street clothes. The rest of the room seemed to be straight out of a Renaissance picture of a Greek celebration. At the end of Ares table, two muscular warriors looked at each other from across the great table."Stronger than me, Philip? Ha!" One of them boasted."Put your money where your mouth is, Dan." Philip returned, setting his elbow on the table and sticking out his hand."Hmph. Alright. Carol, tell us when to go." Dan agreed to the challenge crossing his arm with Philip's."Go!" Carol, the woman next to them, announced in a groggy voice. After a brief struggle, Philip achieved victory. The man cheered. Dan puffed out his chest in self defense."Y-Yeah? Well I'd school you in a fight!"

It was at this that Ares' eyes lit up. He turned to watch Dan and Philip, the two drunks on their feet now."Wanna prove it, ya little punk?" Philip shot back. It was then that Philip reeled his fist backwards and launched it at Dan. A second before fist met jaw, Ares jolted up and crossed the distance between him and the pair, grabbing Philip by the forearm. Philip froze, his face filled with fear as he realized who had stopped him."Sir, I- I di- Bu- Uh-" Philip stammered as Ares effortlessly lifted the man into the air and brought him up to his face. The giant then turned and looked over the rest of the hall."That is it!" He bellowed over the noise, and everyone became silent."A brawl! To prove who is the mightiest among you!"

A roar rose up from across the hall. Men and women alike began to stand, raising their chalices and cheering their glee. Chike remained seated, only giving Ares a passing glance as he finished his drink.

"You there!" Ares yelled, pointing at one of the tables."Prepare for us a boxing ring! We shall have it in that cavernous room in the back of the shrine. You'll find the necessary materials behind that door to the left. Everyone else! Finish this food, and meet in the ring in an hour!" Ares put Philip back onto the ground before taking a seat on his golden throne. The table he had ordered to move began to do so, as the rest of the room began to feast once more in earnest.



The door to the new arena opened, a woman coming outside and setting a stool down in front of the great wooden door to prop it open. “We are finished, your majesty!” She announced from across the hall. “Perfect! Let us go!” Ares motioned towards the entry way, standing to his feet.”Polemos, bring my chair.” Ares ordered before taking off towards the newly finished ring. “Yes, sir.” Chike mumbled under his breath. Throne on his shoulder, Chike was quick to follow his liege into the arena. The rest of the general population stood from the benches they had been eating from and made their way into the stadium.

The room quickly filled with excited chatter as people shuffled past the woman holding the door open and moved to find somewhere to stand. Ceri and Eric pushed through the crowd to meet up with Chike as he tried to force the throne through the small doorway. “Would it have killed him to not be eight feet tall?” Chike complained. It only took an eternity, but he eventually found an angle at which he could force the seat through the opening. “Finally!” The room filled with excited patrons, and the last of the people exited the hall and made their way inside the considerably smaller room.

The arena itself was rather simple, yet effective. The room was tall enough to contain a three story building, and wide enough to contain hundreds of people with room to spare. In the center stood a stone platform. The top of the platform was covered in old gymnastic mattresses, and metal pools stood at each corner, connected by sets of rope. The ring was high up enough that anyone in the arena could get a decent view of the fight, and large enough to allow for thirty men to fight inside. A small ladder sat at each corner to allow access to the platform, which was too tall for most humans to climb up without assistance.

Polemos sat Ares throne on the ground near the stage and looked around the room. Two of Hephaestus' automatons were standing off in a corner alongside some humans. It would seem they were gathering the unused materials and preparing to take them back to the supply room. Ceri and Eric moved past the crowd and met Chike near the throne. "Well, this is certainly something." Ceri was the first to break the silence. "Mmm." Chike grumbled, obviously distracted. "What is it?" Ceri sounded genuinely concerned, so Chike decided to share his thoughts with her. "There's death in the air. I fear our lives are in danger." Eric adjusted his glasses with shaky hands. Ceri shifted on her feet, just as uncomfortable. "What? Is your Spider-Sense tingling?" Ares mocked as he seemingly appeared out of thin air. The trio all seemed to jump at once; how does he do that at his size? "Hilarious. When are we going to get this thing started?" Perhaps a change of subject was necessary. Maybe that sense of dread was nothing. It could just be the cold February air that was making his spine tingle.

"Philip! Dan!" Ares shouted, and a pair of heads turned in earnest. "Are you prepared for combat?" He asked. The two shared a glance before Dan gave a nod of his head. Ares motioned towards the arena then. "Get up there, then!"

The crowd began to shout as the two fighters took to the ring. Each man wore traditional Greek battle dress, although they were unarmed. Another man, a bit older than the fighters, climbed up the ladder and stood between them. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen!" He yelled out, his voice echoing throughout the chamber. A cheer arose from the crowd. "Warriors, remove your armor and shoes and go to your corners." Philip and Dan removed their Bronze breastplates and shin guards, along with their sandals. They threw their belongings onto the ground and took their places. "Alright. I want a clean fight. No biting, ball shots, or mutilation. Try not to break each other's bones. Winner will be determined by KO or surrender. Ready? Fight!" The two men ran at each other, and fists began to fly. There was no skill or finesse, merely an all out punchfest.

"Hmph. They call themselves warriors." Ares whispered to himself, seated in his throne while everyone else stood around him. "They need training. We all do." Ares and Polemos locked eyes, and Chike was reminded of the last time they spoke on the subject. Perhaps another time. "I will begin training in the morning." Philip grabbed Dan by the throat, slamming him into the mat. The crowd erupted into screams and shouts as they rolled around on the ground, beating each other senseless. "We can't conquer the world with soldiers who fight like this." Ares gestured towards the battle, in which Dan had Philips head in his hands, and was slamming it against the mat repeatedly.

"Speaking of which, my lord." Ceri said, looking toward Eric as if to allow him to continue. "I believe Ceri and I have found a means to create the serum for your soldiers." Ares seemed intrigued as he gave Eric his full attention. "Uhm, yes. There is an Expo this weekend being held at SuperIOR. They claim to be showing off the next super soldier. There will be significant media presence there, as well as representatives from the United States military." Ares chuckled, turning back towards the fight in time to see Philip toss Dan into the corner. "Perfect. Polemos will go with you to retrieve what you need. Make sure to be theatrical about it, Chike. We want the world to know we mean business."

Philip lifted the unconscious and bleeding body of Dan over his head, roaring like a monster. The crowd cheered as he tossed his friend into the center of the ring and stepped on his chest and threw his hands into the air. "Victory!" The older man took center stage as Philip carried Dan off. The sounds from the crowd began to die down. "Who will fight next?" He called out. "I will." Polemos answered. He leaped into the air, landing with a crash next to the announcer. "But who could fight you?" Little did the man know, that a challenger drew ever near.

Gabriel glared behind his visor, which translated to a crackle of electricity across his shoulders, for Maverick's benefit. He knew the girl didn't exactly have reason to be forthcoming, especially given her present circumstances, but the girl... grated on him, for a number of reasons. Her foul mouth and equally foul temper just being one thing. But still, he had a job to do, so soldier on he must.

"Firstly, you're the first tenant I've had in here. Lucky you. Secondly, I wouldn't even have brought you here if I could help it. If there was an authority I could hand you over to that could actually hold you, you'd be with them. As it is, your powerset makes typical methods of incarceration... complicated. Rest assured, though, there's probably someone out there who'll be able to take you off my hands, so we'll be out of each other's hair eventually. For right now, though, there are things we need to discuss."

He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the item he'd found in the trunk he'd acquired from her- a simple, folded-up piece of paper. He unfolded it, clearing his throat, before reading aloud.

"'To the finder of this note, congratulations! If you are reading this, then Maverick has failed her very simple mission and is in big trouble with her boss. Hopefully that thought brings you some comfort. Have a pleasant day, signed, the Management.'" Gabriel then crumpled the note with perhaps more force than was necessary, then incinerated it in a flash of plasma (which was clearly unnecessary, but hey, he was mad). "That was the only thing in that trunk you were trying to steal. Which meant you were sent out to steal absolutely nothing, which means I wasted my time showing up at all, and that I just punted two teenage girls through a couple of buildings because of somebody's idea of a fucking joke!!" He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself, before continuing.

"And the only silver lining is that now you're here. Not much of a silver lining, I know, but we work with what we have. So, Miss Maverick, here's how things proceed from here: you're going to tell me everything you know about the people who employed you to toss cars through storefronts, I can hopefully use that knowledge to salvage something out of this debacle of an evening, and maybe- just maybe- I'll let the proper authorities know you cooperated when they come to arrest you. Start talking," he said, his voice still sounding dangerously... frustrated.

It had arrived.

In what would have taken any other spacefarer multiple lifetimes to accomplish, Umbraxis had manifested in the outer reaches of what was referred to as the 'Sol' system, oozing out of faster than light travel a few lightyears off of Pluto. Its antimatter core sparked and sizzled as its gamma emissions began to subside, the dark matter swirling about in space as it attempted to align itself with the orbit of the small star that kept this pile of rubble called planets together, the celestial body flowing and shifting with every pull of nearby gravitational forces. In the distance, beyond gas giants, comets, and asteroids, its target lay before it; a blue, atmospheric. Even from this distance, life could be felt, its presence sensed by the mass of Dark Matter and energy, scanned over for a preliminary assessment.

What a strange world it was, Umbraxis thought as it scrutinized the planet which was now well within it’s awareness. The celestial body was fairly young in its lifetime to be recognized on a galactic scale, and at the same time oddly decayed. In the short lifespan of only a few million years the planet already was destroying its own ozone layer, and subsequently its own life supply. Most planets that supported life were either a bit older before they began to destroy their own ozone or simply found a source of renewable energy to counteract decaying effects, but not this one. Was this really the planet the previous race had labeled such a threat? The entity shifted with the nearby passing of Neptune, its colossal form spreading throughout the black as it slowly expanded its formless dark, its attention fixated on the little blue planet revolving in space, a blue gem in a sea of rocks.

Its curiosity raised with each second, it had to know more about what made this planet so special. As it swirled between orbits, its antimatter core began to silently spark and sizzle as it began to pass bits of Dark Energy through it, each atom causing a soundless burst in the eternal vacuum of space. Inside of it was beginning an extension of its consciousness, one it had used many times before, swirling and massing into a new entity, an ‘avatar’ would be the new form’s appropriate title. The process took a couple hours, the matter and energy mashing together, the entity’s body becoming a galactic mixing pot of matter, creating its extension to last as long as it needed.

Until the inevitable end of the world, the same fate countless worlds have shared before it when it is in the eyes of the Great Destroyer.

In an instant, a black projectile left the mass traveling faster than comprehension. In the blink of an eye the small black mass was singing along the rings of Saturn, hurdling its way through the gas giant Jupiter, smashing its way through the asteroid belt.

It would not take long for the avatar to impact the planet, and then Umbraxis’ true work would begin.

I inched my way up to the Greek-styled temple. Obviously, I was not approaching it while in my ‘drider’ form because that would be way too conspicuous. Heck, I would stick out like a sore thumb if I did that. Walking up to a building influenced by ancient architecture while wearing your pajamas is still pretty conspicuous, but having eight legs and an arachnid abdomen would probably have it beat. Clutching together my zip-up sweatshirt, I ascended the steps that lead up to the main entrance for the temple. Unfortunately, I did not have much time to get inside because of my little problem I just discovered, namely that my power nullifying band would make me sick (even with my healing factor) if I did not periodically deactivate it.

Once I had passed by the front set of eight columns that decorated the front of this so-called ‘Shrine of Ares’, I noticed a large doorway on the far side of the roofed entrance, which lead to a large, domed room. Since it appeared that several of the residents of the neighboring residential areas were gathered inside this room, watching their peers compete in boxing matches, as it seemed, I decided to duck to the side of roofed entrance space. Looking around my immediate proximity, I noticed that there was no one else within eyeshot. After waiting a few seconds, just in case my ‘spider-sense’ detected any bystanders who would happen to run into me, I tapped on the power-nullifying wristband.

Now that I was appropriately dressed for what I (or rather Athena) had intend to do, I began to climb up the wall, starting first with my two hands and following with my eight spider legs. While in hindsight, my red and blue costume kind of clashed with the color of the shrine’s infrastructure and that the color of my spider-half would have been more suitable for camouflaging me in this environment, I don’t think such an approach would have gotten me much of an advantage. Unless Athena could have whipped up a costume that would have matched the temple’s color scheme, I would still be wearing the red and blue outfit over my upper body. There’s no way I would be going in there like an ancient Greek athlete. I was half surprised that the boxing contestants did not follow this fashion trend either. I cannot lie that I’m relieved that they did not follow the ancient Greeks’ example.

Once I had attached myself onto the shrine’s wall, I slipped through the entrance into the giant, domed room. While I was scaling the walls, it seemed that these pagans were preoccupied by these boxing matches. Too preoccupied to even notice me crawling along the ceiling. A couple times I almost blew my cover by laughing because of how ridiculous this was! I was freaking sneaking around in plain sight on the ceiling of a Greek temple! And they did not even notice! I’m wearing red and blue, for crying out loud! Man, these people must love their boxing. It’s almost seems barbaric to me, especially when I saw a man carrying a knocked out contestant away from the boxing ring.

When the unconscious contestant had been removed from the playing field, the announcer taunted the crowd, asking them who would be next to fight in the ring. Suddenly, one of the followers of Ares spoke up. "I will." Now that this man took his place on the stage, I felt the butterflies fill my stomach. I cannot believe Athena is pitting me up against this guy. According to the news, this guy held his own against the metahuman known as Icon. What am I supposed to do? Athena tried to reassure me, mentioning that she would go down and restrain this so-called ‘Ares’. God, please help me.

Well, here it goes.

“Infidels!” I shouted down toward the crowd. Now their eyes were not on me. I don’t know what freaked them out more: me calling them infidels, my weird appearance (how many driders do you see every day?), or even just me taking them by surprise. “Have you not read the scriptures? 'For I, the Lord, your God, am a jealous God' and 'Whoever sacrifices to any god, except to the Lord alone, shall be doomed'. Repent or may the Wrath of God be upon you all for worshipping false idols!”

Well, let’s see how that works.

Justine sat at a table in a small coffee shop near downtown called The Grind. It was a wifi hotspot and a local hangout for the bookish crowd as it was attached to, and part of, a bookstore called ‘Borden’s Books’. For the moment she sat with her laptop in front of her typing away and idly sipping at a caramel frappuchino with a double shot of espresso. She probably didn’t need that much sugar and caffeine, but she didn’t care. She could run it off or something later.

The air was cool in the shadows out front of the store, pleasantly so, while birds chirped in the trees that lined the streets, spread out every few meters, in a one yard square of soil that was fenced off slightly. They helped break up some of the ambient noise of the streets from car engines, brakes squealing, and the distant wail of sirens. The far off banshee wail that came from the city was almost a constant the woman had learned to ignore. It was just such a fixture of daily life. Idly she considered moving closer to somewhere closer to the harbor. She did so love the smell of the ocean, though when the tide went out, that changed.

Paying it no mind, she checked her clock on her computer only to gasp. 10:35 AM! She was supposed to pick up her cousin’s friend from the airport, and she had twenty-five minutes to get there! Her flight was supposed to land at 11, but it could have gotten in early, depending on the pilot and the weather. Standing up quickly, she flipped her laptop over partially onto its screen to dump her drink over on the mesh table, which… splattered all over the concrete. Great. Not like she had time for another one either!

Grumbling, she shut her laptop which would automatically save and hibernate, stuffing it into her messenger bag. Looking down, she noted the tan spots on her new sneakers, then groaned. “Son of a bitch” she grumped to herself. “Nooo, I don’t need to have this kind of day, oh my god…” Giving a huff, she shook her head, gathered up the cup and lid, tossing it in an outdoor trash can , then snagged the bag and her light leather jacket, making her way to the bathroom in the back. Once inside, she shut the door. A split second later she seemed to disappear. One moment she was there, and in the space it took to blink she was gone. A couple loose paper towels fluttered at the displaced air rushing in to fill the space where she left.

At the same instant, she appeared in the parking garage a block or two away next to her car. Opening up, she made sure to put her things in, then climbed into the driver’s seat after checking the backseat first. A quick turn of the key turned the blue Hyundai Genesis over and she was on her way out of the lot. It didn’t take but a minute to pay the parking fee and she was on the way to the airport, checking her watch as she drove. It would have been easier to teleport, but a hell of a lot harder to explain. It’s not like she knew Racheli, that was her name, like that.

She pulled up into the main airport’s curbside loading area. Temporary parking only! She gave no cares though, but still she wasn’t going to be there long. She scanned around for anybody near the door looking annoyed and matching Rach’s description. Her cousin had given a fairly good one, and of course, being the investigator she was, had snooped a few sites. She had a pretty good idea what the other girl.. woman.. whatever looked like.

Racheli had been tapping her shoe against the concrete. Just in front of her was the empty, paper carton stained with the ketchup and cheese sauce, showing the food was better than she originally expected. Her mouth was still chewing the last bite as she pulled up a napkin to wipe off the reminding grease and condiments from her fingertips. It took a moment to swallow, her hand reached for the foam to go cup and pressed her lips to the straw. The brown pepsi fill the clear cylinder before disappearing down her throat. Eyes spied the clock, this time on her cheap, prepaid cell, expecting to receive a call or something explaining why her ride was likely going to run late. Rach’s knuckles tightened a bit, giving the napkin a squeeze, before tossing it down in aggravation. Her body pulled backwards and rested against the chill, metal back. She went over in frustration at her limited options.

She only had two on the top of her mind: either walk all the way or risk hitchhiking with total strangers. Neither sounded like it would end well, though she didn’t give a damn about her ride arriving in her absence. In her mind, if the woman had been on time then she wouldn’t be forced to arrive and wait for an absent passenger. Now the debating on when to leave was the problem, Rach’s impatience showing clearly. It basically screamed anger and annoyance from the crown of her head down to her very feet, the movement of her toes becoming progressively worse with the passing time. Where the fuck was Justine? Rach growled inside her head, still not enjoying the aspect of possibly walking or hitching a ride to the apartment, and considering her departure for as long as she could without looking ridiculous. Her eyes looked down at her drink now completely gone and pondering on leaving the cafe at least.

Giving a soft sigh, Racheli’s ass pushed backwards. It made the chair screech when she pulled herself upright, collecting both the empty, drink and contain in her left hand before making her way to the trash. She could’ve made it a single trip, but it would’ve a much harder task, one she wasn’t too keen on attempting in a balancing act. Racheli turned on heel around her chair and headed to the can, a large green one with empty trays over top like the very one she carried currently. She plopped her trash into the can, listening to the hollow thunk when she pushed it through the flap, dunking it into the black trash bag underneath. Snatching a napkin off the dispenser nearby, she wiped the back of her mouth to remove any food and drink remains before also plopping it in.

She returned to the table to collect her things, pulling the straps across her shoulders and into her hands on her way out of the cafe.. It was timed right as when she exited the building, her greenish eyes settled on the woman who was suppose to be picking her up. She, seemingly, had been waiting outside the whole time.

Racheli’s mood was sour already, showing in her word choice and tone well. “It’s about time you showed up. Where have you been?”

“In my car,” she said honestly. ~Don’t start~ she thought loudly in Rach’s direction. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with it right now. It’s not like she had somewhere to be. Reaching over she pushed the door open on the almost indigo colored sporty two-door, that looked like it was part rally car or street racer. REaching down she went to pop the trunk, pushing the button after a moment’s hesitation. Climbing out she opened it up, and grabbed the two duffel bags with ease, despite the amount of things that had been stuffed into them. Gently she sat them in the trunk which was fairly spacious for a car it’s size, and clean. There were some items to clean and detail the car, a few backpacks and a messenger bag besides the one in the back seat. There was a large plastic ammo box in there as well. On the lid the lid to the trunk was a bungee cord that had been stretched taut between two hollow recesses. On it was a roll of paper towels, and a few changes of clothes hung from it. Off to one side was something rolled up in a cloth bag tucked into a corner next to a small but efficient tool kit.

Shutting the trunk lid she moved back around to the driver’s seat, sliding in and then buckling up. “Is any more of your stuff coming in the mail or anything,” she asked Racheli, while pulling away from the airport terminal. “And do you need to pick up or buy anything while we’re here, or do you just wanna go crash?”

When Justine took a hold of her duffle bags, Racheli’s hands instinctively flexed and tightened briefly. She had considered telling the woman to just pop the trunk and she could take care of the rest, but bit her tongue. For now at least. She released the bags into Justine’s care as th as the woman lugged them over to the back and dropped them off. Rach had learned a long time time ago that it was bad idea to grind on a future roommate’s nerves,. Mostly because it never ended well and considering she was at Justine’s mercy, there could’ve been worse things said than her losing her cool. Last thing she wanted was to end up on the street which was a faint possibility.

Racheli brushed over the contents in the girl’s car and followed around to the passenger side of the car. When her seat belt finally clicked into place, her head cocked up at Justine’s question. Her body settled into the seat as she answered the question. “I don’t have much left after the funeral, most of it I have to rebuy most of it. So, what you see is what I have currently. So, if you don’t mind, I would like to crash as the jet lag wears off.”

She had managed to make her tone reasonable and earnest, while she leaned back. Naturally there wasn’t any sign of jet lag but since she got off the plane, something didn’t feel right. “And to make issues worse, I might’ve caught a cold.”

Justine tilted her head a little. “I’ve got enough dough for now to get whatever you need,” she said. “You can pay me back later, or in helping with the place. It still needs some work, but the major things are done. The wiring is up to code and the fixtures are all in. Any work we do or materials we purchase go against rent though.It’s a small deal I worked out with the super,” she said. “Rent’s pretty cheap as it is.”

“That’s what Garrett said you would likely come up with.” Racheli said, slight amusement peaking in her voice, while her head against the door frame. Her eyes flickered to watch the people crowd past, heading about on their daily lives and her ears perked for Justine’s reply. She added one last thing. “The arrangement suggestion sounds fine to me though I rather pay you up front. Loose ends are something I don't want while staying here.”

“You’re the one who just said you practically have zero cash. So there is no paying me upfront.”

She pulled out from the airport into the access road that lead to the various portions around the airport proper, and made for the freeway. As they neared the on-ramp, she checked the traffic around them, then punched something on her steering wheel as she put some power through the pedal. The car accelerated like a rock kicked by a mule as she came up the on-ramp and she merged into traffic a little faster than it was going, only to blend in and begin cutting over to the faster lanes, picking up more speed. By the grin on her face, not only was she a crack driver, but she was enjoying herself. Hardly any jerkiness or harsh maneuvering had been translated through the car.

Soon she was gliding through traffic, just a little faster than the rest of it while they headed for the Square area. Her mind came back to the comment about her catching a cold. “That’s not good. Think it’s something you caught on the plane? My immune system is like … a bunch of Spartans or something, I swear. I rarely get sick and not very badly or for long.”

Racheil moved herself from her hand propping up her jaw, casted a jealous look at the woman’s mention of her immune system. [indianred]“Possibly but this is a first time I’ve been feeling under the weather since flying. I’ve only gotten sick very few times, at least by a cold or flu. All I need is some meds and I’ll be fine. It's not like this is my first time and I know how to hunch over a toilet if things get to that point..”[/color]

She knew she wasn’t being much of a conversationalist, slight worry in her mind over how much of her past Garrett had actually shared with Justine. Her eyes drifted between the window, watching the cars zoom by, and back to Justine just to gauge the woman’s reaction. While she listened, her mind studied Justine's image to memory, slightly different from the year old image Garrett gave her.

A sidelong glance was all that she gave Rach for the moment, though clearly something went through her mind, or a few things. Had she spoken them aloud they would have probably been sarcastic or condescending, so for the time being she opted to keep her mouth shut. It was just a better idea. ‘If you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything,’ the old adage went. Words to live by, sometimes,

Justine was dressed in a pair of shorts that showed her tanned legs that seemed as though they might have been carved by an artist, while she wore a loose white top that was somewhere between a t-shirt that was three sizes too large and or a sweatshirt. It was misshapen and seemingly worn, but while it was too large across the shoulders, leaving a wide neck, it had been trimmed up, showing a little bit of toned midriff and did little to hide the shape of her underneath. It was casual, exceedingly so but it worked for her. One hand reached up and combed through her hair, getting it out of her face as she studied her mirrors for a few moments. The movement caught silvery light from a set of silver hoop and dangle bracelets.

Briefly she pondered turning on the police band scanners in the car, but today was supposed to kind of be a day off. She had a roommate to look after for the time being. Idly she began changing lanes, heading for the outside lane as their exit would be coming up in a few miles. She had been making the transition, when she was aware of a blue and green Mitsubishi Eclipse with what looked like a ‘Critter’ or a puffball with sharp fangs and a wicked grin made out of burning green plasma with blue tips, the word ‘Bitey’ emblazoned on the hood, the side door panels down low, and the rear bumper blew past, flashed brakes and kicked over into the lane while riding brakes, and cutting into the exit.

Justine slammed one hand into the horn as she cut her brakes in only enough to cut their speed back without screaching them, then flipped off the driver of the car as they sped down a ramp nearby. She’d barely avoided a collision, which infuriated her for a moment, before she began to breathe again, calming down, then peeled off onto their exit a minute later, heading for the city core. “Apparently the retards are out in force today,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth in Racheli’s direction. “There’s good, and then there’s retarded and homicidal.”

Racheli’s hands jerked out and caught herself, bracing against the dashboard and the door, feeling the seat belt biting into her chest at the abrupt slow. The belt tighten just as Justine hit her brakes, slowing them down just in time when the fucker in the Eclipse sped by to pass. Her eyes flashed a deadly look at the still cruising driver turning off into the exit a and let her breath return, her heart nearly stopped dead in its tracks. if it wasn’t for the fact she was surprised by the sudden actions, Rach would’ve uttered a spew of curses about the asshole, her tongue being bitten in the event and preventing her from shouting. A coppery taste filled her mouth from the teeth tip digging deep which made her cringe inwardly. Trying to wipe the nasty taste away, she ran her tongue against her mouth inside.

After a minute, Racheli heard Justine comment on the earlier scene.“Yeah, some people are real assholes. He might’ve gotten his license from a crackerjack box. I hope they don’t crash getting to where they are heading because they were in such a fire ass hurry.”

Rach took a deep breath, her voice turning to a more pleasant topic. “So exactly much stuff is still inside the apartment that needs to be moved? Your cousin wasn’t specified how much stuff still needed to be moved and you already mentioned the major stuff was taken care of."

“Nothing really needs to be ‘moved’ per say. Just walls painted, outlet covers need to be put on, probably need to do some decorating. I haven’t gotten the fridge hooked up to the water yet. The stove is electric, glass top, but I had it hooked up. Furniture is a little short though. But no need to knock down walls,” she replied. Really she wished the stove was gas. There were hookups for it, and gas cooked better, but the glass top was nice. Easy to clean, and looked good.

“Each bedroom has a wardrobe, basic closet. I snagged a couple trunks from Pier One for some extra storage, and table space. Night stands, I got a computer desk for me. From the impression I got through Garret, it didn’t seem you’d really have much use for one.,” she said. “There’s also a dresser in each room. I thought about getting some raised beds that had storage under them as well, as storage space is kind of at a premium.”

“It’s got a fair amount of space still. We can probably make efficient use of it with a little work,” she commented, as they pulled down a side street, heading for some taller structures,, heading for what looked like a section of apartments.

Racheli listened to the ‘to-do-list’ Justine listed off. It was mostly simple stuff and doable within her skill set, though she believed the fridge, however, was another matter altogether. To ensure it was done right and properly, likely a specialist or handy man would be needed. That could be pricey depending on the company but Racheli figured Justine knew that. At mention of Garrett, Rach let a small smile crack her sober expression as she waited for the man’s cousin to finish up.

After a minute Racheli replied. “I don’t need much as I’ll try not to overstay my welcome. I just need to get a job and up on my feet before I’m out of your hair, so no need to concern yourself too much.”

Her eyes returned to the window and examined the cars zipping by, her thoughts lingering over the question sprouting from her time here so far. “So, what’s the city like? I’ve heard there’s a bunch of metas popping up all over recently, ranging from ‘heroes’ to scum, and causing all sorts of trouble.”

Naturally Rach was referring to the latest occurrences like the centralized demon invasion and the recent reports about a figure name Icon’s activities.

“Actually I wouldn’t mind having a roommate,” she said. “It’s a two bedroom apartment with plenty of space. I’ve got the rent in hand for now. Garret told me you were tending bar before and stuff. If you got back into it here, we probably won’t run into each other much. My work keeps me crazy busy, and I’m out all hours of the day or night.” Justine shrugged a little.

At her comment about the supers and metas popping up she lapsed into silence, seemingly to concentrate on driving as she turned down a side street to the left, then in a block or so, she turned to the right., into a parking lot with a number of vehicles. She pulled into a parking space and killed the engine. Getting out, she grabbed her laptop bag from the back seat and put it across her body. Popping the trunk she gestured to the contents. “After you,” she said, feeling her hesitation to let go of the bags earlier. She reached up and shoved the spare outfits out of the way.

Racheli had followed Justine out of the car, her hand shut the car door behind her. Casually, she traveled to the trunk. space as her shoes making a hollow thunk with each step, pulling up beside her current roommate. Once Justine moved aside, her arm stretched and seized the backpack first, tugging it roughly over her shoulders. Next came the duffel bags where she crisscrossed the straps over her shoulder making a x over her small chest. the bulk of the bag tapped closely to her upper thighs and smacked it with each movement, her head swayed a bit on her exit. During her shift to the side, she skimmed the interior briefly noting at least one item of key interest within the trunk.


She had another duffel in there she’d forgotten, which she grabbed,. Out of it stuck a couple of lengths that looked like handles, one wooden, the other covered in leather simple in design with a completely rounded end.. If Racheli recognized martial arts practice weapons at all, she’d know the wooden handled one was a bokken, a wooden katana. The other was a shinai, a kendo practice and sparring sword. The Shinai was a less lethal option, but both were excellent weapons in the right hands. Most people who had them took their training pretty seriously. With her physical form, the shape she was in, the two weapons sticking out of the well-used gym bag, it would seem that she wasn’t just some pretty face. By the wear pattern on the grips, those tools had been used.. a -lot-. Was Justine more of a fighter than she thought?

Though Rach knew nothing about martial arts, she had seen the gym set ups before. Much of what she spied peeking outside matched the description of some of the gym’s accessories, making her curious as a slight, faint grin broke her lips. It faded moments later when she realized it was there, backing up to allow Justine to lock up her vehicle.


It seemed as she moved that she was possessed of a self-assured, easy grace, as she shut the trunk. Swift and sure, her shoulders were square, chin down just a little, back straight. Blue eyes swept the lot, assessing the location of people and vehicles, so ingrained it was subconscious, scanning for threats. Unlike some females in their age ranges, there was no worry in her expression or eyes, simply a pattern of habit. The bag, she carried in her left hand and the sword hilts pointed ahead of her. It would be an easy thing for her to draw one or other from the bag. She swayed some as she walked a bit. It was the movement of an athlete, a trained fighter, a quick sizing up or quick study would show.

“So were you wanting my professional or personal opinion on the metas,” she asked, having seemed to ignore the question when first asked. By then she was leading the way toward the building, crunching across the parking lot as there was a little bit of loose gravel. It made it easier for her to track footsteps, even though she was very quiet and light on her feet, even if she was slightly off balance from the gym bag in her left hand.

“To be honest, either works. I think it depends on which you’re more comfortable giving. Though something to chew on:: when has anything, that’s sugar coated in one way or another, been considered good?” Rach shot back with her own question, seemingly asking for the personal thoughts more than the overly sweet cover story. It might’ve been some people’s bread and butter, but it wasn’t hers. Following close behind, her head tilted down at the sword hilt peering past the open flap. The woman paused enough to give Justine an unsure look as she stared a bit more at the wooden sword hilt, inwardly debating on continually walking or walking a few steps in her wake.

Rach’s finger gestured at it, her words were thick with sarcasm and suspicion when she commented. “Are you expecting trouble or you aiming to hold up a store with that thing?”

“Neither. I had an early morning kendo practice at the police gym with my dad,” she said. “SWAT team and some of the others started up in the last couple years, after Introduced them to Master Bushey,” she explained. “It’s good for their training, give them some practical skills, keep them sharp.” She smiled a little as she continued walking, not missing a beat. “As for the Metas, my boss wants dirt. -I- think they’re just like anybody else, just with extraordinary gifts and circumstances. It’s a recipe that can be for good or for bad. You want to know what makes up a person? Give them power, see what they do with it. Some go bad, some go good. Some just don’t care.”Justine shrugged a little as she walked. “Manners maketh man, as does power.”

She paused for a moment, turning back to Rach, one hand raised, palm open, edge on, fingers pointed toward her, slightly splayed open, a forestalling sort of gesture, interjecting and cutting through, getting in edge-wise. “A gun, a knife, a sword, a bomb, or a hundred thousand dollars are all forms of power. Some build charities and scholarships, and stop theater shootings. Others gun down innocent people, rob the average citizen, and form insider training and monopolies. in a lot of ways the playing field is still the same, just like the arms race. The bow and arrow allowed Genghis Khan to rule all of Asia and even farther beyond. Rifles killed plate steel armor. Repeating rifles beat out muzzle and breech-loaders. Then came the machine gun and automatic rifle, and Viet Nam saw the resurgence of body armor. Two bombs ended World War II, and now everybody has them or wants them, but nobody really dares use them. The world is a rough place and times and the tools change. now, there are Metas, good and bad, doing what they do. Hopefully the good guys can maintain the status quo, but.. criminals and badguys get very inventive and change things all the time.”

She paused for a moment letting her hand drop. “Sorry.. I’m preaching, and I shouldn’t.. I’ve a bad habit of shooting my mouth off at times. My boss doesn’t always like it,” she said quietly.

Rach came to a stop when Justine’s hand whipped out to halt her. Her eyes narrowed and she adjusted her things, her arms growing a bit numb from the dead weight, her ears catching the thoughts of the woman’s rambling. It seemed more like a preach about politics of right and wrong and how the world evolves. The bigger guns always won in the end and within Lost Haven, those nice, new guns were called ‘Metas’. Most the word choices seemed personal in natural which she easily shrugged off, knowing it wasn’t her business. It only took until the end of the speech for Justine to realize she was giving off one rather than an opinion.

Racheli just shrugged it off as she spoke. “Don’t apologize for your thoughts, I asked for them after all and of I wasn’t ready for it to turn into a debate then it’s my own damn fault for asking. That’s the way I see it. One thing I liked about your cousin was he never bothered caring about how his thoughts came off to anyone though he was usually careful on his wording the first time. So, we head in before my arms drop off? I’m pretty sure after your lessons, you’re pretty exhausted and I rather get settled in before looking for a job.”

She sighed and shook her head. They were almost to the building, as it was only a few meters away. She’d stopped about half way. Heading for the door, she pulled out her key to open the lower door. It would allow someone to egress just fine, but to get in, they’d need to be buzzed in or have a key. Inside was a lobby area of sorts with stairs leading up several stories, a short set of stairs leading down, and a cage style elevator leading up the main stairwell. “Stairs or lift,” she asked. The stairs were faster, but required more effort. … Though the idea of just porting up there came to mind too..

“I think I prefer the stairs. Not a fan of bird cage to be honest.” Racheli stated, her tone betraying her discomfort over it as she turned toward the stairs. Her mind lingered on how it was too confining to her and the idea of being a cage, even a moving one, made her uncomfortable. It was like being in jail and she already been there in her early teens enough to last her a life time. Her hands tightened on her bags, her muscles strained a bit, while she gesture for Justine to lead the way. After all, she had no way of knowing where she was going.

Shrugging, Justine headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time, but not so fast that she would leave Racheli behind. AFter four flights though, she had slowed down to one at a time and was moving a bit slower, as they stopped off on the fourth floor. That was probably one of the reasons she was in good shape, besides the classes. Four flights of stairs could do a number for a person’s legs. Moving from the landing, she headed down the hall. There wasn’t very far to go, as they made their way to the end. By the time they got to the apartment, she had her keys out and quickly unlocked the place, letting Rach preceded her in, then slipped in as well, shutting the door, locking it, deadbolting it, and sliding the chain.

Finally, she hefted the bag once, getting a better grip. She still hadn’t transferred it to her other hand, nor did she seem winded by the climb, or even really othered by it. Moving from the doorway, she gestured to the left. “Kitchen, dining area on the other end of it. Living room on the right. Bathroom between the bedrooms. I took the one on the right, yours is on the other side.” As she spoke she played tour guide, giving the nickel tour."There’s a linen closet over here, and, of course the bathroom has a full shower and tub.. There’s some groceries in the fridge. Anything you need, I’ll be happy to help get, or go out for.” As she finished speaking she’d made her way to her room, and dropped her bag inside the door.

“Questions, comments, concerns, complaints,” she asked, as she turned around, bouncing a little bit, followed by stretching her arms over her head, then bending back and then forward for a moment, perhaps being a little fidgety and loosening up.

Being once a boxer, Racheli used her legs in a fight and to most that meant she should be able to keep up with Justine. However it was clear she hadn’t boxed in years while she made her ascend. Her legs started to burn and scream in protest, her lungs trying to collect the breath she had trouble keeping in her chest and her stubbornness too strong willed to let her give up chasing after Justine. Her arms were already numb to the stress from the bags, the muscles deadened almost to any sensation when they finally reached the fourth floor.

Rach paused a moment on the landing, her hands placing the bags on the floor to get some feeling back into the. Her eyes watched Justine turn off and walk down the hallway likely toward the room, causing her to curse under her breath. Not wanting to lose her only guide to the apartment, she inhaled deeply and jerked the bags from the ground before darting to close the distance between them. Already Justine had her keys unlocking the door then pushed the door, gesturing for Racheli to get in then locked the door behind them. Immediately, the woman’s eyes brow raised at the three measures of protection for the door alone. It screamed bad neighbor in her mind which made Rach wonder how dangerous the Sherman Square was and if she should consider the odds they might have unwanted company one day or the woman was completely paranoid. Considering she sword played with a Swat team, Rach doubted it was the later.

Pushing the thought behind her, Racheli’s hands plopped the bags down and shoved them to the nearest wall with her foot. She didn’t intend to leave them there permanently but rather until feeling returned to her arms. She turned toward her house mate still standing in the doorway, unaffected by the climb she likely did on a daily basis, then started the tour. Racheli stuck close to Justine while her hands rubbed her muscle, trying to ease the sting creeping along her arms with gentle massaging movements, her head casually turning to the room with each label spoken. the tour short, pleasing Racheli, when Justine finally made her way into her own room where she cast off her bags onto her own bed.

Racheli politely stalled just outside the woman’s bedroom door waiting for her finish up, her arm leaning against the frame to look at her friend’s cousin. Spotting the spare energy the woman during her little stretching, she shook her head and smirk lightly for the first time. She answered in a casual tone when Justine asked for any concerns she might’ve had. “Nothing comes to mind right now, though if something comes up then I’ll bring it right to you. Though I noticed several layers of locks on the door so is the neighborhood that rugged or does that come with sword fighting with police?”

“Every apartment I’ve lived in has had those measures. It’s pretty typical, as far as I knew,” she said. “I never thought anything of it. I mean, its not like it would stop anyone really determined to get in. They could come through an exterior window too. And… well the wall might be easier to come through,” she said.

She shrugged a little. “I also have a Carry Concealed Weapon license, and a good amount of shooting time. It’s kind of the same principle as a condom. I’d rather have it and not need it, than need it and not have it. My daddy didn’t raise me to be a victim. I don’t really need a gun, but.. it’s easier. ‘Course, as a journalist, I can wind up in some nasty neighborhoods. You know?”

“You’re just a bundle of positive thoughts, aren’t you?” Racheli’s tone weaved between teasing and sarcasm, unsure herself which it was really.

The woman was borderline paranoid, she decided when the mention of a concealed weapon license came out. Her body edged from the doorway and trotted back toward the living room where she left her bags, bending over to retrieve them. Giving a slight grunt, she hauled them back over to her room where she once more tossed them gently to the side. Her body seemed to have grown heavy as her limbs hung limp at her said, her illness seemed to take a potshot at her weakness. The cough hit her hard, making her chest rattle and eyes shut tightly, hacking abruptly until her throat was raw. The sound echoed in her ears and loud enough it could’ve been heard from Justine’s room. Rach’s arm reached out to prevent herself from crumbling thanks to the surprising strength, thinking for a moment she might’ve just pissed her pants, then feeling it fade away.

“Fucking flu.” Racheli hoarse out, as she closed the door and crawled onto the bed where she passed out.

From the moment word came down from The Cowl, all Hell was breaking loose in Lost Haven. The Shroud Syndicate was out to make a statement, and every single member of the organization, including the so called “sub contractors” were out on the streets doing just that. Throughout the city, agents of The Cowl, and their own subordinates were on a one night reign of terror. It was a sight reminiscent of the famed “Devil’s Night” tradition in 1970’s Detroit. In parts of the city fires raged, illuminating the night sky for miles around.

Charlie Packard and his partner, Danny James didn’t know exactly why they were told to cause so much damage, and they didn’t much care. They knew that their employer worked for some big shot, but until recently, they had no idea just how big of a player he was. Though they didn’t know the name of their boss’ employer, or the Shroud Syndicate itself; they were ensured that they were in league with the most powerful criminal organization in the Western Hemisphere, let alone Lost Haven herself. It was because of this that they finally felt as if they had become important, they had finally arrived. With their newfound status, they also had a viciousness that they had previously lacked. They pillaged with a ferocity that they had only imagined was possible, ransacking stores, taking everything they could, and burning what they couldn’t.

As violent as they were, Charlie and Danny were also prone to boredom. They quickly grew tired of looting and found themselves wanting more of a challenge. Their predatory nature took over, and soon found themselves looking for live prey. They didn’t care much who their victims were, they just wanted to hurt somebody, anybody. Fortunately for them, they did not have to wait long.

“Well, lookey what we got here.” Charlie whistled at a young couple as they walked down the street, clearly trying to get away from the chaos in the city. The young lovers were a good looking couple, which caused Charlie to take an immediate disliking to them.

Charlie and Danny stepped toward the couple, blocking the pair’s path.

“Where d’ya think yer goin’?” Danny asked, taunting the pair.

“Get out of the-“ The young man said before Charlie pistol whipped him, knocking him unconscious before he could finish his sentence. The young woman let cried out in terror as she watched her lover fall to the ground unconscious.

Charlie then grabbed the young woman by her chestnut colored hair and pulled her close to him.

“Now we’re gonna party.” He said as he began guiding her toward a nearby ally. The young woman struggled, but was quickly overpowered by the two larger men. Even though she was outmatched, she didn’t give up, she continued to fight to get free, even as the men pulled her into the darkened cover of the ally.

Suddenly, the loud roar of an engine filled the air, and the bright light of a pair of headlights illuminated the ally way. For a moment Charlie, Danny, and the woman seemed to forget their struggle as they watched a sleek black supercar race toward them, and then just as suddenly come to a grinding halt in front of them. The front of the car opened, and a black clad man sprung from the open windshield, striking Danny with a flying right hand that sent the thug crashing against the ally wall with a thud.

Charlie forgot about the young woman and charged at the feline themed attacker, swinging with a wild roundhouse right which was easily blocked. Lyger hit Charlie with a chop to the throat and then followed it up with a hard kick to the chest. The sound of breaking ribs could be heard as they echoed off the ally walls, and before the pain of the broken bones could register in Charlie’s brain, Lyger dropped him with a left cross.

“Get him, and get home.” Lyger said as he turned his head toward the frightened young woman, before lifting Charlie back up to his feet.

“Oh, you…you’re in a world o….of shit now. D…Do you know who we work for?” Charlie sputtered on between pained breaths.

“Yeah, I know who you work for, and I want you to give him a message for me.” Lyger said.

“Oh…oh yeah? And what’s…what’s that?”

“I’m coming for him.” Lyger told him simply.

“Yeah, haha…ah fuck…haha. And who the hell are you?” Charlie laughed despite the pain.

“They call me Lyger.” He said as he struck Charlie again with a straight right hand, rendering the thug unconscious.

(Collaborative post between Raptorman, Marra Mistborn, and Dedonus)







“Orbital laser bombardment. I drew him into position. But it’s out of alignment now.” Archangel’s voice was level and matter of fact as she explained what had been done to cause the earth shattering strike that had temporarily banished the darkness. “I won’t be able to do that again for three hours nineteen minutes and twenty six seconds.” The metal angel had begun to turn, as if to aid her ally in the struggle against the man clad in bones when a sinister laughter, booming and sounding as if it was came through a sheet of phlegm sounded.

"That didn't sound good, especially since our 'big guns' are on cooldown at the moment." Iron Knight was holding his own against the bone clad warrior, primarily due to the shields that the armored hero had activated and encircled himself with. However, while being able to hold ones own against these maniacs at least an accomplishment, Iron Knight was not in a position to counterattack, as his shields prevented him from doing so. Unless he lowered his shields and made himself prone to the skeleton's attacks, there was not much that the Iron Knight could do.

From the rubble and the shattered remnants of the street below the darkness began to trickle back upwards and as the shadows again coalesced and formed into a solid mass the laughter grew stronger and louder. “YOU CAN NOT FIGHT THE DARKNESS! I AM YOUR NIGHTMARE!” The voice joined the laughter as the shadows lapped over the rubble and began to hurl it upwards towards the metallic angel. None of the pieces actually struck her, but in truth they weren’t aimed for her.

One of the pieces struck something almost invisible where it hovered high above, the generator that was maintaining the field of false daylight that had trapped the darkness inside of it. There was a loud cracking sound and then a sputtering before the field failed and darkness once again reigned. But instead of the inevitable attacks there was nothing, the deeper pool of darkness simply melting away into the night on the whole.

The skeletal man with all of his bone spears and weapons faded away into the night as well with one final volley of the spines. It would seem something of a victory until one realized that despite the battle, despite the level of destruction that had been brought upon the region of the city, despite the efforts of Archangel and the Iron Knight, the original series of murders, the spree of kills that marked Nightmare’s presence had gone unstopped.

The metal angel’s thrusters ceased and her suit lowered until she was standing on the rooftop next to the Iron Knight. “This was supposed to work. What are we dealing with that he just ignored it all?” Her voice sounded troubled as the visor of her suit retracted to show the same face that had appeared on the screens during his earlier talks with her.

“My calculations are not wrong, but he survived and escaped. It does not make sense.”

Iron Knight, since their targets had dissolved into thin air, deactivated his external shields. "Well, that's math and science for you. Sometimes, even though everything looks perfect on paper, the actual test might not go the way it was intended." He began to pull out the 'bone' spikes from the torso of his armor as he tried to console his partner, "There must be other variables present that we failed to take into consideration when we made this plan. Maybe analyzing these will help." The Iron Knight held out his hands, which were holding the 'bone' spikes that he had just pulled out from his breastplate.

It seemed like the inaccuracies really bothered Archangel though and she shook her head. "I'm not wrong like this. There is something else at play here." One of the armored hands of her suit reached out to take the bone spines. "I'll run the tests on them and spend some time collating. At least the barrier was functional." Archangel gave a precisely engineered half smile.

"Hey, we're all human, right? As Seneca the Younger once wrote: 'errare humanum est', or 'It is human to err'. You cannot beat yourself up over one failed attempt." Iron Knight was about ready to ask if Archangel know how many times it took Thomas Edison to perfect the electric light bulb. However, he decided not to do so, believing that little phrase was a little to cliche. Placing his arm over Archangel's shoulder, the Iron Knight began to speak, "Maybe after you try figuring out what went wrong, we can discuss the problems you have been dealing with your suits. Have I mentioned that I figured out a solution? The last couple hours have been so crazy that I can't even remember whether or not I have already done so."

"You found a solution?" Archangel's face showed a flash of joy that seemed out of proportion for fixing a simple cooling problem. "If you send me the solution, I'll test it. Then perhaps we can get together and work on all of this?"

"Well, it wasn't that difficult to figure out." Iron Knight boasted, "A few changes here, some more there. However, you'll have to wait until I get back to base to send you the solution, since I didn't break the data with me in this suit. Once you have implemented those designs, just let me know and we can work on some of this stuff together."

With that being said, the Iron Knight launched into the sky, heading back toward the S.T.R.I.K.E. base. Once there, he would transfer the data that contained the solution to Archangel's problems. It would also give him an opportunity to repair his own armor and making some adjustments so that he would fare better in the next battle.

The rain pounded down on the cracked asphalt leading to the abandoned factory just outside town. However, the factory was anything but abandoned. Inside, many mechanical arms were at work, drilling, prodding, and holding a mechanical hulk that was Equilibrium. Sparks flew down on the concrete floor, as the final plate was welded to the faceplate. Nearby, a young man pushed up a welder's mask, and smiled, looking it over. It was ready.

With the recent rise in Meta activity, (Angel himself notwithstanding,) the 25-year-old had decided that someone had to do something to combat it all. While there were some Metas that were benevolent, like Icon, there were twice as many that were malignant, and even more who just worked as mercenaries. STRIKE had proven itself unable to deal with this competently, and even though it was a powerful organization, there were just too many variables to control. Also, they were kinda a bunch of douches.

"Hey, Sherlock! It's done! Equilibrium is ready to reveal itself to the world!" Angel pulled the welder's outfit off, and revealed a black t-shirt and jeans underneath, by all appearances a normal college graduate. However, this man was a meta himself, able to control most forms of machinery.

On a computer monitor, sitting on a cluttered desk nearby, a line of text appeared:
<OH REALLY? I COULDN'T TELL, FROM THE GIANT MECH SITTING INSIDE THE BUILDING. TELL ME, ANY MORE OBVIOUS INFORMATION YOU'D LIKE TO GIVE ME, ANGEL?>

Angel chuckled, and lifted himself up onto a scaffolding surrounding the mech's cockpit. "Heh, Sherlock, don't be like that. It's not nice." Angel dropped into the cockpit, thick metal encasing him with the hiss of machinery. As the helmet pressed down, protecting his head, Angel aimed a mock pout at the nearest security camera, saying, "It makes me sad."

As the systems to the mech booted up, a line of text flashed across Angel's vision. <Yeah, yeah. Anyways, that thing you asked me to do, you know, the one about The Shroud? I've got the data packet stored inside the mech's memory, so you can review it on the way.> There was a second before Sherlock spoke again, as if thinking. <Anyways, Angel, what are you going to do next?>

The man inside the suit smiled, and clenched the giant fist, synced with the suit fully, and spoke, the synthesized voice of the suit reverberating throughout the room. "Not Angel. Equilibrium."

Stepping out into the rain, Equilibrium was ready to raise hell on the scum of the city. Not literally, like D-Day, though. That was just freaky. Luckily for Angel, the only thing Sherlock and him had to deal with was a little maggot thing that tried to eat his face- anyways, time to get back to the mission at hand. Powering up the 'Pegasus' jump jets, he launched into the air, at a 45 degree angle, the thrust throwing him about a mile to the south. He hoped that the city was ready for yet another freak to change things.

---

As Equilibrium bounded across the landscape, he drew little attention, the only time he was noticed was when he landed on a farmer's tractor, crushing it in a hail of sparks and metal. Luckily for them both, the farmer had just gotten off, and now lay sprawled in the dirt, knocked backwards from the impact. Glancing at the farmer, and shaking the wrecked tractor off of his foot, Equilibrium said, "Uhm... sorry?" and then flew off, jump jets igniting.

As he lifted off, he thought to himself, Crap, that was embarassing. Luckily, Sherlock was off gathering information on Lost Haven, and not there to humiliate him. Several leaps through the night later, he landed at the outskirts, startling a mugger, and his victim. Both of them looking at him uncertainly, he waved at them, trying to appear cheerful. Which was hard, in a 6-ton war machine. "So I would drop that gun, if I were you. And maybe get a job. Seriously, if you're gonna try and mug someone, do it in another city. With your luck, a Meta or a crime boss will come after you. And I guess me, too." The mugger, knees shaking, nodded in consent, and ran off, dropping the gun. The woman was just as stunned as the mugger, and just sat there. Watching the mugger, to make sure he left the woman alone, he nodded in satisfaction as a door about a block down from where they were slammed shut.

Saluting the woman briefly before charging up the 'Pegasus' jump jets, Equilibrium aimed at the tallest building nearby, which was, luckily, an abandoned construction site. The steel I-beams reached towards the sky above the last completed floor, constructed out of concrete and steel supports. Looking around, he realized that he was in the part of Lost Haven known as Little Sicily. Sherlock hadn't gotten back to him about the particulars of each neighborhood, so all Equilibrium knew about the city was the layout, and its reputation for Meta battles.

Looking over the city, he noticed a blip on his sensors, coming from the direction of the water treatment plant. It wasn't much in the way of activity, but the energy readings were almost off the scale. Almost. A Meta? Charging his jets, he leapt forward off the building, saying, "Well, we can't have that, now can we?"

As he crashed into the ground outside, a cloud of dust rose from the cracks in the pavement that formed upon landing. There was no way that whomever the person inside was, that they didn't hear that. Unless they were deaf. Could deaf Metas be useful in combat? Huh. Might want to look into that later.

Standing up straight, and pointing the gun embedded in his left arm at the doorway, he saw on the sensors that there were two signatures inside the plant. The security guard outside was on the other side of the plant, although he would most likely be on his way over. "Hey, whoever ya are in there, get out. I dunno what a meta would want with the Water Treatment plant, but its probably not good. So geddout." A click, only audible to Equilibrium, sounded inside his helmet. It signified that the explosive rounds had switched out with the conventional ones. Whatever the Metahuman was, he would need a little bit more 'boom', most likely.

On this dark and down-pouring night, a dark figure snuck his way into what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. While this is what it seemed like to the nearby residents, the building was actually the headquarters of a small operation for the Shroud Syndicate. The man who just entered the warehouse stood just at the front of the entrance, drying himself off from the torrents of rain that had soaked him outside.

“Did you get the files, Frank?”

“Right here, Jimmy.” The man pulled out a yellow manila folder from the inside of his coat, where it was protected from the wet weather outside. “We better get going and set everything up. He will be coming any time now!”

Suddenly, a large explosion detonated outside of the warehouse, blasting the entrance door inward. However, when the handful of men took a peak outside, they didn’t see anyone.

“Jimmy, you’re with me. Everyone else, make sure this vigilante doesn’t get past that door!” Unfortunately, Frank knew that the small force present at this headquarters would be no match for what was coming, as the operations in Springfield were quite minimal and only a skeleton crew manned the base. These few men would only give them a short amount of time to get everything ready.

“Who is this guy?” Jimmy asked Frank as they dashed deeper into the warehouse.

“He calls himself Odysseus, after the Homeric hero of Ithaca. He apparently hails from Pacific Point. Even though he does not seem to be a meta, he has been thwarting some of the syndicate’s lesser operations out on the West Coast.”

Before Frank could give out any more information about their eminent assailant, an arrow flew from behind them and struck Jimmy in the center of his back. However, instead of piercing the man, the arrow released tasers that stunned and incapacitated the thug. A second arrow came from the same direction, but this time, it was shot at a lower height. Once the arrow had flew past between Frank’s legs, the arrow shot out a coil that wrapped around his ankles, causing him to fall flat on his face.

Once Frank recovered from his hard fall, he realized that he was hanging upside down. Looking over towards his left, he saw the man picking up Jimmy and tying him up in the same fashion in which Frank was tied up. The man, ethically Greek (or rather Greek-American), was physically well-built. Not quite to the same level as a weight-lifter would go for, but he was muscular enough for his bulk to not interfere with his flexibility and ability. Hanging on his back was the bow, which he had used to take out the skeleton crew that was running Syndicate base.

The man, so-called Odysseus, then picked up the manila folder, which had dropped out of Frank’s coat, from the floor. “Thanks for cooperating, gentlemen. Don’t worry. The police should be here any moment now to cut you guys down.” Turning away from the two men, Odysseus walked away, leaving the warehouse and entering into the dark, rainy night.

After a while, prior to the police arriving on the scene, Frank’s partner, Jimmy, regained consciousness. “The boss won’t be happy that that vigilante took that intel. What are we going to do, Frank? There’s’ nowhere to hide in prison!”

Frank smiled when he heard his partners’ question, laughing silently about the naivety of his associate. “No, the boss will not be disappointed at what happened here. In fact, this was his plan all the long. Sacrifice one of his lesser operations in order to give the bigger fish some more time to prepare for any vigilante or metahuman interference.”

“What false info did the boss give that wannabe hero?”

“Oh, just that the Shroud Syndicate is cooking up metahumans in New York state.”

“When did that start? I never heard of that before.”

“That’s the point.” Frank gave another smile, knowing what this little ploy had orchestred.

Scott and Eric had been impressed by Clara’s band, Lady Fairchild. So impressed, that they offered them the gig as The Hub’s new house band. However, as they hammered out the final details of the deal, Scott found himself staring at the pretty brunette who was also the lead singer of the band. She had introduced herself as Keira Parker, and from the moment they had met, Scott had a hard time taking his eyes off of her, and he had noticed that she seemed to be interested in him as well.

“So, we get Friday and Saturday nights, and you give us 30% of the take?” Clara said to Eric, clarifying the terms of the deal.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Scott?” Eric said, wanting to get confirmation from his business partner.

“Sorry, what?” Scott asked as he was forced back into the conversation that he wasn’t really listening to. He had been lost in the moment, in the unspoken flirtation between himself and Keira.

“The split. We were going to go 70-30, right?” Eric asked, successfully masking his annoyance from his voice.

Scott was about to confirm that yes, that was what they had agreed on when his enhanced senses picked up on something outside. Even through the loud music that was currently playing inside the club, he could hear the sounds of gunfire. From the sounds of it, it was several blocks away. The gun shots were followed by the sounds of squealing tires and the pained cries of someone who he could only assume was the target of the shooting. Then there was something else. The smell of smoke began to burn his nostrils. He knew that something was going on outside, and he had to find out what it was.

“Excuse me.” He said, getting up from the table. “I just remembered that there’s something I have to take care of. Ladies…” Scott said, nodding in Keira’s direction before disappearing from view into the crowded dance floor.



After excusing himself from the meeting with the band and changing out of his clothes into the recognizable blue and silver uniform that he wore as the masked hero Icon, he took to the skies in search of the commotion that he had detected from within the club. Once he was in the sky, it didn’t take him long to locate the problem. Or, more accurately, it didn’t take him long to find the problems.

He noticed no fewer than a half a dozen small fires, and several larger ones that threatened to consume entire blocks of the city. Fortunately, the fine men and women of the Lost Haven Fire Department seemed to be on top of things, and thought they struggled with the infernos, they seemed to have gotten things relatively under control.

Aside from the fires, Icon also saw a number of armed men and women running amok in Sherman Square, robbing and looting at will. Something didn’t seem right, it didn’t seem like a random riot. At first he thought that it may have been some of the city’s residents’ response to the Nightmare situation, however, it just didn’t feel right. This felt more something deliberate, a message. But from who? Icon didn’t know, and he didn’t much care.

As he flew over the city, Icon noticed a small group of men standing outside of the shattered storefront window of a small electronics store. The store, called Angelo’s Electronics was a local staple in Sherman Square, having been in the same spot since 1968, where it had originally sold TV’s and radios, along with some small appliances. Over the years, the store had evolved, switching from just TV’s, radios, and small appliances to all manner of electronics. Stores and shops in Sherman Square changed over time, but Angelo’s was one of the few constants.

Icon gently touched down behind the small group of looters, and cleared his throat.

”You know, I don’t think Angelo would appreciate you trashing his store.” Icon said.

“Yeah, who gives a crap?” One of the looters asked before turning to see who it was that had the gall to address him. “Oh, shit.” He said as he saw the blue and silver clad form of Icon.

The looter a revolver out of his coat and began firing, hitting Icon four times in the chest and twice in the head. Icon just stood there, looking somewhat bored. He mimed covering his mouth from a yawn as the looter rushed toward him.

”Really?” Icon said as the looter cocked his fist to strike. When the looter’s fist struck Icon’s face, there was a distinct popping and cracking sound. The looter immediately pulled his hand back, and clutched his fist as he went down to his knees, crying out in pain. ”Yeah, because that’ll work.”

The rest of the looters came back from the store, and seeing the scene before them, not wanting to cross Icon, they placed the stolen electronics on the ground and surrendered. In a flash, Icon raced off to a nearby construction site, a building that was in the process of being repaired after sustaining significant damage during D-Day. Within seconds he returned with a large section of orange construction fencing and began wrapping it tightly around the group of looters.

”If I were you, I’d consider a new line of work.” Icon said as he took to the skies, racing off toward one of the massive infernos that threatened a nearby residential neighborhood.

"You insolent child!" Ares yelled as he stood to his feet. His menacing gaze set itself upon the strange spider-girl. "I am Ares, I am the God of War! Mountains tumble before my blows, and all soldiers bend the knee at the sound of my call. I command the power of a thousand exploding suns and hold the lives of all of earth in the palm of my mighty hand. You and your god are a speck before me, a footnote in the history of my conquest." Ares shouted in frustrated anger. How dare this insect come within his chambers and threaten his followers with the words of some human book. Now she would suffer the consequences.

"Polemos!" Ares yelled as his eyes began to glow crimson.

Chike turned towards his master, and their eyes locked. After a moment Chike's eyes became engulfed in the same crimson light as Ares forced his influence over his avatar. Chike felt his mind collapse, and he lost control of all motor functions. Another entity, some alien sentience that Chike had not known existed within him, became the master of Chike's body. This being was a construct of Ares' wrath. He was fury. He was death. He was war.

Polemos bent his knees and jumped. The sheer force of his takeoff created a shockwave that threw the crowd onto their backs as he took to the air. In a blinding flash Polemos bull rushed the Spider, his callous hands wrapping around the young girl's throat in an instant. He had given her little time to react as Polemos slammed the drider through the ceiling and the pair took off into the sky. The city rushed by in a blur as Polemos continued to fly at full speed over the city's streets. The demigod spotted his target: Central Station. Polemos continued flying, until he and Arachne slammed full bore through the train station. Fire engulfed Central Station as train after train found itself the target of Polemos' rage, slamming Arachne into the locomotives and causing numerous explosions. Polemos dragged the Spider along as they broke out of Central Station and continued on their flight. Chike tried his damnedest to slow down, to stop himself. He was going to kill her, and there was nothing Chike could do but watch as his own hands clenched around the creature's throat.

The rampage was not yet over. Polemos changed directions as he chose to fly through a line of apartment buildings. Using the arachnid as a makeshift ramming device, Polemos smashed through an entire city block of apartments. He aimed mostly for the lower floors and the load bearing walls; collapsing nine buildings as the two of them flew through Olympia. They briefly crossed Sherman Square, where Polemos and Archne were both able to see the fires that engulfed Lost Haven. Looters occupied the streets, ransacking stores and attacking civilians. Chike felt his heart drop as he watched his new home burning. If only he could control himself. Chike had the power to stop this. He could help! But no, Ares had other plans. Ares wanted his Avatar to kill this Spider for her ignorant challenging of Ares. Olympus would remember this day, Chike thought. Olympus would remember the day Polemos let Lost Haven burn.

The fight stopped abruptly outside city hall.

Polemos held the girl above his head with a single hand, looking up into her eyes. Was she frightened? Terrified? Perhaps she still had fight left in her. Whatever the case, the entity that now controlled Chike's every action was not yet finished. Polemos slammed the girl into the street and sent asphalt and concrete flying in all directions. Polemos lifted her up once more before tossing the Spider-girl into City Hall. Arachne punched through the building's wall and went sliding into the lobby. Polemos followed her after a moment, landing in front of her. "Tell me your name, Spider, for when I mount your head in the Shrine." Chike's voice was different. It seem distorted and clouded. Polemos' voice was filled with rage, hate and arrogance as he slammed a bronze boot on the side of the girl's face. "I could crush you like the bug that you are." He contemplated at loud. He seemed to think that victory was assured. After all, this girl was nothing to him. Weak and powerless before Polemos' godhood. Ignorance was bliss, for he knew not who he faced.

Suddenly a loud bang sounded from behind Polemos. He felt something touch him. Polemos turned around, fury in his red eyes.

A group of perhaps five masked men stood inside the hole Polemos had created when he threw his enemy into the Hall. "Who dares?" Polemos growled as he stepped off Arachne. One of the men pumped his shotgun, ejected a spent shell. The other men brought their guns up and began to open fire on Polemos. "Who is this freak?!" One of them asked as Polemos walked through the gunfire unaffected. "Dunno, but he's in our way! We gotta take out the May-" Their apparent leader's yelling ceased as Polemos rushed forward and grabbed his face. "You are a gnat." Polemos spat as he crushed the man's skull with his fingers. Polemos slammed his fist through the chest of another looter, tossing his body hard enough to break one of the other attacker's in half. Fire engulfed Polemos' hand as he melted the remaining looters with little effort. "I am War." Polemos spoke in a deadpan as he turned around to look for the Spider again...

One day earlier….

“So we all know the plan?”

“What plan? The man up top just wants us to stir shit up, what plan is that?”

These were the words spoken by two men in the Talons, a motorcycle gang based in little china in the city of Lost Haven, adept practitioners of what were called "firebombing runs", attacking stores with an array of Molotov cocktails and retreat in into the night. Once they were nothing but small-time, a local threat and nothing more. That had changed, however, when they came into contact with the Shroud Syndicate.The powerful cartel had offered them a deal too sweet to refuse, in exchange for a kickback of their exploits and a treaty with two rival gangs in the city, the Dread Men and the Brothers in Blood. Now these three gangs, among many others, bend knee to The Cowl.

And today, that loyalty will be called upon. The Talons now found themselves arming up for a "day of free reign", word from The Cowl himself that all street gangs would have a day to forgo restraint and simply cause a bit of havoc. No treaties, no advice, just cause panic in their respective territories. The only rule being to try and avoid killing too many people, as the Cowl was always oddly protective of the common man.

"C'mon, Brett, you know the big guy always has somethin' goin' on, why would he just make a scene out of the blue like this?”

Brett grabbed his helm, wings carved into the sides, visor in the shape of an eagle. “I dunno, bro, we ain’t under the Shroud because we ask a lot of questions.” The motorcyclist picked up a heavy led pipe, taking a few practice swings with it, the hum of the heavy metal singing through the air meeting the satisfaction of the thematic gang member. “You and I both know what those guys do to people who ask too many questions. You remember the Great Dane Gang, don’t you, Garrett?”

Garrett ended up jolting to a halt to Brett’s words, shuddering as he laced up one of his boots. Very briefly he remembered coming to a meeting with the Great Dane gang three years ago, only to find the gang’s bodies strewn along their hideout. The crack house decorated in blood and bodies still haunting his mind. “Y..yeah...You’re right.”

“Of course I am, so when the fucking Cowl, THE Cowl, asks us to go out on the town and stir some shit up? I’m not going to be the asshole asking ‘derrr why should we do that’?” He jabbed a finger into Garret, causing the man to be slightly pushed off balance as he was hunting through the garage’s armaments for his favorite pistol. “He says ‘jump’ we say ‘how high?’, he says ‘fight’ we ask for a target, we say…”

“God dammit, shut the fuck up, man, I get it!” Garrett snapped, nearly turning the pistol on his comrade as he whirled around to snarl at his cohort. “I just...we got capes to deal with now! Guys in spandex who can throw cars and shrug off bullets, how the fuck are we supposed to deal with that?”

“Well, asswipe, that’s a road we cross when we get to it.” Brett snapped back, mounting his motorcycle as he spoke. A hand draped down along the chrome handles, sliding along the etchings of massive birds of prey marked along the pipes, a cruel smile draping his face as his fingers found themselves crossing over some dried blood along the tire rim, vicious memories crossing the criminal’s mind as he leaned back in the seat. “From what I know, if we find ourselves in the presence of a cape, we try and stay out of their fuckin’ way as best as you can. From what it sounded like, we ain’t going to war today, just starting the fire.”

Garrett sighed, climbing onto his motorcycle as well, pulling an iron mask over his face. With a quick turn of the key, his bike growled into action, the engine revving with Garrett’s test pulls.

“Well what are we waitin' for, then?” Garrett shouted over the engine. “Let’s go fuckin' nuts!”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Present day, 10:00pm

“Initial reports are coming in, mister Cowl.” Came the voice of Specter, sitting in the corner of the Cowl’s office, deep within an undisclosed warehouse in the abandoned ends of Lost Haven. Both of these shadowy players knew that at that moment, the rest of the city was broiled in The Cowl’s handiwork, a testing of the proverbial metahuman waters. The Cowl himself was looking out from the tiny window of the office, his eyes fixated on a spot he could see across the landscape of buildings and lights. He could smoke rising from within a collection of high-rise buildings, hinting on that chaos occurring deep within the city, while Specter sat nearby, keeping tabs on the city’s events on a laptop. While they were not within earshot, both could associate the sounds neccessary to simulate the situation in their minds. Fire rising from wreckage, the screams of terrorized folk, the shattering of glass and the wails of sirens, all the symptoms of a riot echoed within their minds. The compurter screen illuminated the detailed mask of the Specter, similarly attired to the Cowl himself, but noticeably different. He was wearing a robe-like suit as opposed to his boss’ stealthy attire, bits of cloth were flowing flowing and wraith-like to adhere closer to his codename.

Within this compound were a swarm of heavily armed guards, posted at every door and two positioned within the Cowl's office. These men were The Cowl’s personal hand-picked security force, some dressed to fit The Cowl's theme, attired in hoods and catsuits, kevlar and ceramic plates lightly covering and protecting them, while others had their body armor covered by well-tailored suits, their weaponry comparatively lighter than their costumed comrades. It was clear that there was varied devotion to the crime lord. To those in suits; this was a hefty paycheck with fairly decent benefits. To the hooded guards, however; this gang was their entire livelihood, a stronger bond than any family they had ever known. They had even taken to calling themselves "The Veilguard" and heavily training in military squad tactics and weapons training, becoming almost cult-like in their devotion.

“Well don’t keep me in suspense, my shadow.” The Cowl’s voice echoed across the room in return, never turning away from the smoking city in the distance as he spoke. “What have we smoked out of the shadows now that we’ve set their feet to the fire?”

"As per your request, the gangs we reached out to have begun razing their respective territory.” Specter began, the faint sound of the laptop’s keys barely reverberating into the room as the second-in-command busily pulled up current news stories and articles. “Small riots have broken out in the city, fires have been set, and there is substantial property damage already, the areas you’ve been looking to purchase will most likely be cleaned out by tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes, that plan was always going to go smoothly, especially with how much public destruction is going on these days.” The Cowl scoffed, waving off the report with a wave of his hand. “Are we getting the attention of any metahumans, so far? Have any come to see what they can do?”

“A few reports here and there.” Specter replied. “The night is still young, so not much of a metahuman presence has appeared. However, that does not mean we are off the hook. As you are already aware, a one ‘Jim Wilson’ vanished a few nights ago, his desk removed of all important information regarding our affairs. As the evidence was all taken away and not returned to us by the police, we are certain that was a metahuman looking to find us. We have not found this vigilante or discovered their name, so hopefully this will attract the unnamed meta’s attention.”

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good, but I want confirmed names, who do we have who has actively appeared?"

“We already have one name who has actively called you out.”

On those words, Cowl stopped his methodical pacing, whirling on his heel to face his lieutenant. “Excellent! Tell me more.”

With a few deft keystrokes, Specter quickly rose from his seat and placed his laptop on the desk, allowing the Cowl to get a better visual on the masked man while he spoke. “We recovered a low-rank member by the name of Charlie, one of our ambulances picked him up before the police did. He and his friend, Daniel, were found in an alleyway, beaten up pretty bad. Charlie himself was given several broken bones and internal bleeding.” Specter hit a key on the keyboard, showing a picture of the young man in the ambulance, his face and body severely bruised and bloodied by what could only be described as a severe beating.

“My, my, this fellow clearly pulls no punches.” The Cowl mused, looking over the damages on the small screen. “Who is the culprit who has challenged me so directly?”

“According to the woozy ramblings of the Charlie, his name is Lyger.” Specter said, changing the screen with another few keystrokes to show a few news articles with the titular costumed vigilante. “An active metahuman with growing popularity, this ‘Lyger’ has participated in a few major events in the past few months, including defending Lost Haven from the notorious ‘D-Day’.”

“Interesting…” The Cowl whispered, leaning onto the desk to get a better look at the man’s costume. “Do you think he’s the one who killed our Mr. Wilson?”

“Doesn’t sound like his way of doing things, he’s in the public eye, and he left Charlie and Daniel alive.” Specter replied, “From initial speculation, I don’t think this is the man who killed Jim.”

“Hmph, fair enough.” The Cowl scratched his chin, leaning back to a fully standing position as he took a few cautious steps away from the computer. “Still...he called me out...are you sure about this?”

“Charlie said that Lyger told him who he worked for, and that he was coming for that man.” Specter replied. “Whether that means he knows it is you directly, or simply another person working for you...he’s sniffing out your trail sooner or later.”

"Well, no matter,”The Cowl stated, turning to the exit of the office and beginning a quick stride towards the doorway. “We’re now aware of his intentions, it will give us the advantage when dealing with him in the future...for now. Who else do we have on the table?”

“Well, Icon just got involved, dealing with the Brothers of Blood looting in Sherman Square.”

“Oh, well who hasn’t that fellow gotten involved in?” The Cowl responded, adding a huff at the end of his sentence, causing the mask to ripple slightly. “Still...good to know he’s not just chasing the big threats. We may have to deal with him as well.”

“There is also another matter that occurred before tonight.” Specter pointed out, moving a few files on the screen to reveal security footage of a small warehouse the Shroud had a minor blackmail and extortion operation working out of. It was there to keep the strings attached to the Cowl’s fingers, allowing him to keep influence over some smaller businesses in Little Sicily. In the footage the two men could see the entire warehouse be attacked and cleared by a lone man with a bow and arrow, firing nets and stun bolts from his quiver. “The man calls himself Odysseus, a sort of homage to the Greek hero in the legend of The Odyssey.” He pointed at the bowman, dressed to fit the role of his name. “He disrupted a few of our operations like this, but luckily, he intercepted some of our dummy information, there is a good chance he will be heading to New York to try and deal with a problem that doesn’t exist.”

The Cowl gave a small laugh underneath his hood, the mask hiding his true glee at the information. “Good, let our boys in New York know that they will have a meta to deal with.”

Specter’s eyes widened at his boss’ words, twisting his torso to face The Cowl. “When did you get influence in New York?”

The Cowl laughed heartily, clapping Specter on the shoulder. “Oh, my dear, dear shadow…” The man began, moving past the lieutenant towards the empty doorway. “There is much I keep secret, even from you. You may be my second-in-command...but only here, in Lost Haven. At any rate, we have other business to carry on with, you will keep track of any new metahumans that reveal themselves, and we will get a sense on exactly who and what we are dealing with by the end of the night.”

As the Cowl got to the doorway, he was greeted silently by two of his hooded guards. The crime lord spent no time giving them a pleasant greeting, instead simply delivering an order. “Get the cars ready, and plan a route to the docks.”

At the mention of the docks, it was Specter who rose his head at the order, turning away from his computer and quickly moving to The Cowl’s side. “Uh...sir?” He asked, reaching out to the Cowl. “I know better than to question your decisions, but is now a good time to go out?”

The Cowl came to a halt, turning slightly to get an eye on his lieutenant, the eye containing what could only be described as an intense glint of excitement. “Specter, how many Police do you think are at the riots?”

“Um...well according to the reports, more than two thirds of the Lost Haven Police force has been dispatched to deal with the riots in the City.”

“You and I are also both aware that a hefty percentage of the Lost Haven Police are on our payroll. Correct?”

“Yes, that would be--” Specter stopped mid sentence, his eyes sprinting to the floor as the pieces began to come together. “This wasn’t just to get the names of our enemies...was it?”

“No, that was merely part of the plan.” The Cowl said, his voice lightning up, hinting that underneath his mask there was nothing but a smug, sneering grin plastered on his unknown face. “This was not just some buglight hoping to zap to particularly nasty locusts, this was a distraction. Every cop and every metahuman we know of is busy in the city, saving the common man and thwarting countless looting attempts, all of the police force is entirely concerned with our riots...and left the rest of the town unguarded.” He turned slowly, his stride resuming, knowing his Specter would follow. “We have an appointment in the nearby harbor, I suspect the cars should be ready now.”

“The harbor?” Specter asked, chasing his crime lord with a frantic pace, reaching out to him. “What’s going to be waiting for us at the harbor?”

Not even bothering to look back, The Cowl uttered in a defiant baritone, declaring the true intention for his dastardly scheme of the night.

“A cargo ship, we’re going to accomplish the biggest smuggling deal this town has ever seen...and then…” He turned slightly, making momentarily eye contact with Specter. “We will make this town remember why they fear the Shroud Syndicate!”

The night came alive with random acts of crime that sent the whole city into a frenzy. Metas were popping in left and right to deal with the chaotic mess along with a majority of the Lost Haven Police Department. The night sky was tinged an ominous red as flames licked the heavens and consumed buildings greedily. Far from the epicenter of the destruction, Predator perched on an office building and watched the madness from a clear distance. He was extremely tempted to go in and wreak havoc among the criminal element with extreme prejudice. His demon blood surged and burned in sheer excitement at the possibilities. However, he stamped out the blood-pumping passion for destruction with all of his willpower. To reveal himself before so many people would be... catastrophic. Anonymity was his ally and no matter how much his nature seethed and thrashed to be acknowledged with fear and awe by the humans and metas alike, Predator could not lose focus. While he couldn't be sure, it seemed that the Cowl had made a play against the city.

"A warning perhaps... or a taunt? No... this is too flamboyant for the Cowl to be simply flexing his Syndicate's muscles. So much going on in the inner city. There's no point in investigating that mess with so many... variables." mused the half demon as he pondered the conundrum before him. His enhanced vision darted to and fro as the tiniest details of what was going on seemed to barely escape him.

"What am I missing? This is far too sloppy to be a concerted effort." continued Predator to himself as a deep seated growl started to rumble in his chest.

Frustrated, the shadowy beast started whipping his massive head from side to side as he looked to various locations away from the inner city. He thought back to his previous findings from the reports he swiped from Jim Wilson. The information was slim and lacking concrete details but it seemed the he played an important part with the smuggling around the ports. The fact that they took no real effort to replace him bothered the demonic hunter. It was like he was just a place holder for something. Of course he could assume with such a large organization that Jim Wilson was a relative non-factor but it was sticking in his craw like an unpleasant fish bone. His intuition was pointing him towards the port. There was something going on here and he had little to lose by backtracking a bit. He could not risk his cover to gallivant around the streets; picking off criminals and thugs.

Decision made, Predator pounced from building to building with cat-like agility and grace. Powerful muscles rippled under black scales as he loped across rooftops in relative silence. With all the activity going on in the city, most people were smart enough to stay inside and out of the way so Predator was fairly confident that there would be little chance to be seen from the streets. As he neared the docks, he slowed down and stuck to the darkness. His suspicions were raised as he approached his intended destination. Too many people were traipsing about the docks. While corporations did tend towards the "business as usual" mode of operations, even they would be hesitant to boldly place their workers out in the open when there was a city-wide riot going on. These workers were a little too complacent and calm given the circumstances. He needed a better vantage point.

The shadows jealously guarded their inhabitant as he quietly stalked through the less busy parts of the docks and avoided detection by the workers and guards. He kept his eye out for cameras and sensors as he picked out a suitable building near where the ships were unloading and loading cargo. He climbed up the building and scouted the top thoroughly. There were guards. He stayed calm and observed their movements while keeping an eye on his surroundings. They were far more interested in jabbering to each other than looking around much. He watched their patrol pattern and found a blind spot. They didn't seem to check the small elevated rooftop above the staircase exit so while they were looking away he crawled up and settled there for the moment. It wasn't ideal but it would have to do since he couldn't off the guards without drawing attention to their absence eventually.

It would be silly to assume that he knew what exactly he was looking for. Predator kept an eye out regardless. He was patient. He was in this hunt for the end game. It mattered little how long he had to wait. Tonight he would either find another clue or find another Jim Wilson. He deeply inhaled the briny air and collated the data within it. Lots of gunpowder tonight.

The infiltration of the Water Treatment plant had almost been a joke, in the back of his mind, War-Pulse surmised he probably could have walked right into this place in full costume and not a single person would have noticed. Warden was absolutely right in his original assumption in this place, a heavily guarded compound it was not. There were no armed officers walking the halls, just a fat security guard named Dennis slobbering over a greasy donut. Most of the cameras were working, but it wasn't like anyone really reviewed them, War-Pulse wouldn't have been surprised if they still were recorded on VHS tapes.

This is not to say the Plant was out of date, however. On the contrary, the place was very well kept and arguably quite up to date. The hallways were painted a spotless creamy white, the tile floor absent of dents or scratches, clearly buffered often by the janitors to the point where the florescent lights flashed up and into Pulse’s eyes. The equipment was pristine and spotless, sanitized at least every four hours. On top of that, there was a room before each treating room designed for decontamination, equipped with spare uniforms, gloves, and boots. It was only security that the establishment fell miserably short. It was just water after all.

Still, War-Pulse found himself woefully over prepared for this mission. He had wore his battle suit underneath the Electrician disguise in case anything got too hairy, his scarf actually being laughed at by some of the workmen who noticed him as he walked by. A few people had asked him where the other electrician was, who was apparently named Eric, but simply saying that Eric was under the weather was enough to throw the other Plant workers off of his trail, and even gave him free reign of the building. He had faked a few maintenance checks, hit a few buttons, pretended to write important notes down on a clipboard.

It didn’t take him long to reach the reservoir, not more than ten minutes went by before he found himself standing above the treated water, now being flooded out to the city. He made a few glances around the room, the people there were either too busy to notice him or simply not watching the disguised mercenary, a perfect time for him to act. He inconspicuously reached into his pocket, pulling the vial he brought with him from the cloth garment, the neon green fluid jostling around in its tiny container. Popping the safety seal, he gave another glance around the room, making sure nobody is any the wiser as a quick flip of the wrist sent the liquid careening into man-made river below, the small splash unheard by the surrounding workmen.

With his job done and three other vials waiting for him in the dumpster outside, a smirking War-Pulse began to make his smooth escape. However, that was when there was a loud crash coming from outside followed by a rumbling that shook the entire foundation, causing the mercenary to stumble a little bit. His eyes widened and his attention turned to the panicked workmen, watching them as they gathered to the outer halls, more appropriately to the hallways with windows looking outward. What had happened outside? Was there a big car crash? Had there been an explosion?

The original thought for the mercenary was to use this distraction to get the hell out of there, make his escape even easier than before. However, the attempt was quickly dashed once the culprit of the rumbling began to speak, through what sounded like a mechanized megaphone loud enough to pierce the admittedly thin walls of the Treatment Plant.

"Hey, whoever ya are in there, get out. I dunno what a meta would want with the Water Treatment plant, but its probably not good. So geddout."

At those words, War-Pulse’s eyes could not help but widen in surprise. Had someone found him out? He knew he had not been exactly the most subtle, but had someone really bothered to sniff him out?

“Warden?” War-Pulse grabbed a hold of his comm link, trying to get a read. “What’s outside right now?”

“That would be a two storey tall mech with a cannon pointed directly at you.” Warden replied, the sounds of clacking keys once more crossing over the comm link.

“What do you mean at me? I’m inside the building.”

“I hacked one of the street cameras outside and one inside the building, assessing the hypothesized trajectory of where his gun is, he’s pointing it directly at you, despite not being able to get a visual.”

“What? How is that possible? And how come you didn’t tell me there was a mech out there until now?”

“I didn’t tell you because it literally just dropped down, I was about to inform you, but clearly the person driving the mech already had the pleasure of doing so.” Warden said, his blunt manner of speech belied the humor in his sentence. “As for how it knows you’re there...have I ever told you that you are easily detectable on a both Geiger Counters and Energy Readers?”

“Wait, what?” War-Pulse audibly stammered out, causing some of the civilians nearby to look at the strange mercenary apparently talking to himself.

“Yeah, you glow like a christmas tree.” Warden added. “You’re a walking kinetic battery, it’s nearly impossible to ignore that.”

“And you never informed me before?” War-Pulse turned on a heel, glaring down the hallway as his face contorted to an annoyed frown.

“It never came up, nobody we’ve ever fought carries such devices. Plus, we aren’t usually hired for stealth missions, so there’s never been a worry for such things.”

The disapproving frown remained plastered on the merc’s face for only a few seconds, but it was not long before his lips contorted into an eager smile. “Pft, whatever, if someone wants to call me out, I’m sure as hell not going to disappoint.” He said, ripping the electrician’s disguise off of his body, revealing the silver and black battle suit underneath, zipping the facemask back up over his mouth, much to the shock of the surrounding technicians. “It’s about time I had another fight on my hands, I was getting bored.”

“I’d advise caution, we don’t know what this thing is capable of.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.” War-Pulse confidently teased, cracking his knuckles as he pushed open the double doors leading outside, the security guard at the gate knowing better than to get into Pulse’s way. “Just see what you can gather on your end, I’ve got some metal to scrap.”

Shoving the doors open, the appropriately attired superhuman traipsed out onto the concrete, coming into full view of the mechanical interloper. Warden was again entirely accurate in his description, War-Pulse now having to look up to face the colossal mecha. However, that did not give him pause when he addressed it, as very little actually does.

“Ohohohoho, now that’s what I’m talking about!” War-Pulse praised, gesturing to the machine in front of him. “That is an impressive piece of machinery, you look like something straight out of a video game, hot damn!” He crouched low, delivering a slow whistle as one would when observing an expensive sports car for the first time. “What kind of deal did you score on that? They don’t hide these in the back of a Best Buy for the VIPs, do they? I mean, with this kind of town, I’m thinking either alien tech or a custom build, that anywhere in the ball park?”

At this point, his movement was slow, calculated, the mercenary taking the time to size up his opponent. While War-Pulse couldn’t make out any other armaments other than the arm mounted cannon pointed at him, he did notice that several points of the mech sported extra plating, as if they could be moved to reveal other surprises. Remembering the last battlesuit he confronted, he surmised a battle plan of aggression might be the best option, the less tools his opponent used, the better for him.

“However, did you really have to be so blunt with the ‘meta’ thing?” War-Pulse continued, raising his arms to the Unnamed Armor as he rose to a standing position. "You clearly have no idea what I was doing in there, by the sound of your threat. For all you know that’s my day job you just outed me to!” He began to pace as he spoke, slowly circling the robot. “I mean, let’s both be real, it wasn’t, not by a longshot, but it could’ve been! You should be more careful when calling out metas, people in this town work real hard to hide identities!”

He laughed, switching his footwork now and again while circling the mech, making sure no matter which way he walked his front would be facing the mech suit. “Bah, whatever, what’s done is done.” He added, delivering a slight shrug of his shoulders with a hearty laugh. “You found me and dragged me out into the open. But the question remains; what are you gunna do about it, tough guy?” He brought his hands inward, lowering them to a readied stance above his belt height.