80,000 Feet Over the Pacific Ocean
0347 Local Time

The supersonic jet streaked through the stratosphere at a speed approaching Mach 2. Matte black and lightweight, the craft was designed to be fast and stealthy. It was invisible to radar and could outrun the fastest jets of any government on the face of the planet. It had no weapons systems because it did not need any weapons. Speed was its weapon.

In the pressurized cargo hold, the two Executive Branch agents sat calmly while the jet rocked and swayed through small pockets of turbulence. Theodore Roosevelt read a small paperback book while Abraham Lincoln sharpened a rather large hatchet on a piece of whetstone. Both men wore black wetsuits and rubber shoes. Between them was a large khaki rucksack.

"What are you reading today, Mr. Roosevelt?" Lincoln asked as he ran a thumb along the hatchet blade.

"A biography on our man, MacArthur," Theodore said without glancing up. "It's very rare that you find the man you are planning to assassinate has entire volumes of books written about him. I plan to embrace this unique opportunity and do some research."

"A prudent action," Lincoln said as he stood and took practice swings with his hatchet. "I think I have a firm grasp of the man from what I know. He reminds me of an old general of mine."

"McClellan," Roosevelt stated, pausing the turn the page of his book. "There are similarities in delusions of grandeur and ostentation. If my history readings serve me, your problem with McClellan, Mr. Lincoln, was that he lacked initiative when it came to engaging the enemy. He lacked fighting spirit. With MacArthur, he has too much initiative. Franklin called him the most dangerous man in America in 1932 for a reason."

Both men looked up when the door to the cockpit opened. Orville Wright stepped into the cargo hold, dressed in khaki pants, a leather bomber jacket, and goggles perched upon his head. He approached the two ex-presidents with a wide grin.

"Gentlemen, we are fast approaching the drop zone. The jet is on automatic pilot for the time being while I help you suit up and prepare for the jump."

The lone Wright Brother helped the two men into their jump gear. Thick thermal garments went over their wetsuits to protect from the intense cold once the cargo door was opened. Roosevelt and Lincoln slipped on oxygen masks and buckled parachutes to their backs while Orville strapped a parachute to the knapsack.

"I will take my leave from you," Wright said with a small bow. "Your supplies are rigged up with a chute as well. One of you must hold on to it and activate the parachute and the flotation device beneath the sack before you pull your own chute."

"That'll be no problem," Lincoln said through his oxygen mask.

"Good luck, gentlemen. The cargo doors will open in two minutes. When the light above the door goes green, you know what to do."

Orville disappeared back into the cockpit and locked the cabin door with a loud hiss.

"How old are you, Mr. Roosvelt?" Lincoln asked.

"I shall turn 157 next month," said Theodore, grinning from inside his mask.

"Happy early birthday, you youngster," Lincoln said with a smirk. "I turned 206 earlier this year."

"Well, happy belated birthday. I must say, Mr. Lincoln, that you do not look a day past 110."

"I have been fortunate enough to find adequate physical and mental stimulation here in my twilight years."

The large ramp opened from the back of the jet. A cold wind roared through the cargo hold. A bright light above the ramp flicked on and bathed the dim cargo hold in its glow. Lincoln hefted the knapsack into his arms and walked towards the edge of the ramp with Roosevelt. The two men looked out at the clouds beneath them. Even in the dark, they could see holes in the clouds that showed the vast Pacific Ocean nestled some fifteen miles below the jet. The light went from red to green. Without hesitation, both men leaped from the ramp and plummeted to the water and mission that waited for them below.

City Streets
Lost Haven, Maine
Day of the Riots

Run.

The crowd was loud and violent, shattered glass flying here and profanity being hollered there. It was full of people, angry at something beyond Charlotte's understanding.

Run, and don't look back.

They were all enraged over something for sure, but regardless of what it was, it was enough to drive them mad--in both meanings of the word. And fortunately for her, they made the perfect crowd for her to blend right into.

Don't make yourself distinguishable, just run.

She didn't intend to distinguish herself from the crowd, that was certain. All that mattered was getting away from that freak, that monster--but he was already right behind her.

RUN!

She didn't even have the time to bolt away. He charged forward and tackled her, pinning her to the ground on her stomach. His weight coupled with him forcing her to the ground knocked the air out of her lungs, only adding to the struggle of the moment.

Immediately, T grabbed the hood on Charlotte's hoodie and used it to start smashing Charlotte's face into the pavement, yelling insults as he did so. She couldn't really make them out, what with her face being smashed up and all that jazz.

Time seemed to slow down between mashes, to a tempo where she could think clearly despite the injuries she was receiving. If she used her powers now, she might be able to get away...but then, people would see her use her powers in public....

Wait, why was she even debating the use of her powers at all?

"Fire at will, baby," she hissed as her head was brought up, and then she solidified light to the left of T and swung the chunk at him, knocking him off.

The sudden relief in weight was the only cue she needed for getting up. She began to roll over on to her back so as to get up and run in the direction she'd came from, but all too quickly T was back on top of her. This time, however, he had a knife in his right hand, ready to do the deed that she knew he desperately wanted to do.

As the arm came down, she quickly materialized a small wall of light in front of her face. The result was that T embedded the knife right through the shield, with the tip of it just inches from Charlotte's nose. He groaned, and began to push the shield itself down; all Charlotte could do was hold the shield, though she began to feel her strength failing her.

"You know..." said T, grunting from the force of pushing the shield, "...in these past few months...I've learned a thing or two...about your little 'talent'...as well...as its weaknesses...."

T abruptly stopped pushing the shield altogether and began to bash it with his left hand, forming cracks with each hit. Soon, Charlotte realized, the shield would give way, and both T's fist and knife would come right down when that happened.

Frantically, she kicked him backwards, causing him to stumble and fall over backwards. This time, she didn't try to take her time; instead, she hopped up and began to run as far away from the former gangster as she could before he could get up back up.

"Oh no, you're not going anywhere!" T seethed, pointing his wrist at a nearby skyscraper. Out from the wrist came a grappling hook, which swiftly attached itself to the skyscraper T was pointing at. Almost in an instant, T was flying through the air, straight towards Charlotte.

Turning to face T as he swung towards her, Charlotte groaned. [color=orange]"You have got to be kidding me, you fu-"[/color

Before she could finish her sentence, T snatched Charlotte by the collar and dragged her with him as they swung across the road. Fortunately, however, fate managed to once again censor some unspoken profanity.

At high velocity, the two of them swung inside of a building that was aflame, with Charlotte toppling onto the floor and T managing to catch himself as he landed. As soon as she was on her feet again, though, Charlotte once again decided to book it, leaping out of the window and back onto the streets, where somehow she still thought she could escape.

T just shook his head and took chase once more.

Charlotte, realizing that the gangster was on her tail again, decided that enough was enough. If she kept running like this, she'd just collapse from exhaustion. She was already beaten to a pulp; her face ached from bruises and cuts, and her sides were growing weary from T's pursuit. She needed to stop him, here and now.

Abruptly, she whirled around and threw forward tiny little shards of light towards T. As if expecting her to do this, however, T came to a sudden halt and threw his hands forward. What he did was enough to stop the shards, certainly; but moreso, it was enough to leave Charlotte in a state of shock.

T stood motionless, holding his arms out. His suit had managed to produce a blue dome-shaped shield of soldified light that protected him.

"You made a mistake attacking someone as resourceful as me with that shard of light," he said, a smirk wrinkled upon his torn lips.

Charlotte realized what he meant before he even said it. She'd tried to kill him with that one shard of light, and she'd left so many of those shards at the scene of the crime. Had he someone learned how to reverse-engineer her power? If he knew things like that, he certainly knew what limits her powers had. And that was not something she wanted him to exploit.

Panicking, she could only resort running once again, to which T soon followed.

He's not going to stop. You have to try to lose him for good this time! she thought. Once again, this sounded more like her father than her own thoughts. But she couldn't physically escape from him, not in this state. At least, not if she let him continue chasing her on-foot....

Her thoughts were interrupted by her being slammed and pinned to the wall of a building. He'd caught up to her yet again, and she had a feeling she might not be able to escape his grasp this time.

On impulse, she began to talk. "Why...why do you think this is right? Killing me won't solve this-"

"Shut up! You shut your mouth, you hypocritical freak!" he snarled, using his free hand to begin to choke her. "Your little police friend told me all about your daddy, and how much you wanted us to just die! Don't you dare try and tell me what I'm doing is wrong when you did the exact same thing to us!"

Charlotte began to strain from the pressure of the former gangster choking her. "But-"

"NO!" T bellowed, throwing Charlotte onto the ground behind him. He turned around, seething as he watched her try to crawl away. "Explain to me why you think that avenging the death of one person by killing four people is okay, but the moment that someone tries to avenge them, it's just wrong! ANSWER ME!"

She coughed, trying to speak but no words coming out.

Finally, she managed to look back and face her monster with weak, watery eyes. "Because...you were all criminals and killers-"

"And what does that matter?" T snapped, beginning to take slow, small steps towards Charlotte. "Sure we broke the law. But not once, not once did you people give us a chance, not as regular human beings or even as animals. All of us, every single one of us in that gang, were out on the streets before we formed the group. All of us were treated like monsters, for whatever reason. Donnie had his dialect, Jagg had her obsession, and me...I had my eye."

She looked back at him, right at the eye he spoke of. Its blackness seemed to pierce right through her, as if it were the eye of a shark on the prowl for food...a shark that had just found its meal.

"You tried to kill us all because Donnie shot your father. You never even took the time to learn how he died, did you?"

Charlotte had listened to him talk about his freakishness, but she sure wasn't gonna put up with this.

"Don't...you dare..." she began, starting to get up on her hands and knees.

"On the day of the heist, he got shot, yeah," T ignored her, enjoying every word he said. "But not because he was trying to fight us. When we took out our weapons, your father ran away."

What? What did he just say?

"The supposed town hero didn't even try to save his people. Instead, he bolted for the front door like a coward, leaving the people inside to a fate that he was too scared to face himself," T snarled.

No...this...this can't be true...he's lying, he has to be....

"If you don't believe me," said T, as if he could read Charlotte's thoughts, "you could ask your police friend. Except of course, you won't get the chance."

As he uttered those words, two little nozzles popped out from his wrists. He bent down a little to speak with Charlotte one last time.

"You killed the only family I ever had. All of us together, you and your townsfolk called us freaks. But out of the two of us here, I'm not the freak...you are."

And he aimed his nozzles at Charlotte.

Crash!

A sudden bursting of nearby windows caught T and Charlotte's attention. An even huger swarm of rioters were pouring out of buildings now, carrying what loot and weaponry they could. All of them came trampling past the two of them, knocking both T and Charlotte aside.

Charlotte found herself lost in a sea of people, separated finally from T. The crowd forced her to dart over to an alley a few blocks away where she could find the time to breathe properly.

Looking out of the alley to see if T, or perhaps a particularly angry rioter, was nearby, she sighed as she saw that the coast was clear. She had been beaten up pretty badly, but could at least still stand on her own to feet.

But she didn't want to do that. She just wanted to go back to her apartment and rest, get things straight in her head...but she couldn't do that. T knew where she lived, and if she went back there, she'd be found out pretty quickly.

As a matter of fact, she began to realize that the running and the beatings had gotten her pretty tired. She probably couldn't make it back to her apartment even if she wanted to get there. Not to mention, there was probably rioters inside of the apartment complex, too.

But that was really all she had left. She couldn't just collapse in an alley.

So, with all her might, she began to slowly limp back down the road to the slums where her apartment stood.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Slums Outside the Apartment Complex
Lost Haven, Maine
Day of the Riots

It took her quite some time, but she made it...she finally, finally made it.

The slums were relatively untouched, it seemed; nobody wanted to riot in her because frankly there wasn't much to do in the slums. They were just, well, slums, after all. Nothing valuable to steal, destroy, or protest about in here.

Except, it seemed, for her apartment.

Charlotte stood across the street from her apartment, staring in awe as bangs and booms went on inside the building. Already the building was in a state of major disrepair. The window to her room was still broken from the start of her chase from T, but otherwise she couldn't see any particular damage to her room. Odds were, however, that any additional damages were on the inside.

She really didn't know what to make of anything anymore. Her friend had gone silent, one of the Karks was hunting her down like an animal, the city was suddenly filled with rioters, the true nature of her father's death had been revealed, people talked about "metas" or something like that, and now her apartment was being blown to shreds from the inside-out.

Suddenly, staying in an alley didn't seem like such a bad idea after all.

Slowly, she krept over to a nearby alleyway and slouched down on a wall, looking back over to her apartment and watching as it seemed to rattle from...well, whatever was going on in there.

“I don’t know about this.” Sam said as they sat before Ronnie’s grave. Though she had wanted to come to his gravesite, for some reason she hadn’t been able to bring herself to come.

“I know. But I think we both need this.” Kyle said. “We both need to say goodbye.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye. It makes this whole thing real.” Sam said, her voice trembling as she fought to hold back the tears. “It means that he’s really, really gone…and it’s my fault.” She finished as tears began to stream down her cheeks.

“It’s…it’s not your fault Sam. It’s mine.” Kyle said.

“What? But you…”

“I started the fight at the club, I got Ronnie shot.” Kyle explained.

“But you saved me. You grabbed me and pulled me to the ground. You chose to save me…”

“And I’d save you every single time.” Kyle said as he looked at Ronnie’s headstone. “Ronnie was my best friend, and I wish that I could change things, that I could bring him back. But I can’t. All I can do is try to make it right. Sam, if I saved him, you’d be there.” Kyle said pointing at Ronnie’s grave. “And I couldn’t live with myself if anything had happened to you. Yes, I chose to save you, and I’ve never, ever regretted that.”

As Kyle finished speaking he put his hands on Sam’s shoulder and looked directly into her eyes. “I need you to know that.” He said, leaning into Sam slightly.

As Kyle leaned in, Sam pulled away. She reached into her bag and produced her notebook. She flipped through the pages until she came to the entry she’d been working on when Kyle had approached Kerri and her earlier on campus. Kyle saw that the page was intricately decorated with clouds, tears and other designs, and that there seemed to be some script on the page as well.

“I found this poem and I thought it was nice…and fitting. I wanted to do something with it for him.” She said, her voice once again becoming steady.

She turned from Kyle and stood facing Ronnie’s headstone. As Kyle stepped beside her and put a hand on her shoulder, she cleared her throat. And as she began to speak, the clouds overhead ominously huddled together, their dark curves mocking the landscape, suddenly they burst open and the rain, slow at first, fell, plummeted to the dry ground. Undeterred by the sudden storm, she continued.

“You left us with out warning.
Not even a goodbye.
And I can’t seem to stop.
Asking the question, why?
I didn’t see this coming.
It hit us by surprise.
And when you left for Heaven,
A small part of me died.
Your smile could brighten anyone’s day.
No matter what they were going through.
And everyday for the rest of my life.
I’ll be missing you.”

As she finished speaking, Sam returned her notebook to her bag and zipped it up. For a moment they stood still. Kyle’s hand remained on Sam’s shoulder, then, giving her a slight squeeze he removed it.

“We should probably head back.” Kyle said as he took Sam by the hand and led her out of the cemetery.

The walk back to campus was mostly uneventful. Though the rain continued intensifying by the minute, they didn’t seem to be in any rush. They walked hand in hand, all the way back to Sam’s dormitory. They stood outside in the deluge, thankful that the day was unseasonably warm, and though they were both beginning to feel the chill from the cold rain, it didn’t bother them.
“Well, this is my stop.” Sam said with a smile on her face. It seemed to Kyle like a lifetime had passed since he’d seen Sam smile like that.

“Yeah, I guess I should let you go. I’ll…I’ll see you later.” Kyle said, not relinquishing his grip on Sam’s hand.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Sam said, leaning into Kyle slightly. This time, they did not pull away from one another. They leaned in further, until their lips connected and before they knew what happened, they were locked in a kiss that had been seemingly years in the making. After finally breaking away from the kiss, Sam looked up at Kyle with a smile.

“I’ll see you later.” She said as she turned and glided off into her dorm.

“Yeah, definitely.” Kyle said as he watched her disappear into the dorm, before he began to walk away in the direction of his room.

The sounds of shuffling rubble now echoed through the broken walls of Harold Whittaker’s Cafe as the middle-aged owner slowly rose a shelf that had been overturned in the riots that occurred a few days ago. Harold's corner store, a moderately successful cafe known as 'Pick-me-Up', in a corner of Little Paris, had been hit exceptionally hard, most of his goods stolen, his shelves and stands now broken splinters littering the floor.

However, the aged man’s cleaning would be interrupted by the sound of the bells on his front door, traditionally a signal that someone had entered his little establishment for his business. Harold’s eyes rose from his upturned shelves to find three men standing in front of his door. They were all dressed in formal attire, tailored suits and silken button up shirts among them as two of the men, the noticeably burlier of the three to be specific, rummaged around to find an unbroken table. The third man, a chiseled face with slicked back black hair, approached the old proprietor with a polite, charming smile.

"Good morning, sir." The man said to Harold, "Do you have a minute to talk?"

"Well no, mister, I'm afraid I don't." Harold replied in a weary rasp. "I have a lot to clean up, and my business is closed for the time being, I am sorry, but you guys are going to have to leave."

"Hold on, that is actually what I wanted to talk to you about." The man said, reaching into his jacket to pull out a small business card. "I represent a conglomerate of wealthy entrepreneurs within Lost Haven looking to bring our city up to a certain standard of living. We desire to make this city exactly what its name represents, a haven for its citizens, something we all can be proud to call home."

Harold gave the man a shrewd squint as a hesitant hand took the card. The card labeled the man as one Gabe Hall a representative for something called 'The Renaissance Project', which did not have any other definition available on the card aside for a number and email to reach Gabe, a standard business card to say the least.

"Oh? And why does that concern my cafe?" Harold asked, scooping up some broken coffee mugs. "What interests do your bosses have with little guys like me?"

"Well you see, Mr. Whittaker, among other small businesses you are a very important part of the cultural side of Lost Haven. Without little hole in the wall places like yours, Lost Haven would be just like any other city."

"You sure about that, Mr. Hall?" Harold chuckled "You sure it isn't the freaks in spandex throwin' cars that make our city 'unique'?"

“Well of course, that plays a factor, people around the world will want to see the superpowered guardians of bur city, but they won’t stay unless places like this exist to serve them coffee.” Gabe replied, placing an idle hand back in his pocket once Harold had taken the business card. “That’s why it's up to our elite to invest, to keep this city in top shape.”

“So what, you want to help me rebuild?” Harold asked, placing the card in his pocket. “What, are the rich just becoming charitable out of good faith?”

“Well, in a perfect world, yes, but in reality that is not the case, there is a cost.” Gabe replied, his eyes never leaving Harold as the old owner dumped out the broken mugs into a nearby trash bin. Leaning on the counter, Gabe continued “In order for the Renaissance project to make renovations, we need to have primary ownership of this establishment. You get to keep the business on the property as well as manage the people you keep under your employ. However, we will take the deed of the building you are established in, as well as make any changes or additions we see fit. We also will control the building’s maintenance workers and ask for %10 of your revenue in compensation for our investment.”

“So….you want the money my business makes and control my building....in exchange for paying for it?”

“That’s the general agreement, Mr. Whittaker. Just think of it as us paying your property taxes for the rest of your time established here.”

There was a long silence, Harold leering at Gabe from behind the counter, studying the well-dressed man’s chiseled features as he grabbed for one of his few good coffee cups.

“You know, for the record...that’s a tempting offer.” Harold began, watching as the man pulled paper and a pen from his jacket. “I don’t really have the budget to make full repairs right now, and after the riots, we need all the help we can get.”

“Excellent.” Gabe began, placing the papers on the counter and clicking the pen for Harold to sign. “We’ll just need your signitu--.”

“Except for one thing, I don’t take bribe money from thugs.”

Gabe stopped mid-motion, his eyes darting up to Harold as he spoke, pen still in his hand. “I’m...sorry, you must have this transaction mistaken, we are perfectly legitimate busin--”

“Bullshit. You don’t think I can see what’s going on? You don’t think I hear the other businesses nearby getting the same offer? Harry told me that three men in suits approached his corner store yesterday, offering to pay for the damages in exchange for the deed to his store. Mary said the same thing about her flower shop this morning, and Garrett with his butcher shop this afternoon!”

At this point, Gabe had remained silent, broadcasting a stone-faced glare at Harold, but letting him continue.

“And while that’s strange in itself, let’s talk about the businesses that saw guys like you before the riots, huh? How Joey’s shoe shop was untouched during the riots? Bill’s hardware store? Jessie’s hair salon??”

Gabe continued his silence, reaching into his pocket for a small black smart phone. Maintaining eye contact with Harold periodically as he began to operate the device.

“You guys may think you’re sooo secretive, but you ain’t. People are beginning to know there is something sinister behind this shit, we’re putting two and two together.” Harold said, pointing an accusing finger at Gabe. “I don’t know who exactly you’re working for, but you go tell them that we aren’t going to associate with gangsters, y’hear me?”

Gabe said nothing in response, his concentration now broken as the light glow of his phone basked along his suit, his thumb lightly swiping on the phone’s screen.

“Well? What do you have to say to that?” Harold asked, “You done trying to slick talk me?”

With a short sigh, Gabe leaned onto the table, now forcing eye contact with Harold once more. His demeanor had changed drastically since Harold had berated him. Gone was the friendly, charismatic gentleman who had come in the building, replaced with a cold, stoic figure now boring holes into Harold. “Mr. Whittaker, while I appreciate your enthusiasm, I’d very firmly suggest you sign the paperwork. Especially now that you’ve deigned to call out our organization with no proof.”

“Oh? And what’s going to make me change my mind, huh? You going to break my store some more? Because there is not a lot to break here, let me tell you.”

“No, the building is still a potential asset.” Gabe said, turning the phone for Harold to see. “But we know where you sleep.”

At first, Harold did not understand Gabe’s chilling comment, but once his gaze fixed on the phone’s screen, it became remarkably clear. The phone was displaying a picture, one that caused Harold to recoil, the color to clear out from his face. He could see the photo was a picture of himself and his wife, sleeping in their residential home, in their king sized bed. He exchanged a panicked glance to Gabe, who responded in a cold, cruel tone.

“Not only that, but we know where your kids sleep, too.” Gabe responded, thumbing through the screen to display two other pictures, one of Harold’s daughter, a college graduate who had moved across town, sleeping in a bed of her own. “Under the circumstances, if you refuse I can't garuntee that something...unfortunate won't happen to them. With this knowledge, signing the paperwork might be the safest thing you do all day, yes?”

A mixture of anger and fear contorted on to Harold’s face. The mug he was cleaning began to crack in his grip. “You...you son of a--”

“Yes, yes, I know, I’m awful.” Gabe said, pulling the phone back into his coat pocket and turning on his heel, headed for the door. “Nevertheless, you now know the weight of this situation, as well as what happens if you don’t comply. I’m going to leave the paperwork and my associates here to see you sign that paper. As for me, I’ve got other business to attend to.” He grabbed a hold of the door handle, briskly walking out of the cafe. He paused in the doorway, making a short turn to give Harold one last glance before he left.

“I’m sure you and I will meet again real soon, Mr. Whittaker.” Gabe said, giving a small smile. “Until then, make sure to take care of yourself.”

Eva "Mouse" Walsh

The Bus came to a halt at the New York Public Library with the hiss of the doors opening. The Library itself was just down the street a stone's throw away it was a modern looking building on the corner of E 24 and Madison Avenue designed like those art deco buildings of old. Eva wandered in not quite sure where anything was, as a Librarian took notice and walked up to her. “Lost Miss?”

Eva looked towards the woman not quite old but still getting on in years, although age hasn’t affected her looks yet. “Uh. Yeah, where are the computers? Need to do a bit of research about heroes for a project.” She said using her age to cover for her in case the Librarian wanted to pry.

The Librarian smiled and lead Eva towards the computers which had dividers separating the stations, it didn’t seem like it was all too busy at the moment but that was to be expected since it was quite early in the day, Kids her age was still in school and most were at work. But Eva was far from the only person here and she’d rather not draw curious eyes if she could help it. The Librarian stopped and said.”Here we are, if there’s anything else you need let me know.”

Eva gave a slight nod and took a seat taking hold of the mouse she began opening the browser to search any sites about supers hoping they would have what she needed least she dig around the archives of the library. Multiple listing appeared in the search bar; know your heroes; superhero wikia; or superhero fandom which had a slightly disturbing page description, it wasn’t something Eva wanted at the least. But the superhero wikia seemed promising. And the page looked professional enough but as she opened the villains tab numerous entries cluttered the screen. Everything from Haircules to Hyperion and the mechanical Medusa; Eva needed to narrow down the villains, she clicked a filter based on powers and popularity or lack thereof in Shock Jockey’s case.

Even with a reduced list of villains it took twenty minutes of browsing but there he was, or at least it certainly seemed to be him. “His real name, Gangi (mischievous person) Impisi (hyena) a Zulu born in south africa emigrated to america with his family as a young boy. But fell into crime as he grew up in poverty contrary to what his parents had thought when they moved to america.” Eva took a moment to read his rap sheet all small times crimes currently an escaped criminal but otherwise a low priority according to the listing.

“No known addresses. Power Level minimal. -” Eva felt a chill run down her spine as she glanced over her shoulder with paranoia only to see nothing.”Must be nothing. Well I guess that confirms it, time to head home..” Eva said as the chill once again ran the length of her spine. This time she bolted from her chair searching the room, only to draw curious glances from a few others at computer stations.

A slight breeze blew through the building carrying what seemed like voices that came from everywhere and nowhere. “It sees us.” The voices said if Eva would have listened clearly, but she saw nor heard anything of note save the wind. Which was more than strange to even hear indoors. Eva decided she needed to return home, there was naught any more for her to do here. As she took her leave the voices continued. “It does not. No. But it feels us. That one sensed our presence. A medium. - A medium.” They repeated in echo.

As Eva left the library a dark car sat outside a man continuing to observe her actions. While Eva took the bus back home transferring routes to Long Island in her Aunts Home on the cul de sac on eighth street right next to Connetquot High School. Evil plotted elsewhere.

In the Mayor’s Office Mayor Sampson sat running a comb through his hair while he buzzed his secretary. “Babydoll - hold my calls I’ll be busy for a bit Mkay.”

The secretary groaned in the other room before pressing the button to respond. “Of course Mr. Mayor.”

Sampson held his hand out and a glowing orb formed in his hands like magic to which he pulled out a ornate book. He held it and chanted words in an unknown language as a portal of magic ripped a doorway in the center of the room to which a raven haired beauty emerged in a dress so intricate it deserved it’s own museum dedicated solely to it. “Babe. Fabulous entrance as ever.” Sampson spoke as the woman cringed.

“Silence mortal! I gave you my teachings, I expect to see results in turn.” The woman's’ gaze was hot as molten embers as Sampson shook in both fear and excitement.

“And I promised I’d deliver didn’t I? I never leave a woman wanting. That said searching the city for just one mystical artifact is no easy feat. I get you and this sword have a history but it’s not like swords are all that common among the local heroes.”

“I have no time from your prattling. He who wields Excalibur will no doubt lay waste to my plans, eliminate them by any means necessary.”

“You got it boss lady.” Sampson muttered under his breath. “You mean my plans.”

She glanced over spite overflowing from her eyes. “What was that!!?”

“Nothing!! Nothing! I got plans is all, I’ll find this sword I promise that.”Sampson said with a tinge of fear creeping from his lips.

And with that the woman took her leave through the dark foreboding looking portal whence she came. “She may be powerful, but this city is mine soon even Morgana will be on her knees before me, putting her skills to better use. Oh. She’ll be putting her skills to better use indeed.” Sampson said as he let out a vile cackling. As he straightened his tie and flipped through pages of the ominous book.

The man approaches Janet Brewer while smacking a lead pipe again the palm of his hand, grinning as e moves threateningly towards her. Janet Brewer is the owner of a small gift shop just outside of Sherman Square. During the riots; her shop, Trinkets 'n Things was looted and nearly destroyed. The following day, she was visited by several men who wanted her to sign a contract, which would essentially give ownership of her business to some anonymous conglomerate. Though she could use the money to repair her shop, she had refused the offer. The men had made veiled threats as they left, and Janet had hoped that she had seen the last of the men. She hadn’t.

“You know, you should have just taken the offer.” The man tells her as he continues to slap the pipe in his palm, each time the sound of metal striking flesh sends fear through her body as she imagines just what it is he plans to do to her. “My employer’s offer was more than generous. But to be honest with you, I’m kind of glad you didn’t- This is much more fun.” The man’s grin widens from behind his beard.

He raises the pipe over his head and is about to bring it crashing down on Janet’s skull when a bluish glow emanating from the street outside of the shop catches his attention. The bearded thug turns his attention to the strange glow and is shocked to see the form of a woman within the light.

“I don’t think she’s interested.”The woman says as she approaches the man. “I suggest you back off.”

“Screw you lady.” The man says as he pulls a revolver out of his waist band and begins shooting.

The man gasps as the bluish light around the woman grows brighter, and the energy around her deflects the bullets as she continues to approach him.
“Wrong choice.” She says as she returns fire with a single electrical bolt that sends the man flying across the store.

She then turns to the woman, who is still in a panic over the attack, the bluish field around her dissipating as she makes eye contact.

“You may want to get out of here. If he has friends, they’ll be back.” She says as she takes her leave.

The Next Day

Alexa Winstone stands before a group of reporters that had gathered before her for this hastily called press conference. Alexa’s encounter the night before had made her aware of a great injustice that was going on in the city. With just a little research, she learned that the woman who owns Trinkets ‘n Things was not the only small business owner that had been subjected to such harassment. Though she doesn’t know who is behind the strong arming of local businesses, she feels a strong urge to do something to help.
“Thank you for joining me on such short notice. I know that our city has seen some true horrors over the last several months. From D-Day to the riots of just a few nights ago, the people of this city have shown the grit and determination to continue to push on.

It has recently come to my attention that there are a number of predatory elements out there that are looking to exploit the hard working people of this city, and are using the events of the last few nights to profit off of the misfortune of those who have had their businesses ruined.

So I have decided that Winstone International’s Lost Haven branch will earmark 15 Million dollars to aid those small business owners who have seen their livelihood threatened by the thugs who nearly burned portions of our city to the ground. We will be issuing a press release within the day which will detail how business owners can apply for the grant to cover the cost of repairs to their businesses. It’s time to show the people of Lost Haven, and the rest of the world that you don’t need a cape to help. Thank you.”She says as she steps away from the podium as reporters shout questions at her.

Little Ulster

A lot of things have changed in the last few weeks. A lot of things that I probably could’ve a hand in helping with if it wasn’t for the fact there was some ‘complicated magical fluxes’ that led to me being stuck and chased in another dimension for that time. A time where it was really ambiguous if I was even going to survive considering Merlin himself was a little predisposed as this enemy I was facing? Well, he turned Merlin into a statue, and boy was I scared. I mean, it’s hard not to be when the most powerful wizard in all of history is rendered powerless in an instant. But I found this stick called The Staff of Sidhe and that changed the game considering it being a powerful conduit for arcane energy— especially so considering it was native to the dimension I was being hunted in. A game-changer, really.

Spider-Man never had to deal with this kind of crap during his formative years! I think comic books have lied to me.

Right.

So that was my last few weeks, though it looks like I’m not the only one who has faced change in this city. Little Ulster has had a complete change of appearance and I’m kind of appalled. The tax and rent prices are going to go through the roof! This is going to be terrible financially! On the flip-side, I can probably be confident in saying that crime is on the DL and maybe it’s a price worth paying if people are safer. Then again I have a feeling crime is only going to get snobbier and smarter in the guise of the change. That doesn’t bother me, I’m confident in fighting mundane criminals after being chased down by a wizard several centuries old in a different dimension where I had barely a chance of surviving.

Being chased by arcane death is a good way to build confidence for people with knives and guns.

I’ve spent the last few days making up my missed work at college and digging through the internet for information of what has happened in the mundane world as Merlin continues my training and filling me in about stuff regarding the arcane world. I think he’s glad to be his squish old human self again, then again I can’t imagine how it feels like being a living statue; seeing things unfold yet unable to feel or do anything… I don’t know if it sounds like misery or just a very boring lifestyle. Then again given what else Merlin has told me since I started learning under him I have the feeling that there are far worse outcomes. Like anything involving the Lovecraftian Dimension.

No thank you.

That’s what I say to that dimension.

I’m worried though— Merlin was “troubled” yesterday and I could see the look on his face before he even told me of that fact. Maybe I’m getting more deductive or it was just so blatantly obvious. I don’t know. Merlin said the incident with Malefar served as a precedent to other issues involving the dimensional leylines and perhaps his wards growing weaker. The ‘demonic invasion’ we missed due to Malefar was also something Merlin brings up, saying with the way he had channeled the leylines should’ve been completely impossible. He’s worried that someone has broken his wards and trying to have the dimensional barriers bleed into our realm. All I know about these concerns is that is very very bad.

Who would dare try to control or manipulate the leylines and the barriers Merlin put for everyone’s protection?

It’s a precedent that makes me nervous.

Before I worry about it more though I should get this coursework finished.

Director Alexander Anderson stepped down onto the landing pad on the roof of the secret STRIKE detention facility located in the forest just outside of Lost Haven. Once the black special ops chopper that had transported him from Washington DC had touched down at the facility, a large group of staff descended on the craft, each eager to welcome him to the facility.

Don’t you people have work to do? Anderson thought to himself as he greeted the “welcoming committee.” Anderson was less than pleased to have been pulled away from the STRIKE headquarters in the nation’s capital, however, a part of him couldn’t resist the chance to put a problem in its place.

“Welcome to Alpha Base, Sir. The subject is currently in an isolation unit on sublevel 7.2.” One of the facility’s administrators told the Director.

“He’s completely cut off from all electronics?” Anderson asked.

“Of course.”

“And the suit?”

“The suit is currently being stored safely in the armory.” The administrator said proudly.

“Good.” Anderson said as he made his way into the building. “Take me to him.”

Anderson was led through the building by a pair of administrators. Though he knew every inch of the facility, he allowed them to point out the various features of the building as they made their way through it. Though listening to their prattling on was akin to nails on a chalkboard, he didn’t stop them. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Anderson, they reached the door to sublevel 7.2.
“I can take it from here gentlemen.” Anderson said as he turned to his escorts, making it perfectly clear that this was not a request.

“Director?” One of the administrators protested.

“It’s alright, I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.” Anderson said, perhaps more smugly than he had intended.

Anderson made his way down the long corridor of sublevel 7.2. While one might expect such a place to be dark and dingy, it was anything but. The harsh white lights and almost sterile surroundings might remind you of a hospital wing. The only difference being that in place of relatively comfortable rooms, there were what could only be described a glass pods, each containing a single individual. The cells themselves were Spartan in nature, a single uncomfortable cot and a steel toilet were the only furniture in the pods, which were kept at least 20 degrees cooler than room temperature.

Anderson continued through the main corridor and went through another secure doorway. On the other side of this door was a single cell, and in that cell sat a single young man. Though he may be unassuming, the young man in the cell was more than capable of creating havoc on a large scale, and in fact, he had done so very recently during the Lost Haven Riots.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, you’ve caused a lot of trouble Mr. Price. I mean really, using a news chopper as a battering ram? That was…somewhat uncalled for, don’t you think?” Anderson said as he approached the cell.

Angel looked up at the man, no, the Director, as he approached. The sedatives had worn off not too long ago, and he still had a headache. Rubbing his bloodshot eyes, and looking at Anderson distastefully, he said, "You know what else is uncalled for? Knocking me out, wrecking my home, and taking me back here. God, I haven't been here in ages, and for good reason."

Standing up groggily, Angel staggered over to the glass wall, and leaned in, slamming his fist on it. "You don't think I feel guilty? That those three people that I killed don't haunt me? Well they do, Anderson. And from some of the stuff I've found in your databases, you should be a lot more penitent."

Turning away, disgusted, Angel sat down on the cot and leaned against the wall, eyeing the Director with distaste. "And you know what is really uncalled for, Director? Getting a woman with FREAKING PLASMA-BASED FLIGHT ROBOTS AND DRONE BODIES TO TRANQ ME WHEN I WAS ABOUT TO GO AFTER THE SHROUD!"

Anderson listened to Angel’s protests and simply shrugged. He wasn’t interested in arguing semantics with the metahuman, he was simply there to show the young meta that no matter how far he ran, no matter where he hid, that STRIKE would eventually track him down, and could bring him in on a whim.

“Angel, my conscience is clear. I’ve never done anything that wasn’t for the greater good. Unfortunately, you can’t say the same. You murdered three people, three people with families…mind you, and you did it so that you could get an upper hand in a pissing contest with a low level merc. It’s a shame too, that reporter was quite the looker. I can’t say I thought much of her ‘reporting’ skills, but she was easy on the eyes.” Anderson said in slightly mocking turn.

“As for our tactics in bringing you in…you should be thankful that we sent Archangel after you and not Iron Knight, for all of her quirks, the young lady has shown a lot more…restraint than the Knight. Besides, you’re wasting your time going after the Shroud Syndicate. They’re an annoyance, and while they have proven to be dangerous, they are nothing compared to the threats that we are facing. If you knew half of what you thought you knew, you’d know that your ‘talents’ are misplaced in going after the Shroud Syndicate.” Anderson’s tone was condescending. He paused for a moment to allow his words to sink in.

“Mr. Price, we’ve been testing you from the moment you walked out of this facility. Son, do you really think that someone like you could really break into our database as easily as you did and get such sensitive information if we didn’t want you to? Granted, you did surprise us when you commandeered Sherlock, and for that I congratulate you…but the secret files you hacked into, the deep dark secrets that you found…son, I really do hate to break it to you, but you didn’t find anything that I didn’t want you to find.” Anderson paused for a moment as he looked away from Angel.

“You know, that mech of yours is something special. And don’t even think of trying to repeat your…disappearing act. You’ll never get to the suit, it’s securely locked away in the Level 3 armory. No, I don’t think you’d stand a chance of getting to it in one piece.” Anderson smiled as he took a small datapad out of his pocket and set it on the ground just outside of Angel’s cell.

“Son, we’re headed for a war…I want you to be sure that you’re fighting for the right side.” Anderson said, smiling as he turned away from Angel Price and made his way back out of the cell block.

Angel remained silent as Anderson justified his actions. Well, it seemed that he was doing everything for the same reasons that Angel was, although his conscience was not troubled by the terrible things he'd done. As the Director flippantly disregarded War-Pulse, Angel shook his head. "The only reason you think that War-Pulse's threat level is negligible is because I had caught him at a bad time, apparently. I was barely able to hold him off, and the news copter got me the chance to escape."

Anderson then made mocking comments about the female reporter's looks, and lack of actual skill, and this simply infuriated him even more. This man simply exacerbated any situation he got involved in, him and his damned organization. Dammit, he felt bad enough already. Would he have to shoulder this man's moral burden, as well? Then, Anderson decided to drop a bomb on him, out of the blue.

Wh-what? They had known? He had been so careful! It was all a test? So... everything he did was worthless? No! That couldn't be true! Could it? Angel leaned against the back of the cell, and covered his face with his hands. However, he needed to correct Anderson on one thing. Taking a deep breath, and lowering his hands, which he clenched into fists. "I didn't commandeer Sherlock, Director. I freed him." After that, he felt no need to talk to the Director. The only thing he wanted to do was punch that smug bastard's nose in, but that was impossible. So he sat in his cell, and he waited for him to leave.

When the Director left the detention block, at least from what Angel could see, the young man looked at the datapad that Anderson had given him. It was no secret that Angel could easily use this to wreak havoc on STRIKE, working with his prior knowledge of the facility, and his special abilities. So he didn't trust it. Hell, he didn't trust the very air he breathed, so steeped in subterfuge and plotting. So he tentatively synchronized with the device, and discovered that there was no discernible malicious software of any kind, so he probed deeper.

There were several video, audio, picture, and text files, so Angel browsed through them at lightning speed; able to process the information much quicker; as fast as the machine could load them, Angel could view them and understand them. The data formed decipherable patterns, as Angel watched.

“We all know what has been happening to our town, the last few days have been harsh...on all of us. I know our neighborhood was not hit by the riots, but many of us have family who was either involved, and people that were lost. I can see it among you, a mixture of fear and despair, the feeling that all is lost, and this city will continue to decay under this superpowered criminal element.”

These were the words spoken by Father Gregory Holmes, the leader of Lost Haven’s Roman Catholic Church of St. Peter, just off of Little Sicily, situated just off of a suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. His words were exemplified by the state of his congregation. Due to the riots, many of them bore signs of exhaustion; clothes that weren’t quite clean, bags under their eyes from sleepless nights, panicked clutching of their children and loved ones as they listened to Father Holme’s sermon. This was indeed a section of town that saw at the very least some form of the Cowl’s dirty deeds, though none of them could even pinpoint the crime lord as the cause of anything, no one even suspected such.

“However, the bible teaches us that no matter how bad things get, no matter how rough times are, there is always hope.” Father Gregory stated, making eye contact with the people of his flock, offering them a warm smile of comfort. “Through faith and perseverance, any child of the Lord will be able to overcome any trial thrown at them, protected by His love.”

A few of his crowd seemed to ease at his words, offering smiles in return.

“In Isaiah 9:10, it is stated ‘The bricks have fallen, but we will build with dressed stones; the sycamores have been cut down, but we will put cedars in their place.’” Father Gregory rose his hand to the crowd, sweeping his arm across the pews. “In 1 Peter 2:5, it is said ‘You yourselves like living stones are being built up as a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.’ In the Psalm 9:1-16 it is stated ‘He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the Lord, “My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.” For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler. You will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day.’”

With each quote, the congregation seemed to be in slightly higher spirits, a few sitting more upright in their chairs as they listened to the kindly old man’s words.

“Now there is no doubt that due to the riots a few nights ago we have lost much. We have lost businesses, we have lost homes, and we have lost people.” He stated, his tone bolstered with each word spoken. “But there are two things we have not lost; faith, and spirit. The human spirit is resilient, hardened by day-to-day struggles, toned by love and compassion for both each other, and the Lord. Yes, we have lost, but we are not beaten. The community is not broken, nor are we lost. Through our faith in Jesus Christ and the Lord, we will gather together as a community and remain strong, we will send a message to the ilk of this city, no matter what is thrown at us, we will stand triumphant.”

The crowd murmured amongst one another, their spirits simultaneously ignited by the Father’s kindly, hope-filled sermon.

“However, in order for that to work, we cannot selfishly squander what we have, but share it amongst one another.” Father Gregory declared, “In order for us to survive, we must survive as a community,not as single entities. Therefore, this church will offer its rooms to any who do not have a home in this time of tribulation, and we will be starting a food drive this week to give to those less fortunate than us. I ask you not just as your Pastor, but as your neighbor...please, we must cooperate if we are to get through this time.”

The crowd murmured once more among the pews, a few people began to speak up.

“I’ll provide room for people in need as well!”

“My restaurant still has a working stove, we can prepare what people bring in.”

“We can knit a few blankets for people!”

Everyone began to rise from their pews and offer what they could for the effort, causing Father Gregory’s smile to widen ever so slightly.

Until the sound of laughter began to echo through the pews. It was soft at first, almost as if someone in the back had begun to chuckle, but it grew in volume. Louder and louder, until the point it began shaking the entire church. The congregation began to scan the walls, looking for the source of the laughter, but found no body to assign it too. As the laughter continued, the shadows of the room began to swirl and shift, unnaturally stretching and turning to the people’s terror, changing the tone of the room from hopeful to fearful in mere moments.

“A wondrous speech.” The voice declared, still deciding not to reveal itself. “Certainly something to be admired about you humans, especially ones with such a faith to defend them. The futility of life is much easier if you know that there is something at the end, no?”

The shadows continued to swirl and twist around the room, the formless black gravitating to the very center, morphing into one big circle of darkness in between the pews.

It was there, out of the darkness, that Umbraxis rose. The shadowy humanoid figure slinking out of the darkness to the horror of the onlookers.

“However, I have...consumed...enough of your species to know that for all your ‘Lord’ talks about rebirth and revitalization, He shares in the interest of destruction. For every crucifixion and affirmation of faith, He wipes out an entire globe or a city because they do not follow his arbitrary rules. He makes His people commit to their religion by attempted murder, He forbids the eating of animals in the water for no adequate reason, He sends plagues among an entire populace to punish one man’s foolish decisions. If you were to ask me, He celebrates destruction just as much as He celebrates saving the faithful. For all His teachings of Love and Peace, he seems like a massive hypocrite.”

“You’re....you’re one of them!” Came the voice of a man in one of the pews, now standing and jutting a finger at the shadowy figure. “You’re some kind of metahuman, aren’t you? Things got nuts because of you guys, this is all your fault!”

“Well, I can’t deny some of the panic, I suppose, though I was not involved in this rioting you people were talking about. I unfortunately got here too late to participate in that lovely party.” Umbraxis replied, the little white eyes squinting at the man. “Though people have every right to fear me, and for the record, they should fear me. But there is one fallacy in your accusation.”

With a gesture, the man was engulfed by a shadow, a brief scream was all he could deliver before he was dragged into the void below him, never to be seen again.

“I was never human.”

All at once, the crowd screamed and ran for the doors, only for shadows to pop up from the ground and envelop them, their shrieks muffled by the darkness, dragging them to a horrific and untimely end. Wherever Umbraxis gestured, tendrils would snare and consume, some even pulling people apart before dragging them into the darkness.

Amongst the chaos, Father Gregory’s face contorted into sheer terror, only able to watch in horror as his congregation was torn to shreds by the vast darkness, smoky hands of darkness pulling people he knew and loved into oblivion, screaming all the way down. He tried to reach for people within his grasp, only to watch as with a glare, Umbraxis sent tendrils of darkness to their location, dragging them away to be torn limb from limb. Without any option to save his flock, and no escape, the only thing left for Father Gregory was to hide, to find some sanctuary away from this foul entity's gaze. Amidst the chaos, he spotted his confessional, now stained with red from the carnage displayed before him, but relatively untouched. He had no choice, he had to hide, and the being was not focused on him, now was his chance. He sprinted as fast as his old legs could carry him, pushing him onward to rip the door open and duck inside before a torrent of darkness enveloped him.

He pulled his knees up to his chest, his breaths shaking and quivering as outside his tiny shelter continued the screaming. It lasted for hours, though in reality it was only a few precious minutes. The crashing and shattering of pews became mixed in with the shrieks, each terrifying second decreased in volume, only hinting at how few were left. Eventually, the screaming had stopped, all at once the commotion came to a halt, only leaving a thick tense silence in its wake. Had the creature killed them all? Was his entire neighborhood gone? He dared not to look out of his confessional, not to see it, not to see the damage, huddling in his confessional, trying desperately to stifle his heaving chest.

The answer came to him with the sudden sound of the confessional next to him squeaking open, then shutting. He could hear no footsteps, but he somehow knew it was moving. He did not look at the grating, but the sound of the seat next to his creaking meant it had sat down.

It was still here, and judging by the feeling in the back of his next, it was sitting in the other confessional.

“So...how does this go?” The creature asked, giving the Father a horrid jolt. “‘Forgive me father, for I have sinned.’”

“You...you demon!” The Father spat out in a whisper. “How dare you...how dare your ilk desecrate these hallowed grounds.”

“Oh, goodness, you are as far off as the other fellow.” Umbraxis responded, the seat creaking as it shifted its weight. “I’m no demon, though I have been meaning to visit that dimension for quite some time now. There have been a few too many of their kind traveling dimensions...nasty little things, you humans picked the perfect name for them.”

“Then...what are you?” Father Gregory asked. “Are you...the Light-Bringer himself?”

“Again, no, but that can be the only logical conclusion you could come up with, I suppose.” Umbraxis said. “Truth be told, there is no definition your kind could come up with for me, as I bear resemblance to none of it. I’ve never come across anything like myself either in my eternal travels. Then again, I’ve never come across anything like your ‘God’ either, although I can’t deny something like that exists. The universe is vast, and among the travels, there is always something new out there worth investigating. I couldn’t deny that an omnipotent all-powerful being exists, as that would deny my own existence as well. As for what I am, the only thing I can tell you, as I’ve told many other humans, is that I am an end. Everything in this universe ends, Father, as only the Universe itself is eternal. I am the void everything goes back to when their purpose has been completed.”

“But...why us?” Father Gregory asked. “Are we God’s chosen? Does he not protect his people?”

Umbraxis laughed at the notion. “Now that’s the part I don’t believe. A small grouping of a small race of fools, endlessly squabbling among one another for easily shared resources, fearing one another for religious beliefs, pigment tones, and ideology. Your kind refuses to work together, and loses all potential it could have, why would this ‘God’ chose your race as its prefered race? To say that your kind are Ants does not even cover it. You are the bacteria on an ant, the molecules that make it up. In the grand scheme of things, this planet is barely recognized as alive, a rock with a bit of moss on it, endlessly swirling around a ball of Hydrogen and Helium until it is consumed, either by fire, its own shortcomings, or me. Given the options, I’m probably the most humane end for this planet.”

“Then...you have no regrets about your actions...no remorse for your misdeeds?”

“No, not at all.” Umbraxis said. “On the contrary, I feel fulfilled. Yes, my purpose is destruction, but if that is my purpose should I not feel grateful for finding it? Should I not embrace it as a lion would embrace being a predator? Or a Bird being able to fly?”

“I...that’s…”

“And maybe it was your ‘God’ who made me for this, I could not tell you that either.” Umbraxis added, leaning closer to the grating. “Maybe it was something else, I could not tell you. What I can tell you is that I have existed since the beginning, and my purpose has always been to deliver an End. Since my existence began, I have been snuffing out life, returning that has been created into nothing. Perhaps the Universe has finite resources, and I am just the way to keep it all in check, perhaps I am a universal equalizer to potential threats of Universal balance. Again, these are questions I never bothered to answer, but I know what I was made for, and since the beginning I have snuffed out more lives than you could ever dream, delivering an End to countless civilizations across countless galaxies. And if I enjoy such a purpose, shouldn't that make said purpose easier?”

The Father was speechless, unsure if the being he was sitting next to was insane, or actually telling the truth.

“Hm. These confessional booths deliver a lot more then people say they do, I feel like I was able to get a lot off my chest. I wonder why more civilizations haven’t had something similar.” A sigh came from the grating. “I'm guessing by the silence, you cannot forgive or understand my actions, as I suspected your kind was incapable of doing...Oh well, now that we have that out of the way...”

In an instant, The Father’s confession was flooded with a smoky form, a brief yelp of terror before his body was enveloped by darkness, never to be seen again.

Silence once more filled the church, Umbraxis rising from his seat and strutting out of the confessional, the formless humanoid scanning over the carnage it had left behind. There was no blood, no human parts left behind, only shattered pews and bits of clothing that had been torn, the darkness had stripped the place clean of organic material, after all, the organic was always the most appetizing.

“Hrm...I’m beginning to think I’m going to like this ‘Earth’,” The entity murmured to itself, sinking back into the shadows. “What more will this planet have to offer, I wonder? I must find out for myself.”

Director Anderson sat at his desk, a simmering rage burning within him. He had ordered his team of scientists to analyze the vial that had been broken during the fight between Angel and the mercenary known as War-Pulse, and what they found was utterly disturbing. Though his team was unable to pinpoint exactly what the compound did at this point, they had discovered that it was some sort of chemical weapon which had properties similar to a number of plagues that had devastated the human population throughout the ages.

Fortunately, his team was able to quickly find a way to neutralize the plague and was currently synthesizing a large quantity of the antigen which would soon be pumped into the city’s water supply, effectively ending the threat that this biological weapon could pose. That was the good news.

The bad news was that thus far, STRIKE had absolutely no idea who was behind the attack. Though War-Pulse was the one who had put the compound into the city’s water supply, he was only the muscle. He wasn’t the mastermind behind the plan, and that is who Anderson wanted. He needed to know exactly who it was who had caused so much trouble, and that person, or persons needed to be dealt with swiftly, and harshly.

“Ms Powers, get me all the information we have on the mercenary War-Pulse, I think that we need to put a bit of pressure on him.” Anderson said into the intercom on his desk.

“Right away Director Anderson.” Came the quick reply.

Anderson did not know who it was that had ordered the biological attack on the city, but somebody did, and Anderson was determined to find out who. Once Anderson knew who it was that had dared to attack Lost Haven in this manner, he was going to bring the full force of STRIKE down on that individual and make them pay.

It was a snow-covered and chilly February afternoon in Albany, New York. For most of the residents of Albany, the snow and the cold deterred them from venturing outside the warm comfort of their homes, unless it was absolutely necessary to leave the warm confines of their dwelling. However, that did not stop Sammy and Kelly from taking a trip to the local Washington Park. In fact, this little outing was prompted by Sammy because for the past few days she had been stuck indoors because until recently she had the body of a cat that was large enough to support her human head. Cabin-fever would drive anyone insane, especially in Sammy’s situation. Zac, however, had to go to the Albany State College athletic center for a conditioning program that was, although not required, highly recommended.

Once the two young metahumans had arrived at the park, they began to circle around the Washington Park Lake, which was now frozen over by a thick sheet of ice. Flakes of snow were gracefully floating down onto the ground. Since they have not seen anyone else at the park, although there were a car or two in the parking lot, Kelly and Sammy did not have to worry about anyone bothering them about Sammy’s appearance. While Sammy was wearing a toboggan hat that covered her feline ears, her tail was still visible, even though the metahuman had covered it with two knee-high socks that was held in place by a few hair ties.

“So, are your professors going to let you make up the work that you missed?” Kelly asked Sammy, since her best friend had missed a couple days of classes due to her little ‘problem’.

Sammy turned to her friend, needing to look up to see eye-to-eye. For both of them, it felt really strange. For their entire life, Sammy had always had an edge in the height department. She even thought that her time being a human-headed cat had distorted her ability to judge distance because she was only a few feet tall. However, now that she was back to her normal stature, Sammy found out that she was not imagining anything and that Kelly was taller.

“Well, they weren’t buying it at first. However, once I whipped out the ears and the tail, I was able to change each of their minds. I even accidentally caused one of my teachers to faint when I tried to prove that I was not just playing hooky. I needed to explain the whole thing a second time.” The two girls broke out into laughter at the thought that one of Sammy’s teachers fainted when she realized that Sammy had cat ears and tail.

“We monster girls need to stick together.” Sammy joked with her best friend. However, right after she said that, an arrowed dropped from the sky and landed in front of the two girls. For a moment, the two girls gazed blankly at the missile, confused at why one would have been shot in their direction. Then they quickly scanned the area to see if they could find the culprit. Standing several yards away was a tall, muscular man, who despite the weather was still wearing a short sleeved shirt. Snow had already accumulated in his grizzly, yet neat, beard and the wind was tossing his long hair about. He wielded a large bow, which he had obviously used to fire the arrow at them.

Then suddenly, the arrow released a shockwave that hit both Sammy and Kelly, knocking them both out. Once the two ‘monster’ girls fell down to the ground and were knocked unconscious, the man walked over to where he had shot the arrow. When he had reached the two girls, he realized that somehow, since he did not know how, his taser-arrow had caused Kelly to revert back into her wasp form. The man wandered whether some kind of device had been hiding her insectoid appearance. However, if that was the case, then why was Sammy not using one too?

“What type of monstrosity has the Shroud Syndicate created?” The man, so called Odysseus, pondered as he looked down at the two girls. “I cannot allow those criminals to create monsters like those, lest they consolidate a power that even the independent vigilantes cannot contain.”

At that moment, Kelly, due to her enhanced endurance, began to wake up. She looked up at her assailant, peering at him with her dark-colored compound eyes. “We’re not monsters.” Kelly then threw a punch directly into the Odysseus’ gut, causing him to bend over in pain. As Odysseus was trying to regain his breath, Kelly turned to Sammy, trying to get her to wake up.

“Wake me up in an hour or two.” Sammy responded in her half-conscious state.

“We don’t have time for you to take a cat nap, Sammy!” After she said this to her best friend, Kelly heard laughter behind her. When she turned around, she saw that the laughter was coming from Odysseus.

“Finally!” Odysseus said with a grin on his face. “A challenge! I haven’t had one of those for quite some time. Those goons that work for your boss are push-overs, but it seems like you pack quite a punch!”

Kelly was beginning to panic. What was she supposed to do now? Her assailant seemed to have been only temporarily stunned by her punch. Plus, she has to deal with an unconscious Sammy. And one thought came into her mind. Why does it seem like everyone has been trying to kidnap her, Sammy, and Zac?

Little Sicily, Lost Haven

The inside of Sergeant Harvey Smith and Corporal Sal Topp's police cruiser smelled like coffee. Coffee and, un-ironically, donuts. Harvey had a certain affinity for the snack, despite its adverse effects on his body. The coffee was mandatory given the fact that it was six in the morning. There had been an attack the night before at Lost Haven's local Roman Catholic Church of Saint Peter. The church sat on the outskirts of the city, in a little suburban neighborhood. Harvey had never been there, having grown up in the big city, but he'd heard only good things about the place. When the call first came in, everyone thought that the church had been ransacked as a result of the rioting. However, research had shown that the suburban areas were almost exclusively ignored by the rioters. So whatever happened to Saint Peter's is more than likely an isolated incident. Detectives were already on the scene, but Thunderbolt and his partner, Sal, had been called in for crowd control. He'd called his sister the moment he had heard about the incident. Laura and her photographer were already on the way when he did. Harvey took a sip of his coffee as he turned the corner and the church came into view. There was crowd of curious and concerned citizens standing outside, with only a single officer standing in their way. Police tape was already up, but that didn't seem to dissuade some of the more headstrong onlookers from getting in.

Harvey parked the cruiser in the church parking lot, and stepped out. He quickly finished his coffee off before tossing it back into the cup holder. Harvey winced, placing a hand on his chest. He'd been severely injured during the riots, and had to spend an entire day in the hospital. His entire chest had been blown apart by a powerful explosive by that Gray Owl guy. "Let's get to it." Sal commented as she made her way towards the crowd. Harvey quickly followed suit, pushing through the people and crossing under the tape. The officer on the scene offered a reassured smile. "Glad I got backup. Not much to go around after what happened last weekend. All hands on deck with riot patrol." Harvey began waving people to step away from the perimeter. "Yeah, well, the Commissioner seems to think that whatever's going on around here has something to do with the metahuman who attacked the Augusta Police Department." The other officer grew visibly nervous. "Not now, guys. We have a job to do." Sal Topp reminded each of them. Harvey, Sal, and the unnamed police officer continued to keep people at bay until they started to lose interest and leave. Many, probably family of the missing, only moved to the other side of the street and gathered into small groups. They were waiting for more information on the case, it seemed. Poor sods. They'd never see their family again, and there wasn't a thing the police or the superheros could do about it.

A 2000 Honda Civic pulled up into the parking lot and stopped beside Harvey's police cruiser. Laura Smith and her photographer/partner, Terry Gibbs, stepped out of the passengers seat. The two sauntered over to the police tape and produced their Daily Watchmen press passes. "You're not covering the riots?" Sal asked as they all met near the front of the church. "Everyone and their mother is covering the riots. The chief wants something different for the Meta section." Laura informed Miss Topp. "Picture?" Terry asked Sal, motioning with his camera. Sal nodded, and the two walked off and left the siblings to themselves. Laura turned to Harvey and the two walked into the church. Their was a single detective inside, sitting on one of the pews and holding a torn piece of shirt. He looked utterly perplexed. Laura turned to her brother. "What's going on, Harv?" Harvey put his hands on his hips and sighed. "This matches all of the disappearances that have been going on for the past two weeks. Torn clothes, destroyed property, but not a drop of blood or DNA anywhere." Laura pulled out a yellow notepad and wrote a few words down. "Umbraxis the Destroyer, then."

Harvey walked over to one of the broken pews and bent down, examining the floor at superspeed. "Nothing. Not a sign that there was ever a human being here. Definitely Umbraxis." Just saying that son of a bitch's name made Harvey's skin crawl. Who could do something like this? Something so...terrible. Harvey had to grit his teeth for all he was worth not to scream in utterly livid rage. He'd seen the video from Augusta. Umbraxis had slaughtered countless police officers. And for what? He didn't want money. Or revenge. Umbraxis killed for entertainment. Senseless murder, for no other reason than his own sick enjoyment. "Stop it." Laura spoke in a voice that could command angels to halt in their tracks. "What?" Harvey asked, although he knew what she was going to say before she said it. "You're thinking about how horrible this all is. Brooding never got anyone anywhere. It's self-destructive, not to mention selfish. Get over your feelings and focus on how we're going to find this guy and take him down." Harvey nodded his head in silence. She was right. Laura was always right. "So, Harvey, tell me: how do we beat something we can't find?" Harvey began to think. His mind moved at impossible speeds as thought after thought passed through, with only the most important sticking around long enough for a millisecond to pass. "We let him find us." Harvey said simply. His sister gave him an inquisitive "Go on" expression, so he continued. "Umbraxis the Destroyer said during the video I told you about earlier that he came to earth to test what it has to offer. He wanted our best. He's here to fight superhumans." Harvey explained. Laura caught on immediately. "We set up a scenario where Umbraxis feels obliged to show his face."

"A press conference." The two said in unison. "We need to talk to Commissioner Valdez about this immediately." Harvey said. "I'll go with you as Boom. She'll feel be more easily persuaded if she knows what metahumans are going to be there to help her." Harvey nodded again. "As soon as we're wrapped up here, we'll meet in front of the station."

---

Later at LHPD Central in Little Sicily, Lost Haven

It was late in the afternoon as a crowd of reports stood outside of Lost Haven Police Department's Central Bureau. Commissioner Jessica Valdez stood in front of a podium covered in multiple microphones, each from one of various news stations. Flanking the commissioner on her immediate left and right were two superheroes. The speedsters were dressed in blue, silver and black uniforms with their hands held professionally behind their backs. Standing beside those superheroes were a number of police officers carrying automatic weapons and semi-automatic shotguns. "People of Lost Haven," the commissioner began. "It is with deep sadness and regret that I have come before you. As you know, this city has suffered in recent times from any number of tragedies and displays of violence. Demonic invasions and city-wide riots have crippled our hearts and souls. We thought that nothing could drag us further into despair." Valdez put on a fake look of concern and sadness. "But a monster lives in our midst. An alien creature from another world walks among us, killing people for no logical reason. It doesn't want money. It doesn't want revenge. It doesn't even want to terrorize our proud city. No, this creature only kills for fun." She paused for affect. "This monster, calling itself Umbraxis the Destroyer, seeks to test us. It seeks out the best and brightest of humanity and slaughters it wholesale. But we will stop it. No self proclaimed alien god stands a chance in hell against this city's protectors. Lost Haven's finest have been working around the clock with it's metahuman population to prepare for Umbraxis' arrival; and now that he's here, I have only one thing to say to him...

"...You will be beaten."

The crowd clapped. One man cheered. The broadcast was being sent out to the nation, thanks to the mayor pulling some strings. They wanted Umbraxis to hear them. They wanted to goad out the alien into attacking them when their heroes were at the ready to defend them. Valdez continued. "Here is one of Lost Haven's local heroes, Boom, to speak directly to the metahumans of Lost Haven and the entire United States." Valdez stepped away from the microphone and Boom took her place. She moved with stoic purpose towards the podium, receiving applause from Lost Haven's reporters. "Thank you." She started. "Heroes of Lost Haven, and heroes of these great United States of America, I call upon you. I call you to take up arms against this threat and fight against the darkness. I know many of you are scared. I myself am terrified." A strategic choke-up to emphasize the point. "But that doesn't mean we have a right to shirk our duty to the innocent people of this country. We believe that Umbraxis the Destroyer is responsible for dozens of disappearances that have occurred in the Northeast over the past few weeks. He has shown himself to be an insurmountable obstacle, massacring a large portion of Augusta's police with utter ease. He's killed countless people. I ask all of you, heroes, to put your money where your mouth is: come to Lost Haven, and stand against me with Umbraxis. He wants a fight? He wants to test our mettle? Let's give the son of a bitch a fight he'll never forget."

STRIKE Director Alexander Anderson sat fuming behind his desk. He had returned to Lost Haven to deal with Angel Price, however, because of the events within the city over the last few days, he had decided to extend his stay. It wasn’t the recent attack on the city’s water supply that had drawn his ire, though it was a factor in his deciding to stay. Instead, it was a recent press conference held by a pair of the city’s superheroes, and the police commissioner no less.

“After all these years of doing what we had to do to keep things like this under wraps, this local yahoo decides to blow the roof off the house by announcing that there’s an extra terrestrial serial killer in Lost Haven?” Anderson complains. “I mean for Christ’s sake Marcus, this idiot Valdez just gave every nutcase in the country an excuse to do whatever the hell they want.”

“I know Alex, but don’t worry about it. I’m already taking care of it.” Marcus Ryder said calmly. “It’s what I do.”

“I know Marcus, I’m not really worried about it. When it comes down to it, the American people will believe what we want them to believe.” Anderson said matter of factly.

“So, this Commissioner Valdez, do you want me to take her out?” Ryder asked.

“No, no need. Not yet anyhow. That cow is in way over her head, and now that she’s called out this Umbraxis fella, he’ll probably do us a favor and get rid of her for us.” Anderson said with a chuckle. “And if now, I’ll personally see to it that she can’t get a job as a mall cop.”

“And those two heroes, Boom and ‘whatshisface’?” Ryder asked.

“Keep an eye on them. I want to know everything about them. Where they work, what their hobbies are, and whether they prefer Cornflakes or Raisin Bran. Just don’t get too close, I don’t want them causing us any more trouble.” Anderson paused for a moment, taking several long puffs of a cigar. “Now, we just need to get out there and spin this the way we want it to be played.”

“I know exactly what you mean. Don’t worry about it Alex, I’ve got it covered.” Ryder said with a grin.



Marcus Ryder sat on the plush couch on the set of “The Nightly Show with Stuart Walsh,” one of the nation’s most popular late night talk shows. As the bright stage lights beamed down on him with what felt like the force of two suns, Ryder was cool and calm. Though most would expect a man in his position to visit a more traditional avenue when refuting the claims of an alien predator in our midst, Ryder know that this was not the way to go. The majority of American’s don’t trust what they see on political shows like “Meet the Press,” or others of their ilk. In fact, it was much more effective to tell the masses what you want them to think on a show like this when their guard is down, than in some long drawn out statement in a press release or during a conference call.

Thus far, the interview has gone well. There were jokes and banter, and even a wise crack about Icon wearing tights, and the statement that Liberace still holds the distinction of wearing the best cape. There were even several lighthearted questions about STRIKE’s traditional secrecy, and the fact that up until recently, most people didn’t even know they existed, and a joke about how now they’re making the talk show rounds. But then the interview turned somewhat serious.

“So Mr. Ryder, recently in Lost Haven, a city that...let’s just face it…has some problems; the police commissioner held a press conference in which she said that this Umbraxis the Destroyer is an alien threat that is walking among us, and then one of the superheroes, I believe her name is Boom made a statement calling on other heroes to take this guy out. What was your reaction?” Stuart Walsh asked, adding an awkward chuckle at the end of the question.

“Well Stuart, let me just address this in two parts. First of all, I appreciate Commissioner Valdez’s…creativity when confronted by the tragedy at St. Peter’s. What happened there was absolutely horrifying, and I personally don’t want to have to see anything like what happened there happening anywhere else, ever. Now, let me go on record and say that STRIKE has been aware of Umbraxis’ activities for some time. By now you’ve heard of the incident in Augusta. That was really his…uh, his coming out party, so to speak. This guy, Umbraxis does appear to be a pretty bad dude, there’s no denying that. However, the fact is that he is just a metahuman, nothing more, nothing less. He isn’t some alien power that’s hell bent on taking out the human race. He’s nothing more than a metahuman with flashy powers and a superiority complex.” Ryder paused for a second as Walsh chuckled uncomfortably. “And as far as, what are their names…Thunderbolt and Boom? As far as their call to rally the supers, I sure as hell hope they do come together. I mean you can have guys like Icon and Iron Knight out there doing their thing, but then when you have a serious situation, where are they? Maybe if they organized and worked with us, they’d actually do some good instead of just adding to the collateral damage.”

“Well, that’s all the time we have, join us tomorrow when our guests include Hip Hop mogul Jace Swaggerr, comedian Kat Williams, and Mark Walburg! Have a good night!” Walsh said as the screen faded to black.



Alexander Anderson sat back in his chair and lit a cigar. He was smiling from ear to ear, more than pleased with Marcus Ryder’s performance on the talk show. It was a good showing from his longtime friend. Ryder had been charismatic and charming, and more importantly than that, believable. Anderson had been skeptical when Ryder had told him his plan, but now he knew that this was the right play. Ryder had not only delivered the message that STRIKE wanted to get out there, but through Ryder’s performance on the show, he ensured that the message would linger with the masses long after the show had left the airwaves.

Chris, in his Daidalos Mk. 6 armor, soared above the Egyptian city of Luxor as he headed towards the Valley of the Kings, where there was recently a bizarre incident that involved an archaeological expedition that was funded by Chris’ company, the Knight’s Corp. Since his encounters with that metahuman who gave Little Ulster and Newark a facelift, Nightmare, and the ‘Demon’ invasion of Lost Haven, Chris had developed a new suit of armor that theoretically could resist magical-based weapons and powers. Even though back across the pond it still felt like winter, the weather at Luxor was in the mid-seventies degrees Fahrenheit. He even had to set his suit’s internal air-conditioning to its lowest setting just to ensure that he would not overhead inside his mechanical suit.

Normally, if anyone had heard the rumors of what had happened, that person would have dismissed it as fiction. However, with what has happened over the last couple months, almost nothing would not surprise him. Matter manipulating metahumans, people with animal characteristics, and men who can catch falling space stations, just to name a few. Apparently, the archaeological team haplessly aroused a mummified sorcerer who had been ‘slumbering’ for centuries. There was only one survivor from the team that went into the tomb first; however, even she did not leave the tomb unharmed.

Since the Egyptian sorcerer, Sethotep, was only a decayed mummy, he needed to absorb the life energy of another individual in order to restore his body to how it was centuries ago. Doctor Zimmerman was unfortunately the first of the team whom Sethotep went after. Since at the time, Sethotep could not see, he could not discern that Doctor Zimmerman was an elderly man and therefore not a suitable source for restoring his own life-force. At that moment, while Doctor Zimmerman laid on the floor, rapidly aged past the point where a human could be alive, only Sarah Cox, the presumed sole survivor of this incident, remained, as Curtis Schmidt’s whereabouts were known at the time and a column of black light enveloped Doctor Zimmerman’s son, Jeffery, moments after his father had been seemingly killed by rapid aging.

Sarah’s life force was definitely young enough to sustain Sethotep; however, since Sethotep was not privy to the modern world’s culture and gender ambiguity, he mistook Sarah for a young man. Once the ancient Egyptian realized his error while absorbing her life force, Sethotep abruptly aborted the process and left the tomb to find a suitable source for restoring his former youthfulness, which resulted in leaving Sarah behind in a weird condition that mixed her own life force with that of Doctor Zimmerman, which the Egyptian Sorcerer had swapped during the life force absorption process.

While Chris was soaring toward the Valley of the Kings, a beam that constituted of magical energy was launched in his direction. However, Chris’ newly constructed armor was able to mitigate the attack. While it did not prevent the blast from pushing Chris back, it did not knock him out of the sky, either.

From below arose the Egyptian Sorcerer, hovering in mid-air. He kept rising until he was level with Chris. Then, he began to speak in ancient Egyptian, which Chris could not quite understand. The computer system within Chris’ Daidalos armor activated a program that would use any and all linguistic knowledge within its databanks in order to translate what the now-resurrected Egyptian was saying.

“…and the Lands of the Nile. You seem quite peculiar, since your skin seems to be made out of [error – closest approximation, iron]. I presume that the worshippers of Isis and Osiris have sent you in order to [error – closest approximation, take me out]. But the will of my [error – closest approximation, patron deity], Set, shall be done.”

“I don’t know if you will be able to understand what I am saying, but I don’t care whether you worship Set or Super-Star Jesus. If you mess with my people, I’ll mess you up.”

“Your tongue is strange, [error – closest approximation, iron] warrior. While your language is undecipherable to me, your tone seemed quite hostile [error – closest approximation, ethnical dative, to me].” Then, Sethotop raised up his arms above his head, causing a brownish aura to appear around his hands. In unison with arms, the vortex of sand swirled up into the air, hurling Chris around and around until he was ejected out from the dust tornado and send spiraling down towards the ground. If it was not for his armor’s flight mechanisms, Chris would have smashed head first into the desert sands below him.

“I was hoping for a greater [error – closest approximation, challenge].” The Egyptian servant of Set taunted as he slowly descended to the ground. “I never thought that Osiris would send such a puny [error – closest approximation, champion, avatar, representative of a god] to challenge me.” After he had said that, a beam of lightning rippled out towards Sethotep’s back. If he had not reacted in time to parry the blast of lightning, the Egyptian sorcerer would have been fried. “Perhaps I spoke too soon.”

Once Ares had heard Athena’s ultimatum, the God of War began to burst out into laughter. He was laughing so hard that, if he had not been careful, he would have been rolling on the floor. However, once this bout of laughter had ceased, Ares regained his composure and responded to Athena’s words.

“Do you really think that the past will predict the future, Athena? If that was true, the Spartans would have been crazy to wage war against the Athenians, who had crushed the Persians at the Battle of Marathon! The past in fact does not matter, only the present. And this time, things will turn out differently!”

At once, Ares’s form began to morph until a giant dragon stood before the three heroes. After he had inhaled a giant gulp of air, Ares, in his dragon form, unleashed a blast of fire at the three heroes. As the dragon’s flames surrounded the enemies of Ares, it seemed from the God’s perspective that they were all being consumed by his deadly breath. However, once Ares let up with his fire-breath, he realized that Athena, Arachne, and Icon were still standing there, unharmed.

“Foolish half-brother! Can you not remember the Aegis? Not even the bolts of Zeus, that can level cities and extinct entire civilizations, can harm the great Aegis! You are too dimwitted to know that you are beaten. Now you shall relive another beating that shall be even worse than that which you received during the Trojan War, as it was recorded in the Iliad.”

“I will show you who is foolish!” Ares roared, slamming his draconian paw down upon the three heroes. Moments before the claws of the God of War struck the three heroes, Arachne dodged out of the way. Her ‘sixth-sense’ allowed her to time the jump just right so that she was out of the way of Ares’ attack. However, the same could not have been said of Athena and Icon, who got smacked by Ares’s palm. With that said, that did not mean that Icon and the Greek Goddess of Wisdom were out for the count. In fact, seconds after Ares’ hand smashed his enemies, Icon and Athena pushed back up against the god’s palm, sending him flying back and crashing into the temple’s wall. As a result, the wall began to crack, revealing that the integrity of the building had been compromised.

Moments after Icon and Athena had pushed back against the “god” calling himself Ares, sending him crashing into the temple wall, he saw cracks and fissures quickly forming in the temple’s foundation. As he looked around, he saw that several of Ares’ followers had remained in the temple during the battle, and now were in danger of allowing their devotion to this so called “God of War” be their undoing.

“Child, pull Ares’ servant out of here. Eikon, make sure that everyone is outside of this shrine. I shall deal with my troublesome half-brother!” Athena then raised her spear and hurled it towards Ares. The impact of the spear created a deafening crash, as if thunder had erupted within the confines of the shrine.

As he approached, he saw that Ares’ dragon form’s collision with the wall had caused the temple’s exit to be blocked by falling debris. Ares’ followers stood in front of the door, futilely pulling at the debris blocking their escape.

”Get back!” Icon said as he punched his way through the fallen mortar.

As he forced his way through the debris, the doorway became even more destabilized and threatened to collapse. Icon stepped into the doorway to hold up the doorway, which allowing the followers of Ares to escape the temple. Then, with a few sustained optic blasts, he was able to fuse the fissures over the door, preventing that side of the shrine to collapse in on itself. With the followers safe, Icon made his way back toward the spider woman and Polemos.

Meanwhile, Arachne began to drag Polemos across the floor as she tried to take both of them to safety. However, she soon realized that they would be crushed by the collapsing building before either of them got out of there. Therefore, she needed to change up the way she would be carrying him out. “Hey, do you think your conscious enough to…” However, once she looked down at Polemos, Arachne realized that the potion that they had given her had finally knocked him out. “Great. Am I going to have to fireman’s carry this guy? That would be a first.”

Now with Polemos slung over her shoulder, Arachne hurried out of the temple, dodging the falling debris that was caused by Athena and Ares’ battle. Once she was outside, Arachne tossed Polemos off her shoulder. His armor clanked as he struck the ground. “Jesus, how heavy is that armor of yours?”

Suddenly, the entire temple complex collapsed, crumbling into itself. A cloud of rubble and dust floated up as soon as the building fell to the ground. Once the dust cloud had dispersed, Arachne could discern a figure pulling itself out of the debris that covered the ground. Once the figure began to approach her, Polemos, and Icon, Arachne could finally tell that the figure was Athena, who was now pulling someone behind her. However, the person that she was dragging did not look anything like Ares. In fact, this person had skin as white as snow and his face did not have any discernable features. He almost had a slender man appearance.

“This is what happens to mortals who dare to mettle with the gods.” Athena tossed the lifeless and featureless body onto the ground in front of her. In her hand, Athena held a small device that was implanted in this individual. She assumed that whatever this device was, it enhanced the power of this metahuman so that he appeared to be Ares, the Greek God of War and Bloodshed. Whether Ares was still behind this or if someone else was, Athena did not know. However, that was a question to be answered at a different time.

Athena then slammed the end of her spear into the ground, causing a blue light to radiate out in all directions. Once this blue light struck Icon and Arachne, it restored their stamina, as if they had not be engaged in a difficult battle against Ares and Polemos (and it also repaired the damage that Arachne’s costume had taken when she was used as a living battering ram by Polemos). Once the light hit Polemos, it eradicated the implant that had been placed within him and also cured him of the toxin that they used to fake a condition of latrodectism.

Once Polemos had been freed from the control of the implant and cured from the effects of the liquid that he had been tricked into believing as the cure for being bitten by Arachne, he immediately regained consciousness, frantically looking around. After realizing that he was in control of his own body again, Polemos picked himself up from the ground and addressed the three people who stood before him.

“I know that this will not make any sense, but Ares was somehow able to control my body, which left me powerless to stop anything that had happened tonight. While I could not have changed any of my actions due to the influence that Ares had over me, I promise to make up for my ‘crimes’ by helping you in the future. Does anyone have paper and pen to write down a phone number?”

“That will not be necessary.” Athena interrupted. “If I ever find need of you, I will be able to find you. For none can hide from the all-seeing Helios.”

“Very well. I shall respond as swiftly as I can whenever you call for my aid. Until then, farewell. I please accept my most sincere apologies.” Once he had finished speaking, Polemos turned away from the heroes and began to walk away into the distance, eventually disappearing into the night.

“Are we really just letting him leave scott free?” Arachne complained, “He used me as a human battering ram, for Pete’s sake!”

“I see no need to take him in. Even if we were to do so, where would he go?” Athena countered Arachne’s complaints. Then, the Goddess of Wisdom turned to Icon. “Eikon, you have been an exceptional asset to this little enterprise. I hope that I can count on your assistance in the future. While my little pupil here might seem like only eye-candy at the moment, once I have whipped her into shape, I’m sure she’ll be able to handle her own next time.”

“What did you call me?”

“Farewell, Eikon! May fortune always smile upon you! For fortune always favors the brave.” Once Athena had finished speaking, a bright flash of light erupted from where Athena was standing. Once the light had dimmed down, Icon discovered that Athena and Arachne were no longer standing there. Now that he was no longer needed to stop Polemos, Icon soared up into the sky, looking for an opportunity to help the city against the riots that had broken out that night.

Sherlock sifted through the deep net, navigating the hidden servers with ease. The small, private servers and websites had nothing, compared to the AI. It was just what he needed, he decided, to initiate a counterattack, while staying hidden from S.T.R.I.K.E. at the same time. However, there was one massive, looming problem, one that was the reason for attacking S.T.R.I.K.E. in the first place. Angel was imprisoned in their holding facility hidden outside Lost Haven, and the mech that would have been his means of escape was locked down from all tampering, even Sherlock's own. So he needed to get some outside help.

Sherlock browsed his list of viable mercenaries, ones that WOULDN'T betray the contract in the middle of the mission. Unfortunately, only one was a metahuman, and he happened to be deceased. His power probably wouldn't have been much help anyways. Amplifying the abilities of other metahumans? Useful in a team situation, but not for this job. He needed someone... powerful, Icon-level. There were few Metas on that level, so Sherlock's algorithms quickly sorted each option quickly. Quite a few were discarded, as they were either too villainous or out of commission. Not every Meta was as noble as Icon, nor quite as durable.

That left two options left. A large, brute of a man, whom they called Trauma, able to shatter buildings in single hits, and War-Pulse, the Metahuman that Angel had fought. Trauma was mentally unstable and unhygenic, yet he always performed the job to the letter, but the downside to him was that he was currently in Sweden, on holiday with his family. He wouldn't be able to reach the facility in time. So that left War-Pulse, a singular... Trenton Hurst, and his handler, Warden. Sometimes being the former information collection A.I. for S.T.R.I.K.E. had its perks. Normally, nobody would be able to have ANY intel about VIGIL. Only, S.T.R.I.K.E. wasn't just some agency, like the CIA or FBI. They were the best in the world at finding things that people would rather stay secret. Unfortunately, nobody, including S.T.R.I.K.E, knew about what happened in Columbia. A shame. Sherlock hadn't placed that variable into the main algorithm for dealing with War-Pulse, but it would've given him a .2% advantage in negotiations. In dealing with humans, Sherlock had found that the slightest change could snowball into a 180 degree turn in attitude. It was fascinating to the Intelligence, who could think and feel, but within certain guidelines. He could not comprehend what motivated some people, although he could make conjectures with up to 48% accuracy.

Ending that thought line, Sherlock created a new stream, keeping the old one archived, for later review. Focusing on the handler's signature, which seemed to be coming from an identical copy of the old system [Which indicated an 65.4% chance of overconfidence of his own abilities], Sherlock ghosted through the Deep Web, surrounding the human's data streams. Filtering them out slowly, until they collapsed, Sherlock demonstrated a degree of subtlety that Angel had never demonstrated. This was what he was made for, after all.

There was a 51.87% chance that Warden would respond aggressively, after what Angel had done last time, [Compared to his initial 2% aggression chance during the fight. It seemed that he had only wanted to observe,] so Sherlock opened the Unzerbrechlich data package, one that was nigh unimpenetrable, and quickly sent a burst to Warden's host machine.

Warden. Do not be alarmed. I have isolated your nodes for security during this conversation. Let's talk business. The message would appear in the middle of Warden's screen, with a blank space below, for Warden to type a response. A small graphic of Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock's classic pipe rotated in the corner of the screen, with the word 'SHERLOCK.1' written underneath. The bar where Warden would write his response blinked silently, awaiting input.

It didn't take long for Warden to catch that he was being cornered and cut off from his extensions throughout the web. Almost as soon as he caught on to his systems being caught on to, he diverted attention to a firewall in an attempt to provide a buffer the invasive program. He recognized the IP from before, namely that its coding was incredibly complex, or at least advanced enough to track him down through shifting IPs and data spikes. The buffer of course would not hold to such a data package coming his way, but it would provide Warden with just enough time to both extract crucial information he had gathered to an external drive before his machine was busted through.

There was silence at the original message, a good five minutes before there was even the inclination that Warden was typing back. However, when the message passed onto the screen, it made Warden's stance very clear on Sherlock's action.

Alarmed? I'm not alarmed, but impressed. I recognize you, AI. The message began. Before you shut me down last time, I managed to acquire some of your coding, enough to remember you once we crossed paths again. With a bit of analysis of what happened in our previous encounter, it became very clear that while your operator was the one who pulled the trigger, the package sent to disable me was operated by something else, almost as the data package acted like a separate entity. Needless to say, this is one of the few rare times I have found myself extremely curious about where exactly an AI like you was developed.

However, this is clearly not the subject matter you want to discuss, though forgive me if I find your claims of business to be unfounded. First off, you of all things should know there are channels to reach mercenaries, even a few anonymous ones that would make things less hostile to begin with. Freezing my nodes and forcing your way into my system is both extremely annoying and undeniably hostile, not to mention the last time you and I confronted one another, you disabled me long enough for your operator to drop a helicopter down on my client.

There was a pause, another few seconds before another line of text scrawled across the screen. However, if this was a death threat, you would have delivered it by now. Likewise if this was an attempt to extract information from me, I regret to say that you will find nothing here. With those possibilities either denied or unavailable...I'm listening. What kind of business are you asking for, and what are you willing to offer?

If Sherlock had a face, it would be smirking. He had almost nothing to do with the creation and execution of the Basilisk virus. The piece of coding they had in common was the autonomy package, heavily modified to not get out of control, and self-replicate. However, Sherlock was impressed by this human's skills. While some extremely skilled people could match Angel and his own skills, not many rose to the level.

Waiting for the man to finish typing, Sherlock's reply came almost instantly. Before we discuss business, I would like to clarify a few things for you, since you're such an agreeable fellow. I was nowhere near your network, when Equilibrium fried it, although I do have the data logs of the mech in my system. Just to let you know.

Also, anonymous? If an AI like me could isolate you, and I'm designed for infiltration, what could an Intelligence created for destruction accomplish? Besides, the people that I'd be hiring you to go up against would probably be able to track our transaction, no matter the measures put in place for anonymity. They're that good. In fact, they probably know I'm here, but not my purpose in isolating you. Judging from what I found on their servers, they don't view you and Trenton as a threat. However, I am aware of their capabilities, and I am confident in both our dear mercenary's ability, and yours.

Sherlock took a minute to gather the information that he had prepared as payment, and then said, There is now a file on your machine. It has the specs for the facility that I wish for Trenton to assault. In addition, I will give you data directly from S.T.R.I.K.E's servers, as well as 18,000,000 USD. Interested?

S.T.R.I.K.E.? You mean the S.T.R.I.K.E? Warden's response came fast once the key phrase flickered across his screen, Single-handedly one of the most powerful organizations on the planet? The one that has countless manpower, unlimited resources, and an extensive network across the entire world? That S.T.R.I.K.E?

A few seconds passed, most likely because Warden was evaluating the facility that was delivered to him. Ugh, this is terrible...not only would we have to deal with a time frame of possible reinforcements. We are looking at the possibilities of, but not limited to;

-A robotic juggernaut known as the Iron Knight, equipped with energy weapons and extremely powerful armor.
-A multi-facited AI, comparable to the one I'm speaking to, capable of mechanical control and plasma blasts.
-Countless reinforcements, and the ire of S.T.R.I.K.E itself, which we have been trying very hard to avoid.

And at any time if we fail, we risk my client being locked up for all eternity. The worst part? Trent is absolutely going to take this job, no matter what I say. He always is looking for a challenge...and this? This is something he'd be thrilled to do...

Another pause, probably from Warden simply upset that he was going to once more throw himself out into the open by messing around with S.T.R.I.K.E tech and plans, but aside from the money, information about the most powerful secruity force in the world was definitely a valuable thing to have.

So...I presume your name is Sherlock, what's the job? What is my client breaking into a S.T.R.I.K.E base to retrieve? Judging by the schematics you've sent me, this is in some part a prison or holding facility, are we collecting live cargo or technology?

Sherlock felt good. The deal was just too much for Warden and Trent to not accept. Mentally pumping his fists, Sherlock said, It's a two-fold mission. The one you need to rescue, Equilibrium, takes priority, but Equilibrium's mech is also there. He had gotten captured by Archangel, and I barely got away. She's some sort of meta, but nothing like one I know. I don't have enough data to identify her abilities. Archangel is probably not at the base, though. It appears she works independently of S.T.R.I.K.E., and isn't Trent's specialty energy? ;)

Sherlock paused a moment, and then said, For the transaction going so well, and as a gesture of faith, I'm transferring 3,000,000 USD to your account. It's enough to make a profit, without doing anything, but I believe that Trent is... generally reliable, and so are you.

Wait...Equilibirum? Warden typed back. You're asking us...us to free the man who, and I can't believe I had to repeat this; dropped a helicopter on my client?

...I already accepted the job, so we can't turn back now. However I'll let you know I'm not happy about this, we don't usually free the people who attacked us. If you'll release my systems, I can contact War-Pulse so we can make a plan as a group. Then we'll get started on retrieving your companion. I ask that you keep in contact with me, so we can utilize both of our technical skills...we'll need it if we want to pull this off.

As soon as his nodes were unfrozen, Warden kept to his word, immediately utilizing a gps signal to track down the mercenary, his fingers crossed that he had not picked a fight since he was locked out. To his fortune, he found War-Pulse positioned at a bar on the coast of Chinatown, more than likely drinking off his last encounter.

"Pulse. War-Pulse...Trent? Do you hear me?"

"Warden? Where the hell have you been?" Came a hearty voice. "You're missing out, I got a great game of dice going, and despite the riots, the company down here in Chinatown is...warming, if you catch my drift!"

"Hm. You're in high spirits." Warden replied. "You shake off your last beating?"

"Hey, those assholes didn't beat me, they just ran before I got to lay into them!" War-Pulse was quick to retort. "Anyway, what're you calling me for?"

"Another job."

"Shit, you serious?" Trent's voice rose, his excitement apparent in tone. "Awesome! What's the job? What's the pay? Who's getting a fist to the face?"

"Well, to answer those questions, I've got our employer on the line." Warden replied, hitting a few keys on the keyboard. "Sherlock, if you'd be so kind as to enlighten my client."

As soon as Warden's sentence ended, Sherlock would find that Warden had altered the chatbox he had been given, adding a text-to-voice option for the AI to utilize, although it would make the program sound like the voice of Stephen Hawking's voicebox.

Sherlock had tapped into the comms line, and listened in on Warden and Trent's conversation. It appeared that, after losing a fight to a few other metas, Trent had become quite drunk, and was now gambling. Eh. It wasn't his place to advise Trent on his habits, although he most certainly would've advised Angel against drinking so much.

Moving on, Sherlock examined the text-to-voice program. While primitive, it would serve as a base for the auditory half of the avatar program he stole from Archangel. Adding a few lines of code, a pleasant English-sounding voice would sound from both Warden's computer and Trent's earpiece.

"Hello, Mr. Trent. I am Sherlock, as Warden has already pointed out. I've hired you for a rescue of my friend. However, there's a catch. You'll be busting him out, and his equipment, from a S.T.R.I.K.E. holding facility. I've already transferred 3,000,000 dollars to your accounts. You'll be receiving the remaining 15,000,000 upon completion. Need I say more?"

"Hot damn!" Pulse's voice came back over the comm link, excitable as ever. "You're telling me that I'm going to be attacking the number one 'don't screw with these guys' organization in the world to bust out some guy? A job like this is worth it just on the reputation I'd get, let alone the kind of money you're offering. I'm all in on this!"

"Hold on, the target is someone you've had a previous encounter with." Warden interjected.

"Oh?" Trent responded, the sounds of him standing up and moving becoming apparent over the comm. Even with his brash attitude, there was enough professionalism in his business acumen to get to a private spot to discuss plans like this. "Anyone I'd know by name? Oh god, is it Spider-Girl? Did she start rumbling with the wrong crowd?"

"The target is Equilibrium."

"What?!?" The mercenary exclaimed. "I'm off to rescue the guy who dropped a helicopter on my head!?"

"Yes. Is that going to be a problem, War-Pulse?"

"...Nah, he did what he had to in order to get away, it was one hell of a move. But I'll have some words for him when we get a second, so you two will have to let me say my piece when that comes.

"I'm sure he'll listen if you manage to get him out of there alive." Warden said, accessing the files Sherlock provided him for a schematic of the compound. "But that's going to be the challenge." With a few deft keystrokes, the blueprints were provided to War-Pulse's smartphone, allowing him to get a better view of the compound and contribute to the conversation. "From what Sherlock has provided me, this compound is one of the most advanced and powerful fortresses we've been asked to infiltrate. You have to hand it to STRIKE, they have their act together. With multiple checkpoints, cross-communication, 24 hour surveillance and routine ID scans, infiltration is almost impossile."

"So why don't we just let me do what I do best? Let me charge in there and just blast my way to him!"

"Multiple reasons. Not only does that tend to rack up unnecessary casualties, they would more than likely call for some powerful reinforcements, namely figures like Iron Knight or Archangel."

"Iron Knight? Is that another guy in a tin suit? Did everyone collectively decide that the only way to fight these days is in a humanoid battlesuit? The human body isn't even that structurally sound! We're the only animals alive that live in balancing act on two legs!"

"Yes, but I wouldn't underestimate him, nor would I desire to have you fight him on top of a whole compound." Warden emphasized. "However, that's where Sherlock and I come in."

"I'm listening."

"Equilibrium is down on one of the lower levels of the facility, deep underground to prevent aerial assaults from effectively releasing potential targets. There are two methods of infiltration that I can recommend. My recommendation is a alteration of the 'drop 'n chop' method we tried when you were trying to put the vial in that water tower."

"Yeah, but that plan didn't work."

"Because those four were waiting for you to touch down. While STRIKE may know we're coming they have other tasks at hand. A direct attack might be able to catch them off guard long enough for you to get Equilibrium and his mech. Instead of fighting your way through the front door, you will drop down, as in straight down. Diving from high in the air, you will act as a ballistic projectile, driving yourself down into the base through the floor. With the correct amount of velocity you should be able to stop yourself within two or three levels of where they are holding Equilibrium. While you make this divebomb, Sherlock and I will access and cut off the compounds communications and radar, preventing them from spotting you, sounding the alarm or calling reinforcements in that amount of time. This two-fold strategy means that before they really get a chance to react, we will have you within range of the target, which it would only be a short fight to free. Once you can get Equilibrium to his mech, both you and him should be able to blast your way out. I must stress to avoid as many casualties as you can, but this plan provides the least amount possible seeing as how infiltration is impossible for a man of your reputation and skillset."

"Well, I'm all for this plan. It's quick, direct, and I'll get to punch something!"

"Sherlock? Would you be on board with a plan like this, or do you have a better suggestion?" Warden asked. "You know the compound better than I do, so you might be able to give us a better backdoor."

Sherlock sounded amused. "Speaking of backdoors..."

He generated a small ding, like one you would hear on television when a check mark appears. His small worm had accessed the system covertly. "The job just got a tiny bit easier. While I can't cut the power completely, due to firewalls and backups, I can disable the generators for exactly twenty seconds, before the backups return, and block off all access to the power system, except for manual. However, if you move fast, you two can get Equilibrium out without needing the blackout. If all else fails, I can do it."

Sherlock then addressed Trent. "Oh, and Trent? I think the reasoning behind giant humanoid mech suits is that they are pretty bad-ass, no? And believe me, the way Equilibrium built his suit, you saw it yourself, it's more stable than most battleships."

Anyways, back to the subject at hand. "So, we can start as soon as you're ready, but hopefully as soon as possible. Tonight is one of the best nights to strike, even though Anderson is in town. No, BECAUSE Anderson is in town. If he's there, the facility directors will be working to kowtow and suck up to him. Even though they know he hates that."

"I agree with Sherlock, the sooner we strike, the easier it will be to catch STRIKE off guard. If the AI is right and they are tracking us, we only have a small window of opportunity to act before we have a STRIKE capture squad on our tails."

"Warden, you worry too much sometimes." The sound of rustling could be heard on the other side of the comm links. "Just send me the place's location and I'll notify you guys when I'm within 100 miles."

"Move fast, War-Pulse. Sherlock and I will have a disabling suite ready when you arrive."

"Yeah, yeah, you work your magic, I'll work mine." Came War-Pulse's final message before he clicked out, resulting in an audible huff from Warden.

"Well, let's get to work, Shelock."

Uncharted Island
South Pacific
0553 Local Time

Perched on a rocky outcrop near a lush jungle, Theodore Roosevelt observed the surrounding area through the scope of his rifle. The .585 caliber bolt action rifle could rip a baseball sized hole through an elephant's body, among other creatures and surfaces. The magazine carried traditional, big bore ammunition that Theodore supplemented with magazines of incendiary rounds that he kept on his person. A stand at the end of the barrel provided support for the heavy weapon, a large cushioned stock protected Theodore's shoulder from the gun's large recoil.

The scope's night vision mode cast the surrounding area in a ghostly green aura. There was a thermal vision setting, but the warm climate of the island made it difficult for bodies to be detected through the lense. Roosevelt turned his rifle north-northwest towards the island's highest peak. A small volcano loomed above everything on the island. Situated near the summit was a sprawling compound had Asian architecture with hanging paper lanterns illuminating the perimeter. To Roosevelt, it appeared as a mini replica of the Forbidden City imperial palace. Zooming in, he saw two sentries standing near a door and smoking cigarettes. They were Asian, wearing khaki uniforms with automatic rifles slung around their shoulders.

"Mr. Lincoln," Roosevelt whispered. An embedded microphone in his back left molar caught the his voice perfectly and broadcasted it across the island to where Lincoln was. "There are minimum guard patrols, but I have a clear line of sight, sir. I shall be watching. You are clear to move."

--

Theodore Roosevelt's voice came in crystal clear in the microscopic speaker embedded inside one of Lincoln's ear bones.

"Roger that. I am on the move."

Lincoln wore his usual suit and vest, sans jacket and top hat, as he marched through the thick jungle. He carried an axe in his hands and used it to cut a path through the dense island vegetation. Stopping only to roll his sleeves up to the elbows, Lincoln continued in the direction Roosevelt guided him. The axe was not the only weapon on his person. Holstered on his right hip was a Colt revolver with a pouch on the other side containing a variety of hand grenades. Another pouch attached to his rear contained six small throwing axes he could use in a pinch.

"Slower, Mr. Lincoln," said Roosevelt. "I can see your movements through the jungle. The last thing we want is to-- What the devil? Someone's close by me, Lincoln."

A large boom echoed across the island. Lincoln heard Roosevelt swearing, followed by the sound of the bolt-action and another gunshot.

"They're on to us, sir! Make haste!"

Lincoln heard voices nearby. Holding the big axe in his left hand, he pulled a throwing axe from his right hand and slung it through the jungle. A cry went out, followed by more voices. Lincoln rushed forward through the tangles, stepping over a dead man with a throwing axe in his chest, and came out into a clearing two hundred yards away from the mountain compound. Spotlights popped on and blinded him. The bright lights began to pop off, followed by echoes of gunshots. Taking his cue from Roosevelt, Lincoln rushed forward just as dozens of armed guards came out the compound's doors, guns trained on the sixteenth president.

"I would surrender if I were you, Abraham," a voice called from a door.

The voice's owner stepped out the door as Lincoln dropped his axe and held his hands up. He prayed Roosevelt still had control of his rifle and a clear view of the man marching towards him.

"I have been informed Mr. Roosevelt was captured just after destroying MacArthur's lights."

Lincoln closed his eyes and sighed. He forgot about how he talked of himself in the third person.

"I admit, Mr. President, I had a little help ascertaining your arrival. That will be explained soon, but for now let's go inside and talk matters over. MacArthur wouldn't be a good host unless if he did not offer you a welcome. So, Mr. President--"



"Welcome to MacArthur's Island."

Eva Walsh

After hours of excruciating agony that is public transportation Eva had arrived back home, Arthur was in her room while her Aunt had yet to arrive home. Eva walked up the stairs a cold draft blowing through the house. Eva opened the door to her room as Arthur floated back and forth somewhat nervously.

During the time Eva was away dredging up a lead, Arthur contemplated his teaching methods, and whilst he never held anything back during her swordsmanship lessons Arthur couldn’t help but wonder if Eva lacked that push she needed to become someone great. She was after all one of his descendants although times have changed greatly over the centuries he could see a little of himself in her, minus the multitude of vibrant hair colors and her trashed room. Eva lacked discipline and only her quest for revenge had allowed Arthur to get as close to her as he has. Arthur pondered during the many hours he had to himself and he knew for certain Eva need to grow as a person just as much as a Swordswoman. And just as Arthur floated his ghastly hand cupping his chin Eva entered her room and kicked aside her shoes.

“Eva.” Arthur said as his form shifted to greet her, him not having a body allowed him to dissipate his appearance until he could face her, something that Eva still has yet to become accustomed towards. “I found one of them, got the bastards’ name. A guy named Gangi Impisi. I don’t know how I’m going to track him down ju..”

Arthur interrupted with a stern look. “Eva. I think it’s time we begin more practical training. I have been feeling unsettled lately, and I don’t quite know why. I will also begin your instruction against the uses of the magical arts. It’s something I think you should learn.”

Eva furrowed her brow she was peeved.”No mention of Gangi, no you did well.” Arthur simply responded almost callously. “And? You don’t know where he is, nor have you had any real combat experience. You can’t die in the dream world, but here in the flesh you will be crushed. These are killers, professional criminals.” Eva interjected furiously - “I can do this! You trained me to do this!”

“You’re also just human. They have powers, you have yet to master everything at your disposal. You need to live to enact your revenge. That won’t happen if you go off unprepared.”

He was right and Eva knew it, but she could not stand her being treated like a child to be coddled. She snapped in anger venting her frustration; the words she yelled were crass and vulgar as she stomped off out of her room. As Eva made her way downstairs rushing down the wooden steps the phone rang, Eva didn’t care in the least who it was as it continued to ring until it went to voicemail. “Eva, I’ll be out late tonight at work. We have a large project to prepare for tomorrow and our investors will be evaluating the project. There’s food in the crock pot so help yourself.” The call ended with a long beep. And Eva stood perched at the last stair as she listened to the call end, she needed time to think cool off.

Meanwhile at Poseidon Energy Briley Patton Eva’s Aunt tucked her cell phone into her purse as the scientists set up the energy grid projector.

“Miss Patton.” One of the Scientists a Jonah Fellman called out to her.”We’re just about ready to begin initial testing, if all goes well we can revolutionize body armor.” Briley nodded as she held the clipboard detailing all the specifics. She knew it casted a field of interlocking energy hexagons but other than that she didn’t quite know how it worked internally. Only that it ate enormous amounts of electricity.

“If the investors are pleased with your team’s work Doctor Fellman, I’ll have you research ways of reducing the electricity consumption. It is far too straining on our electrical grid to attract Military backing, personal shielding is just currently out of the question.”

“I’m aware Miss Patton. For now I’ll take what I can get.”

Briley looked back to the machine, impressed by how well it was designed overall. “Begin testing when ready.”

Back at Briley’s House, Eva held a fork between her fingers rather loosely. Arthur began to float through the ceiling and into the kitchen as Eva ate indifferent. She felt somewhat sorry for her actions, though she currently had no intention of apologizing. Her eyes shifted towards Arthur and back to her plate of roast beef. “What do you want?”

“What I’ve always wanted, to prepare you. I can understand your frustration, my Father wanted nothing but perfection, if it wasn’t for Merlin I’d never had lived through the tribulations my own Father put me through. Throughout those years I lost good friends, my own Step Sister and my Father. What is important is to control your own emotions, steel yourself for our enemies are those of might and magic, and they will seek your death with or without Excalibur.”

“That’s comforting. Perhaps I should just wear a sign that says, hey I hold Excalibur kill me! Fine then, let’s train. At least that way I can let off steam. So how does this magical defense stuff even work?”

Arthur was grateful that Eva was ready to train for tonight, he would need to work on her temper however. “Magic is rather simple, magic is casted by various means usually by some sort of incantation. Weak magic has fast casting times, which can be easily blocked by Excalibur. Strong magic has long casting times, there are means to reduce the length by which a spell is casted. Grimoires store magics like those modern USB drives, they allow magic to be recalled faster, while wands and staves are focusers. We’ll get more into that later, but for now I’ll teach you how to tell the difference between them. We should also search out more artifacts if possible a ranged weapon preferably. And something to make drawing it easer.”

Eva scoffed at the idea. “Oh yeah, I’m sure these artifacts can be found so easily, there might be one in the convenience store in the city.”

“We’ll get to that soon I think, It might be time to contact my old friend. Perhaps he can aid us?”

I slowly climbed the few flights of stairs that would lead to my apartment door. Honestly, I’m surprised that I am even still alive, let alone being able to walk, after what had happened tonight. Being used as a human battering ram, fighting gods who turn out not to be gods, and a riot that had consumed almost the entirety of Lost Haven. If I could not do any super-heroics for the next, I don’t know, year, I would be happy. No, I take that back. I’ll be happen if I don’t have to done that stupid costume for the rest of my life. I really don’t like being a human punching bag.

Then my phone buzzed, signaling that I received a text message. It was from Felecia and it said “where r u?” Well, that’s a fair question, since the freaking Goddess of Wisdom dragged me out to Lost Haven. Next time, I’m being firm and saying no. God, who am I kidding? Even if I refuse to do whatever crazy thing she had cooked up next, Athena would just drag me with her anyways. While I continued to walk up the final flight of stairs to the level where our apartment was located, I sent my roommate a quick text.

“Walking up stairs now. Will be home soon.”

Seconds later, I received another text from Felecia. “Look out. Ashley is fuming b/c we lied about your spider half.”

“How does she know?” I responded via a text-message.

“Was on news and u wearing same costume. She connected 2 + 2.” Oh God, I was on national news. It was probably just coverage on the riots in Lost Haven, but they happened to get some little footage on that 'Greek Temple' situation. Probably someone with their cell phone got a far off view of what happened. Heck, I bet you can hardly discern that it was my superheroine alter ego because of the film quality. Anyways, I’m not too worried about Ashley. We all have had some type of drama every once in a while over the last four years since we have been in college. We can get over this too.

I slid my apartment key into our front door and unlocked it. I walked in after the door was unlocked and found my two roommates plus Kristin sitting on the couch, watching news coverage on the riots in Lost Haven.

However, I was not prepared for what happened next. Once the door behind be clicked shut, all three of them turned their heads towards me. I could immediately see the anger seething in Ashley’s face when she saw me, just like a mother-bear attempting to scare of an animal that was threatening her cubs. She leaped up from the couch, just like a lioness pouncing on its prey, and marched right over towards me (holy cow! What has Athena done to me! I’m using Homeric Similes).

“Aubrey, you lying, big-boobed bitch! I hope that Icon guy drilled you in your spider &@^$! And if he didn’t , I hope someone will” After she said that, Ashley marched away from me into her private room and slammed the door shut. Okay, I honestly didn’t want to ever have that particular image ingrained in my mind. Not that Icon wasn’t handsome or anything, but I don’t think anyone was ever supposed to come up with that image.

“Um…welcome back?” Felecia tried to lighten up the already tension atmosphere that had descended into our apartment. “Oh, I almost forgot! Since not one really knows your identity, Marvel issued a public cease and desist order against your costumed alter ego.”

“What?” Me and my big mouth. Looks like I am never going to be wearing that costume ever again. Obviously they probably could not inforce such a statement unless some organization, like whatever organization that Iron Man wannabe works for, arrests me for some strange reason. But still, was this entirely necessary? It’s not like I was making any money off of this little ‘gig’. “Any other news?”

Both Kristin and Felecia both shook their heads, signaling that nothing else really had happened while I was away. However, Kristin did speak up.

“Do you really have a spider, um…”

“On that note, I’m going to bed.”

At an undisclosed villa, high on a mountaintop overlooking the city of Lost Haven from the mainland, the infamous criminal known as the Cowl sat at a polished mahogany table enjoying his lunch. His hood had been pulled back, but his mask remained securely on his face, only pulled up enough to expose his mouth as he ate. It was fact that no man had seen the crime lord without his mask on, even seeing as much as they could right now was a privilege for most of the Veilguard patrolling within the villa now, a privilege that would bragged to other members later as a symbol of confidence to the Shroud Syndicate.

The Cowl himself had not even been seen for most of the day, hiding away in a locked private room, its contents unknown to anyone but the Cowl himself. He had only come out an hour ago, only to speak to the house chef and ask for lunch before sitting at a rather mundane kitchen table, quietly staring out the window at the city as he ate. Even though they called the hideout he was in a ‘villa’ it was honestly not much bigger than a cabin, as were the rule with most of The Cowl’s hiding places. He did not like extravagance, and got away with mundane when he had the chance. The only time he would parade riches was if he was entertaining another crime boss or bribing a local politician, otherwise he kept his life very low-key.

However, the quiet silence of his lunch would be interrupted by the footsteps of Specter, which resulted in a visible smirk on The Cowl’s lips.

“I assume since your presence means you have something to report.” The Cowl called out as Specter entered the room. “Otherwise you’d still be buying up property.”

“Actually, quite a few things to report, and not all of it good.” Specter said, picking up the remote to a nearby television. “The good news is that we are literally not even spoke of in the news, and the Police have no leads to what started the riots. It seems that while most of LHPD is concentrated with simply cleaning up, there is a group that’s concerned with another threat. Along with the incident at the Temple of Ares, some shadow-being known as ‘Umbraxis’ is stealing the headlines.”

“Yes, I saw the both the Commissioner’s Challenge and STRIKE’s response this morning.“ The Cowl mused, “It’s amazing, really. Our men work their hardest to make a distraction for the heroes, when really we could have just let this psychotic metahuman steal the spotlight and gone on our merry way...Oh well, nothing we can do about it now. Best we keep acting while this Umbraxis fellow has the Metahuman’s attention”

“That’s not our only obstacle, I’m afraid.” Specter said. “A corporation has thrown themselves into the property game as well, even going so far as to call our dummy organizations out.”

With his words, he turned on the television and flipped to one of the local news channels, one of the ones that were not covering the riots or the shadowy serial killer. Eventually he got to a channel displaying a young woman at the podium, identified as Alexa Winestone of Winestone International by a large news graphic covering the bottom of the screen. Specter had just caught the broadcast at the beginning, as she immediately began her little speech.

“Thank you for joining me on such short notice. I know that our city has seen some true horrors over the last several months. From D-Day to the riots of just a few nights ago, the people of this city have shown the grit and determination to continue to push on.

It has recently come to my attention that there are a number of predatory elements out there that are looking to exploit the hard working people of this city, and are using the events of the last few nights to profit off of the misfortune of those who have had their businesses ruined.

So I have decided that Winstone International’s Lost Haven branch will earmark 15 Million dollars to aid those small business owners who have seen their livelihood threatened by the thugs who nearly burned portions of our city to the ground. We will be issuing a press release within the day which will detail how business owners can apply for the grant to cover the cost of repairs to their businesses. It’s time to show the people of Lost Haven, and the rest of the world that you don’t need a cape to help. Thank you.”She says as she steps away from the podium as reporters shout questions at her.

As the report came to a close, Specter turned to The Cowl to continue.

“This could present a potential issue, if they go to her instead of us, we will lose key territories and the full plan will not succeed 100%.” Specter said. “Really brings everything to light here, sir.”

“Maybe, but for the record I’m actually glad the youthful are finally taking interest in the town. It’s about time the younger generation had some influence on the city. It’s just a shame if conflicts with our business.” The Cowl said, taking a sip of coffee as he spoke. “Either way, she is the current head of Winestone Industries. As I recall, they are a very diverse company.”

“Indeed.” Specter replied. “They have their hands in almost as many things as we do, from energy weapons to fuel alternatives, it’s made their family upwards of billions.”

“Hm...interesting.” The Cowl said, shifting in his chair. “In my experience, billions are almost always gained at the cost of stepping on someone, even beneficiary companies like this one.”

“What are you suggesting, sir?”

“If I were a betting man, Specter, I’d bet that this ‘Winestone Industries’ have some skeletons in their closet. Even the nicest of people have dark secrets, but a corporation always skims something under regulation that would corrupt the world to know.” He pulled his mask down as he spoke, reaching for his hood. “How many men do we have affiliated with Winestone?”

“Roughly 20 or 30 in the city, most are in their blue collar divisions, however. We have a few in upper management positions, but they have not given anything that could rupture Winestone’s structure here in the city.”

“Get them to start digging up dirt, anything they find they send straight to me.” The Cowl said, rising from his finished lunch. “And if we can’t find anything, we create a lie.”

“...A lie, sir?” Specter asked. “About Winestone industries?”

“Yes, if we bribe a man or two within Winestone Industries, I’m sure we can make them say whatever we want, even on camera. Or threats, but money is much easier.”

“But...but how would that work?” Specter asked. “Wouldn’t a lie be easy to disprove?”

To Specter’s words, Cowl delivered an audible chuckle. “Oh...oh my dear Specter, you did not do much corporate espionage in this town while I was away, did you?” He asked. “There are two things a corporation treasures more than anything else. The first is money, of course. Money is the end goal of any company, they provide a service and they wish to get as much money as possible. However, the bigger you get, the more safety codes you have to violate, the less you can pay your workers, the more you have to cut to make that same profit for the increasing costs. Even if you do manage to churn out money, you’ve wracked yourself in enough human suffering to desensitize yourself to what the people on the ground think.”

“And...what’s the second thing?”

“That none of it ever gets out to the public. People nowadays understand that every company they know most likely has some dark secrets, but as the saying goes ‘ignorance is bliss’. As long as they don’t know about it, they won’t bother to question it. However, if one concerned worker says something about a violated code or below minimum wage check? Everyone becomes suddenly aware of the company’s corruption. In this generation of social activists and bandwagon jumpers, you don’t even have to say what is true. You just have to say what people expect.”

“So...we’d make a lie of what people expect to hear about a multimillion dollar corporation?”

“Exactly.” The Cowl said, walking to the window. “Start contacting our men on the inside, let’s see if we can concoct a good story for the tabloids.”

“On it, sir.”