Date unknown, 2005
Time unknown

Carol and Sinestro’s search of Arthoros, the lone rebel planet in the Negative Zone, had proven fruitless for hours. They had scoured the surface of the planet in search of any signs of life and found nothing. It was only until the delved deep, deep below the surface that their search began to reap rewards. As with Baluur the surface had been little but scorched Earth covered with mountains and perilous-looking rocks. Beneath the surface Arthoros was alive with life. The caverns seemed to stretch endlessly and as the pair delved deeper into them the heat from the planet’s core was so unbearable that it was hard to believe they could sustain life. Yet in the shadows around the Lanterns as they descended into the depths of Arthoros there was movement. A scurrying coupled with incomprehensible chattering. Quiet to begin with but it grew louder as the Lanterns descended until finally it was deafening.

Carol gestured to the creatures that did their best to remain out of sight. “What are these things?”

“Vermin from the looks of it.” Sinestro sneered, as he mopped sweat from his brow. “They cower beneath the Earth because they know were they to meet Blastaar in open combat it would be their end.”

It didn’t make sense. From the glimpses that Carol had caught at the things they were some kind of insectoids, their skin taught over malnourished limbs with a metallic sheen to it, but they did not look threatening in the least.

“These things? You think these things abducted the Lanterns? Look at them, Sinestro, they look scared.”

Their fear radiated from them. Carol wasn’t sure how long they’d been down here but from the look of the caverns they had been pretty hastily constructed. Hiding beneath the Earth was the only place they could be safe from Blastaar. It sat uncomfortably with her that Sinestro had taken Blastaar at his word about the missing Lanterns and the haste with which they had been show out of his stronghold had aroused her suspicions. There was something going on back on Baluur that he didn't want them to see. That their incursion into Arthoros might benefit a monster like Blastaar made Carol's stomach turn. These insects were beaten, broken, as Blastaar's servants had been. One amongst them caught Carol's eye and the two shared a prolonged moment.

As if he could hear her thoughts Sinestro glared at Carol and said in a commanding voice. "Fear is the most powerful motivator of all, Danvers, even you should understand that."

Carol gritted her teeth at Sinestro's condescension and the pair continued their descent. The heat grated on Carol and she pushed her hair out of her face as they walked down, careful to avoid the scolding hot rocks that coated the cavern walls. Finally in an alcove deep beneath the surface came a dim green lit. Sinestro spotted it first and began to sprint towards the alcove from which the light came. There, huddled against one another, were the four missing Green Lanterns.

"Contact Oa," Sinestro barked at Carol. "They’re here."

Carol tried to hail Oa as she looked over Sinestro's shoulder at the Lanterns. "Are they alive?"

"Three of them," Sinestro said as he scanned them with his ring. "The fourth looks to have been dead for some time."

Sinestro's ring identified the four lanterns. Garmin Vid, Green Lantern of Sector 3521, a frog-like creature with orange skin. Shilandra Thane, Green Lantern of Sector 3399, the lone survivor of a planet ravaged by nuclear war. Tagor, Green Lantern of Sector 2812, a hulking creature with scaly skin. Slightly to the side of those three lying crumpled and lifeless was Amanita, Green Lantern of Sector 3100, a fungus-like being belonging to a race older than the Guardians themselves. Sinestro's face grew red with rage as he eyed Amanita's lifeless husk.


Carol placed her hand on his shoulder and gestured towards her ring. "I can’t reach Oa, Sinestro, something’s wrong. This place has been messing with my ring since I got here. There’s something about this place. I can’t put my finger on it but it makes me feel… different. We need to get out of here."

The chattering from outside grew louder and the scurrying of the insectoids grew into an avalanche of noise that seemed to be moving towards the Lanterns. Sinestro stood, swiping Carol's hand from his shoulder as he did so, and took a deep, angry breath

"They’re coming, Danvers, ready yourself for battle."

"We don’t have time for that," Carol said, gesturing to the missing Lanterns "We need to get these Lanterns out of here."

Sinestro's mood blackened even further. "You would have us run?"

"We find the Lanterns and go back to Oa," Carol said calmly. "Your words."

She stared at the legendary Lantern, completely unmoved by his rage, in the hopes that Sinestro might come to his senses on his own. After several seconds and several laboured breaths, Sinestro nodded acceptingly and burst into action. He wrapped an energy bubble around the three living Lanterns and left Amanita for Danvers and blasted his way through the wall of insectoids that bore down on them. Carol followed in his wake, Amatina's corpse pressed against her, as she traversed through the trail that Sinestro blazed through the hordes of insectoids. Thick green blood flashed across the cavern walls, almost indistinguishable from the green of their constructs, but for the way it melted the rock on contact.

Finally Carol and Sinestro burst through the surface into the open air and floated above the cavern entrance. The insectoids stood at its breach, seemingly incapable or unwilling to move to the surface, braying after Carol and Sinestro's blood.

"His ring," Carol muttered as she glanced down and noticed that Amanita's ring was missing. "They still have his ring, Sinestro."

Without turning Sinestro shouted back. "We leave it. What damage can those vermin do with a weapon they can’t use?"

What if they could? As happy as Carol was to have found at least three of the Lanterns alive, she couldn't help but wonder why the insectoids had taken them in the first place, and Amanita's missing ring surely had something to do with it. She knew she ought to return to Oa and cut her losses but something about leaving the ring behind made her worried. She wasn't sure if it was the effect the Negative Zone had or what she had seen at Blastaar's stronghold but this time she couldn't stand by and do nothing. She had to get the ring back.

"I’m going back for it," Carol said with a shake of her head. "Get the Lanterns to Blastaar and wait for me there."

She floated Amanita's lifeless body towards Sinestro and then shot through the air back towards the cavern where the insectoids were waiting hungrily. The air whipped against her face and as she approached their waiting fangs she felt like she was diving towards certain death.

She had never felt more alive.

---

---

“Ava! Get back!”

I can still hear my brother’s voice call out to me. As if recalling such a detestable memory serves any reasonable purpose beyond strengthening my resolve to finding out who attacked us that night. I’m not an expert on ninja assassins which is exactly why a few minutes ago I stopped in to the office of Alexander Knox in search for answers or even an estimated guess. Knox had covered crime for over twenty years and was a former writing partner of Ben Urich himself. If he of all people didn’t have a slight clue… I would’ve been out of luck and had a better chance finding out the identity of Superman. Happens that I’m pretty lucky that Knox had an inkling, one that sent me right to Chinatown; well, after he decided to be sarcastic with me and insult my motivations as well as my age.

“Did you steal your brother’s underwear right out of the casket?”

“Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

I repeat the response under my breath in a huff of irritation. I don’t like smartass remarks and I don’t like his insinuations. It made me want to break something— like his arm or his face. It’s something to note, if I meet another smart aleck tonight I’m going to do just that to relieve this stress. Fighting has been the only way I’ve ever known that has worked to relieve tension in my whole life… probably not a good thing, but it’s never failed me before.

Knox gave me a lead even though he didn’t know anything about the amulet of one of the guys that attacked the night in question. That lead is here in Chinatown: Professor Lee Wing.

From what I was told Professor Wing is an expert in various subjects regarding east Asian mythology, history, and antiquity. Which makes sense given the men that I remember were most definitely Asian so I can at least feel like I’m on the right track here. As my feet land abrasively on another rooftop I can feel a weight slowly being lifted off my shoulders as I get closer and closer to the home of the academic. Once I find out who is to blame I can unleash swift justice upon them and make sure nobody else suffers what I have by their malicious hands. Maybe then what is left of my family can have some peace.

I can’t but feel like my wrath will get the better of me when I see that person eye to eye, though.

I take a light breath as I look down to the picture and note I was given by Alexander Knox about this professor— that’s when I notice a person matching the description of the photo step outside with a cigarette in hand. My eyes narrow. Good, I don’t have to waste any time and can return to The Bronx in record time before I get back to protecting my neighborhood and my responsibility.

At least I don’t have to intrude in his home. I’d hate to do that to a potential ally.

I jump down almost silently as I land straight in front of him on the railing.

“Professor Lee Wing?”

He screams in surprise as he scrambles backward dropping his cigarette and lighter. Understandable, I did just leap out of the darkness with little warning. I wonder how my brother would’ve handled introducing himself in the same situation? All I know is what I’ve learned from experiencing vigilantism. It’s not like there’s a How-To guide on how to be a vigilante and all of what it entails. Maybe I should work on my manners, though?

“I have a few questions, do you have some time?”

I lighten my tone so I’m at least a little easier to approach as I obviously don’t want to scare him to death. I’m abrasive, but I’m not his enemy.

He’s rattled, but he regains his composure. “....you caught me… a bit… uh… what can I help you with?”

I shuffle to my waist as I open one of the pouches to my utility belt that contains the proof of who attacked me and my brother all those weeks ago. As I open my palm to show the professor I can see his eyes widen as a sense of fear comes over him and he steps back after a few minutes of contemplation. I don’t know what’s going on in his head but I know fear and I know when someone knows something. He’s more afraid of what’s in my hand than me leaping out of the darkness out of nowhere… and…

He should be scared of me more than whatever he is afraid of because now I know he knows something.

“You recognize it. I can see it in your eyes.”

“I can’t help you, Tiger.” He begins, albeit nervously. “But what I can tell you is that it would be best if you got rid of that immediately and forget about i-”

“No.” A growl escapes my voice as I clench my fists. I would never forget, I am not afraid, and I most certainly do not believe he cannot help me. In fact, I know he can.

“I will not do that but I am going to tell you something that you are going to do.”

“You are going to tell me everything you know before or after I start breaking limbs, it's up to you which one.”

”Is that a fact?”

My eyes narrow and I turn to the direction of the new voice. I am so not in the mood.

March 20th, 2005
New York City, Chinatown
9:32 PM

It had taken some quick course-corrections once Danny had figured out that the aura had started moving rapidly towards Chinatown instead given he was halfway to the Bronx by then, but after a long fifteen minutes of qi-boosted parkour it looked like he had finally tracked the violent emanations of K'un-L'un energy to their source...

and she was way more violent up close.

To Danny's senses anger rolled off of her in waves, shimmering and burning like the air over a bonfire in pulsations so strong that he was sure if it had been actual heat the pavement at their feet would've been melted back into bubbling tar. The energy surrounding her roared and crashed against his third eye like a tsunami or the assault of some raging beast and he had to stumble back for a second before readjusting himself to it all.

The Force was strong in this one alright. Strong and pissed. Worse yet she was standing over Professor Lee Wing, a good man and one of the few to know enough about the supernatural lore of the East in New York to be worth consulting if rumor was to be believed. The only reason Danny himself hadn't sought him out before was out of a desire to avoid bringing trouble to his doorstep.

But it looked like trouble had found him anyways.

“You are going to tell me everything you know before or after I start breaking limbs, it's up to you which one.”

"Is that a fact?"

Danny figured that was pretty good as far as heroic interruptions went, though now that he thought about it his entrance was kind of ruined by the fact that he was still holding two bags full of takeout from the fight-club with 'Thank Yuo for Shopping, Hav a Nice Day! =)' on them. Still, he ran with it.

"Because personally I was thinking we could all relax, split some pork dumplings, really make a nice evening of things. Professor Wing is known to have a lovely Jasmine tea that's to die for!"

The girl in the strange tiger costume only glared at him and balled her fists so tight he could hear the knuckles crack, and if he weren't concerned for the man's dignity Danny could swear the good Professor might have wet himself just a bit.

Danny dropped the bags of pork-based deliciousness with a sigh and fell into an easy stance, legs forming a crescent moon shape between them, knees slightly bent, palms out and open to the sky.

"No? Kung Fu fight on the street instead? I respect your choice, but you're really missing out on good tea."

---

---

I feel like I said something about doing something to next smartass who crosses me— and this definitely meets those prerequisites. Who is this guy supposed to even be? Also, what’s with that getup? Does he think I’m going to be scared of that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more standout dweeb in my life and he thinks he can stop me from getting my justice? How dare he?!

“I am not in any mood for jokes!”

I can feel the energies of my amulet run through my flesh and blood, and given how angry I am I can barely even think. As he moves into a fighting stance I can feel my body throw itself at him as I am propelled off a nearby wall and towards my newfound enemy.

“You won’t get in my way!” I shoot back, ignoring his quips.

I am going to break this guy’s face.

My form is hard to follow, I know that. The primal energies that the amulet gives me has always made the Tiger of the Bronx unpredictable. This is something this new foe will learn the hard way.

March 20th, 2005
New York City, Chinatown
9:39 PM

As Danny figured the girl immediately went on the attack, all fury and motion and power in one. As an angry tiger-themed human missile launched itself at him with enough force to take a grown man off of his feet and likely claw his eyes out in the same instant, Danny shifted his weight ever so slightly, looked at her dead on and smiled.

As he allowed her to collide with him he moved to intercept her force and turn it against her. Provided she wasn't much, much better and more clear-headed than he thought, he would lash around like a whipcord and redirect her own momentum into a lamp post just behind them, an adaptation of a basic aikido principle. As he moved to execute the two-handed throw he noticed the amulet hanging from her neck, its' jade tiger head like a blinding beacon to his third-eye. It's aura was unmistakable, and with recognition came a surging sense of alarm. Regardless of how his reversal played out he knew what he had to ask next.

"What are you doing with that amulet!? How did you come to meddle with the sacred Jade Tiger of K'un-L'un!?"

Admittedly he sounded like a character out of a bad Wuxia tale now, but the sudden reminder of home brought it out in him. Did this girl even know what she possessed? That the trinket she wore was a treasure beyond value, an artifact of power so dangerous that it could threaten the very existence of his home?

He had to know, even if the only way to communicate with her was with his fists.

---

---

He’s fast.

I’m faster.

I can feel it and for some reason I’ve never felt an adrenaline rush like the one I’m feeling right now. Maybe it’s all of the hate and anger that is running in my blood or perhaps it’s something else? Everything feels like a blur— my instincts and reflexes exploding in a volcano of energy. His arms try to catch me and I smirk. My brother taught me basic martial arts over the last few years as a precaution; something that I wager helps me when approaching a fight that isn’t so cut-and-dry. I can tell by the way this guy moves he isn’t some dope in a mask though and I know I should be careful but I can’t stop myself and that becomes clear as my feet stop mid charge and rush to an entirely different angle as my head lowers.

I can hear it. I can hear the heartbeat, the rush, the rage…

The spirit of the tiger.



Why haven’t I ever felt this before? It's incredible.

"What are you doing with that amulet!? How did you come to meddle with the sacred Jade Tiger of K'un-L'un!?"

He says something, but I can’t hear him. The only sound I want to hear is the sound of bones breaking.

---

---

"Water." I say, and the bartender's eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch. I wonder what type of person he pegs me for. I've just strode into the Iceberg Casino wearing a skintight latex suit created in the image of a feline, complimented by the bullwhip hanging from my hips. My goggles hang languidly from my neck, leaving my bright green eyes exposed to the tinted world of the lounge around me.

My 'secret identity' is...negligible. The reality is, my alternate identity lives the life of a nobody. Selina Kyle is a name that is very barely recorded in any legal documentation. People don't know who I am, and catching a brief glimpse of the face under the goggles won't be memorable enough for them to pin my face to the suit when, if ever, they see me walking on the streets, shopping, or something.

Stack that up with the fact that people have weird fetishes, and its a wonder more vigilantes don't walk around with their masks off. Walking down the streets of Gotham, you're bound to see some over enthusiatic wacko flouncing around with a Batman or Robin costume on. But, then again, hereos have enemies to worry about, so maybe its not such a good idea after all.

The bartender is ogling at me from the corner of his eyes, but doesn't mention anything when he slowly returns with my ice cold glass of water. I feel like such a loser. All these people, sitting around me, guzzling down their drinks as if they have all the leisure time in the world to get drunk, and party, and have sex. And they probably do. Right now, I really, really wish I had that privilege.

Holly says that, maybe, I'm too much of an extrovert. That I can't handle myself when the crowd's having fun, and I'm not. I always earnestly deny it, but some small voice in the back of my head agrees. I love the scene, I love the party. I love to be where the good things are, and get some of the good things for myself. But, I like to argue, I enjoy my solitude, when solitude is needed. Like a cat, I guess. Or a normal human being.

The bartender catches my eye as it grazes over the long line of people, in solos, pairs, and triplets, all amassed at the bar, sipping on their cold beers and margaritas, chatting happily or being relativly drunk burdens to society. He smiles at me, the corners of mustache curling up in unison with his lips.

"Water's not a popular drink," he says. I laugh, but a sour feeling settles in my stomach. He's right, and he's also tempting me.

"It's not a good idea to get tipsy before an interview," I say, and take a small sip of my water, mostly because I'm nervous and I need something to do, and I'm afraid I'll pick my cuticles far into nonexistence before Penguin shows up with his fat, crooked face.

"An interview at the Iceberg," he says, though he doesn't sound surprised, and I wonder if "interviews" are a regular thing here. I'll be honest, the Casino isn't a place I've frequented in my short twenty-four years on earth, so I'm not familiar with its generic crowd.

Normally, on a day like this, me and Holly, and even Alice, might be looking for something to do, or some place to hit. You know, what with theft being a huge part of our income. We can't afford to slack.

But this, today, is the pilfered frosting on the thief made cake.

To be honest, I'm a little shocked at how easily I've made myself find-able. It's a little surprsing Batman hasn't come knocking at my front door yet, when I've clearly left it so wide open. Either way, Oswald Cobblepot beat him to it. I was only ever approached by one, heavily tattooed, guy, but I'm going to assume Mr. Cobblepot's been posting his mobster lackeys far and wide across my turf. This guy happened to be "lucky" enough that I caught him when I did. Lucky he had something of value to say to me, too, otherwise I would have pummeled the living daylights out of him, seeing as I found him harassing one of the girls.

Long story short, I have Oswald Cobblepot's phone number, and somewhere in his grubby, fat hands, he has a smartphone with the name "Catwoman" listed as one of his contacts.

Speaking of phones.

Mine stares up at me blankly from the palm of my hand. I'm waiting for him to text me, or call, or something. He knows I'm here, and he knows where. I texted it to him, after all. It would be courteous of him to reply, but I've decided against being pushy. I don't want to mess this up.

The bartender is babbling on in the background, and I zone in just long enough to get the jest of what he's saying. I nod blankly, and when he realizes he's lost my interest (never had it, to begin with) he moves on to some other solo soul, sitting at the bar drowning their worries away in booze.

Finally at peace, I watch these ladies with the most badass thigh muscles strutting around the place in tight fitting fishnets, offering up drinks where drinks are needed, humoring half-high, half-horny men at various tables and slot machines. The Penguin certainly has a type.

My phone vibrates in my hand and the screen flashes to life.



Ew. Oh my god. Gross. I actually shudder out of repulsion. His age is so totally reflected in his text. I pretend to smile at the phone screen, and then compliantly order a beer. My bartender seems satisfied with my change of heart, and bustles along to provide me with what I've asked for. In the meanwhile, my eyes scour around the lounge, look for sign or sound of my round, rippling employer.

He appears with the glory that is 'woman,' in a smooth, reflective, black suit, flanked by two of his Hulk thighed lady employees. We make eye contact, and he gives me a crooked, toothy grin. Everything about him screams 'EVIL,' from his bent and pointy nose, to his stooped walk (waddle), to his small beady eyes, set deeply in a bulldog-ish, but sharp and overweight face.

He wobbles towards me at a surprisingly fast pace, and before I know it, my hand is outstretched and engulfed in his large, warm, clammy, palms.

"Catwoman," His voice is kind of thick, like years of a cardiac negative diet has impacted even the broadness of his vocal cords.

"Mr. Cobblepot," I say slowly.

"Oswald." He raises his eyebrows expectantly, like he's waiting for me to cough off up a name, a real name. I smile politely, and in my politeness he sees my declination.

He gives me another smile, but this one is colder.

"Right down to business, then?" He says, struggling to heft himself up onto a flimsy barstool. I'm almost afraid it'll break under his weight.

I wait patiently for him to get comfortable and order a drink of his own. Then, we get down to the knitty gritty.

He gestures to one of his super thighed emloyees, and she produces a thick manilla envelop, which Penguin proceeds to ungraciously open. He fishes in the envelop for a few moments before pulling out a single piece of paper. A large image is printed in its upper right corner. It is accompanied by text describing its content, its author, and its location in the Gotham Museum.

"This is the painting," he says, sliding the paper towards me on the bar top. Its got a fancy, presumably French, name and though I don't know French, I figure, from Spanish, that it translates to something like "Liberation of the Peacocks." And I'm pretty sure one word is off there, but I like that name better, so its the one we're going with.

He watches me gazing at it for a little while, and I begin to feel a prickle of discomfort when his stare doesn't falter. We sit in silence for about thirty seconds, but it feels like several tense minutes pass by, at least on my part.

Finally, he breaks the silence.

"Are you familiar with it."

"No." I reply, immediatly, before catching myself, "But snatching it should be a synch."

He nods approvingly, before waxing on, on some things I could have cared less to hear about.

"It was and is a very coveted painting. Forgeries pass around the black market ritually. It was originally owned by the Waynes, and Bruce Wayne probably still has some claim to it. Its name is French, and translates to Liberation of the Poor. Having come from an under privileged family myself, I think it suits me."

He grins wickedly. He's being sarcastic, and overall dismissive of the poor, and I hate him for it. But I humor him anyway with the most sincere looking fake smile I can muster up.

"And you don't think Bruce Wayne will want his parents' painting back?" I ask.

"Maybe." He says, with a dismissive shrug, "Bruce Wayne isn't really in the organized crime business. I doubt he'll go after you or I for this, if ever he finds out about it."

"And aren't you worried about Batman?"

"No," The Penguin says, reclining in his barstool, nearly toppling over since barstools generally don't have backrests, "Don't you worry your pretty head. I'll take care of the Batman if he comes after me. You're main concern is to get that painting"

Center City, WA
2:15 AM

Tracy sat perfectly still in his chair while Sebastian Hyde fumed. Tracy's shirt and pants were spattered with blood, his ears still rang from the shootout. He'd just left the Flynn home where he'd called Hyde and came straight away to his office. The old man drummed his fingers on the desk and stared at Tracy over his glasses.

"You let the whole situation get out of control, Tracy."

"Flynn acted on his own accord. He made it clear he was going to move forward, regardless if I helped or not."

Hyde sighed and lifted his glasses up to rub his eyes. In the reprieve from conversation, Tracy thought about what went down at the soccer field. Two Russians were gunned down by Flynn's men, while all three of them were killed and Flynn was gutshot. A private doctor was back at the big mansion fixing him up. He was certain Flynn was going to make it alive. His daughter Linda was shaken up, but not hurt. The same for little Anton Belyakov. Tracy shielded him during the worst of the shooting. Anton's father was unhurt in the shooting. The last he saw of the two Belyakov's, they were running away from the shootout with the lone Russian who made it out alive.

"It's a mess," said Tracy. "But both kids were returned safely. The only ones killed in the whole thing were Flynn and Belyakov's gorillas."

"The money?"

Tracy laid a stack of banded bills on the desk. Five twenty thousand dollar stacks. Hyde's eyes twinkled from behind his glasses.

"That's one hundred grand, Flynn's worth of my service."

Hyde took two of the stacks and tucked them in a drawer in his desk.

"The rest if for you. I give you the lion's share because you've got one last job to do."

Tracy raised an eyebrow while Hyde leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar. The old man took his sweet time inhaling the first puff. Tracy wanted to come across the table and shove that cigar down his throat.

"Belyakov and his ilk can't be allowed to live. They perpetrated an unsanctioned kidnapping in my town. Anybody goes behind my back, the cost is death. The rest of the shit stains in this city need to remember that. Send a message, Tracy."

Tracy took the remaining sixty thousand and stood. He walked out the office without another word.

--

Konstantin Belyakov died two weeks later. He and an associate of his sat parked at a red light when an unknown person on a motorcycle rode up and gunned them down with a submachine gun. This was the final act in a two-week bloodbath where Belyakov's organization was picked apart by unknown assassins. A firebombing on his deli killed six known Russian organized crime members. Three more were gunned down over the course of a night, while one man was strangled in a back alley near a strip club. Another was found after jumping off a roof. Several sources claimed he was pushed by a tall, blonde man with scars on his neck.

When Center City Police found Belyakov's body, they also found a message. Written on the hood of the car in the Russian's own blood were the words: DEATH TO KIDNAPPERS. The handful of Russian Organized Crime members in town quickly and quietly left Center City, returning to their West Coast hub of Los Angeles. The message sent to them had been read loud and clear. Center City was off limits. This was and would always be Sebastian Hyde's town.

March 20th, 2005
New York City, Chinatown
9:42 PM



The girl's qi spiked and with it she was suddenly so much faster. Danny barely had time to perceive the sudden change in her charge before a roughly executed tiger-claw palm crashed into his ribs. For a moment he thought he was suddenly back in K'un-L'un with the morning gongs calling him to training before he realized it was the sound of his own body as it collided with the same lamppost he'd intended to throw the tiger-themed assailant into. A blow like that would have shattered his rib cage like fine china if he hadn't instinctively boosted his endurance at the moment of impact. Even so, it would probably leave a bruise all down his back.

So, obviously she was better than he'd thought. Much better. This was no pit-fight with triad street toughs. This was a real martial artist, enhanced by an artifact of potent mystical power he barely understood.

On the other hand Daniel had trained for ten years in the halls of K'un-L'un, bested the challenge of the Serpent King by the age of ten, defeated all challengers in the Eternal Tournament, passed through the gauntlet of The Many and The One. He had skills of his own that few mortals could equal, powers of his own that even fewer could understand. With this in mind he stood up from the dented lamppost and stretched himself out, worked out a few kinks, winced slightly at some audible cracking where he'd tensed up too much.

"Alright. Time to get serious."

Time slowed down as he amped up his speed and reflexes further and further, then he rushed the tiger amulet's holder with a speed and ferocity that matched her own. But he kept every movement cool, precise, controlled. He lashed out with a low sweeping kick to try and keep her footing off-balance even if it didn't connect, an Elephant Kick variation. As his foot came down into stability he'd follow it up with the driving close-fisted punch of a Ram's Head Strike to her solar plexus, a combination that was a K'un-Lun staple. His third move was a sudden spinning pivot meant both to avoid a retaliatory blow and sneakily set up his final strike. As he spun he'd drive his elbow backward into her floating ribs, a trickier variant of the Monkey Blow.

She was strong, fast and more than a little skilled. But Danny knew the source of her power now: she was one with the Tiger. He was one with the Heart of the Dragon and try as she might in contests of skill the Dragon always trumped the Tiger.

It would be no different tonight.

It had been a long night. Bucky had tried to get some sleep on the flight over to Germany but every time he’d get close the cold would jolt him awake. It was for the best. He stared out at the black night and fought back memories of a sky like this one alight with fire. The sound of bullets whirring past his head, explosions in the distance, and the screams of men too young to have even lived had filled the air on those nights. An entire continent ablaze. As he passed downwards through the wispy clouds and Germany came into sight he exhaled with astonishment at the lights. Where once there had been carnage, where once there had been death, there was life. It was one thing to hear and read of the country’s resurgence but another to see it with his eyes. It was astounding, more astounding even than Steve’s daughter or Tony Stark’s suits. It was almost like the war hadn’t happened.

By the time Bucky boarded his flight to Jakarta he soon gave into the tiredness. The sun had long since climbed high into the air and the cloudless sky provided no shade for Barnes aboard the aircraft but he slept sounder than he might have done in the dead of night. His dreams were vivid. More like half-forgotten memories than dreams. Barnes saw himself crouched in a booth at an Opera house looking through the scope of a sniper rifle at a handsome young couple. He saw himself covered in blood running barefoot across the roof of favelas with a hatchet in his hand. In London calmly sipping tea in a cafe opposite a burning building whilst all about him lost their heads. As Bucky woke he found the images lingered in his mind.

Stood over him was a young SHIELD agent that had accompanied him from Germany that morning. He remembered the agent saying his grandfather had fought with Steve at a battle that neither he nor Bucky had been at. Barnes thought he’d thanked the man but amidst his tiredness he couldn’t quite remember their exchange. Finally the wall of warmth that hit him as he deplaned in Jakarta woke him up properly and he followed after the agent towards a woman and two men approaching them. The woman was tall and dark-haired with streaks of white in it. She was beautiful, almost impossibly so, and moved as if she were aware of the fact.

“Welcome to Jakarta, Captain. My name is Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine. I’m Station Chief here in Indonesia.”

Valentina extended her hand, silkly smooth to the touch, and Bucky shook it and smiled politely. “Nice to meet you.”

“These two gentlemen are Agents Brent Jackson and Michael Stevenson. They’re part of my team here in Jakarta and they’ll be working alongside us on this operation. Good men, both of them, reliable too. In the event that this thing goes south on us you’ll be glad to have them on your side.”

Jackson had short blonde hair, a goatee that he clearly meticulously groomed, and donned a white, orange, and blue gilet that even Bucky knew to be out of the ordinary. The thick glasses that rested on his nose were not dissimilar from Smiley’s but were markedly trendier than the Deputy Director’s had been. Stevenson was a big, broad man with slicked back brown hair and he towered over Bucky, Jackson, and Valentina. His face was warm and he smiled at Bucky as the two made eye contact. Beneath his eyes lay a propensity for violence that only a man like Barnes could diagnose. It was the same instinct he had.

An oily smile appeared on Jackson’s face. “That’s the nicest thing she’s said about either of us in sixteen months.”

Valentina smiled at the quip but Stevenson’s eyes remained glued on Bucky as he reached forward and extended one of his large hands towards him.

“It’s an honour to meet you, sir.”

It was the uniform. They knew he wasn’t Steve Rogers, Jeffrey Mace, or even Frank Simpson but the uniform seemed to have an effect on people. If wearing a star on his chest could make even the most hard-nosed SHIELD agents starry-eyed, Bucky wondered how the rest of the world would come to take the return of Captain America. He dismissed the thought from his mind and shook Stevenson’s hand, placing his other hand atop both of their hands warmly, as he sensed their meeting was more significant to Stevenson than he could understand.

“It’s a shame it’s not under better circumstances.”

Bucky said a cordial goodbye to the SHIELD agent that had accompanied him from Germany and followed Valentina, Jackson, and Stevenson to a blacked-out Jeep parked some fifty feet from where he’d been greeted by them. Brent took to the driver’s seat, Stevenson the passenger’s seat, and Valentina sat next to Bucky in the back. From the pouch on the back of the driver’s seat Valentina produced a file that she handed to Bucky as the Jeep pulled out.

“The Indonesian government is onboard on this one. Tiger Shark has been a thorn in their side for the past three years. They’ve spent most of that time lobbying SHIELD to move on Tiger Shark and now with an election on the horizon we finally decide to make our move. Needless to say they expect this thing to go as quickly as quietly as possible. We do not need a botched SHIELD operation to be the talking point of the next election here.”

Jackson peered into rear-view mirror at Bucky with a smile. “I believe what Val is trying to say that it’s her head if this thing goes wrong.”

Valentina smiled at the quip and shook her head disarmingly. “Thank you for that, Agent Jackson, I think the Captain could have deduced that one on his own.”


There was an ease to the group that only came with experience. Their trust for one another was clear to see even to an outsider like Bucky and that de la Fontaine’s management style was so relaxed seemed to set the tone for her small team. Bucky sensed that it wouldn’t be long before the three of them were out of Indonesia and somewhere where they might be more useful. They’d need men and women like them in the fight against HYDRA.

Bucky had no intention of letting this one get out of hand. He smiled reassuringly at Valentina. “Just get me to Tiger Shark and I’ll handle the rest.”

Valentina returned Bucky’s smile with a warm smile of her own and looked to Stevenson in the passenger’s seat. “You’re up, Mike.”

Stevenson twisted round in his seat partially to face Bucky.

“When word came down on high that we’d be moving on Tiger Shark we set some of our contacts in the Indonesian underworld about spreading the word that there’d the haul of a lifetime coming through the Port of Tanjung Priok tonight. Tanjung Priok is the largest port in Indonesia and handles nearly fifty percent of Indonesia’s trans-shipment cargo traffic. It’s also the least efficient port in South Asia. Things have a habit of going missing in the stacks. The workers there are more concerned with lining their pockets than they are anything else.”

Bemused by the minutiae of Indonesian ports, Bucky lifted his hands into the air with exasperation. “Where are you going with this?”

“Just wait,” Jackson said into the mirror with a grin. “It’s a doozy.”

Stevenson started up again. “We’re going to load you onto a container ship setting sail from the port that will cross the stretch of the Indian Ocean where Tiger Shark most frequently operates. Given the kind of chatter we’ve been hearing since we put the word out about what’ll be coming off those stacks tonight, there’s no way he’ll be able to resist trying to get a taste.”

Bucky smiled knowingly. “The old Trojan horse.”

It was a trick as old as time. That wasn’t to say it wasn’t an effective one. There was a reason that it had stuck around as long as it had done. It worked. Bucky could remember at least three or four occasions in which Steve and he had infiltrated enemy territory during the war using some variation of the Trojan horse. It figured that they’d use Tiger Shark’s own strength against him.

A lock of Stevenson’s slicked back hair fell onto his forehead and he pushed it back before continuing his explanation. “From the little we know of Tiger Shark he lets his men do most of the dirty work and stays on his yacht whilst they slaughter the men onboard. Once Tiger Shark’s men have boarded the container ship you’ll have a three-minute window to board his yacht and extract him.”

Bucky made a mental note of the three minutes and then looked to Valentina. “Extraction?”

“That’s Brent’s wheelhouse,” de La Fontaine said with a nod in Agent Jackson’s direction. “If there’s anyone that can get you out of there, it’s Brent. He’s the second best helicopter pilot this side of the Pacific.”

The Jeep stopped at a set of traffic lights in time for Jackson to turn his head round and frown. “First best.”

“The second Tiger Shark’s men board the container ship he’ll be dispatched to your location,” Valentina said, tapping a finger one one of the pages of the file in Bucky’s hand. “Brent’s an asshole but he’s our asshole so try not to get him killed.”

A smile equal parts modest and playful crossed Bucky's lips. “I’ll do my best.”

The Jeep pulled out into the street and through the tinted windows Bucky could make out Tanjung Priok in the distance. Rows of cranes that hoisted the containers onto the stacks dotted across the skyline and the sky above the port was distorted slightly by all the smoke. As they pulled into the stretch of road leading to Tanjung Priok, Stevenson turned in his seat to face Bucky again.

“So what do you think of the plan, Captain?”

Bucky glanced down at the pages in the file in his hand and ran through the plan in his mind one last time. It was strange. Bucky felt more at home sat in a Jeep full of strangers plotting the kidnap of an international criminal than he had done at any point since opening his eyes in the Triskelion. These were his people. This was his life. He was a soldier first, a symbol second, and he always would be. He realised that as he met Stevenson's gaze and nodded at him determinedly.

“I think Tiger Shark’s not going to know what hit him.”

---

---

"Alright. Time to get serious."

I should be stunned as my opponent recovers from being thrown back by the power that runs through me, but I’m not— I should be. It almost feels like I’ve lost control of my body as the only language I can speak is through my fists. I go to open my mouth and there’s nothing and I’m rushing my enemy as if he is prey. I’m not sure why I’ve lost myself but I feel like there’s an inkling somewhere trapped in my mind. I’ve never fought an opponent that wasn’t some thug bearing down with a .22 in one hand and a switchblade in the other. I’ve never been in a real fight, the closest thing I’ve known to this being when my brother trained me in the martial arts… to find my center; but right now I’ve lost that center.

The kid in green and gold attempts to sweep my feet, and… the next few minutes go into a blur and I can feel the fury between our movement as we exchange blows and I feel pain rise up in my body. The momentum slows when I find myself knocked back into a collection of garbage cans.

THNK!

_“Ow...” I mutter, my head shaking as I do so as the rolling glint of the amulet I wanted the Professor to ask about rolls from my person and onto the alleyway floor. My adreniline is still high, but with my momentum stopped I can finally think and breathe.

I push my hands to the floor as I stand up, stretching back to alleviate some of the sensations from my back from the crash landing.

“Tch. You’re good. Who are you?”

Triskelion
Washington D.C.
13:15 Local Time

George Smiley sat behind his desk and ruminated on the nature of human weakness.

It was common that there were flaws amongst those in his profession. One did not become a spook if they were a well-adjusted individual. Plenty of them were obsessive like Smiley, but plenty more were out looking for some thrill. All they knew of the trade was from movies. They thought spy work entailed walking around in a tuxedo and bedding beautiful Russian women. They fond out the hard way that the tuxedos were nowhere to be found, and the Russian women they encountered looked more like Russian men. The strains of the job, mixed with the flawed people doing them, made it very easy for betrayal to take place.

M.I.C.E. was the acronym Smiley learned at the Circus. The four main reasons intelligence officers began to work for the other side. Money, Ideology, Coercion, Ego. With the small salaries government work provided, accepting money to betray ones country was the most common cause behind double agents. Ideology was few and far between, Smiley himself had only once witnessed a full-on fanatic dedicated to the cause he served. Coercion was very common as well, it and money were the two tools the Circus used to turn Soviets to their side. Run a honeytrap and catch a KGB Lieutenant Colonel with his pants down and with a nice young man. If Boris didn't play ball, he would be outed. The ego motive played back to the thrill seekers. They got off on playing the game at such a high stake. They wanted to prove how clever they were. It wasn't enough to pull one over on the enemy, but to take it further and pull one over on your own country.

Smiley thought about M.I.C.E. as he looked at the six folders spread out on his desk. He'd narrowed the potential leak down to six SHIELD agents who all occupied communications related posts in Eastern Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. Through careful inspection with the tech team, Smiley whittled down his list from ninety-two to just six. One of these agents was Tiger Shark's man inside SHIELD. One of them had given him or his people access to the network, allowing him to hijack a drone strike.

He placed a pudgy hand on a folder. Money: The chief of station in Nairobi had big debts to his name. He had three ex-wives and seven children back in the States, four of those children near college age. Along with him, the communications specialist SHIELD stationed at Diego Garcia had over one hundred thousand dollars in student loan debt, the consequence of acquiring a doctorate in electrical engineering.

Ideology: Nothing there. HYDRA's fascistic bent did not resonate with any of the agents on his list. Nothing in any of their histories even suggested a ideological sympathy with HYDRA.

Coercion: Three there. An agent working out of the Mumbai Station battled drug addiction off and on. It was something on few people in SHIELD knew. If he was off the wagon, he may very well trade his soul for free drugs. A driver for the chief of Johannesburg Station was a closeted homosexual. The one that leapt out to Smiley the most was the agent stationed in Jakarta. The man had a secret second family in Indonesia. Secrets and the need to keep them hidden was often a motivation to commit treason.

Ego: Just one agent met that standard. The roving martial advisor in the Middle East. The man was a full on action junkie. He loved being a spy, he lived it and breathed it. The only thing that would complete his perfect picture of espionage was to in fact be a double agent.

Six agents, six possible leaks. Smiley gathered up the files and stacked them neatly on the desk. Each and every person had a weakness, that flaw that was the chink in their armor. Everyone had one, Smiley included. His had always been his wife. No matter how much Ann ran around on him and turned him into a cuckold, he always welcomed her back home with open arms. That weakness had been exploited by Karla and his man in the Circus for years. He'd purged himself of Ann not long after he retired from the Circus, but he still knew that he would always love her. Even if she came back to him here in America, he would welcome her into his home.

"Ms. Henderson?" Smiley said into the intercom on his desk.

"Yes, sir?" The secretary down the hall replied a few moments later.

"I have some cables I need sent immediately."

Smiley prepared the dispatches while she came to his office. Six different cables about six different subjects. Everything from scraps of intelligence to specific orders. Each dispatch would go to one of his six suspected traitors. How the events of the next twenty-four hours played out would mark his man in a way that Smiley would know for certain who had betrayed SHIELD. The trick was known as a barium meal, one of the oldest counter intelligence moves in the book and it was still an effective weapon, even at a time when robots flew in the sky and rained death and destruction from the sky.

"Yes, sir?" Ms. Henderson asked as she came through Smiley's soundproof door.

"There are specific coding and handling instructions for each one," Smiley said as he handed her the sealed pouches. "I'd like to supervise transmission of them myself."

"Certainly, sir. Follow me."

Smiley glanced down at the six folders one last time before he followed Ms. Henderson out of his office and to the communications center. With good luck on Barnes' end, Tiger Shark and his whole bloody network would be dismantled in just a few short hours.

---

---

The best line of business is to disarm, disorient, and incapacitate.

As the name suggests, the idea is to use a tranquilizer capsule that’s built into my guantlets for tactical ejection onto a battlefield. The right aimed shot and it can take out several men in seconds— something that we have done many times before. The tranquilizer is a modified dosage of fentanyl that can render a small mob into unconsciousness in the matter of seconds. I’ve caught a maximum of three criminals at a time with one capsule, so we should have enough if we make our shots count. As I click my feet to the left, Robin clicks his to the right and we glide down hands out as we prepare to do what Dick so affectionately calls “the gas attack”.

Sometimes it makes me question if I made the right choice in partner. Heh.

THK!

I land flat on a lamp-post as the fentanyl gas-enhanced smoke erupts around the group of anti-mutant terrorists and you can begin to hear them screaming in surprise before the sound of their bodies hitting the pavement is heard in succession. My hand reaches to my utility belt and presses a button down and the power drops for the entire parking lot; as I do this I notice Robin land above the smoke on the top of one of the Purifier’s vans.

“Five out of Eight down, Batman.” I can hear Robin chime in over communication channels.

Good.

The sound of scrambling as the assortment of student’s retreat away from the parking lot as the Purifiers left with assault rifles and submachine guns point their guns up to the sky. They know we’re here, they’d have to be stupid to think it’d be anybody else. I’m not too surprised, this is Sandman’s neighborhood so perhaps they expected to deal with him first? If that was the case they would’ve brought gas masks. So the only other answer is that they’re stupid or were too overeager to test their little canister of chemicals. At least I stopped them from injecting it into a student.

That’s when I hear a bone-chilling scream as I notice that Dr. Jason Woodrue, the Purifier with the labcoat with syringe in hand has grabbed a red-headed student. She must’ve been in shock or grabbed when we dropped down. Damn it.

“If you don’t come after me and let me go, nothing happens to this girl!” He exclaims before running off in the opposite direction: into the local community garden.

“Robin.”

“Already on it.”

Excellent. That leaves two men with assault rifles for me.

“Good. Be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?”

After dealing with these two gunmen I’m going to have to call Sandman to pick up the chemicals the Purifiers intended on using before SHIELD or GCPD respond. I cannot allow this chemical to be lying around with the few lackeys of the likes of The Joker or Scarecrow left who were not apprehended.

“Alfred. Contact Sandman, tell him to get to Parking Lot C of the University Campus immediately.”

“Will do. Anything else?”

“Put ORACLE on red alert, see if anything else out of the ordinary is happening tonight.”

“The ‘ordinary’, right.”

Port of Panjung Priok
March 21st
10:39PM

Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine and Michael Stevenson had spent all evening running Bucky through the operation. They went through it over and over again, making Barnes recite the plan until he was blue in the face, until all three were satisfied they were adequately prepared. Brent Jackson had left in the afternoon to acquire a Boeing CH-47 Chinook from the Indonesians for Bucky’s extraction. Stevenson alone accompanied Bucky up through the stacks to the container that Barnes would be hidden in until Tiger Shark made his move. He’d taken a particular liking to Agent Stevenson over the course of the day and reminded himself as he stood in the mouth of the container to recommend to Smiley or Fury that they make better use of him once they were done here.

“Once Tiger Shark’s yacht comes into view the crew will assemble in a panic room in the container ship’s hull. These guys know the drill, they’ve been through this before, and most importantly they know Tiger Shark’s MO. So barring this thing hitting an iceberg you’re not going to have to worry about any civilian casualties on this one.”

That certainly made Bucky’s life a great deal easier, he nodded as he leant against the wall of the container stack. “Good to know.”

A wry smile appeared on Stevenson’s face. “Oh, and Captain? Tiger Shark’s been making my life difficult for the best part of half a decade. Don’t be too gentle with him unless you have to be.”

“Duly noted,” Bucky said with a nod. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Stevenson closed the door to the stack and the clear piercing light that the Moon had provided them disappeared. Bucky stood alone in the darkness. He was surrounded by large crates that mostly contained luxury goods made on the cheap in Indonesia that would be shipped to other ports in South Asia and then onto the Mediterranean and Eastern Europe. Barnes fashioned himself a seat between two of the crates and sat on the floor of the container stack. He could feel the cold through the legs of his uniform as he let out a contented sigh. In a little over two hours time Tiger Shark would be his and SHIELD would be one step closer to regaining some parity in their war against HYDRA. If anyone could get Tiger Shark to speak it would be George Smiley.

The minutes turned to hours and the container ship Bucky’s stack was aboard screeched into life, pulling out of Tanjung Priok, and towards Tiger Shark’s waiting arms. There in the darkness Bucky’s mind had found its way back to the dreams he’d had as he’d flown from Germany to Jakarta. The images were so vivid that Barnes found his brain struggling to place them somewhere despite his certainty they were the product of his sleep-deprived imagination. They couldn’t have been memories. Perhaps his brain was working overtime trying to phantom up some semblance of a life Barnes could have lived instead of being stuck in the ice. If that were the case, the life he’d dreamt up looked anything but a pleasant one. It was violent, almost overwhelmingly so, and it almost made him relieved to know the images were only the product of his over-active imagination.



The sound of an alarm sounding stirred the seated Bucky into action. He could hear the crew shouting in Indonesian outside the stacks to one another and the sound of their hurried footsteps. It was Tiger Shark. He’d taken Valentina’s bait hook, line, and sinker and was unwittingly sailing towards his own destruction. Barnes waited for a time until he heard the sound of Tiger Shark’s yacht pulling up beside the container ship and the hail of bullets being fired into the air that came with it. This was it. He’d wait until his men were onboard, find his way onboard Tiger Shark’s yacht, and get it and Tiger Shark somewhere they could be picked up by Brent Jackson. Not too much of an ask compared to some of the things Bucky and Steve used to do.

Barnes pushed the container door open slightly and peered outside as Tiger Shark’s men poured onto the ship, firing their weapons in the air by way of warning, and began to fortify it whilst they uncovered the goods they were looking for amongst the stacks. Bucky took a glanced down at the Luger on his waist as he ran his hand over and past it to opt for the combat knife instead. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use either but Barnes wasn’t afraid to take a few lives to save hundreds, if not thousands, more. Taking Tiger Shark out would help Smiley found out HYDRA’s leak in SHIELD and stop them from handing out access codes to drones with the capacity to start wars. Bucky readied his knife and slipped through the container doors.

Making his way through the stacks unseen proved easier than he’d imagined. It was noisy out on the open sea and dark to boot. Tiger Shark’s men looked well experienced, they’d seen battle many times before, but with his dominance of the Indian Ocean they had clearly grown complacent. To them, these were Tiger Shark’s waters and nobody would interfere in his business. They were wrong. Bucky dared. Captain America dared.

Bucky kept as low to the ground as possible as he approached one of Tiger Shark’s men stood close by the railing of the container ship. In one long bound Barnes was behind him, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck, squeezing with all his strength until he felt all the strength sap from his body and he was certain the man was unconscious. Usually he’d drag him out of sight but Bucky didn’t have time for that. Three minutes, Stevenson had told him, a minute and fifteen or so had already passed.

Beside the container ship was Tiger Shark's yacht. It was large, larger than any yacht Bucky had ever seen before, but everything seemed bigger in this day and age. The food, the drinks, the buildings, even the boats. He looked around for a few seconds for some way to climb across until he sensed it. A flash of movement in the corner of his eye caught Bucky's attention and he spun round to one of Tiger Shark's men leant over the edge of the ship with a cigarette between his lips. He was young, too young to be involved in this life, but as he slowly turned to face Bucky there was little choice as to what Barnes had to do.

He slung his knife through the air and it struck the young man in the neck the second he spotted Bucky. Barnes sprinted, sliding across the surface of the ship, to catch the boy as he fell and set him down on the ground as quietly as he could. The boy looked up at him with a confused look on his face as he suffocated on his own blood quietly and Bucky gritted his teeth in displeasure. This was the part of the job he liked least. He pulled the knife clean from the boy's neck and wiped it clean on the boy's shirt.

A minute and twenty seconds left. Give or take. Bucky leant over the edge of the container ship to take a look at the water beneath him and shook his head in displeasure. He didn’t want to do it but he didn’t have time to reach the pirate’s makeshift bridge. Bucky slotted the knife between his teeth and leapt over the side of the container bridge into the Indian Ocean. The water was freezing cold and as Bucky clawed his way back up to the surface he fought back the memories of that day in the Atlantic. Hand over hand he made his way to Tiger Shark’s yacht and dragged himself aboard. The sound of clicking made Barnes stop dead in his tracks. He looked up and there, surrounded by armed men, was Tiger Shark.


The picture Smiley had shown Bucky hadn’t done Tiger Shark’s extravagance justice. His suit was made of a material that Bucky had never seen before and appeared navy and blue at once as the light of the moon bounced off of it. His shoes looked like alligator skin and Bucky presumed the red blindfold that covered his eyes was made of a fabric that had been equally exotically sourced. A small man bald man in formal dress and sunglasses that were blood red stepped forward and addressed Bucky in heavily accented English.

“This is a most pleasant surprise."

March 20th, 2005
New York City, Chinatown
9:50 PM

Now that he had gotten the measure of her abilities, accepted the flow of the Jade Tiger's qi and felt the full extent of her rage Danny was able to get the better of her in their exchange. He felt a certain amount of satisfaction as he knocked her back into some trashcans in the alleyway. A glinting amulet rolls onto the pavement from the impact. There was something nagging and familiar about it to Daniel, and before the girl's head could fully clear he strode over to it and picked it up.

A mistake if ever there was one. The terrifyingly unclean aura of the thing flowed into his mind like the world's filthiest sewer main had just burst open in his head and he suddenly found himself fighting back chills and a profound need to vomit. Only a decade's worth of self mastery in K'un-L'un prevented him from doing just that and allowed him to regain composure just an instant later, sealing himself off from the thing's corrupting influence. Whoever the girl was, she obviously hadn't received enough training to perceive such things or else she would've noticed them to begin with. It was...familiar, hauntingly so. He already had a hunch as to whom the cursed trinket might have belonged to but after all this time he hardly dared to hope...

But now the girl was recovering, asking after his identity.

"I am the Immortal Iron Fist of K'un-L'un, and if that means absolutely nothing to you I'm pretty sure K'un-L'un is where your Tiger amulet came from. Now I have some questions for you. Who are you? How did you come into possession of a fraction of the sacred Jade Tiger and most importantly where did you find the talisman I'm holding?"

It was time to get some answers. Maybe answers for both of them, if she didn't turn out to be an enemy.

---

---

"I am the Immortal Iron Fist of K'un-L'un, and if that means absolutely nothing to you I'm pretty sure K'un-L'un is where your Tiger amulet came from. Now I have some questions for you. Who are you? How did you come into possession of a fraction of the sacred Jade Tiger and most importantly where did you find the talisman I'm holding?"

Iron Fist? K’un-L’un? Jade Tiger?

I don’t know what any of the word’s that this guy is telling me… asking me. I take a light breath again before I even try to begin to answer such questions, some of which I have never answered out loud to myself or to others. These answers are painful, but I knew I would have to explain myself to the Professor when I got the information from Knox— so why am I tongue-tied?

“I am the protector of The Bronx, the White Tiger.”

I pause as I smirk under my mask. I’ve never actually said that out loud before tonight, because well.. nobody in The Bronx asks that question as they know what the White Tiger is and what they stand for. I realize I’m in Chinatown, but maybe.. this guy is new to New York in general? Does he know who Knightress, Daredevil, or Moon Knight is? Does he know of The Defenders? Does he know of Iron Man?

I look down at the pavement, recollecting my memories and sorting my thoughts.

“I admit I’m new to this amulet, but my brother was the last holder of it and he… had protected The Bronx with it since the towers came down. I don’t know much about it, I don’t even know if my brother did. All I know is of its power and what it means for the people of The Bronx. Without it many people would have perished.”

I look up at him, this Iron Fist character.

“As for your other two questions I can answer them.”

I feel my body tense and my emotions flare.

“I inherited the amulet when people with that talisman killed him in our home. That was four weeks ago.”

I bite my lip.

“That is why I have to know who did it. So they can pay.”

March 20th, 2005
New York City, Chinatown
9:54 PM
Of all the answers Danny might have been expecting, these were definitely the last ones on his mind.

"So...you dress up in a mask to fill a role that used to belong to someone else, chasing after leads and shadows for the men who took your family away, trying to make the world make sense again...is that it?"

He walked over to her as memories of his own flashed before his eyes. His father on the icy slopes of a mountain, fighting like a man possessed against an overwhelming horde of ghosts and shadows. A figure coalescing before them inky black against the blinding whiteness of the snows. Laughter as his father was buried in snow and crushed against a ravine, and through all of it the same nauseating sense of corruption, the same overwhelming darkness that resided in the talisman.

Danny tossed it back to the White Tiger.

"You and I have more in common than you could ever know. Now let's go get some answers. Civilly this time."

Danny jogged back over to the door of the Wing residence and knocked politely on the door Professor Wing had fled back through, switching over to the most polite Cantonese he could manage.

"<<Professor Wing, it's safe now. We talked things over and it was all a misunderstanding!>>"

"<<G-g-go Away! I'm w-w-warning you I won't tolerate being tricked and assaulted in my own home a second time!>>"

Danny sighed. Ordinarily he'd leave well enough alone but they needed these answers sooner rather than later and ten years had been a long enough wait for revenge.

"<<Professor Wing, you know the reputation of K'un-L'un, that I would never mean you any harm, but if you don't cooperate I'm regrettably going to have to break down your lovely door. I'll pay the cost of repairing it of course but-">>

The door opened...

and Lee Wing came through it wildly swinging an antique katana that looked surprisingly well maintained, the sword's edge whistling down toward's Danny's head with deadly speed.

Before he caught the blade between two palms rather casually and held it there. Professor Wing was no professional swordsman after all.

"Now Professor, that's hardly the way to treat someone approaching you as a guest. So let's just put the sword away and have a rational discussion. Sound good?"

It might be Danny's imagination, but it looked like the good professor was juuuuust about ready to faint...

Maybe there was more subtlety to this superheroing business than he thought.

"I...I...I...but..."

"I'm glad you can see things my way! Now, let's get out of the night air and you can unravel some ancient mysteries for us over tea. I'm sure we'll all feel much better then!"

Lee Wing looked wildly about for a moment, as if searching for some help or escape. Then he slumped visibly and gave a defeated sigh while muttering some equivalent to 'why is it always me' and a string of virulent Cantonese curses before gesturing for the two to come inside.

Danny stepped through before turning back to White Tiger.

"Well...what are you waiting for? Tea and vengeance await us!"

---

March 20th, 2005
New York City, Chinatown
10:15 PM

Danny was right of course. Lee Wing knew all about the talisman's true nature.

Plus the tea was absolutely exquisite.

Lee Wing had regained his composure somewhat once he had figured out that his two 'guests' were no longer planning on breaking all of his limbs and the presence of an Iron Fist-even an inexperienced half realized one like Danny-seemed to reassure him enough of his safety to speak of the dark forces he feared. He now sat in an overstuffed armchair sipping his own blend of tea, lecturing as he might at Empire State University.

"That talisman is without a doubt the property of the Cult of Khan. A mysterious group by all measures, the Cult is said to be a secret order of a most ancient nature. They are dedicated to the restoration of a being they believe to be...well, a sort of god or a fragment of a god, a rather grizzly entity known to them as 'Master Khan'. There are ancient records of a being of that nature demanding blood sacrifice en masse, some so ancient that it has been hypothesized by some fringe scholars that the being itself is the source of the term used in Central Asia for a ruler..." He seemed to realize he was digressing somewhat and resumed his original train of thought

"Regardless, this Cult believe that their god Khan is...wounded and weakened, or else sleeping to regain strength and that when he returns he will bring about a new age where his rather disturbing evils are law once more and exalt them as part of his new world order. Whether or not this dark god is real is immaterial given that its' followers although obscure, can be linked to various assassinations and gory rituals around the world, all of which they claim hasten their master's return. I would say this is all academic speculation and glory seekers using an old name from history books to grab attention, but I believe I've been vaguely threatened to keep silent by them on multiple occasions, and the darkness of that talisman is plain to anyone who's handled as many artifacts of a mystical nature as I have."

The professor's blase attitude couldn't be more at odds with Danny's own. Finally, he had a name for the creature that had killed his father and it was one from his childhood night-terrors. Every K'un-Lunan child knew the name of Khan, like a boogeyman mothers scared their children with at night. The God-Emperor Khan, Shapeshifting Master of Darkness, Oldest of Dark Wizards, fragment of the Amatsukami no Mikaboshi made flesh. He who once ruled over Heaven and Earth alike and drank rivers of blood to satiate his lust for power.

But Khan was a ghost story, or else a figure out of legend defeated by the first Iron Fist in an age hazily remembered even by immortals. The fact that he might still be out there, manipulating mortals and working dark magics...Well it seemed ludicrous.

But hadn't Danny seen a being of pure darkness with his own eyes all those years ago, as it struck down his father? Hadn't White Tiger's brother been attacked by assassins carrying talisman's bearing the taint of that same darkness?

Didn't he need a target for his revenge after all these years?

"In any case the talisman's markings and feel are unmistakable. The Cult believes that when used right it allows them to commune with their god. Before I continue, are there any questions?"

Well, the man certainly was a lecturer. But at the moment Danny was too struck by the sudden possibilities to speak. After all, if Kun-Lun's former dark master was alive it raised some troubling doubts.

Namely, what other things that he thought he knew were actually based on lies?

---

What had started as an average, everyday night of robbers and gangsters had turned into a rather uncomfortable game of cat and mouse, or maybe you could call it 'Bird and Worm'? That's certainly the most of what one Dick Grayson thought of the good Doctor Jason Woodrue at that exact moment. The man in question had not only woken up pretty much every college student in the area when they'd much rather spend their time sleeping, but had the nerve to be an anti-metahuman supremacist. One thing was certainly still true about humanity, and that's that they feared what they didn't understand. That, or they just really liked persecuting each other.

"I know you're out there! I said stay back!" fear was evident in Woodrue's voice, as if his frantically darting his eyes back and forth between trees, vines, and other flora didn't make it obvious enough. The Boy Wonder was far more focused on the distressed redheaded teenager he was holding to his person with a syringe at her neck.

"What kind of monster drags students out of bed at this hour?"

"This filth doesn't deserve to live." The Doctor had practically jumped out of his skin when he realized that he'd backed himself against the wall of the gardens' central chamber and was now faced with a recently-emerged-from-the-shadows, domino mask wearing vigilante only a few yards in front of him.

"I'd let the girl go if I were you, Doctor."

"Really, and why's that, huh?

Before the Boy Wonder had an opportunity to respond, his eyes widened when the Doctor's captive bit down on her captor's hand. Hard. Jason Woodrue let out a shriek of pain and the university student only managed to get a few steps away from him before he leapt upon her. The hall was filled with the two's screams for roughly three seconds before the echo of a fist connecting with a man's jaw. Then there was an eerie quiet only broken by the newly freed hostage's sobs. First things first, Robin made sure to zip-cuff what he hoped would be his last catch of the night before reaching his hand out to his female elder.

"Did he hurt you?" Dick was met with his rescuee squirming away from him and burying her face in her sleeves.

"I...I don't think so." the girl choked through tears.

"Don't worry, you're going to be okay. Can you tell me your name?"

"P-Pamela."

"Well Pamela, let me get you out of here."

"Who are you?"

"Robin. Resident Boy Wonder."

---

Only halfway to the exit of the building, Pamela suddenly collapsed to the ground, and Dick couldn't exactly say he knew what to do when the plants around them seemed to react before he did. Leaves fluttered, vines seemed to snake toward them, and the aroma of a thousand different varieties of sap and toxins bombarded Dick's sinuses before Pamela had so much as cried out in pain. It was one of the most surreal experiences Dick could say he had seen in his relatively short career as a vigilante, and there was only one thought that filled his head when he saw what appeared to be a root sprout from Pamela's leg.

"That can't be good."

---

---

6:00 AM, March 20th, 2015
Location undisclosed
Deep in an underground bunker,
Padded Cell

“You will try to stop us, but you can not defeat us. We are HYDRA, for if one head is removed two more will rise in its place. The return of the Red Skull and the reign of HYDRA is inevitable. You will see when I descend upon you.”

“Heil HYDR-


That was the precise noise the mushy, greyish pink oatmeal-like remnants of so-called 'breakfast' made as they impacted the tiny TV screen implanted into the cell wall. The goop bounced and dribbled off harmlessly of course, the screen being smooth and weirdly rubberized like everything else in the cell, allegedly 'for the safety of the occupant and all those around him' though everyone knew the prisoner in question could hardly be hurt. The tiny screen was one of the few luxuries allowed him, a bribe of sorts so that he would 'occasionally shut up and stop making everyone else need padded cells.'

So far it had worked, and the man inside had been significantly more docile since it was installed. But as the unidentifiable food-mush dripped down the looping crimson visage of the Red Skull the figure jumped up onto his cot and started springing up and down, shouting at an empty corner of the room.

"WALLER!!!! WAAAAALLLLEEER!!!! Lemme at 'im! Ya gotta lemme at 'im! I'M the only murderously charismatic disfigured psycho the world has room for!-" The man somehow seemed to pause in midair to do the sort of pose mothers shield their kid's eyes from "-Plus I look so much sexier in red and black AND MY COSTUME'S NOT EVEN HUGO BOSS!"

Landing back down he proceeded to turn around, pull down his pants and moon the same empty corner with a pair of waggling buttocks that looked as if somebody had made a well-toned greek sculpture from rotten hamburger meat.

"COME OOOOOOON!~ I know you're watching me Fat Ladyyyyyy!~ So just sing already and we'll make beautiful music together! I'll murderize him! You let me out and he'll be makin' out with Hitler in Hell's VIP Club by noon and you and me'll be rolling in government accolades and sweet, sweet victory chimichangas...and I know how much you like to eat!"

In the midst of some particularly energetic bouncing and butt-wiggling he managed to slip and fall back on the mattress before slumping there with a surprisingly weary sigh.

"I just wanna get out there and kill some Nazis. You know...for America."

We're exactly where we belong, Wade.

Oh, you again.

You know I'm right. After all the things we've done, the people we've killed, the thing with the fight club and the orphanage...maybe we belong in a cell. Maybe there is no task force, no observation period, just a lie to keep us in here...and maybe we should accept it...

Or he could keep whining until the big lady gave him what he wanted.

"WALLER! LET ME GO KILL NAZIIIIIIS!~"

---

6:15 AM, March 20th, 2015
Location undisclosed
Several floors up,
Control Center

From the display screens connected to the hidden cameras in every room's walls, Amanda Waller stared coolly and analytically as her most vocal inmate threw what could only be described as a 'temper tantrum'. She had just now come to a conclusion of vast importance. A conclusion formed after several long, long months of observation had already lead to one inescapable fact:

Wade Wilson was the craziest son-of-a-bitch she had ever met.

In a list that included countless magalomaniacs, endless whackjobs and the Joker himself, Wade Wilson came out ontop. Oh, to be sure he wasn't quite as murderously psychotic as Gotham's crown prince of crime. Occassionally, Wilson even seemed to have some shriveled up vestiges of a conscience. But pound for pound in her very well informed opinion no degenerate anywhere was as absolutely chaotically insane.

But looking over at another screen, at a still photo of the maniacal scowl of the Red Skull, Amanda Waller was forced to recognize that maybe the world around her had gone insane too. So, with an insane world forming around her Amanda Waller came to a conclusion she knew history would eternally judge her for coming to, at least if history ever found out:

The world needed Wade Wilson.

The world needed Deadpool.

Hand trembling for just an instant before her famous iron will stilled it, she pressed an intercom button.

"Captain, give me three hours prep time, then bring me Wilson."

"Ma'am...you can't mean-"

"God help me Captain, I do. Deadpool's joining the Suicide Squad."

The yellow suit. Those red eyes. That backwards symbol. And that smile. That sick, twisted, evil smile.

Thawne was back. He was back to haunt me.

Everything was still; my wife, Wally, Harkness… everything. Everything but him. Thawne. The man that killed my mother. The man that ruined my life.

He just stood there, smiling that smile of his, Iris and Wally behind him, frozen expressions of shock glued on their faces. The boomerang, the one Harkness threw, balanced on the tip of his finger, as still as everything else, mere seconds away from exploding. Something told me that that would take a while.

Anger and fear, rage and caution, all mingled in my head. This was it. The moment I’d been dreading since almost a year before. Fists clenched tight, I grated out the one question on my mind. “What do you want.”

And he laughed. The son of a bitch laughed.

“What do I want, Barry? What do I want? Can’t I just check on an old friend?”

He threw the boomerang, sending it arcing towards the sky.

“What do I want, Barry?” He walked past me, in Harkness’ direction. “What do I want…” His hand started vibrating, a blur of yellow, red lightning curling around it.

My eyes widened as I realised what he was about to do. “Thawne, don’t-- ”

But it was too late. His hand pierced through Harkness’ chest, finding his heart in an instant. The mercenary died before he knew what hit him.

“I’ll tell you what I want, Barry,” Thawne said, turning back to me. “I want you to suffer.”



“That’s why I came back,” he explained. “That’s why I came back to this exact moment. You see, Barry... It’s at this point in time that the history books say you changed. Where the Flash went from hero… to villain. They say that when Captain Boomerang tried to kill your family, you snapped. They say that you murdered him in cold blood, crushing his heart with your own hand. But we know better, don’t we, Barry? We know that it wasn’t you.

“But they did get something right. You see, Flash, you did snap-- but not mentally. Oh, no-- not yet. That comes later. No. You snapped time. Haven’t you been wondering why everything just stopped moving? Why we can have this conversation, while your beautiful wife stands frozen as a statue? You broke the time barrier, Barry. And with it, your life.

“But the books don’t stop there. No. They talk of how when you killed the captain, you withdrew from society. How you stopped caring. The Gem Cities spiralled into chaos, and you, Barry, you let it all happen. Because it was all too slow.

“You let your friends die. Your family. Your nephew, your father, your wife-- you stood by as they died, second after second ticking by, a small piece of yourself dying right along with them. But in the end, you didn’t care. You just stood by as it happened… right by my side. And do you know what’s funny, Barry? It’s all going to happen again. And you’re going to let it.”

“No,” I said. I refused to believe him. “You’re lying.”

“Oh, but that’s the beauty of all this,” he turned his back to me, walking away. “The only one lying to you… is you.”

I didn’t know this then, but later… when everything went from bad to worse… I would find out.

He was telling the truth.