"This is my city."

Edward Cunningham was the CEO of SuperIOR Incorporated. He was an older man, in his early fifties. He sported salt and pepper hair and a black, custom made suit. SuperIOR had been founded by Edward's grandfather in 1899 with the intention of developing weapon for the United States military. Edward's father had led the company during World War II. During this time SuperIOR made a number of breakthroughs in the weapons industry that made them filthy rich. The most important of these was Project HER0ES, which was one of a number of projects focusing on creating the perfect super soldier. HER0ES had been a total success (thanks in no small part to Edward's parentage stealing critical information from rival corporations) and SuperIOR had been responsible for the formula that created some of America's greatest leaders and soldiers. Even after the war, SuperIOR continued to grow and prosper as it focused on research into the areas of robotics and genetics, both of which were brand new fields where new information was learned every single day. When the reigns of the company were handed down to Edward the young businessman chose to make the move to Lost Haven. Lost Haven was the city with the second largest financial district and the market there was quickly growing in size and influence. Over the years, many corporations had come and gone. But few lasted as long as SuperIOR did. Edward used ever trick in the book to make sure that competition was minimal. But now, it seemed, those tricks had begun to fail. Organized crime had once allowed Edward to bribe a few mobsters into blowing away the heads of rival companies. But now those familiar crime families had been toppled and replaced by some dark and unknown power. Cunningham, try as he might, could learn little of this 'Cowl' and his new criminal empire. There was no concrete information. Only rumors stacked on top of rumors. Yet it was evident to one like Edward that this 'Shadow Syndicate' or 'Shroud' or whatever the hell they called themselves had their dirty, rotten fingers in every business and every gang in Lost Haven. Even some of SuperIOR's biggest rivals had been the knee to this so-called ruler.

But not Edward. No. This was his city. And no creep in a mask would take that away from him.

"Mister Cunningham? What did you call me in to talk about?" That voice belonged to one Jack Grey. Jack had been on the board of directors for almost a decade now; Edward thought he could trust Mr. Grey. That is until James Abrams, his Captain Liberty, had intercepted a message bound for an unknown source revealing corporate secrets. To his credit, Grey was calm. Very calm. Jack must have thought he was pretty smart; that there was no way his boss knew what he had done. But Edward had been in the espionage business long enough to make a spy when he saw one. The way he moved his eyes. The way he listened to every word you said like it came from the very mouth of God on high. Few could see it, and fewer still could detect it in a tried and true master of the tradecraft like Jack Grey. "You used to work for MI6 before I hired you, didn't you, Mister Grey?" The British man adjusted his tie and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I did. That's one of the reasons you hired me, if I recall. You needed a spymaster for your inner circle." Edward smiled. "That I did, Mister Grey. That I did." Edward turned away from the glass wall overlooking the financial district and walked over to his desk, where Jack was seated. Edward removed a picture from one of the desk's draws and looked at it for a moment before placing it down on the desk's surface. "You're a family man, aren't you, Mister Grey?" Jack looked at the photo and his heart skipped a beat. It was a picture of his wife, two daughters and his son. "Wh-" Jack began to protest. Rage filled Mr. Grey's face as he stood to his feet. "I wouldn't." Edward warned. The CEO of SuperIOR pulled a pistol out of his coat and pointed the silenced weapon at Mr. Grey's forehead. Jack returned to the chair, putting his hands into the air.

"I know how much you love your family. I know how you feel; I have a son too, you know. Not that you know where to find him. I keep my family far away from prying eyes..To keep them safe. Something you should have considered before you spied on me." The door to the office opened and in stepped an eleven year old boy. To his flank was Captain Liberty, wearing his signature armor. The Captain's railgun was pointed directly at the back of the boy's head. "BILLY!" Jack cried. Mr. Grey jumped from his chair and ran for his son, arms out stretched. A bullet pierced the back of Jack's knee, forcing him to the ground with a cry of anguish. "I told you not to move. Now look, you're bleeding all over your son's shirt." Edward shook his head in disappointment as he crossed around the desk and approached the fallen Jack. Edward pulled out a knife and stabbed it into the back of Jack's wrist, jamming the weapon into the wooden floor. He repeated the process with the other hand. Billy watched on, wailing in utter terror. "Now you're going to tell me everything about the man you work for or I'm going to put a bullet in your son's head. Do you understand?" Jack shook his head profusely. "They'll kill my family if I say a word!" Edward pistol-whipped Billy in the temple, knocking the boy to the floor. "AND I'LL KILL THEM IF YOU DON'T!" He screamed. "Who's your direct superior?!" Edward placed the pistol against Jack's other knee. "I-I don't know his name!" Jack cried. "Nobody does!" Edward shot Jack, and moved the pistol to his groin. Mister Grey screamed bloody murder. "We call him the Specter. H-He has a courier collect my reports from a specific drop off point every week. Nothing digital- t- too easy to track." Edward kicked Jack in the side, laughing like a maniac. "Now we're getting somewhere! Who else works for this 'Specter?' I want names, addresses. And the next time you're to drop off a report."

"There are dozens w-working out of SuperIOR. Most of them are blue collar, but they have a couple of our research and management guys on the payroll." Jack responded. "You're going to hand me a list of all their names, and then you're going to write your report like usual. But you give it to Captain Liberty here for inspection first. We're going to track down this 'Specter,' no matter how long it takes. Nobody messes with Edward Cunningham! NOBODY!" Edward pulled the knives from Jack's old, wrinkled hands before pulling Mr. Grey to his feet. "Oh, and I'm sending agents to your house. They're going to keep on eye on you and your family here until I'm done with you. Whether or not they die is up to how willing you are to help me." Edward whispered into the shaken man's ear.

Captain Liberty escorted the terrified father and son out of Edward's office. Cunningham crossed over to a map of Lost Haven on one of his walls. The entire wall was dominated by maps, papers and notes. Edward took a pen from his pocket and wrote a single name at the top of one of the maps: Specter. The map marked all the locations Project Renaissance and Winstone International had been buying up. "I know what you're doing." He muttered to himself. "You think you can take this city from me, Alexa Winstone? I can see through your scheme. All the speeches in the world won't convince me that this 'Project Renaissance' isn't your doing. I've seen it all before! You use a tiny, unknown company as a means to rise to the top. You make them out as the enemy before establishing yourself as the hero of the people. Then you buy up all their land so you can demolish it later and build your own factories there." Edward mused. "You can see it in the riots. It just so happens that these places you had already paid off weren't hit during the attacks. Impossible. Nothing is a coincidence. I see your play. Trying to take my city from me; using these metahumans masks as a front for your push. The Specter, the Cowl, the Shroud Syndicate of Shadowy-assholes...They're all just puppets. A front with fronts. I CAN SEE WHAT YOU'RE DOING, WINSTONE, AND I WON'T LET YOU GET AWAY WITH THIS!"

The expo wasn't too far away. Only a few days from now. Soon, SuperIOR would show the world why it was the best. That it was the beacon of hope in Lost Haven. They would pave the way for the future in robotics, genetics and evolution itself. Governments across the world would scramble to buy up Edward's designs. He'd start a super soldier arms race and make billions of dollars and set himself up as the most powerful man on planet earth. Then, when the chips were down and the world was just recovering from World War III, Edward would be there to pick up the pieces. The 'reluctant' leader of a new, terrifying world.

"This is my city."

Justine sat at her desk on an indigo colored exercise ball half dancing in it thanks to the beat piped through the studio-monitor style headset over her ears. Her fingers were fairly flying over the keyboard as she typed, apparently working on her latest article or piece. She’d finished up a couple phone interviews, called her boss to let her know what she was working on. She was a freelancer, but she still had people she regularly submitted work to. It made her life easier, as well as allowed her to operate as an independent, working for an outfit over the net as well as local hardcopy service. She shot a couple files off with quick emails, and stretched a bit, then grabbed a drink from her bottle of water. With the cap being screwed back on she sat it back down, only to frown as a vibration ran through the apartment. She took off her headset, then frowned as she heard the front door explode inward. **Crap** she thought.

She got off of the ball and rushed to her nightstand, pulling out her pistol, a reliable pistol her father had helped her pick out and she had gotten quite comfortable with. Into her short gray cottony athletic shorts went an extra magazine, while she switched the tactical light on the pistol to strobe, and thumbed the safety off after racking the slide, chambering a round. She moved to the doorway, cracking it open an inch, peering out.

The exchange she heard, only to see the man get blasted in the back by a bright blast of collimated energy. Some kind of ray weapon. From the sci-fi and all she read, she might have guessed it was a particle weapon. Plasma was a little less controlled. Laser made no sound, and she wouldn’t have seen the beam most likely. A particle beam though tore things apart, and caused it to throw off photons, as well as tear the air and more. She swept the strobe over the standing figure as well as the prone one. She couldn’t immediately tell who the aggressor was, but it seemed the one on the floor had been hit from behind. If anything he had been the first through the door. Was he fleeing, or breaking in?

Rach had the knife, held down her arm. It was a defensive grip, and by the way she regarded Icarus and his position just outside the door,.. she trained her weapon on the prone man. She’d heard what Icarus said, the word hero, and it was then that the brief exchange of words caught up to her. “Rach,” she shouted loudly, seeing her coughing and her hands were covered in what almost looked like dark, coagulated blood. What the hell was going on?!

The man, labeled Bozo by Racheli, merely stumbled slightly forward when he felt something nail him in the back. The particle beams had managed to heat through the leather duster, ruining it completely, as it burned through to his impenetrable skin underneath. In a normal human, the hex-feathers would’ve done greater damage and likely subdued them but he wasn’t just any human. He was a meta after all created by an overdose of drugs. It only reddened the surface in irritation causing Bozo to grunt in amusement when the tingling sensation rippled across his body where beams hit him.

Almost chuckling, Bozo asked through his mask. “Is that all you got?”

His feet managed to balance, widening and stopping his step just before his face collided with the floor. The ‘hero’ was quick and that excited him, his face clearly showed it with a dark smirk. His head had turned to keep an eye on the coffin shaped machinery when his sight noted a woman, with a gun in hand, bearing down him. His right brow lifted in disbelief at seeing her consider a normal gun would even phase him. “Bitch, I suggest you better think twice. I have no problem tearing you up as well when I’ve finished with this hero wannabe.”

Bozo spied the strange devices rotating and trying to keep between him and the woman coughing up blood. It seemed that would be one less whore to kill off later as he lifted his leg, then stomped down. The power in it was comparable to a compact car impacting the floor from a couple feet up, the foot breaking past the weaker wooden boards and burying it underneath. Bozo gritted in frustration when he realized his foot was stuck though he managed to send ripples through the apartment.

Gabriel flinched as someone suddenly called out to the girl leaning against the counter- at least, he assumed that’s who they were calling out to- he couldn’t conceive that Bozo’s name was “Rach,” or that someone would be calling out to him in such a situation. Keeping his Hex-Feathers trained on the enemy’s back, he turned to where he heard the voice coming from. Another woman was peeking her head through a cracked-open door, a pistol poked through, trained on the prone man, who already seemed to be stirring.

Great. One of the durable ones. And here I was hoping this building wouldn't be a total write-off… He glanced back toward the other woman. And now, on top of things, we’ve got a civilian here. This has NOT been my night.

“Miss, I recommend you try and find some way out of here while you still can- things are about to get very broken, and I’d rather you’re not one of them.” As if that was the burly meta’s cue, he stood straight and tall, grinning at Gabriel from behind his mask (he assumed). The man even chuckled.

Prick.

“Is that all you got?” he gloated, before turning toward the pistol-wielding woman, taunting her for her choice of weapon and insulting him in the same breath.

Yeah, sure. We’ll see how able you are at hurting anything once I take it up a few notches. Just then, Bozo lifted his leg up, before bringing it down hard enough to shake the entire gods-damned building. Gabriel stumbled slightly before he levitated himself off the ground by an inch or two, avoiding the worst of the shocks, and was pleased to notice that the other meta’s stunt had gotten his foot lodged in the floorboards. He smirked and rolled his eyes, though the effect was somewhat lost since no one could see his face.

“Nice job, idiot. No, really, thanks- it helps to have a stationary target!” At that, he darted in and landed straight in front of the man, before bringing his foot up, then down in a savage axe kick on the top of the man’s head.

As soon as that foot had raised to stomp, Justine squeezed the trigger. The gun cracked loudly in the confines of the apartment. It racked back hard against her grip, but she was strong enough that it barely bucked. The jacketed round zipped forward to slam against the cheekbone, puddling there and causing the skin to ripple from the kinetic energy. Metal was very pliable at those speeds and so it simply deformed against him, energy spent, and dropped to the floor. Then the foot slammed down hard. It was enough to jar her feet and make her stagger for a split second. A normal person probably would have gone down, but she had much better footing than most people.

Recovering she realized he had enough physical power to do major damage to the building, and he’d just tried to take out the floor or drop the ceiling or something. He was definitely an immediate threat. Quickly she began drawing the trigger back, as she knew where the break-over point was and she was killed at combat shooting. Her daddy made sure she wasn’t a victim, and had spent plenty of time on the active shooting courses with the police department. She went into a line-drill of sorts, shooting for his chest first, the next aimed higher, the hollow of his throat, then again at his throat. Then around his mouth, then another shot at his nose, then eye level, and at his forehead. Each shot was right on the tail end of the one before it as her strobe light was on narrow beam and gave her a good reference point, as well as helped improve her sight picture, and if he looked her way the brilliant light flickering on and off at just the right speed to be completely disorienting.. he’d get it straight in the eyeballs!

Bangbangbangbangbangbang! The rounds were powerful and the pistol she wielded was a hell of a naildriver. She only hoped that one of the rounds would find a weak point, or she was going to get rekt if she stayed in the fight for very long.. as her normal squishy self.

The meta human tilted his head, but he wasn’t fast enough. The bullet nicked his cheek and thankfully missed his eye, not that he was worried about damage. Before this job he had literally been high enough to take a screw drive to each eye, trying to gorge each one out. The screwdriver's end had left little to no visible mark at all much to his excitement. Granted it wasn’t a bullet but it did a great deal to up his confidence. The bullet was nothing more than a flatten, dented piece of metal.

Not worried about the woman that shot at him, Bozo was more focused on getting his foot loose. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed his stomp had at least brought down one of the three individuals in the apartment though the ‘hero’ had managed to gain the ability to fly. A fact Bozo had forgotten since they were on the fourth floor and it was the only way the man could’ve made his way up. The meta’s head bent lower and away from the two women, trying to see if he could twist his foot loose. That's when he spotted the small, petite female aim for his chest.

He been shot before, his mind snapping in the light’s meaning, then abruptly jerked up his meaty hand to protect his lower face and neck. The bullets on his chest, eye and forehead popped him hard, condensing like the first one before dropping like flies. However, he had shielded his throat and mouth sparing them from the bullet’s impact. The rebreather was sturdy but not unbreakable much to his anger.

Distracted by the trigger happy bitch, the ‘hero’ managed to catch his head back. Bozo lost his balance bring his body to one knee. It smacked hard into the floor as his one hand spread and nearly brought him to all fours, barely preventing his face from planting into the ground. His lungs inhaled more of the drug laced fumes into his system. His muscles seemed to increase in bulk as his beady eyes narrowed in fury at Justine. This game was becoming far less fun now that his weakness was nearly hit and his fingers flexing in eagerness to struggle something.

With his head bowed down from the impact, his voice out in a harsh, venomous tone. Without warning, his right hand whipped up to grip ahold of the ‘hero’s’ foot a few moments after it connected. The meta’s human’s head back still feeling like he had his skull split into two, Bozo ignored the pain though his sight slightly blurred from the impact. One perk, he didn’t need to see his target to get a hold of what had hit him. “You SOB, you’ll fucking pay for that.”

In an iron grip, his fingers had latched onto the ankle. Bozo shifted the leg from his skull base to rest on the shoulder, partly using the hero wannabe to cover his lower face, then lifted upright to off balance his attacker. His other hand came up in a fist and aimed right at the side of the capture leg’s knee cap, aiming to bust it into pieces.

Gabriel suppressed a very unmanly yelp as Bozo grabbed his leg, shoving it into the air, which would have been very uncomfortable before he'd gotten his "upgrade." His relief at that fact was short-lived as soon as he realized the meta was cocking his fist back. And there were really only two places that fist could go, considering their position, and he didn't like either option too much.

Fuck. ARMOR!! he thought frantically, calling his Hex-Feathers back to himself. They attached to the back of his jacket, a green aura pulsing across his body just as Bozo's fist impacted against his knee. He winced in surprise as he realized he not only felt the impact through the ARMOR function, but it actually hurt. Granted, without the ARMOR, his knee would have been shattered into a million pieces (and he wasn't overly confident in how long it would take to recover from that, even with nanites), but still, that was a surprise.

[/i]Huh. Interesting. Maybe I'll study it later.[/i] Speaking of, that reminded him of something. When the non-meta girl had unloaded a clip into Bozo's bulk, he'd actually seemed panicked when a bullet nearly grazed the mask he was wearing. A weakness, perhaps?

Only one way to find out, he thought. He jumped up, cocking his leg back, aiming it straight at the meta bastard's face.

"Let go, asshole!" he shouted, unleashing the kick he'd chambered straight at Bozo's face.

Justine frowned as the strobe light (not a laser dot) played over Bozo and her shots hit their mark. He’d jerked his head out of the way or maybe he hadn’t .. for the shot that she’d tried to put through his upper lip. She still had half her magazine but then this mechanized person, who labled himself a hero was in the way. She grimaced as Bozo got a boot to the head, who then latched down on the machinery covered leg and slammed a fist into the knee of the big green weenie. ‘Hero’ then pulled a Jet Li maneuver and brought his other leg up and around in an airborne roundhouse or crescent kick to Bozo’s head.

He was all kinds of in the way!

She kept her weapon trained on Bozo as she moved to her right, circling toward the kitchenette and toward Racheli. Maybe she could get Rach out of danger if nothing else. Her ears were still ringing from the last shots she’d fired only a few second ago as the two figures battled in her living room. Her hands were steady though she was sure they’d shake later. Fight now, break down later.

It only took a few seconds to find some cover and put one hand on Rach’s shoulder. “Rach,” she hissed the girl’s name, holding her pistol in a safe direction for the moment. “What the hell is going on? Did you get shot or something,” she hissed more as she noted the woman was coughing up blood so dark it was almost black.

As Justine and Mr. Show off- the masked man Racheli labelled in her head-battled Bozo the invader, she was slouched down onto the kitchen tile. Every few seconds, through to Racheli they felt like minutes, another heaval of black blood would spurt forth and stain the apartment floor. She could barely stand upright when the ass ended up creating a mild quake through the fucking apartment. Her body crumpled into a heap as she barely protected her head from bashing into the hard surfaces of the kitchen. Racheli’s lungs felt like there was tar within them. Each time she inhaled air, she could feel and hear a rattling within her chest. Pain splintered off from her head down to her toes, the severity centered at her joints, causing her teeth to bite down hard. For a terrible, heart pounding moment, Rach considered the the fact she might’ve been bitten off her tongue at some point when the blood taste turned particularly sour in her mouth.

She just lifted her head in time to see Bozo’s head jerk to the side. His meaty hands released the ‘hero’s’ leg, as he growled in frustration. Even from her down position, Rach spotted a small nick in his mask where the attack had clipped him. Bozo’s gas hissed into the air as the brute’s fury filled his eyes. Her attention was taken when Justine appeared like a damn ghost at her side. At Justine’s touch and hiss of her name, Racheli bit back the urge to scream out in pain. It was like the woman had stabbed her with a million needles just by touching her. However, to Justine, Racheli herself was almost colder than ice itself despite the sweat pouring off her surface. It didn’t help Racheli was on the brink of passing out during the raging battle still occurring.

Another gagging sensation came, and Racheli bite her tongue once more and shoved away from Justine. Her body pushed against the floor, her figure curled into a ball. After a few moments she spoke out loud, her tone filled with strain to keep from snapping Justine’s head off. “I don’t fucking know. Shit… fucking...hurts. Feels like my, damn.”

Racheli had rose upright long enough to abruptly vomit another round of black, tar like substance. It oozed across the floor’s surface before she slumped back down, barely avoiding the sloppy, alien looking mess. Weakly turning to look at Justine, Racheli stubbornly continued.

“I just… woke up this way. Though… mother fuck,” the cursing woman turned over onto her back, stilling trying to avoid the mess. “God damn it! I can’t breathe… it’s too hot! I can’t..breathe! Breathe damn it!”

Meanwhile, when Justine was attending to Racheli, Bozo was livid. At being kicked his foot took a heavy step backwards and came to a stop as his eyes show little more than red in his vision at the moment. His mask had been cracked, a thin fracture made a jagged zigzag pattern along the lower side of the jawline. The spot where he hadn’t managed to clear in time. This meant he had only a limited time before his drug ran out and he was no longer a match for this wannabe hero. It was all or nothing, the invader realized as he shot forward with a right hook at the ‘hero’. His right foot lead putting much more power behind his punch this time which equaled the same force as his earlier kick, likely sending the man through the building’s wall should it connect. During his power punch forward at the man’s head, Bozo’s other was ready to block or grab at part he could the moment the ‘hero’ attempted to block him. All the brute’s mind could think about was getting the man in his paws and ripping him to pieces.

Gabriel smirked as his foot connected with Bozo’s mask, especially given the fact that he felt the tiniest bit of give upon connecting. The meta bastard stumbled back, clutching at his mask. Gabriel zeroed in on what he could see past the meta man’s hand.

A jagged crack, just barely wider than a human hair in thickness, stretching its way along the jaw of his mask. And from it…

”gas,” intoned Daedalus in his head. ”perhaps that is the source of his abilities? some sort of… inhaled steroid, perhaps. interesting. permit me to study this further when we get him back to the forge.

If we get back to the Forge, Gabriel thought back, as Bozo got ready to assault him in some horrible manner that would likely result in him becoming little more than a black and green smear on the wall. Gabriel ducked under the vicious right hook, only to be caught off guard by his left arm snaking out and catching him in an iron grip.

SHIT! His suspicions were confirmed as Bozo began to squeeze, and it began to hurt- the meathead clearly had fuel left to burn, even with his distribution system compromised. Which left Gabriel in a predicament.

SNIPER! he thought frantically as he started to feel his suit’s paneling start to buckle, then frantically sent a configuration to the Hex-Feathers. The devices arranged themselves in a circle around Gabriel and his opponent, pointing down.

Toward the floor that the both of them were standing on.

I hope this works… He fixed Bozo with a steely glare from behind his visor, though, of course, he couldn’t see it.

“Going down,” he muttered in a strained voice, before the Hex-Feathers discharged, blowing a hole in the floor under their feet, sending the two of them tumbling to the floor below.

Justine looked at Racheli and then the two power-brawling inside her apartment, then back to Racheli. They were wrecking her place, and somebody that was supposed to be in her care obviously had something terrible happening to her. Something that defied explanation. She hadn’t looked good earlier in the day, but now she seemed terribly ill with some horrid… infection or poisoning or something. Rach was ice-cold to the touch, in a fop sweat, heaving up black ..stuff. It could have been blood for all she knew. It was too dark for that though. Justine had seen really dark, coagulated or congealed blood at crime scenes and in photos. This was something else! As Rach snarled in pain and at her, more worry crossed her features. When the other woman tried to stand, and then fell once more, her hands went to catch her, but she just wasn’t fast enough, not to catch Rach and avoid the stuff she was throwing up all over her kitchen floor.

Half of the words coming out of Racheli’s mouth didn’t make exact sense, so she figured the woman was delirious. She was pretty sure she needed to get the girl to some help. And Bozo and Greensleeves needed to get out of her apartment, and really out of the building. Preferably out of the neighborhood or even city, before they caused too much collateral damage. She was about to yell at them to take it outside, after only a couple of seconds of Bozo squeezing on Hero’s arm, those floating… hexagonal things changed configuration and pointed down.

”No!” The word had barely left her mouth when a blast of light and subatomic particles slammed into the floor, and who knew how many floors below, dumping both combatants into the space below. It was terribly brilliant even if only for a split second. Justine raised her arm to shield her eyes from the light instinctively but it was over before she’d even made the move, leaving her blinking bright spots from her vision. It was like a flash-bang grenade, leaving her ears ringing. The blast had caused the building to shake, leaving dust to fall down from the ceiling overhead, as well as fracture a few panes of glass, if not blow them out completely.

Justine stood, her hair frazzling out some from the ambient electrostatic charge in the air from the blast while she picked her way out of hte the kitchen. Her entire apartment had just been compromised. If she had been agitated before it was nothing compared to the white hot anger that exploded into her chest at that moment. Choking in the dust that had been kicked up and knocked loose by the energy blast, Justine picked her way around the wreckage of her apartment’s interior, until she was sure that Rach didn’t have a good line of sight.

A split second later she vanished with a small pop or rush of displaced air, appearing in her room. Justine quickly went to the false panel where she stored Edgewind and pulled the weapon free, murmuring it’s name. A blue-white sphere of energy flashed around her in the space it took to blink an eye only to leave another woman standing in her place. Six foot maybe a little taller, with the physique of a goddess. Justine was already a pretty girl, but the woman standing there in her place was nigh unearthly. The sword was strapped across her back in it’s own baldric and this time she appeared in the black and indigo she tended to favor. She could show up in the battle armor suit, but this time she didn’t seem to need it. She had a cowl and cloak, and a masking option available to her, but she appeared different than the original version. Justine could have easily been a model, and she had indeed done some, but the woman that stood in her place made the journalist look plain and unremarkable by comparison.

A couple of seconds later she reappeared in the wreckage of the living room, picking her way through only to peer down the hole. She flicked Edgewind in quick twirl of agitation while tendrils of lighting licked along it’s length and edges for a few moments, crackling menacingly. She waited for a few moments to see if either of them were stirring or they were taking the hint to move on. Or she would move them on, perhaps permanently.

Bozo was the first to stir as his mind recollected the last few moments before the tumble down. How many floors they had felled through, his aching mind couldn't recount but it hurt like hell to think about it. During the shoot downward, the druggie had lost his grip when he impacted the bottom and was nearly buried under the resulting rubble. The crack in his mask had grown slightly wider with the hissing gas increasing in volume. His bear like paw touched the damaged with surprising gentleness and gritted his teeth. His time had just been halved now, his eyes narrowed in fury, which meant it was time to leave.

His coat piled with dust and collection of broken floor as he rose to his thick feet, his steps heavily thumped against the solid ground under him. He shook his head then peered around for signs of the wannabe hero only to smirk. It seemed the idiot had buried himself under the last ditch attempt to thwart him or so Bozo assumed. His bulky frame turned toward the door when his neck rose in awareness. Instinctively, his head jerked upward to spot the dame staring downward at him.

Haling a few more puffs of precious gas, Bozo spoke in this thick voice, "Alright pretty bird, where the hell did you come from? What happened to the rackless wonder and her bitch friend?"

Finally, the dust had started to settle as Justine hovered at the edge of the hole in the flooring. Her eyes locked on the form of Bozo as he had lain there for few moments. Hero had disappeared in the collateral damage. Likely he was buried. She wasn’t entirely sure she cared at the moment, with the agitation she felt roaring through her. At his comment, she simply stepped off the edge of the hole, into the open air and practically jumped. No sane person would do that right? Except before gravity really began to take hold, she appeared directly in front of him in the space between heartbeats. Her sword crackled with power as she inclined her chin.

“They’re sorting themselves out,” she replied cooly. “Party-time is over.” With that, she considered her options. She could get ahold of him, teleport him out, probably outside the city. But then he’d be somebody else’s problem. She could teleport him to the precinct, any of them really, into one of the cells or holding cell. Still someone else’s problem, and of course… they wouldn’t be able to hold him, unless they made an actual arrest. Even then, could they really hold him for long? Physically… Well besides removing the mask. She was fairly sure it was what was juicing him up. Of course she could take that from him easily enough, she was willing to bet. - Still, subduing him and leaving him for local LEO’s would be an idea. Lethal force wasn’t an option she wanted to consider. Sure she’d shot him in the apartment, but that had been in defense of her home, he was an intruder, and was an imminent threat. Now, they were on a much different playing field. She was fairly sure she could crush him like a bug, with impunity. It was on her then, not to, unless he gave her no choice.

“You’ve got two options: Stand down, or get wrecked” she informed him, a hard edge to her tone,but still matter of fact, mostly calm. She clearly meant what she said. She was still trying to play nice, though she doubted Bozo would be smart and step down.. or at the least attempt to fly. She considered letting him go, but he was still a problem for somebody else. - And make no mistake, he was a problem for somebody else. That mask was too well made to be a home project and she doubted he had the skills to do it himself. It was probably experimental, which means he had help. Somebody he probably answered to.

After a split second, she raised her sword some, while it seemed to glimmer a sliver of golden light. She reached for the power held within the weapon to cut through and seek out the truth, activating the Words of Truth power held within it. “Where did you get the mask,” she asked, and as she did, her words hit like a ton of bricks, cutting into him and his will, seeking to compel an answer, and a truthful one from him. It would be a difficult thing to resist, she knew, but not impossible, and he didn’t have to answer, or even answer that question. It didn’t always compel the truth, but when it worked, whatever was spoken was the truth, even if it didn’t pertain to the questions asked. Of course, she knew she could ask again, and each use made it harder to resist, cut through the lies more and more, and came closer to setting the truth free.

Bozo squinted back. The hairs on his neck was rising while she refused to back down. His gazed intensified as his brutish stare continued. It made him unnerved to see her look down on him as he waited for an answer from her. She merely stepped off the edge into the air! Impulsively, he stepped back. His body moved to clear a spot where he expected her body to fall and break into several pieces, his ear braced for the heavy thump. It never came. His eyes were immediately filled with the colors of brown, purple and black when the bitch appeared instantly in front of him! Bozo immediately twitched and retreated, nearly stumbling over himself when creating a gap between the woman and himself. His eyes widen in pure shock at her little stunt. The mask still leaking, his eyes were fixed upon her as she spoke.

After she finished going him his options, Bozo’s sight considered the exit. He hadn’t counted on the teleporter being involved in this job and his mind was racing for a way out. It was pretty clear their powers were on completely different levels which meant, if he attacked than she was likely to cream him. A matter he wasn’t too enthusiastic about as his mind kept thinking about his ass being kicked half away across the ruins of the apartment. In the silence of his answer the gas started to run low, his muscle definition already fading slightly compared to earlier. A thin, red line dripped down where the mash had been clipped. Blood.

While the woman stood, Bozo’s body went rigid when her sword was activated. His breath became shallow and harsh, nearly seeming to choke on the very air itself as he tried to resist. In a low, raspy voice, he uttered a single sentence. “Stolen from a GeneCorp shipment.”

His head shook and his eyes became terrified, his body bolted for the nearest wall, intending on plowing through it. Even if it threatened to bring the whole building down in his carelessness.

Justine noted the name GeneCorp. Then as he turned and headed toward the nearby wall, she shook her head. “I’m not done with you yet,” she challenged. Reaching out, her left hand attempted to snare his right elbow as she moved to close the gap. If she managed to take hold, her plan was to jerk him back around to face her.

Unknown to them currently, on the floor above, the particle beam had sheared through many materials, including flooring and ceiling. Among those things were wires in a few places, but more importantly a gas line had sheared off that had been run to a heater. It now leaked natural gas into the air, the smell of the marker chemical was leaking into the air. It hadn’t reached them yet, but the vapors would soon begin filling the ruptured apartments with an explosive and flammable mix that could go off at any moment with all the sparks, frayed wires, and of course, the lightning curling around Edgewind.

The gas itself was heavier than air, so it would fall and fill the lower floors first, but who knew how long it would take to create a highly combustible mix for all the rooms. And when it went off… it would expand twelve to sixteen times its normal volume. It would set the air on fire, and plenty of other things, and who knew how many residents could be injured or killed. It was pure dumb luck that the other two apartments that Bozo and ‘Hero’ had crashed through had been unoccupied, their owners out somewhere, perhaps in the rioting. Still, there were others… families living there.

Bozo’s eyes had been focused on the wall and missed the reach for his elbow, yet his ears caught the brunette’s sickly divine voice utter her words. When the man felt the woman’s hand touch his right arm, his left hand instantly reacted. His fingers fisted and whipped about with an aim at where her head should’ve been. At the same time, his right foot had been put in front and farthest out which he used to as a pivot, bring his left around to follow his fist, while her action was jerking him about to face her. He used her action to hastening his arm about to his intended target, punching at her head from where should be the right side. Doing this, he was hoping he would catch her off guard with his surprise attack.

Justine saw his shoulders tense as he whirled about to his right. She half expected him to grab her left hand with his right. He didn’t seem trained for self-defense, not like she was. Seeing him start to turn, she slipped her left foot back, from where it had been leading when she’d made the grab. This took her about a foot out of range of his fist. It would have been a good reaction for a kick, which she half expected, but it never came. It was the long way around for a swing with his left fist. It might have been a wind-up for a follow up front-kick or roundhouse/power-angle kick. At least that’s what her kickboxing training told her. The fist sailed harmlessly past her face, leaving his power ineffective. Bozo still had inertia and momentum from his whirl and strike.

She swept her sword up with one hand, light as a piece of paper to her, but weighing several pounds. She brought it up to ‘check’ his arm, just a brief touch with the flat of the blade, intending to keep his arm away from her and where he could immediately strike back with that hand, if successful. It cut his options down, but she didn’t immediately attack back. She was partially waiting to see if his strike had been reflex, or if he really was pushing the attack, deliberately trying to harm her. Justine was giving him the benefit of the doubt in such a tactic. The exchange took a little longer than it took to blink.

Bozo hadn’t expected that. His arm, even coated by his duster, felt the sting when the sword impacted and the blow vibrated through his bones. He had expected the sword edge to severe bone and flesh when it stuck, not expecting her to use the flat side. His eyes were shocked to note the blade propped up with the smooth side upright to prevent him from back handing her and uninjured. The fist had whizzed by, his arm sent at an angle thanks to the super slapping it away. Her movement seemed as causal as it was quick compared to his brutish methods. The first had been pushed to the right and across his body, tossing him a bit off balance while she stepped into pin it in place before completing the movement.

Bozo’s left foot stumbled forward, bring it to plant in front of his right, trying to keep himself upright. Already panic filled his core when his weakness had began to settle in. The gas had been tearing his insides up, slowly liquefying them, causing his lips to reddened more. Blood streamed down his chin now from the previous thin trickle it had been and stained his skin, though it was difficult to see in the darkness and against his darker skin. His tear ducts already started to dribble the same red from the corners through only a few small specks dropped onto the ruined floor. The gas’ hiss started to die when his knee crumbled underneath him and his body shifted to the side, causing him to slant awkwardly while staring at the woman. His free hand immediately gripped his throat while blood started to choke him, suffocating his airway, and collect underneath the mask.

“Fucking bitch, look what you’ve done you whore!” He rasped through blood dribble along his lower face.

It was then that Justine noted something was terribly wrong. He was starting to really bleed, blood leaking from around the edges of the mask.. and tears of blood were leaking from his eyes, which were beginning to turn red from the rupturing of blood vessels. “What’s happening to you,” she said, moving to catch the weakened brawler with her strong hands, rather than continuing to battle. She had only been fighting defensively anyway. Her deflecting slap and check of the blade didn’t have much power, and he seemed to be out of gas, when he had been going so strong against ‘Hero’. Something terrible was happening. Something was killing him. Likely the mask he wore. As much as it was amping him up… now it was taking all that it had given, and more.

As she pressed the blade against him again, she quietly murmured under her breath. “Edgewind give me the power to heal this man,” she half prayed, beseeching the blade and the forces within it. A moment later, healing light and energy radiated from iit, seeping into him, restoring some of the damage that had been done. With the drugs flooded through his system, there would be no saving him, even though she did not know this. His fate had already been sealed, and by his own hand.

A fresh wave of blood filled his mouth, preventing him from speaking to the brunette super, as he felt her soften his collapse to the ground. Part of him wanted to shove her off and growl for her to let him die in peace, knowing this was likely to happen when he volunteered for Sykes’ little task, yet he had no energy. Every ounce was stolen from him when the drug finally stopped surging through his system. His lungs were flooding with his own blood and smothering him, causing a cough fit when Justine’s blade began to glow then surged him with new energy. Through the superheroine expected it to last, he knew better at a deep, dark level that he was already dead. “Fucking drug is killing me and you stopped me from getting more. This is all your fault. If you had just let me go…”

His mouth filled with a new wave of blood as his fingers edged to the corners of his mask, tearing at the flesh. It peeled easily away revealing the raw muscle underneath and a slightly sickening sweet scent from the wound. In a few grabs, the inhaling device was pulled off as it smacked into the ground with a hollow thunk. His chest rattled and his breath heaved, blood oozing from his mouth to trail upon the floor. He gave one last shudder before his eyes glazed over in an unfocused light and he slumped over, his body brought to the ground by gravity. He was still when his breathing ceased.

You will be beaten.

These were the words that Umbraxis the Destroyer heard on televisions across town as it slithered through the shadows. A challenge. A threat. A rally to come together and challenge the invading darkness that was Umbraxis. This was the message spread across down in these four words, spoken by the chief of police, and backed by two young humans in spandex.

An intriguing gambit, the entity thought, one that deserves investigation. It had figured its messages had gone unheard amidst the chaos of the riots, among the so-called ‘gods’ of this planet fighting among each other in the streets. But they were listening, and their response came with brash and confident taunts. Funny, most respond in terror and panic from the planets it consumed before, but few would respond with such arrogance.

Maybe they had something to back up their claims, and Umbraxis could not be sure unless it saw for itself.

With the few officers it had consumed in the back alleys during the last few days, it had deciphered the location of the Lost Haven Police Department, a building on the upper east side of Sherman Square. A fitting place for it, in honesty, the center of the city gave its enforcement ample access to any danger that would plague the city. A shame it was overwhelmed with the recent riots.

Nevertheless, that was not its point or purpose in coming here. No, it was here to answer the open challenge made by none other than Police Chief Jessica Valdez. Another monumental position for such a city, one filled with metahumans and demi-gods parading around, yet a mortal human still holds control of the police.

Perhaps she has something up her sleeve. Unlikely, but still all the more interesting for the shadowy figure.

It was mid-day when the endless darkness came across the department, a noticeably bigger establishment than the building it had infiltrated in Augusta. Several stories tall, at least 20,000 square feet in length. From its hiding spot nearby, it scanned the building, its vast shadows grasping and scrutinizing the building before it entered. It could sense the people inside, hundreds of people, scurrying about, busy with the city’s affairs. The poor fools, they work tirelessly to keep afloat this city, unaware that their world was merely on borrowed time. At least, until Umbraxis got bored of this small-scale attacks.

Nevertheless, it was time to give them an answer, they deserved that much for the effort they took to get its attention. Slinking from its position, it glided along the ground, silently traversing unnoticed across the street from shadow to shadow, passersby not even stopping to look down as it maneuvered around their feet, flat against the ground. Such strange creatures, these humans. Self-absorbed meatbags with only their immediate surroundings being their primary concern. Most never think about the consequences of their actions, and even fewer bother to do anything to improve their society. It could hear them, complaining about their day-to-day lives. Their coffee is too hot, their boyfriend has not returned their messages in ten minutes, their boss is asking for some arbitrary report as if it is the most important thing in their lives. How inconsequential, but for these fleshbags, it means something.

It did not matter, of course, once Umbraxis became bored with this planet, these complaints would be as empty as the space this planet holds in the system. The void slid underneath the doorstep, swiftly darting through the hallways of the police station. The station was busier than ever, the location swarming with officers, off-duty officers, and local thugs and ruffians being roped in with connections to the riots.

It was here that the killing would begin.

The shadowy humanoid rose up in the center of the room, forming almost instantaneously from the floor to the shock of those in the room. At first, there was silence, faces drowned in color as the being advanced on the front desk, approaching one terrified receptionist with a silent, smoky step. The silence could be broken by the click of a pen, the tension so thick one could taste the fear in every man’s sweat as the being leaned over the mahogany wood, the white orbs locking with the desk clerk’s widening eyes.

“Excuse me," The being began, its formless hands bracing itself on the desk. “But I believe your chief, Miss Jessica Valdez, is expecting me. Something about a challenge. Is there any way you could arrange a meeting? Perhaps schedule an appointment? Or am I already written in?”

The man did not respond in words, but barely audible squeaks. Apparently nobody thought it would show up directly at the police station to answer her, or at least not walk through the front door.

“Well, if you aren’t going to answer me, I’ll just have to go and see her myself.” It stated, glancing at the nearby doors. “Would you mind directing me to her office?”

The response was a unanimous ringing of gunfire, every officer in the room had snapped out of their collective awe and gone straight into their duty. Clips from countless 9mm pistols were unloaded at Umbraxis, the splashes of bullets disrupting the wispy form as they entered its body. The sounds of empty shells smashed against the floor, officers reloading as fast as they could to keep the pressure on. To most, this would be considered overkill, more bullets went into Umbraxis now then had probably been fired over the course of the rioting.

But to the Endless Void, this was barely even a tickle.

As the gunfire died out, the force found to their horror that not only was the Destroyer still standing, but it had barely even noticed that it had been shot at. Their attempt had failed, and now only their slaughter remained.

A slaughter Umbraxis was happy to deliver.

All at once, the room once more erupted into a sea of dark matter constructs, bladed tendrils lashed out from the walls and floors to pierce, tear, and rip at the flesh of its attackers. Cuffed delinquents could only look on as the police force was bisected, limbs being torn and sliced from their respective bodies, the screams becoming audible to those nearby. However, these were not just ordinary screams of men being torn asunder, impaled and crushed under masses of Dark Matter. No, as the crunching of bones and splatter of blood began to echo and resonate through the hallways, a message was sent to all in the vicinity.

The challenge had been answered, Umbraxis the Destroyer had arrived.

As the bodies fell to the floor, they were not met with tile, but with puddles of darkness, catching the splatter and materials in a void, sinking into the floor, disappearing into nothingness as their forms were assimilated by the dark figure that stood among them, motionless since it had arrived at the office.

As the room once again became silent, the creature dared to utter another passive statement as it glanced at the disappearing carnage it had created.

“Well alright. I suppose if nobody is going to point the way. I suppose I’ll have to find her myself.” It said, turning on a heel to head to the next room. “It’s more fun that way.”

MacArthur Island
South Pacific
06:12 Local Time

"Gentlemen, this is MacArthur's fortress. His rock and port against the storms that rage in the world outside this harbor."

Roosevelt and Lincoln traded looks of bemusement while MacArthur went on talking in the third person. They were being shown the sites of the general's mountaintop compound while a pair of armed guards walked close behind. MacArthur carried his large corncob pipe and wore a kimono with floral print on it. The compound's interior had the same Asian inspired architecture as its exterior. The touring party passed several rooms that had their doors opened, the insides revealing troop barracks, mess halls, and training facilities.

"What are the armed men for, General?" Lincoln asked.

"MacArthur's own praetorian guard," replied the general. "The cream of the crop amongst our prospective pool. Only the finest make the cut."

Roosevelt raised an eyebrow. "Prospective pool? What does that mean, sir?"

"In due time," MacArthur said with a chuckle. "For now we shall dine."

The two ex-presidents were led to a large dining area with an ornate wooden table that stretched the length of a football field. Only three places were set at the head of the table. MacArthur motioned for Lincoln and Roosevelt to take a seat while he took the spot at the head of the table. He barked something in Chinese and servants rushed out with covered dishes. They were placed on the table in front of the three men, their tops pulled off to reveal sushi and sashimi with seaweed. The only silverware provided were chopsticks.

"I hope you like it," MacArthur said as he picked up his chopsticks and began to eat.

Roosevelt followed suit while Lincoln struggled with his sticks. He fumbled to work them around a piece of sushi. He gave up on grappling the food and instead turned his sticks in spears, skewering his food and eating it off the stick.

"I'm afraid I am not as worldly as two gentlemen," he said in between bites of his food. "Take away the immortality and the magic, I'm just a country boy from Illinois."

"I find that to be a problem with the Executive Branch as a whole," said MacArthur. "The covert agency as well as the overt branch of the government. Too many men without world experience become president, they cannot see beyond their own borders, they cannot see the curvature of the future before it's too late. What, may I ask, does a farmer from Missouri know about the Oriential mindset?"

"All these years and you're still bitter," said Roosevelt. "Doug, I served in Korea for the Executive Branch. Truman had every right to fire you."

"We only lost Korea because he and the rest of those midwestern hicks in his cabinet let it be lost. Rubes and corn pones all of them."

"You're from Wisconsin, isn't that right, General?" Lincoln said testily.

MacArthur stood up, sweeping his plate aside, and gestured with his pipe as he spoke.

"MacArthur is not a man of any place or time. He is a man of the future, a man who sees the shape of the whole. While they taught Civil War battles at West Point, MacArthur pushed for modern training for cadets. While all eyes were looking towards Europe, only MacArthur realized that Asia was where the fate of the 20th and 21st century would be decided. He has the foresight and the talent unlike any man since antiquity, and time and time again he is held back by the mediocre and the politically callous."

"You have a diseased mind," Lincoln said softly. "I am sure the Founders regret ever bringing you back to life."

MacArthr stared down at Lincoln coldly before he snapped his fingers. Like that, the guards from before were pushing Lincoln and Roosevelt out of their chairs and down a corridor.

"You deny MacArthur his vision, the way others have denied him for so long, for nearly a century. You shall see, the both of you shall see."

The two men were pushed into a room with a metal floor, metal walls, and a large metal ceiling above. A gigantic monitor on the far wall blinked to life and showed the scowling and angry face of an Asian man with a thick mustache and beard. He bellowed something in a foreign tongue, the words vibrating through speakers in the room and rattling the bones in Lincoln and Roosevelt's ears.

"Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Roosevelt, meet my new ally. Born Temüjin on the Asian steppes, you know him better as Ghengis Khan."

The Khan on the screen said something in Mongolian, MacArthur shouted back at him in the language. After a rapid conversation, the General nodded.

"At the height of his power, the Khan and his descendants rampaged and ran roughshod across Asia, the Middle East, and Eastern Europe. Millions died by their hands, and millions more were born from the spread of their seed. It is estimated that around one-half of the world's population are descendants of the Khan, that translates to roughly thirty-five million. For decades MacArthur sought out a way to conjure up the Khan's ghost, and he has succeeded. Now, the perfect melding of man and machine has happened. MacArthur's scientist have found a way to tap into the DNA of the Khan's descendants and, using the warrior's ghost as an imprint, those thirty-five million men and women will be turned into the warriors their ancestors once were. A new Mongol Horde with the reincarnated Khan at the head of the pack. MacArthur's own personal army! Let's see how the recalcitrant politicians will respond when a Mongol warrior cuts out their tongue!"

The general let out a giggle while Roosevelt and Lincoln stared at the giant spirit of the Khan with horrified looks.

Jacqueline Freeman

Jacqueline’s slender hands folded under her chin, her fingers overlapped each other. Her steely eyes stared harshly into her laptop computer settled in her petite lap. The system within it was designed to be an ever adapting cryption, one that thought and reacted like an intelligent AI, making it almost impossible to be hijacked by any normal human or computer. Mostly because there was false openings for outsiders to become trapped in the system. Whenever a hacker had found a window, the firewall pulled them in and immediately shut off all exits much like a rat trap. Then it broke down the signal, installing a virus within the data it stole then allowed it to return with ‘ghost’ data. When it entered an individual's computer the damage was started the moment they looked into their hard earned prize. Often it fried the processor, broke down the operation system and erased the memory making the damage absolute.

It was a dirty and underhanded tactic that had taken several hundred hackers the first time it went up. It was a fitting style for the original creator himself: Cyrus Black. A well known hacker who had broken into the pentagon, stolen money and managed to repeat the offense five times under different aliases. Sadly the fifth time had ended up getting him unwanted attention, quickly resulting in his arrest in Lost Haven ten years prior.

Extremely impressed with his recorder, Jacqueline had gone through painstaking efforts to get in contact with him in the last year or so. Her intentions had been for him to construct a hacker proof system using an adapting program that was built to keep others like him at bay. In the end it made sense that a system built by a notorious hacker, one who knew the best ways to get in and tear up a system, would be ideal to know how to fend off such attacks by others like him.

It took a snake to beat one in this world, a fact many people were blind to due to their over excessive need for nobility.

Jacqueline continued her rambling thoughts as she leaned back and reached for her salted caramel mocha coffee, the heat still wafted off the top of her ceramic mug. It was simple, white through it held the markings of a top brand like the rest of her office. After going most her life without the basic essentials she had made a habit to pamper each moment she got. To forget her days living on the street, starving or shivering, while sitting in her own shit and piss for weeks. It might’ve explained why she was a minor germaphobe.

Taking a savoring slip then setting it back down, she let her mind wandered back the matter at hand. She didn’t find dwelling on event best forgotten being grand motivators or fun, her mind eager for the distraction gotten by the current subject. The thousands dollars used to bribe the prison authorities and pay the prisoner were used in a ‘rehabilitation’ for the prison’s inmates. This included and was not limited to slightly tighter security, better improvements in the living quarters-nothing too pampering-, and even employment in public service to Lost Haven. Those measures were enough to cover her less than noble goals.

It would take a few years, the traces never completely erasable in the real world, for anyone remotely interested. They would discover the discrepancies in the books and spending receipts. The first wired paycheck was only for the system design and creation, not how proficient it ran. Those would come later when she had tested out the program more effectively. Putting aside the risks, Jacqueline wasn’t a fool. She hadn’t gotten to where she was without knowing how easily some people could easily try to step on her on several occasions. A week or so after retrieving the system, she had experts and outside influences scan it before installation. Mainly to ensure it was legit in its defensive measures. In addition, no money was going to be wired until after a six month trial as they both agreed on, his account able to be monitored within his accommodations.

To put it short and simple, it was the state of the line and exceptional in its performance through the data displayed on the screen was less than phenomenal. Jacqueline became bitter over the fact three shipments, all ten barrels worth, from the PX32 drug trials had gone missing. They were scheduled for disposal, the paperwork crisp and cleared through the proper channels. Through they were labeled as ‘toxic’ building materials, their materials improper for the public health safety. The fact they were stolen hadn’t bothered her much, but the fact they hadn’t heard from the ‘thief’ over the test results was rather irritating. Naturally it was a behind the scenes plot to have the supplies stolen and sold on the black market, a hidden way to see if anything could be salvage from the failed serum and also to secretly promote its potential. If a trial about four generations behind could produce powerful results, imagine what a serum that’s up to date could do.

Jacqueline smirked at the thought, then ran through the unlisted and black listed items on her to do schedule. Today’s agenda was going to be booked to its fullest from the looks of it. She reached to take another drink from her mug. The coffee salty and sweet on her tongue, burning it slightly on the way down to warm her inside and out. It was the little things in life that made these unsavory tasks bearable. She skirted her manicured nail over the touch pad over to a fold labeled MFP, then tapped it. Next came the subfolder Building 51. Another brief click and her screen flickered alive, popping up with images most people would classify as gruesome.

She dragged up subject A-0001 to engulf the whole screen, converting the file to memory for a brief second before she shifted to compare it to the video she would play in a moment. It certainly didn’t match the description completely. Jacob Riley was a twenty-four year male arrested for arson, attempted murder, and rape charge who had volunteered for a ‘medical’ project in exchanged for a chance at early parole. The pitiful thing was he managed to shorten the sentence only by failing to survive the tests. Jacqueline passively started the video while she reclined backwards, her head tilted to watch the scene play out in a patient and bored way. She, after all, had seen it several times over the course of months since the alien had been discovered.

The subject was strapped down and held firmly to a horizontal metal table, much to Mr. Riley’s visual discomfort as he tested the strength against his own with a sudden jerk. It didn’t give. His wrists managed to get only a few inches away when straps stopped them. His wide, panicked blue eyes followed the scientists to a small cart, their figures dressed in bio-hazard suits, and gently removed a rock from a nitrogen cooled container. Carefully holding the misty and grey item in his fingers, the scientist casually and calmly walked to Riley where he pressed the thing against the prisoner’s bare skin. The subjected howled in pain, the staff obvious or numb to the suffering they were causing a fellow human being. They were the best after all. Lacking morals and untainted by the social stigmas pressed upon individuals by the public expectations, these scientist were after answers and nothing would deter them from their goal. Save death itself. Growing bore of the length it would take for the subject to show visual signs, she grasped her mug in hand while occasionally taking sip and began to fast forward.

The CEO stopped on hour five. One of the staff, a woman in a bio-suit that had assisted the man who infected Riley, had come in each hour to take blood samples. This time when she drew it, there came a slight surprise with the color causing her to comment on it. That brought the older man into the isolated cell to examine it then quickly usher the female through the door where Jacqueline knew they would examine and record the findings. Meanwhile, Riley’s teeth gritted in pain with each movement. Sweat poured off his figure and his throat rattled off a cough, sounding to be mucus settling in his chest, only nothing came out. His body was limply hanging in the restraints, showing clear signs of sickness.

She hit the forward button again up to three hours later, about eight hours into the experiment. The blood had turned a darker black when the woman drew another sample and frowned in concern, her expression barely caught on camera through the plastic cover’s glare. Her concerns for the patient were clear when she mentioned the colorization then proceeded to examine the samples further, letting the male scientist physically check the subject and noted some alarming changes. He immediately slammed on the pedal to bring the table from its horizontal to a vertical position allowing the subject to lay flat. Riley complained and moaned about being too hot causing the head staff member to motion for his assistant, the woman lowering the temperature and bring over ice. In half an hour they had submerged Riley under a pile of ice and lowered the temperature within the quarantined laboratory causing his sweat, coughing, and other symptoms to cease for the moment.

For the final hour, hour nine, Riley suffered the most before he finally died. His blood completely black and tar like, his mouth vomiting it like ink over his skin where it stained. The man’s body convulsed and jarred in seizures sending chunks of ice shattering onto the floor while the two scientist struggled to hold him down. Already they rushed to save the man’s failing life, their figures bring in machines to do damage control as additional staff spring into action. His eyes, ears, and mouth started to leak the very same black stuff and it seemed all color had drained from his body. His wide eyes averted to the side and his lips fluttered in soft whispers, appearing to having a conversation with someone not there. At the end of the hour...his heart flat lined. Riley went limp on the table causing the staff to hastily dig him out then use the defibrillator thrice, only to be rewarded with the monitor’s loud, disheartening blare echoing in the room.

It was several months earlier with no trace where it could’ve gone. A mystery for another, she admitted, her perfectionist nature gnawing at her the longer she pondered over the answer.

Jacqueline’s fingers clicked and closed the video’s window screen. She then slide the mouse over to the power button, her hand raising her coffee and downing the last savory bit, in her wait for the laptop to shut completely down. She set her empty mug aside and back on her desk. When the screen finally went pitch black, she snapped the top down softly while setting the machine in her leather Gucci bag. Unless someone truly knew her, the encryption password was impossible to decode as anyone with common sense knew she wouldn’t have gone with the obvious answers. Jacqueline rolled her chair over to face her desk and started to focus on the public finances, ones which showed her company in a much better light. The first task on the list was the stocks. She had her company invest in manufacture materials used in the repairs for Lost Haven in most recent months. It turned out it was a good investment thanks to the metahumans and more continually causing collateral damage every few weeks. The private businesses, local home and more in the areas of Sherman Square has suffered the most within the year. It was also less confrontal since several mysterious investors seemed to be buying up the properties around Sharmen Square left and right.

It bothered her for reasons she didn’t fully understand, her mind concluding the reason was the listed buyers. Some made sense while others didn’t and this fact bothered her mind because was a blunt, public insult to her intelligence. A matter that irritated her to her very core. Instead of driving herself nuts over the matter, Jacqueline chose to carefully move onto the next one. As she examined the founding budget for the Lost Haven Orphanage, her ears caught the door click open. She pulled her eyes from the screen to sight her secretary, Angelica Gibbs, trotted toward the desk in her brisk way. Jacqueline had always liked Ms. Gibbs for her efficiency and business like manner that aligned so well with her own. Both women wore Doir brand with white blouses, black dress jackets and high heels. However the difference came when Jacqueline worn the tight pencil skirt with a side slit and Ms. Gibbs wore loose dress pants.

The blond’s heels clicked across the tile flooring as she paused to the desk side, her hand passing over a manilla folder. Firmly holding and pulling it close to her chest, Jacqueline began to skim through the contents in mild interest. In a chirper, energetic voice the secretary spoke. “Your eleven am meeting will happen in an hour and a Dr. Morgan is here to see you. He says it’s rather urgent and being held up by security at the front desk. Something about bizarre virtual readings on Ms. Ruth Garth he believes would benefit the company.”

Jacqueline paused in her reading, her face turned up to give Ms. Gibbs a questionable looked. It prompted a reply from the secretary that further explained the necessity to bring the matter up directly to her. “I’ve already sent someone to talk to him but he refuses to speak to anyone other than you. Keeps insisting it has something to do with a virus and the victim dying earlier in the diagnosis.”

”Tell him I will be down at one pm sharp, not a moment sooner and escort him to the board room in the east wing.”

“Yes ma’am.” With those words, Ms. Gibbs removed herself to allow Jacqueline to finish up her work and ready herself for the board meeting.

“Warden, I’m just getting a visual of the compound now.”

War-Pulse was quick on his delivery, he had to be considering that his current travelling time was as fast as a military fighter plane. With that kind of speed, it had not been very long to get to the outskirts of the city and follow the GPS signal that Sherlock’s data had so fortunately placed for him to follow.

“I have to say, these STRIKE guys know where to hide their super-secret bases.” He continued, “In this many miles of pure forest...the only other thing out here are moose and racist hicks that already think the government is after them and their sister-wives.”

“As...brash as you make it, you’re absolutely right.” Warden replied in a timely fashion, considering the two had been operating under radio silence until this point. “No overhead airline traffic, no nearby highways or roads...aside from the impressional group of backpackers, this place is off the grid...virtually undetectable unless you already know the location.”

“Well, we’re lucky we got a posh AI on our side, at least.” War-Pulse quipped back, keeping his momentum by arcing his trajectory, establishing a circling pattern over the compound. “Are you sure that they can’t see me up here?”

“From what Sherlock has delivered of the schematics, STRIKE’s radar can’t detect anything smaller than a fighter plane, unless someone is looking up, which is unlikely, they won’t see you coming. Even if they do, we can cut their communications, preventing any real resistance to your drop.” Warden’s voice turned from his usual passive monotone, now taking an authoritative assurance. “Now remember, Equilibrium is several floors below surface level of the compound, sublevel 7.2, to be exact. In order to reach Level 7, considering the density of the structure and the amount of power you can generate from a kinetically charged divebomb….you will want to descend at a minimum of Mach 1 if you want to penetrate through the floors.”

“Pft...Mach 1...that’s babytown frolics, Warden.”

“You say that now, but you’re slamming through concrete, metal, and ceramics...not to mention that as soon as you hit level 7 you will have to stop any momentum you have and fight your way to subsection 7.2. At that point, Sherlock and I will deliver the suite to cut the power momentarily, giving you and Equilibrium time to find his robotic suit and fight their way out of the base.”

“Alright, alright, I get it, Warden, this is going to be a time constraint. Can we just get started already? I’ve been circling them for thirty seconds, and it won’t be long before they see me up here.”

“Right, on three….two….one….”

War-Pulse barely waited for the words ‘go’ to leave Warden’s mouth before a kinetic burst rocketed him towards the ground at neck breaking speeds. He began to glow with energy, the kinetic sheath covering his body began to hum and bolster as he descended, his appearance changing into that of a comet as he dropped. By now, the soldiers below could see him coming, but it was far too late for them to react with anything substantial. He was moving too fast, coming in like a missile at speeds that no short range targeting system would be able to lock on to reliably, a human bullet careening from the sky, aiming for the heart of this mighty building. As he descended, War-Pulse allowed his body to twirl and rotate, adding to his penetrating ability by turning himself into a drill as well as a bullet. The descent took a whole of 6 seconds, each one more intense than the last as his speed continued to pick up.

It was the impact, however, that made it clear this was no light show. The immediate steel on the surface was sheared through like tin foil, the kinetic point War-Pulse had created in front of him as he fell with an outstretched fist was more than enough pounds per square inch to decimate the initial floors. The area around each impact shattered and rippled, even the mighty structure being no match for this ballistic nightmare descending from the sky. The very sound caused the whole compound to be alerted, with each direct impact rumbling through the building like an earthquake. In each instant, War-Pulse counted the floors, three, four, five, six…

At seven the mercenary opened his extended fist, pulling it back to his body only to release another surge of energy with a forward push, enough to halt his descent. This was also not a subtle descent, however, as the burst impounded the floor below, pulverizing it into shattered debris and wreckage, another explosion rupturing through the nearby hallways of his destination, a cloud of dust falling from the above floors, covering War-Pulse in a massive layer of dust.

By the time the sounds of destruction had stopped, there was only the timely sound of an emergency alarm going off in the distance, followed by the sounds of cocking guns and stamping feet moving in on his position. As he touched down onto the four way hall he had landed in, he tried to get a read on who was coming by the sound of how many footsteps coming his way. At best, it was six soldiers initially, more than likely only armed with light assault weapons. They had no time to grab their heavy weaponry, but more would be coming that did, so he had to move through these initial troops rather fast.

With a gesture of his hand, a kinetic wave cleared his immediate vicinity of smoke, giving him an ample view of the room. There was not much he was not already used to, considering this was not the first compound he had ever raided. Metallic hallways, steel grating floor, high tech cameras and sensors now loosely hanging from the wall. The only real information he could gather right now was from a sign hanginng from one leftover screw, a directory clearly labeled “Level 7”. From that directory, it clearly marked subsection 2 as one of the levels cordoned off to one of the smaller hallways, the assumption being that holding cells were not this base’s primary function.

The only thing stopping his advance was the several soldiers he originally had guessed now coming into view and blocking his way.

“Stop right there!” One of them shouted, pulling up a pretty state-of-the-art looking weapon, something along the lines of improved XM-8’s.

War-Pulse, of course, responded in the mature way by throwing an energy blast into the soldier’s face, sending him cartwheeling into the air and slamming into a nearby wall. The soldier’s responded in kind by layering him with bullets.

“C’mon, boys! You’re supposed to be the best o’ the best, here!” War-Pulse cried out, launching himself forward as another energy blast of his collided with a soldier's chest. “Put your backs into it! Let me see what STRIKE is all about!” He turned and delivered a devastating haymaker to another man to punctuate his point, sending the poor fellow into another wall.

“Cut the chatter and keep moving, Pulse.” Warden’s voice came in, “You have 2 minutes until they get communications unscrambled and another 3 before Director Anderson gets a call about this raid.”

“I got it, keep your shirt on!” War-Pulse replied, snatching an oncoming attacker by the chest with one arm and flinging him across the room, bouncing along the floor to a stop. “It doesn't hurt to have a little fun on the mission!”

Of course, the mercenary picked up speed as soon as his attackers were neutralized. With another flick of his wrist, a kinetic wave launched from his hand and threw a group of STRIKE’s finest back into the other hallways. He went into a sprint, delivering a series of punches, kicks, and energy blasts to those popping up as he made his way to subsection 2.

The prison block was not hard to reach after the initial assault, with Sherlock’s handy schematics, the cell of Equilibrium wasn’t too far down the path.

Of course, this was blocked by another four soldiers, all armed and ready to fight back.

“Look, guys, be serious, here.” War-Pulse called out as soon as he came into their view, his body radiating energy as he waltzed in. “I just took out a few platoons of guys just like you. Broken bones all around, you can be smart about this and step aside, or you can all be taking advantage of workman’s comp like the rest of the men who thought they could stop me. ”

The four responded by alinging their laser sights right on Pulse, their guns cocking in unison.

“All right, but you can’t say I didn’t try to be reasonable.” War-Pulse said with a shrug before moving into their melee range before they could even blink. The first two men were flung aside with a small burst from Pulse, their bodies ragdolling through the air as they hit numerous walls and supply crates in the area. With a quick punch to the gut and a follow-up uppercut, a third man was knocked aside. Before the fourth man even got the chance to land a punch, he was met with a brutal forearm to the face, momentarily dazing him long enough to be kicked in the side so hard he launched across the room, his body denting into Equilibrium’s door.

With another sigh, the mercenary remarked in a casual tone. “And I wasn’t even tryin’ yet…” Before briskly striding to Equilibrium’s door. He lightly knocked on the material, the lack of echo hinting at it being solid metal, most likely a few grades tougher than steel. However, in the hands of War-Pulse, even this barrier was no match for the silver-clad warrior. His fingers ripping into the door, War-Pulse squeezed hard, scrunching the metal into a wrinkled scrap before ripping it clear from its hinges with one clean stroke, the sound of rending metal echoing through the white halls.

Before the man inside even began to speak, War-Pulse was quick to give the low-down. “Ah, there you are, Equilibrium, good to see you without a helicopter in my face. Now I know I’m prolly not the first guy you wanted to see, but I’m bein’ paid to get you out. Now you can either gripe and be upset about it, or we can take the opportunity that my man on the outside gave us with the help of your AI to get your mech and blast our way out. Alright?”

MacArthur Island
South Pacific
13:33 Local Time

"What a scoundrel," Theodore Roosevelt snarled. "The audacity, the sheer hair-brained folly of it all."

The 26th president paced the floors of the small cell he found himself in while the 16th president sat on the cell's cot with his legs crossed. The enclosure's six by eight feet space made it a tight space for the two men, especially when one man was of Lincoln's height and one of Roosevelt's girth. While Roosevelt paced and grumbled, Lincoln breathed slowly and closed his eyes. His many years on the planet had opened his mind up to new experiences and ideas. The idea of meditation was one of those ideas he fully embraced when he learned of it. The truth was he had been doing something similar to meditation all his life without knowing what it was. His ability to slow down and think a crisis over rationally helped him through the Civil War and the adventurous years that followed.

Men like Theodore and MacArthur thrived when they had the initiative, they needed to be engaged in activity lest they stop and have to face doubts and second guesses within their own mind. For Abraham Lincoln, those voices needed to be faced. It was only until a problem was observed from its many sides could a plan of action be surmised. It was better to be a little slow and make the right choice, then to rush into disaster.

"Mr. Lincoln?!" Roosevelt said loudly. "Are you paying attention? Only we can stop MacArthur's Mongol hordes from rampaging across the globe and ushering in a new age of barbarism controlled by that buffoon and all you can do is nap?! My God, man, the time has come to save the world. You are a Republican, Mr. Lincoln. Act like it!"

Lincoln opened his eyes a smidge and smiled at Roosevelt through half-closed lids.

"When I was a circuit lawyer in Illinois some years ago, I defended a man who had been accused of stealing his neighbor's chickens. The neighbor got up on the stand and railed about how we saw the accused hanging around his home the night of the theft, about how the accused was eating many chickens over the next few days..."

He searched through the pockets of his suit and vest coat as he spoke, ignoring the annoyed look on Roosevelt's face.

"But I asked him, 'Mr. So-and-so,' I can't rightly recall his name, 'Mr. So-and-so, did you see the defendant steal those chickens?' And he said 'No, but I know my neighbor and he is a scoundrel of the lowest quality--' and I cut him off and said 'Assumption has no place in a court of law, Mr. So-and-so. You have no proof.' Well...," Lincoln flashed a smirk. "I trotted out a bunch of character witnesses. This man was a God fearing man, a community pillar, a man who was seen by many as a leading light in the time... and I lost the trial anyway, the jury didn't give a hoot about assumption or character. This pillar of the community was forever known as a chicken thief. Point of the story is this, you think you know someone, but you don't. You never really do, I suppose. MacArthur thinks he knows us, but he doesn't. Even though he's made a career out of analyzing an opponent's mind, he still does not know us fully--"

With a rip on his suit vest, Lincoln pulled a small item sewn into the cloth. He held up a lockpick into the dim lighting of the jail cell.

"And he has no idea of our little tricks."

--

The compound guard strolled down the corridor at an easy and slow pace. He felt a yawn come on and went to stifle it when a large hand wrapped itself around his mouth while another powerful hand grabbing his shoulder. The unseen attacker tossed him hard against the side of the wall and knocked the man unconscious before he could even scream. Lincoln searched the man and came up with a radio, a combat knife, and an automatic weapon he tossed to Roosevelt.

"What is the plan, sir," Roosevelt asked as he examined the weapon. Lincoln rolled his sleeves up past his elbows and slipped the guard's radio into his back pocket. The knife he palmed and felt the weight of the weapon.

"I will try to find the communications center of this facility and radio Franklin back at Rushmore."

"I believe I shall make a beeline for that lovely room where the Khan is being held."

"Always eager to lock horns with a Mongol warlord?" Lincoln asked with a smirk.

Roosevelt's face broke out into his large grin as he said, "Far and away the best prize life has to offer is the chance to beat an enemy in dire need of a good beating."

"Bully," Lincoln said as he disappeared down the corridor away from Roosevelt.

"Bully, indeed," Theodore said as he went in the opposite direction.

Zac pushed up on a barbell at the Albany State College athletic center. One of his teammates spotted him as the running back lifted and let fall the weights. All around him resounded the noise of his teammates using the other equipment that was provided in the athletic center. Heavy breathing, grunts, and the occasional clank of metal weights striking the ground. After several reps, Zac lifted the bar up one more time and then, with the help of his spotter, he placed the bar onto a set of hooks above him where the barbell could rest until someone else needed to perform a bench press.

Now that he had finished his reps at the bench press, Zac momentarily sat on the bench because his phone began to ring. When he picked up his phone, Zac discovered that his phone’s caller id showed that Sammy was calling. That seemed peculiar, since what reason did Sammy have for calling him? Why would his girlfriend not be calling him? In spite of these questions, Zac answered the call.

“Hello? Sammy?”

“You need to come down here right now!” Zac heard his out of breath girlfriend blare into his ear. Well, at least this answered the question why he was receiving a call from Sammy’s phone, or at least partially answers that question.

“Slow down, Kelly. What’s the matter?” Zac tried to calm his girlfriend down. Although he did not yet know what was going on, Zac could tell from Kelly’s rattled voice that she (and presumably Sammy, since Kelly was calling on her friend’s cell phone).

“Sammy and I were just taking a nice stroll through Washington Park when out of nowhere…” However, there was a short interruption in what his girlfriend was saying. Zac was still in the dark about what was going on, but he could heard another man’s voice in the background.

“Kelly?” Zac stood straight up from the bench where he had just a few seconds ago finished his bench press exercise. Before he got back to his conversation with his girlfriend, Zac mentioned to several of his teammates that he had to go because his girlfriend was experiencing a crisis. After he let his teammates know that he had to leave, Zac step outside of the athletic center and headed towards his car.

“Zac? You still there?”

“Yes. I just needed to get away from the guys so that I had more privacy.”

“Like I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted, when out of nowhere this archer who’s built like a bodybuilder jumped us out of nowhere. I’m triple tasking right now between talking to you, dragging an unconscious Sammy around, and trying to get away from this guy! How long until you can get here?”

“Momentarily”

---

Kelly pressed her back against a snow-covered tree while she was catching her breath. She peered over her shoulder around the tree to make sure Odysseus was not on their heels anymore. Once she confirmed that Odysseus was not in sight, Kelly turned back to her unconscious friend, whom Kelly held against her own body with her lower pair of arms so that Sammy would stay warm. Kelly then took a meager handful of snow and rubbed it against Sammy’s cheek.

“Come on, Sammy, wake up.” The wasp-girl said under her breath, knowing that she could not keep pulling her best friend and fending off this crazy archer. And she wondered where Zac was. He said he would be there momentarily.

“There you are!” Kelly’s heart jumped within her. Unfortunately that was not the voice of her boyfriend, but rather of her and Sammy’s pursuer. “You know that if you stay still, this will all be over that much quickly, for both you and me.”

However, Kelly all of the sudden saw what almost seemed like a brown and tan blur go right past her. One moment, the man so-called Odysseus was standing in front of her and Sammy. The next, he has been tackled onto the ground with Zac standing above him.

“Well, looks like your football experience is finally paying off.” Kelly joked with her boyfriend.

“I’m an offensive player, Kelly. I don’t tackle people on a regular basis. But sure, you can think that.”

“So, the short one has finally shown up. I was wondering when you’d arrive.” Odysseus rose to his feet and picked Zac off his feet. He then tossed Zac into the air towards the tree that Kelly had been hiding behind. However, before he could collide with the tree, Kelly placed Sammy aside and jumped into the air. Her wasp wings fluttered in the cold, winter air as she rose up and caught Zac could hit the tree. Once she had caught her boyfriend, Kelly landed on the snow-covered ground.

“Maybe I should play wide receiver.” Kelly teased her boyfriend as she let go of him not that they were back on the ground.

“I think we might more pertinent issues to deal with now than whether the ASC football program will accept a wasp-girl on their roster.”

"Fucking STRIKE." Commissioner Valdez growled. She was seated at her desk watching a recording of the Nightly Show with Stuart Walsh. Boom and Thunderbolt stood on the opposite side of Jessica's desk, watching the broadcast as well. Boom was just as angry as Jessica about this; while Thunderbolt was more worried about the safety of the people of Lost Haven now that STRIKE had lied to them. "All they've done is just sit on their hands while Umbraxis marches across the state murdering people in droves. Now they want to wave him off as nothing more than another psychopathic metahuman serial killer?" Jessica placed her head in her palms before turning around and addressing the two superheroes. "After Ryder's little 'talk' with Walsh, we can kiss any chance of assistance by the big names goodbye. Going against STRIKE is bad publicity." Boom turned and started pacing around the room. She was anxious of the coming conflict with Umbraxis. Could the speedsters stop an alien planet killer on their own? She'd had her fingers crossed that someone like Icon or Iron Knight would show up. But any hope of getting some half-decent help was dashed when STRIKE went on national television and did all but call them a pack of paranoid nut jobs. "What about the little guys?" Thunderbolt asked, his arms crossed over his chest. "There's plenty of small timers who'd like nothing more than to stick it to the government and fight the good fight at the same time." Valdez shrugged. "It's possible. But if Umbraxis is as nasty as he makes himself out to be then we'll need a lot more than a couple of amateurs to take him down." Jessica reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a pistol and a stack of files. Boom dashed across the room and looked through the entire stack in the time it took the police commissioner to blink.

"What is this?"

"If you two can't take Umbraxis down, and no one else shows up, then I'll be forced to call in a couple of favors." Valdez said simply.

"Most of these guys are criminals!"

"You're young. Naive. I wouldn't expect you to understand that the world isn't as black and white as the cartoons make it out to be. These guys are as eager to stop the world from being destroyed as you are; just not for the same reasons."

Thunderbolt picked up the files to see for himself. "Concrete? El Toro? Tinker? Succubus?" Thunderbolt read off the names of the some of the files. "I've fought most of these guys. No way they'll work with us."

"Criminals all want the same thing: money. Everyone has a price; even him." Valdez commented as she tapped on one particular folder. Thunderbolt slid it out of the stack and opened it up. "Gray Owl nearly killed my sister and me the last time we saw him." Harvey shook his head slightly in disbelief. Were they really going to put together a team of super criminals to take down an alien death god? This all felt so surreal. Like the first time Harvey's powers manifested: it was akin to walking on the clouds. As if he weighed less than the air around him. "Let's hold off on making any calls until we know for sure what we're dealing with. Maybe Ryder is right; maybe we can take down Umbraxis on our own. I mean no offense commissioner, but I could have taken down the Augusta Police Department on my own." There was a knock on the door to the commissioner's office. A young beat cop stepped in and cleared his throat before addressing Jessica Valdez. "Ma'am, there are a couple of metas outside. They want to speak with you and your..." The officer looked towards the two speedsters before continuing. "Cohorts." Jessica nodded before standing to her feet and walking briskly out of the room. Thunderbolt and Boom followed behind her at a distance. The trio arrived in the expansive lobby of LHPD Central. Men in uniform and suits walked to and fro as they went about their business keeping the city safe from all manner of crimes. While the superheroes were often given the most credit for taking on Lost Haven's crime, it was the boys in blue who dealt with the common, everyday street crime. For every alien assassin Icon took down, the police brought in two dozen crooks and murderers.

The doors to the police station opened and in waltzed the strangest group of people Harvey and Laura had ever seen. Five people who couldn't look more out of place next to the army of uniformed officers walking around them. A blonde woman stepped out from crowd and towards the commissioner. She walked forward with a purpose and strength that Thunderbolt couldn't help but envy. The sway of her voluptuous hips came to an unfortunate end when she reached Jessica and shook hands with the commissioner. The mystery girl's freckled face lit up like a thousand suns when she smiled. "I think I'm in love." Harvey whispered. Laura responded with a swift elbow to the ribs. "Close your mouth, T. You're drooling all over my boots." Thunderbolt grunted in discomfort and adjusted his footing to appear taller and his chest more broad. "You must be Commissioner Valdez. A pleasure. My name's May; but most people call me Skyquake." May spoke with some sort of accent; Irish, perhaps. Harvey thought. "Nice to meet you. Would I be wrong in assuming you're here to join the task force?" Valdez responded. Skyquake smiled and nodded. "Yup. These boys behind me are a part of my crew; we call ourselves the Vanguard. Where do you need us?" Valdez walked past May and approached the Vanguard. She inspected each member thoroughly.

The largest of the bunch was a brute in a construction worker's garb. He towered over the rest of the team at an unnatural 7'3. His arms were as thick as tree trunks and his chest looked to be the size of a small car. "We call him Demolition. He can change his size and shape. Nasty fellow, aren't you, Gary?" Demolition smirked and adjusted the cigar between his teeth.

Next in line was a man dressed like a wannabe mercenary. Black fatigues and modern body armor with a stereotypical skull design on the helmet wrapped up the "I think I'm a badass" motif. A pair of metal baseball bats were slung around his back inside custom made sheathes. Valdez glanced at the pistol on the man's hip before addressing him. "And who are you supposed to be?" She asked. "Skull-Thrasher's the name, lady. Remember that when I save yer life." May gave Skull a pointed look before crossing her arms and debriefing the commissioner. "Regeneration and nigh-unbreakable bones. Jeremy here spent two tours in Iraq and a third in Cambodia. Not that you'd ever know that last part. He's got a big mouth but a guy who can't die is pretty useful; trust me, I've tried."

"Interesting." Valdez muttered as she looked at the next member of the Vanguard. The majority of the man's face was covered by a Keffiyeh but what little skin showed was a shade of beige. An AK-47 rested on his shoulder. The black hoodie the man was wearing did little to hide the kevlar vest bugling from underneath. "Aban Ali Sahar's his name, but most of us call him Supercell. He can control the weather." May explained. "We found him in a tiny airport in the middle of Kansas. Didn't speak a word of English for the first week on the team. He grew up in Damascus fighting the military as a part of the FSA. Hell of a right hook too if I remember right."

"Last but not least is Martin." Martin bowed slightly in respect. He appeared to be in his late forties, and was dressed like a character out of Final Fantasy. He carried a massive sword on his back and an ancient looking book on his belt. The armor and robe combo was pretty unique, too. "He was possessed by an inter-dimensional monster calling itself...God, I always forget how to pronounce his name-" "Graa'tazken." Martin interrupted. "I am the Harold of Graa'tazken. I suppose you would call me a wizard of sorts." Valdez nodded her head in approval. "A fine team. I'm glad you could join us." Thunderbolt and Boom approached the Vanguard and introduced themselves. "I'm Boom. This is my brother Thunderbolt. Come on. We'll tell you what we know when we get to the Commissioner's office."

The eight of them headed back upstairs and down a labyrinth of hallways until they found themselves in the spacious office Commissioner Valdez called home. As soon as the door closed behind them, however, the unmistakable sound of gunfire started up back in the lobby. Jessica grabbed a phone off her desk and contacted the front desk. "What's going on down t-" She started before the sound of screaming panic interrupted her. "It's Umbraxis! Oh Jesus, oh mother of God...He's killing them all! HELP!" A cacophony of murder and death echoed throughout the halls of the police department as Umbraxis slaughtered wave after wave of cops in his march towards the Commissioner. "You've got to get down there!" Valdez ordered.

Thunderbolt and Boom turned towards the Vanguard. "Alright, let's hope you're up to the job. Move it!" The door to the commissioner's office was blown off its hinges as Boom and Thunderbolt rocketed down the hall at full speed. Papers were kicked into the air and fleeing secretaries were thrown aside as the two speedsters ran towards the action. The sprint took less than a second before the Smith children came screeching to a halt. The Avatar of Umbraxis the Destroyer was appeared at the top of the stairs. It seemed to be made of pure darkness and shadow; save for its chillingly white eyes. "Shit." Thunderbolt muttered. "He's scarier in person." Boom began to dance on the tips of her toes. She clutched her calloused hands into fists. Her face contorted with anger as she stared down the most powerful being on earth. "I thought you'd be taller." A trail of lightning appeared as Boom blitzed across the floor towards Umbraxis. At the same time, Thunderbolt ran up the nearby wall at an angle. The two reached Umbraxis and simultaneously threw all of their body weight behind their fists as they collided with the mass of shadow.

The speedsters didn't skip a beat before racing into the lobby and out of Umbraxi's reach, wondering if he'd so much as felt their attack. "Rapid-fire punches now. In and out; don't take more than half a second. Can't let this guy touch us, T." The speedsters dashed back up the stairs after their quick huddle. They raced around Umbraxis in a circle, throwing out hundreds of punches in less than half a second before racing away from the cosmic deity and running back in for another attack. After five of these maneuvers the speedsters rallied again, this time at the end of the hall leading to the commissioner's office. The Vanguard team, running at full gait, rounded the corner just in time to meet the speedsters. "How fast can you fight, Skyquake?" The Irish girl answered quickly. "About mach 3." Boom cursed under her breathe. "We need to get back in there. I doubt he'll be reeling for long if at all." Thunderbolt reminded the team. Skyquake nodded. "Alright Vanguard. Let's do this!"

The team charged. The speedsters ran forward and did another drive-by attack, this time aiming at the Avatar's 'knees' before running back out again. Skyquake rocketed forward, the sound barrier cracking as she hit mach 3 in a single stride and flew towards Umbraxis head on. She let loose a powerful right hook with all her 100+ tonner strength before following it up with a left cross. When she was knocked away, Demolition ran in behind her. He grew to ten feet tall (he needed to duck at that point) and tackled Umbraxis down the stairs and into the lobby. The Harold of Graa'tazken drew his sword and spoke in a dead tongue before his blade began to glow as bright as the sun. He charged towards Umbraxis sluggishly swiped at the more powerful villain with the massive blade. Skull-Thrasher and Supercell stood away from the fighting, letting the bigger guns do what they could. "We need to take this outside." Supercell yelled in broken English. "My powers no work inside!" Skull-Thrasher tackled Supercell to the ground as a pair of tentacles came flying in his direction. "You're welcome maaaaatteee!" Skull screamed as he was tossed away.

"He's barely doing anything." Thunderbolt wondered aloud as he stopped next to his sister to catch his breath. "Probably wants to see what we can do before he lets loose. Smug bastard. Is that all you've got?!"

“…Waitaminute, what’s a Nemean?” Eric asked between bites of his burger as Scott filled him in on his recent conflict with Polemos, the young spider woman, and a pair of extremely powerful individuals claiming to be Greek Gods. Not wanting to get into the nuances of Greek mythology Scott chuckled and attempted to change the subject.

“So, do you have any ideas on how to get business moving again now the riots are over with?” Scott asked. Though he suspected that business would be down at lest temporarily while the city recovered from the riots that had threatened to burn it to the ground, he knew that they couldn’t afford to wait for things to pick back up again organically.

“So, what do you think of Keira?” Eric asked, ignoring Scott’s question.

“What?” Scott asked, genuinely surprised by the question.

“Well, I have it on good authority that…” Eric started.

“Eric, I just told you about an encounter with Greek Gods during the riots, there’s a maniac out there that may or may not be some sort of alien being killing everyone that it comes in contact with just days after that whole Nightmare fiasco was resolved, and you’re asking me about girls?” Scott stated indignantly.

“What can I say? I’m a consistent motherfucker.” Eric said proudly. “So, Keira…what do you think?”

Before Scott could answer, his attention drifted elsewhere. To anyone passing by, he would have looked like just another guy deep in thought. However, with his enhanced senses, he was listening. Something was going down not all that far from the café that he and Eric were currently patronizing.

Gunshots and screaming.

Scott didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he could tell that it was serious. He took a quick glance around the café and shot Eric a look that let him know that something was wrong.

“What is it?” Eric asked, suddenly aware of his friend’s change in demeanor.

“I gotta go. Something’s going on.” Scott said as he got up from the table and made his way out of the café.

“Yeah, sure…fine. I’ll get the tab.” Eric said as he watched Scott vanish out the front door.

Scott made his way down the street towards the source of the commotion, and with each second that passed, he knew that the situation grew more and more dire. He began looking around the area for a place where he could safely change out of his civilian clothes into something more...suitable for the situation. Relief came in the form of a small alley across the street. Scott raced across the busy street, keeping pace with the other pedestrians in the area in an effort to not bring attention to himself. When he finally got to the alley, he stepped inside and ducked behind a dumpster. Scott began spinning, in place, creating a slight whirlwind as he moved, however it was over in the blink of the eye. When he came to a standstill he had shed his day to day clothing, and was now donning the familiar blue and silver uniform of his famous alter ego. Within moments he was airborne, streaking toward the source of the commotion.

Icon was horrified to discover the location of the disturbance. It was the last place that he would have suspected would be susceptible to such a brazen attack. The Lost Haven Police Department. He could hear the shouts of officers as their fired their weapons, and he could also hear the sounds of a larger struggle inside. Icon got a bead on the location inside the building of the combatants and came crashing through the outer wall of the precinct, causing the wall to explode in a cloud of dust and debris. He looked around and saw several metas that he had never seen before sprawled on the ground, as well as the pair of speedsters that he had seen on the news calling out the murderous metahuman that has been on a killing spree across the state. Next to them, Icon saw a tall figure seemingly made of shadow, save for his luminous white eyes. One look was all it would take for Icon to know exactly who he was looking out.

“Umbraxis I take it.” Icon said as he looked the being in the eyes. ”I think it’s time we had a chat.

SuperIOR Incorporated's Expo, Lost Haven

Chike pulled his father's dark green camouflage jacket tighter around his chest as he and Ceri walked along the sidewalk towards SuperIOR's Expo Hall. All around them men in suits and military uniforms conversed as they pushed and shoved their way inside the crowded building. Standing on the grass just a few yards away was none other than Mary Belfast of Channel 65, the reporter who Chike almost crushed with a minivan. Polemos turned his face away from the news crew as they reported on the event being held by Lost Haven's own SuperIOR Incorporated. "...As you can see, there are still hundreds of people streaming into the Hall to get a glimpse at the technology of the future! SuperIOR has invited small businesses and private inventors from around the world to showcase their tech to the biggest names in the military industrial complex. In fact, I've heard rumors that the Secretary of Defense himself is here along with representatives from the Pentagon. It's a big day for weapon's development here in Lost Haven's financial district. We'll see if we can get inside and show you some of these amazing inventions before the end of the day." Chike and Ceri pushed through a pair of glass doors and had themselves scanned by security. Chike had injected the serum about fifteen minutes ago and disposed of the needle, so they wouldn't find any evidence of malcontent on him. Baatul would have liked to have a gun on him as well as the super soldier serum but security at SuperIOR was not taken lightly. One of the men in a dark blue uniform wearing a tag that identified him as a guard stopped Ceri. "What's this?" He said, holding up a small booklet. "It's a book, not a WMD. Can I have it back?" She asked with as much patience as she could muster. The guard flipped the book open and looked thoroughly confused. "What is this, Russian?" He asked. The text wasn't in English, that much was certain. "Fine. Move along." The guard ushered the two inside.

"Whoa."

The Expo Hall was even larger on the inside. The ground floor was covered in large white tents where groups of people were gathered around looking at any variety of inventions and devices. Dozens of companies had bought out a space inside SuperIOR's hall with the hope that someone rich and important would take notice of what they've done and give them mountains of cash for it. "What are we looking for?" Ceri asked as she and Chike crossed the hall towards the food court. They took a seat at one of the elevated tables and began to look around. "Well," Chike began. "SuperIOR is supposed to be holding its own presentation at the primary stage on level 1. That's where we're going to find the rest of the formula." A group of unarmed soldiers passed by the two of them carrying hotdogs and burgers. "And where we'll find the most security. Are you sure you can handle them? What if Liberty shows up? You could barely fight him with your powers, but now-" Chike interrupted Ceri's worrying. "I'll be fine." He assured her. "Varnia knows the plan. He'll hit the fire alarm and dose this place in water from the sprinklers, giving me time to sneak up and take what we need." The super-soldier explained in a hushed voice. "What exactly is it we're taking from them?" Ceri asked. "Eric doesn't think they'll have an actual sample of the serum on hand. So we're going to have to kidnap one of the guy's they'll be showing off and extract it from his blood." Chike stood from the table as a pair of large double doors opened up at the end of the hall and a voice over an intercom called out: "SuperIOR main exhibition being held in Room 1 on the first floor. Starting in thirty five minutes."

Ceri and Chike followed a crowd of suits to the main exhibition hall. Some of the soldiers and big wigs gave them strange looks. Ceri and Chike weren't exactly dressed for the occasion. Ceri's blue robes and dyed hair next to Chike's torn and stained World War II jacket and jeans were a sight to behold among the pressed BDUs and thousand dollar three piece suits.

The pair took a seat in the back of the room where they could easily get up and out when the time came. People filed in to the room rather quickly and took their seats. Half a dozen armed men in black suits trailed behind a grey haired man in similar garb. "That's the SecDef." Someone in front of Chike whispered. Guards took their positions around the room and spied out any potential threats: they marked Chike and Ceri immediately. Owning one pair of ratty clothes isn't exactly ideal for infiltrating a high society Expo where everyone is expected to dress the part. They were lucky the guards were letting in civilians at all, given the stakes. But refusing entry to normal people was bad publicity, wasn't it? Mary Belfast and her crew set up in a nearby corner as she prepared to show off SuperIOR's own tech advancements on live television. This had to be a paid gig for her; especially when there were metahuman serial killers running amok.

Edward Cunningham, CEO of SuperIOR and total dickhead, appeared from behind a curtain. He walked up to the podium at the front of the stage and smiled for the cameras. "Thank you all for taking time out of your day to visit little old me. I'd like to welcome all of you to SuperIOR Incorporated's annual technology Expo and World's Fair!" He paused as the crowd clapped for him. Chike grumbled a quiet complaint before Edward continued. "Yes, yes. This is all very exciting. It's my favorite time of the year, actually. But I digress; no need to make this thing run long, is there?" A polite chuckle escaped the lips of the men and women of Wall Street. "Here is our very own Captain James Abrams, operator of last year's award winning Heavy Armor Battlesuit the Liberty, to introduce this year's phenomenal new tech!" Edward stepped away from the podium as it lowered into a hatch on the bottom of the stage. Cunningham stepped off the stage and took a seat near the front as another hatch opened up and out popped the eight foot tall metal monstrosity that was Captain Liberty. He was greeted with more clapping from the crowd. "Good afternoon, leaders of these great United States of America and our allies abroad!" Captain Liberty waved a giant metal gauntlet. "The Liberty Battlesuit is an extraordinary piece of tech. It can level entire armies single-handedly. In an ideal world, every soldier who fought for truth and justice would wear one of these walking tanks. But we don't live in an ideal world. My armor is expensive. But we still have wars that we need to fight; and soldiers who need the best protection we can offer. So I'll introduce an age old concept: instead of making our weapons better, why not make the men who hold them better?"

The curtain dropped and revealed two dozen soldiers from various branches of the U.S military. They all stood, unarmed, with their hands crossed behind their backs. "I introduce you to the next super soldiers!" Captain Liberty threw out his arms in a grandiose fashion and the crowd applauded once more. "No longer will they just be legends from the Second World War. These men are stronger, faster and smarter than what any human is capable of; and in a world filled with aliens and metahumans, our boys need every advantage we can get." One of the soldiers crossed the stage as an over sized set of weights rose from a hole in the stage. The soldier lifted up the weights with single hand. "They can lift up to four tons." Another soldier took to the front of the stage as a treadmill appeared from the stage. He began to run. "They can run up to 65 miles per hour." Now they soldiers walked to the front of the stage, one of them pulling out a pistol. "Their agility and perception is unparalleled." The soldier began to fire off live rounds at the second soldier, who dodged every bullet. The rounds collided harmlessly with the wall behind him. The crowd clapped again.

An alarm blared. Water poured from the sprinklers and drenched the entire hall. People looked around, confused. "Uhhh...Alright. I'll have to ask that you all exit the building in a peaceful and orderly fashion. This is not a drill." The Secretary of Defense and the Secret Servicemen who accompanied him were the first to stand, pushing their way out of the room and towards the nearest exit. Others began to stand and make their own swift escape. The guards and super soldiers tried to keep everyone calm as the room was evacuated. "Here we go." Chike muttered. He stood to his feet and shimmed past Ceri, pushing his way through the crowd. Ceri opened her book and began to read in the tongue of the ancients. Suddenly the water began to turn to steam, blinding everyone in the room as Chike rushed towards the stage, pushing people out of his way like they were weightless. "What the- Where's the steam coming from? Sergeant Jones, sitrep! Whats going on?" Chike decked the first super soldier he spotted on the jaw and sent him ragdolling across the room. Someone screamed. "We're under attack!" Captain Liberty shouted as he turned on infrared. Another soldier ran up to Chike, thowing out a powerful haymaker that he saw coming from a mile away. Chike ducked under the attack and sent two rapid uppercuts into the soldier's ribs, before grabbing his arm and tossing him into another oncoming attacker. Three more soldiers appeared from the steam. Chike watched the way they moved...these weren't soldiers. They had no combat training. Probably just showmen for the Expo. Good; meant this was a fair fight. Well, as fair as 12 on 1 could be.

One of the soldiers threw out a quick roundhouse kick, catching Chike in the cheek as he failed to move out of the way. He counterattacked with a straight kick of his own. the attack failed and the soldier grabbed his outstretched leg, tossing Chike to the floor. The wooden floor of the stage cracked and broke as Chike was sent flying again; this time into a nearby wall. Chike pushed himself to his feet and blocked the next oncoming attack from a charging goon. Left hook, right cross and a knee to the stomach all in rapid succession brought the man down as the other two came into view. "Ceri?!" Chike yelled out. A giant metal fist flew through the air and smacked the two enhanced humans into the wall, knocking them out. "Thanks!" Polemos grabbed one of the unconscious soldiers and slung him over his shoulder. He started to move towards the exit, before he noticed that it was blocked by none other than Captain Liberty. "Great..." He muttered. Chike was lucky that Liberty's infrared systems couldn't tell the difference between his own men and their mystery attacker. He wouldn't have gotten this far otherwise. Ceri appeared from the steam, panting. "Sorry. Had to deal with some of these guys. What's the plan?" Chike glanced around the room before looking at the nearest wall. "Freeze that." Ceri chanted the spell and fired off a stream of ice at the wall. "I've got them!" Captain Liberty announced. The sound of his approach rumbled through the exhibition hall as Ceri finished freezing it as best she could. Chike kicked the weakened structure apart and the two ran outside. People scattered in all directions. The panic was palpable. Chike and Ceri used the chaos to their advantage, running into the crowd to escape their pursuer.

Chike, Ceri and Varnia regrouped in an alley a few blocks from the Expo. The sounds of approaching sirens notified them that they weren't out of the woods yet; the 'soldier' they had kidnapped was sort of a dead give away. "Alright. Let's split up again; we'll meet at Eric's place in Little Sicily. Stay safe."

Executive Branch Headquarters
Mt. Rushmore, SD
03:44 Local Time

"Remember me..."

William Henry Harrison floated through the halls of the Executive Branch's headquarters. Although the middle of the night, plenty of staff were busy at work doing the agency's secret business. Most of them ignored the ghost of Harrison, those that acknowledged him only showed annoyance at being distracted from their task. This was Harrison's lot in life, a burden had to bear for centuries. Harrison's life was filled with triumph. He had ben a war hero, a governor, and a diplomat before assuming the presidency... but all everyone remembered him for was dying in office a scant month after being inaugurated. It was all because of Tippecanoe.

The Battle of Tippecanoe, shortly before the War of 1812, ended in a smashing success for the US. Harrison's men defeated a band of natives led by the shaman Tenskwatawa. The victory made Harrison a household name in the country and led to his eventual rise. But the glory came at a horrible cost. Tenskwatawa, though not as martially gifted as his Tecumseh, fought back in his own way. The shaman cursed Harrison in revenge for the battle and over two hundred years later he was still cursed. His untimely death was made crueler when he was brought back to serve the Executive Branch. A complication in resurrection killed him again. While Harrison's body died, his soul stayed on earth and now he haunted the corridors of the Rushmore headquarters.

"Remember me...," he said softly to a technician as she passed by.

"Okay, President Harris," the young woman said without looking up.

"That's not my name..."

Harrison floated after the woman. She went into a room with Harrison behind her. He phased through the closed door and into the gymnasium area of the HQ. Franklin Roosevelt sat on a pommel horse in workout attire. The white tank top he wore showed off his large upper body muscles while the baggy sweat pants hid his withered legs. Roosevelt swung his limp legs around the pommel horse with ease as his upper body did the work.

"Incoming communication, sir," the technician said as she approached FDR.

"It's from Lumberjack."

"Oh, dear," Roosevelt said as he flopped onto the wheelchair beside the pommel horse. "Let's go, dear. Not a moment to lose."

"Remember me...," said Harrison.

"Will do, Henry," said Roosevelt.

FDR pushed through Harrison's incorporeal form and sped out of the gym towards the communications center with the technician and Harrison trailing in his wake.

---

MacArthur Island
South Pacific
13:53 Local Time

"Suppose you boys can't just fight me man to man, huh?"

Abraham Lincoln countered a blow from a guard, twisting the man's wrist and sending him flying into another attacking guard. All told there five guards trying to take down the Great Emancipator. The fight was taking place in the island compound's communications center. Lincoln broke in and managed to establish connection with Rushmore before the assailants broke in and tried to stop him.

While outnumbered, Lincoln towered over the smaller men and made up for his numerical inferiority with combative superiority. His long, spindly legs, delivered a devastating roundhouse kick to a guard, throwing him against a console and sending a shower of sparks into the air.

"Lumberjack," the voice of Franklin Roosevelt came through the comm center's speakers. "This is Sacred Cow. Come in, Lumberjack."

Lincoln grabbed an attacker's wrist with his large hand, stopping a knife blade inches away from his chest. He tripped the man and slammed his head hard into the comm center's control panel.

"Lumberjack here," said Lincoln. "Rifleman and I think it most prudent to deploy our weapon of last resort."

There was a long pause from Roosevelt as Lincoln fended off more attacks. Finally he spoke. "Are you sure, Lumberjack?"

"No time to explain, Sacred Cow, but rest assured it is of vital importance that the entire island be sterilized."

"Understood. I demand confirmation of target's death before evacuation, Lumberjack. You have twenty minutes until sterilization."

"Lumberjack, out," Lincoln said as he shoved another man into the console and short circuited it with the man's head.

---

Executive Branch Headquarters
Mt. Rushmore, SD
04:02 Local Time

Amelia Earhart did the final check of her equipment before starting the stealth bomber's engines. The four nuclear-powered jet turbines kicked on and hummed softly in the nearly empty hangar bay. A team of crewmen did the final preparations underneath the plane before signaling that it was ready for takeoff. She gave the crew a thumbs up and started down the runway towards the open hangar. Within a few seconds the jet was roaring out the open mouth of Thomas Jefferson and gaining speed and altitude. She broke the sound barrier sixty thousand feet above Idaho. Ten minutes later, she broke the sound barrier eighty thousand feet above the Pacific Ocean. She was so high now that she could see the curvature of the earth stretched out across the horizon in front of her. If not for the grisly circumstances, it would be a breathtaking flight.

The satellite coordinates on her HUD provided an easy path to follow across the Pacific towards the target. She would pass through several time zones and the international date line to deliver her cargo. The back part of the bomber was lead-lined to prevent any accidents should the package become unnerved. This wasn't her first bombing run with the weapon of last resort, but it was the first one in quite some time. She sent out a silent prayer that it wouldn't be as devastating as the last time.

Umbraxis’ wispy form buckled and rippled with each punch from the ragtag group of metas. Chunks of Dark Matter were flung from its body, its form puddling with the force from each devastating hit. The speedsters were first, each releasing hundreds of punches in a matter of seconds to its form, its body swaying with each assault. Before it even bothered to return fire, they came back in to swipe out its legs, cutting through the smoky mass and causing its face to be low enough for Skyquake’s devastating hit, causing Umbraxis to buckle, parts of its head flying to the wall behind it. It returned fire lazily, only grabbing Skyquake with an outstretched palm before tossing her into a wall, barely enough to damage her. Then came the colossus known as Demolition, charging the shadowy being and pushing it back into the lobby with a vicious tackle. An inky column arose from the floor as soon as they hit the lobby, slamming Demolition into the ceiling and dropping back to the floor. Before it even could prey on the man, however, The Herald of Graa'tazken came in with his blade, and for a moment, the entity was severed, its body splattering across the room as its last attempt, a swing of tendrils, nearly collided through the walls to Supercell and Skull-Thrasher.

Its body fell to the floor, the shadowy puddle eking along the tiles as Boom loosed a taunt at the creature.

A taunt that would soon be drowned out by the sound of amused, horrific laughter.

“Impressive. At least for what this planet has shown me.” Umbraxis’ voice rang across the entire police station as the puddle of black stretched out, spreading along the walls, darting along shadows and snuffing lights. “I can safely say that your little group here has been the most intriguing thing I’ve come across on this little backwater planet. It looks like the neighboring civilization was right, your kind is capable of extraordinary mutation” As it spoke, the shadows closed in on the group, boxing them together as it advanced. “Do try to keep this interesting, will you? Maybe you’ll last a little longer than the last humans I brought to oblivion.”

Almost as soon as its words finished, it unleashed its power. Skull-Thrasher was the first, almost instantaneously ripped from his standing position, impaled to the wall with mass amounts of Dark Matter piercing into his chest, eyes, arms and legs. With another swipe, Umbraxis lashed out with two tendrils from the floor, snaring both Boom and Thunderbolt by the legs and tossing them into Supercell, sending the three tumbling across the floor and impacting with the drywall.

Skyquake was next, barely able to register an assault before a mass of Dark Matter lashed out from the wall and blasted her out of the building, shattering the front wall of the Police Station as her body was flung through multiple layers of concrete, bouncing off of tar and slamming into a nearby Police Cruiser, embedding herself in its hood. The figure reformed as it had assaulted Skyquake, apparently registering her as the larger threat and pursued her. As she came to a sitting position, a tendril of darkness rose from the ground and whipped itself around her neck, causing her to strain and gasp as she reached for the mass, attempting to pull the tendril off as she stared down the advancing Void.

However, Umbraxis had left Demolition unattended to, and he was more than happy to oblige as he chased down the figure, increasing to the size of the Police station itself. Raising a foot, Demolition came down on Umbraxis, trying to squish him against the ground while his attention was focused on trying to kill Skyquake. Umbraxis did not even turn to address the attack, instead a wall of Dark Matter rose from the ground in response, catching the stomping foot as if it was merely a light bunch of leaves. Slowly Umbraxis turned to the attacking Demolition, the tendril around Skyquake’s neck slowly releasing as the entity had lost interest, taking Demolition into its sights. With a flick of its wrist, the giant’s feet were amassed in darkness, another flick caused the shadows to grip around his feet, abruptly rotating them in opposite directions. The grotesque sound of the giant man’s shins snapping echoed through the block, followed by his screams as he fell to the floor, clutching his shattered legs.

“Ugh...how pathetic.” Umbraxis muttered, another motion with its hand caused a larger shadow to wrap around Demolition’s large head, the size of a car now. As the figure squeezed its hand, so to did the shadowy mass begin to tighten and crush around the muffled screams of Demolition’s head, until a sickening crack signified the end of the Meta’s life. Even more terrifying was the fact that when the shadow’s vanished, there was not even a head for Demolition’s body, the darkness had completely deconstructed it in the bubble Umbraxis had created.

“Is that it?” Umbraxis said, chuckling as the metas began to recover. “How utterly disappointing, all these getups and powers and this is the extent of it? Tsk, maybe I really am wasting my time...”

Umbraxis’ cruel words were met by a war cry The Herald of Graa'tazken, his shining blade poised to cleave into the shadowy humanoid. He never got to land the hit, however, as he was met with an attack not yet seen by Earthlings. Raising a hand to The Herald, Umbraxis’ palm was wreathed in what looked like a mass of darkness wreathed in blackened lightning, a charge of Dark Energy was forming in its hand as The Herald advanced. When launched, it ripped through the air, not so much travelling through it as tearing, eating away at the air around it. A shockwave erupted as it collided with The Herald, blasting straight through his chest as he was launched straight back into a nearby truck.

Now mortally wounded, The Herald could only cough blood as his hands shakingly found their way to the hole in his chest, about the size of a football was now missing from his body. And yet, the humanoid was not done with him, a familiar tendril now wrapping around his neck and lifting his body, bringing the struggling, dying man eye-to-eye with the entity, now being the closest anyone had been with Umbraxis for an extended period of time, long enough to see into its white wells, and know what fear truly was.

A fear that was broken when a man in Silver and blue descended from the sky, calling out to Umbraxis and breaking the Endless Void’s attention.

“Umbraxis I take it.” Icon said as he looked the being in the eyes. ”I think it’s time we had a chat.

Umbraxis responded with a small bow. “The very one.” It said, its attention fully on the Hero of Lost Haven. “I can only assume by your confidence and the intensity in your eyes, along with your garb, you are the one these people call Icon. In which case, you have my attention...if you could hold on just one moment.”

As it spoke, it made a twisting motion with its hand. The Herald of Graa'tazken’s body twitched as his head was spun around by the tendril around his neck, killing him instantly. As his body was thrown off to the side, Umbraxis continued.

"Couldn't have the poor fool just hanging there...at any rate, are you here to stop me?” It asked, “I can only assume such, one tends to get defensive when their planet is on the line.”

“Ah, there you are, Equilibrium, good to see you without a helicopter in my face. Now I know I’m prolly not the first guy you wanted to see, but I’m bein’ paid to get you out. Now you can either gripe and be upset about it, or we can take the opportunity that my man on the outside gave us with the help of your AI to get your mech and blast our way out. Alright?”

Angel was startled when the blast door had slid down from the ceiling a few minutes ago, but that was nothing compared to when that same door was torn apart by two black-and silver gloves. Stepping out from the glass cell, he nodded. If Sherlock had hired him and Warden, then Angel could trust War-Pulse.

"I might not want to see you, War-Pulse, but I think I can trust you to get me to my mech. If Sherlock hired you, then I guess we're working together."

Grabbing the datapad for Sherlock to analyze later, Angel hurried through the complex alongside War-Pulse, even if he was slower than the mercenary, he was determined to keep up the pace. While he was as fit as any other young adult male, his physicality wasn't enhanced by his powers, and after a constant sprint down a hallway, he was breathing heavy.

However, since the alarms had sounded, quite a few security teams had arrived, including two giant robotic suits, about twice the size of a man, and about forty security officers, advancing down the hall quickly towards the two Metahumans. Light work, even for one such as Angel. Looking towards War-Pulse, he flashed an uneasy grin, and said, "Heh. Looks like they haven't broken out the big guns yet. This should be easy."

Reaching towards the group with his powers, he caused every one of their submachine guns to jam, and taking control of the robotic suits, ran them into the group, knocking them down, injuring quite a few. About twenty-four were still standing, and had abandoned their guns for simple steel batons. Spinning the robotic suits around, when they reached him, Angel leaped onto the back of one, and held on. It would be a rough ride from here.

"Now that I've got some new toys, shall we head to the armory? It's on the other side of the base, the quicker we move, the quicker we get out."

MacArthur Island
South Pacific
14:07 Local Time

The thick metal door blew off its hinges and landed on the floor with loud crash. Theodore Roosevelt stepped on the door and entered the room. He gripped te automatic rifle in his hands tightly and looked across the room. The opulent throne room was decked out in the same style of Emperor Hirohito's Chrysanthemum Throne with dark red silk carpets and drapes. In place of a Japanese imperial standard on the walls, there was another symbol. Five silver stars arranged in a pentagonal cluster. On the golden throne at the other side of the room, Douglas MacArthur sat and looked at Roosevelt with half-closed eyes. Two armed guards that flanked both sides of the throne were already drawing down on Roosevelt, only to be waved off by MacArthur.

"You and Mr. Lincoln are proving to be quite the bee in MacArthur's bonnet," said the general. "I should have killed the two of your as soon as possible."

"The Executive Branch feel the same about you, general," replied Roosevelt. "Reviving you is one of the worst mistakes they made, and considering their history that is saying quite a lot."

"Desperate times, Mr. President."

MacArthur stood and began to walk towards Roosevelt, his bodyguards walking with him.

"The thing you must ask yourself, Mr. Roosevelt, is why are you really after MacArthur? What has he done to warrant this aggression?"

Roosevelt began to open his mouth but stopped as MacArthur held a hand up.

"This latest endeavour aside, sir. MacArthur will admit this plan is just cause for retribution, but what did he do before that? Why did the Founders try to kill him all those years ago?"

Roosevelt was at a loss for words for once. He had no idea what the original circumstances were that led to the first attempt on the general's life, his banishment from the Executive Branch, and his decades in hiding. He just knew that he had done something wrong and a team of agents had tried to kill him.

"He figured as much," said MacArthur. "The crime MacArthur committed, the thing that marked him as a dead man, was that he discovered the truth."

"What truth, sir?"

The general let a grin slip out from under his steely facade. He shook his head, as if he were trying to explain something simple to a dense child.

"There is a rot at the heart of the Executive Branch. Your masters are not who you think they are, their intentions are not what they profess to be. MacArthur discovered this a long time ago, and he was punished for it."

"So this is your revenge, general?" asked Roosevelt. "Remake the world in your twisted image? You ally with a genocidal warlord to conquer the world?"

"Indeed," was the general's reply. "The Khan, like MacArthur, realize that sacrifices must be made. What, in the long run, is a few million in the name of protecting billions?"

"Genocide in the name of world safety," spat Roosevelt. "You will indeed be a shining idol for the next age."

MacArthur began to reply, but was cut short as an announcement boomed through the compound's PA system. It was in Japanese, a language Roosevelt did not speak, but he could tell by the tightening of MacArthur's face that it was bad news. He scowled and turned to Roosevelt.

"A bomber has been spotted on the advanced radar. Thirty minutes out. Jets are being scrambled to take care of it. It seems as if you have sold MacArthur out, Mr. Roosevelt. Such a shame. He had hoped to convert you to his side."

The general said something to his two guards in Chinese. The two men nodded and quickly rushed Roosevelt. The stripped him of his weapon and held him in place while MacArthur walked to the far side of the room where a collection of samurai swords hung on the wall. He took down two and looked back at Roosevelt.

"MacArthur knows he should kill you outright, but he has always been a man of honor, sir. If you die, it will be by his hands."

The general tossed the blade and scabbard down at Roosevelt's feet.

"This is your chance, Mr. President. Grab the sword and complete your mission. Do what no one else has done yet and kill MacArthur."

--

Abraham Lincoln pressed his large frame against the wall and tried his best to hide in the shadows. A group of armed guards rushed by, oblivious of the lanky man a few feet away from him. He waited a few moments before emerging into the corridor and hurrying on his way. Now that FDR had been notified and the bomb was on its way, the next leg of the journey was to find Roosevelt and help him dispatch MacArthur before fleeing the island's impending destruction. The part of the compound he was in had multi-language markings that identified it was the science wing in Chinese, Japanese, and English. He had no idea if Roosevelt or MacArthur were in this part of the base, but he had to hurry up and look.

With a knife at the ready, Lincoln opened up a door marked "Labs" and went inside. He was surprised to find a chubby, bald Asian man in a lab coat looking at him from across a lab table with wide eyes. To Lincoln, it wasn't a look of fear. It was more surprise mixed with hope.

"You!" He said in perfect English with just a hint of a Chinese accent. "You're one of the Americans? You have to help me! Close the door."

Lincoln complied, keeping the man in his sight all the while. The scientist stepped around the table and put both hands on Lincoln's shoulders, shaking him.

"You have to get me out of here! I've been kept here against my will for years now. I--"

"Slow down," Lincoln said softly. "Find your composure, friend. Speak clearly, but quickly. Time is of the essence."

"Okay," he said after a deep breath. "My name is Dr. Hsien Wu, I am a geneticist. I died many years ago, but the people who run this place brought me back to life and put me to work creating the genetic coding and enslavement system they're trying to take over the world with."

"The Khan and his descendants?" Lincoln asked.

"Yes," Wu said excitedly. "My system is a mix of high-power satellite broadcast that overwrites the genetic coding. In short, it will make everyone on the planet with a drop of the Khan's blood become his slave. Millions and millions turned into mindless killing machines. You have to believe me, sir, I was forced into it. I did not mean to build these horrible machines. I just--"

"The people I work for are sending in a bomber to destroy this facility, doctor. Will that be enough?"

"They have backups offsite, sir. We need to destroy them remotely from MacArthur Island."

"Where can we do that?"

"One place," Wu sighed. "The place where the Khan's spirit is being kept."

Lincoln nodded and, after a second of deliberation, said, "Show me the way, doctor. After we destroy it we'll see about getting you out of here."

--

"Shit!" Amelia Earhart said loudly.

Still three hundred miles out from the island she was to bomb, her advanced HUD notified her that six fighter jets had been dispatched from the island and were racing towards her current location. Her jet had no offensive weapons on it. The only defensive weapons were the chaff she could fire off in the event a missile was locked on her and already en route. The biggest thing she had was her speed. This stealth bomber could rip through the sound barrier several times over and not really break a sweat. It left all conventional aircraft in its wake. She could outrun the jets easy enough, but with six of them already forming a perimeter around the island, it would be tough going to evade them all and deliver her payload.

The HUD let out a brash warning, letting her know the jets were slowly getting closer and closer. Earhart muted the notification and strapped the cross belts tight against her. Even though the days of open cockpit flight were long gone, she still wore the goggles on the top of her head. They were her good luck charm. Now, she slid them down over her eyes let out a deep breath. She flicked on the jet's PA system and delivered a message to the weapon in the back.

"This is your captain speaking. We are about to engage in evasive maneuvers, so please make sure you are buckled in tightly. We will experience turbulence and the occasional missile explosion. In the event of a crash, the plane will turn into a flaming metal death trap. Thank you for flying Executive Branch Airlines. We hope you'll fly EB Airlines again, that is if you survive this flight."

Earhart heard a wry laugh through the lead-lined cabin door and let a laugh slip from her lips as well. She punched the throttle and held tightly to the yoke as she started to sing softly to herself.

"Heading into twilight, spreading out her wings tonight. She got you jumping off the deck and shoving into overdrive. Highway to the Danger Zone! Ride into the Danger Zone!"

War-Pulse had kept his pace slower than usual so Angel could keep up with him, if it were up to the mercenary he would just break through more walls until he smashed into the Armory. With a tagalong with no personal powers, however, the pace had to be kept much slower so as not to lose sight of him. To be honest, War-Pulse was more relieved than encumbered by the situation, considering the tension that could have arisen between himself and Angel. There was the very real situation the mercenary had considered which involved knocking Angel out if he resisted, but that made the problem of trying to retrieve the armor and the pretty-boy while being shot at by STRIKE troopers. This particular situation was the much easier result.

His train of thought was interrupted by the clicking of dozens of rifles, along with the mechanic whirring of machines coming online and arming themselves as both he and the man he knew as Equilibrium rounded a corner. Of course, War-Pulse responded to this challenge with a sneer and a fighting stance, his fists clenched tightly as he readied himself to tear through these men.

His compatriot had other plans, however, as War-Pulse was about to advance he heard the young man’s words, causing him to raise a brow and look upon the assault team. The two battle machines in the forefront suddenly whirled about, facing the soldiers who were now glaring at their own guns, confusion spreading among the group as the machines advanced. Before anyone knew what was happening, the robots were upon their controllers, swinging and thrashing as they marched, sending a good chunk of the men flying through the air, toppling over one another as they piled along the floor. The mercenary’s brow raised as Angel jumped onto the back of one of the two machines, beckoning for War-Pulse to pick up the pace.

“Warden, you seein’ this shit?” War-Pulse murmured into his comms. “What’s going--”

“Telepathy.” Warden jumped in. “Well...technopathy, from the looks of it. Sherlock didn’t infiltrate my systems last time, the more I think about it... no, the outside force was that man’s mind! No wonder his mech was so powerful.”

“Well, sounds like there is more to this guy than a fancy suit.” War-Pulse murmured back, tagging along behind Angel. He jumped by Angel, hopping off the robot’s head as he shouted back. “No kidding, pretty-boy. The sooner we get out of here, the better. Just make sure you can keep up with that thing! Your safety is my paycheck, and I’d hate to have to do all the heavy lifting”

As he reached a high point in the hallway, his arms became wreathed in energy, released in an intense burst as he dropped from the sky. The remaining STRIKE soldiers in their way were blasted aside from the strike, a wave of men flying backwards, scattering like a flock of birds as they collided with various walls and objects.

With their path clear, War-Pulse nodded to Angel, motioning for him to follow. “This way!” He stated, now moving at a much quicker pace, knowing that Angel will be able to follow while riding his new mechanical mount. Of course, this did not mean that they would not be met with opposition. The base was still scattered, but that did not mean it was unguarded. Another platoon had appeared, this time armed with thiry rockets, twenty machine guns and four more robots. The rockets rumbled as soon as the pair came into view, surging out from their launchers in unison, creating one vicious wave of explosive overkill. Of course, the mercenary reacted quickly, bringing an arm up to erect a kinetic barrier, the explosives connecting with the pure wall of force with such impact that the area around it ruptured and buckled, the walls in front of Angel and Pulse cracking and cratering as their view was momentarily obscured by an inferno. When the smoke cleared, Pulse was the first to act, quickly firing off a beam of energy that ripped straight through one of the robot's heads, the metal carcass twitching in shock as it stood motionless, its head now a mass of warped metal and sparking wires. Following up, the silver-clad warrior threw himself forward, ducking under a wild swing from another robot and countering with a kinetic fist of his own, shredding the plating on another robot's abdomen with a wicked gut punch. Grabbing the second robot by the leg, he turned on his heel, the automaton being taken off of its feet, its body bouncing off the steel flooring as it was spun by the powerful mercenary and tossed with another twist of War-Pulse's body. Not only did the second robot connect with the standing carcass, both robots were sent flying backwards, colliding with half of the STRIKE platoon behind them.

“The Armory should be a level up, and a few more hallways down. You wanna get in on this?” War-Pulse asked, ripping the arm off of another tall mechanoid only to impale it in the chest with the appendage. "I'd hate to have all the fun to myself!"

“The Armory should be a level up, and a few more hallways down. You wanna get in on this?” War-Pulse asked, ripping the arm off of another tall mechanoid only to impale it in the chest with the appendage. "I'd hate to have all the fun to myself!"

Angel grinned, and set off down the hallway, right behind him, the two metal suits causing the floor to shake as they sprinted past the unconscious and injured guards, as well as the destroyed machines. The two remaining robots, Angel didn't bother taking control of, and simply caused their central processing systems to explode, making the machines get destroyed beyond the possibility of repair. Rocketing down the hallway, Angel rode the robot until they came to where they would be (approximately) right below the Armory. Skidding to a halt, Angel looked at War-Pulse, and said, "We're right below the armory. I think you know what happens next."

Jumping off of one robot, he commanded the other to jump into the air, and moving the other robot directly below, and making it lock its arms, Angel launched the second robot at the ceiling. The robots' arm servos groaned, and sparks flew from the joints, but the robot flew directly at the solid concrete roof. With a sound like a cannon going off, the robotic shell crashed through the concrete barrier, causing dust to fall upon all directly below. Through the hole, Angel could see the robot arc through the air, and eventually land somewhere he couldn't see. However, there was a massive THUD and a BOOM and a wave of fire rolled over the hole. Wincing, Angel jumped up on the back of the robotic suit, and commanded it to pull itself through the hole.

Emerging into the armory, Angel was surprised by the lack of security. This was probably because the massive room, about 2000 square feet, was covered in debris and soot, generating from a pile of twisted metal and ash, which he surmised was a pile of ordinance that S.T.R.I.K.E. was storing in the armory. However, the ATD, his suit, was perfectly fine, standing tall, both middle digits on each hand proudly stuck out. Jumping off the back of the robot, Angel caused its motivators to explode, a relatively small explosion, compared to what had happened there a few moments ago. Running at full tilt towards his robot, Angel worked on booting it up, and opening the cockpit. They had little time left, and they couldn't waste it here, in this room, behind a bulkhead.

Upon entering the destroyed police station, Icon’s stomach fell when he looked around and saw the carnage inside. From what he could see, there were bodies, twisted and broken strewn throughout the precinct. Among the fallen, there were a number of meta humans that he had never seen before. And standing in the center of it all was the shadowy presence of Umbraxis, who seemed to take Icon’s interruption in stride.

Umbraxis responded with a small bow. “The very one.” It said, its attention fully on the Hero of Lost Haven. “I can only assume by your confidence and the intensity in your eyes, along with your garb, you are the one these people call Icon. In which case, you have my attention...if you could hold on just one moment.”

As it spoke, it made a twisting motion with its hand. The Herald of Graa'tazken’s body twitched as his head was spun around by the tendril around his neck, killing him instantly. As his body was thrown off to the side, Umbraxis continued.

"Couldn't have the poor fool just hanging there...at any rate, are you here to stop me?” It asked, “I can only assume such, one tends to get defensive when their planet is on the line.”
[/quote]

Icon felt sick as he watched as the being known as Umbraxis killed the unknown meta and then discarded his body like garbage.

“You aren’t taking anyone else. I won’t allow it.” Icon said as he raced toward Umbraxis, hitting the dark figure with a thunderous right hand that should have taken Umbraxis clear off of his feet.
But it didn’t. Much to Icon’s surprise, when his fist made contact with Umbraxis’ head, it felt as if the hero was punching water. Icon followed up with another attack, however, the result was the same.

“What are you?” Icon asked as Umbraxis prepared to strike back.

Mondays. Does anyone honestly like Mondays? It’s the beginning of the work week (or school week for those who are still in college). You probably would have been enjoying your two days off on the weekend when you finally realize that you need to get back into the swing of things starting immediately Monday morning. Many people have to get up early when they had been enjoying sleeping in later than usual on the weekend. And those who have not finished their homework have to frantically get their assignments finished before class starts. For Athena being the ‘Goddess of Wisdom’, she apparently looked over the fact that I too had things to do over the weekend other than run around Lost Haven in spandex. I swear that that woman will be the end of me by using me as a little pawn in her contrived games.

I sipped on a small glass of warm tea, since the heated liquid would help clear up my throat on this cold February day in Ohio. I reclining in a chair at our kitchen table, sitting in front of my laptop. Since it was still pretty early in the morning, I still wearing a pair of pajama pants and a gray shirt with ‘Buckeyes’ printed on its front in scarlet letters. When I was placing the finishing touches on one of the essays that I had been working on for the last few hours, I suddenly heard a knock at the door. Who could been coming over at this time of day? Once I had pulled myself from my chair and walked over towards the door, I glanced through the peek whole on our front door and discovered who had knocked on our door. What did Danielle want?

“Do you know what time it is?” I asked her with my voice lowered so that I would not disturb my still sleeping roommates once I had unlocked the front door and opened it.

“Sorry about that, but I have been meaning to ask…” However, her train of thought fell away once she got a look at me. Now that I think about it, I have not seen her since my involuntary ‘extreme make-over’ that happened a few weeks ago. While I would not have been surprised if my roommates had acted like this momentarily, Danielle has no excuse, considering what type of occupation we think she’s involved in.

“Um…” I tried to break the silence, although it did not make the situation any less awkward. “For your own sake, I’m going to assume that you have been hiding the fact that you’re a closet Michigan fan because of the way you’re staring at me. But what were you saying?”

“Oh, yes! I heard a rumor on the grape vine that you either got some work done or are quite the late bloomer. So, I just came over to ask whether you would want to tag with me along later today when I head out for work to see if I can set you up with a gig or something.”

”Um…I’m not really interested in entering into the porn industry.”

Once I started to close the door, I suddenly heard Danielle speak. “What did you say?” Then I suddenly realized what I had done. At that moment, even though I could not see my face (obviously), I just knew that my face almost matched the letters that ran across my t-shirt. Why the heck did I say that to her face? My roommates and I all had our suspicions that Danielle’s ‘modelling career’ was not quite family friendly, but we never had any hard evidence. And now I could feel that I had something coming for me.

“Um…nothing.” I tried to lie myself out of this extremely awkward situation (even more awkward than how this situation started). However, my attempt did not succeed.

“You seriously think that I’m a porn star?” She questioned me. Now was the moment she was going to rip me a new one, or at least that what I thought would happen. However, instead of belittling me over accusing her of being an ‘adult actress’, Danielle broke out into laughter. I just stood there in the doorway, shock at what was happening, although I was not sure it was caused by my little slip of the tongue or her reaction to it.

Once she had regained her composure after her outburst of laughter, Danielle pulled out her cell phone from her pocket and began messing with it. After a few moments, she shoved the screen in my face, revealing one of her modelling pictures. Shen then began to swipe her finger across the touchscreen, which caused even more pictures to appear. While I can safely say that you wouldn’t see anything of these in your JC Penny’s or Kohl’s sales magazines, these pictures did not quite match up with my accusation.

“Now who’s the pot calling the kettle black?" She finally replied to me, although she said something else under her breath. _{"I mean, you’re the one with stripper tits"}

“What did you say?” Was she insinuating that it would have been more likely that I was the porn star?

“Nothing.” She smiled back at me, mimicking what I said when I tried to deny my unfortunate slip of the tongue. “So are you in or are you out?”

I knew that I had only one option open to me. I only agreed to go with her out of embarrassment and so that I could at least try to make up for what I accused her of being. The only way I could make myself feel better about my little predicament is that being a model is usually every girl's dream, until reality sets in and reveals that most people cannot even start dreaming of reaching the bar that was set so high by the "beauty industry". However, when I got back to my seat in front of my computer, I could feel this nagging feeling in my heart. I just knew that she was going to get back at me somehow this evening. I just know it.

Upon the wooden chair Eva sat on she froze and slightly turned the chair to meet Arthur. “And how will that go down?” Even if Merlin could help them was there a particular reason why he hadn’t contacted him earlier.

“I figured if Merlin was still around he would know where to find important artifacts; assuming he isn’t wrapped up in some end of the world grand scheme already. He tends to become easily involved in such things, such is the fate of those Beyond the Boundary of the ordinary world. There however aren’t many ways I currently know of to contact him, I’d need to travel to Stonehenge and use that. Might take a couple days, so I don’t think I’ll leave just yet.“

“Right. So when will we be going to this Stonehenge?”

Arthur responded somewhat puzzled. “You don’t know where that is do you?” Eva responded quickly. “Not a clue.” “Right then, Stonehenge is not somewhere you can travel too, unless you can suddenly fly.”

“Okay not going to Stonehenge. So that won’t be a problem for you, guess being dead has it’s advantages..” - Eva laid down her fork at the edge on her plate, she looked up towards Arthur. “Now this new training. We gonna do this, because I’m not waiting all night.”

Meanwhile in an unknown New York location. Dr. Coil plotted his evil schemes.

“NO. NO!! The other way, jus.. Below the converter! ARRGH! You have it all crooked.” One of the robotic henchmen dropped his edge of an expensive painting.

“Sorry Dr. Coil..” It said as Coil held his hand to his face just as a he fired a white laser beam from a small derringer cutting through the robot with ease. “That was priceless.” He said as he slipped the small gun into his breast pocket; the robot sparked and fell to it’s knees crashing across the floor. “You! Number 37 clean this mess up, I need to build more good help..”

Dr. Coil walked through his underground home each step echoed throughout the halls as he past cold steel doors until he reached one unassuming door with a heavy security pad as he laid his left palm onto the keypad as the gears turned and the seal popped open. “You just need a few more parts and I’ll have the revenge I seek, and you..” He said as he had walked over to a machine sliding his hand softly over the front facing side. “You will have brethren.”