I heard the pop of tires a fraction of a second after Dick's report. The squeal of brakes followed the pop. The sedan with all four tires blown out careened down the street, the metal rimes sparking against the pavement. The driver over adjusted the car and sent it skidding into a parked car on the side of the road. The crash activated all four airbags in the car. Even from this far away I could tell the five men inside were shaken up, but not seriously injured. At least not yet.

One by one they clambered from the car, all of them dazed and unsure of what was going on. Being mobsters, their first action was to pull their guns. All of them carried pistols in shaking hands. I deactivated the night vision and instead activated the HUD's hunter mode. Calculations and outcomes of potential actions whizzed by on the periphery of my vision. The software identified the five mafiosos and crunched the numbers.

TARGETS DAZED
SUGGESTED APPROACH: CONFUSION & DISCOMBOBULATION
CHANCES OF DISABLING: HIGH
SUCCESS: PROBABLE

I activated my ear shields and tossed a small object from my belt. The round disc clattered on the roof and kicked on. A high-pitched scream echoed out of the disc and reverberated through the block, shattering the windows of the sedan and nearby cars and houses. The thugs yelled out in pain and grabbed their ears to block out the noise. The screech's battery is only good for ten seconds, ten seconds I couldn't afford to lose.

"Move in, Dick!" I yelled as I jumped, hoping he could hear me over the screech.



"Take them down hard and fast!"

Tired from her own classes and having spent the last few hours in the danger room, assisting and in some cases, hindering, the efforts of other students, Jean Grey opened the door to her room with a content sigh, taking a few moments to push her bag into a corner, then look out across to the entrance to the school from her window. The car that had just arrived heralded new arrivals, she wouldn't have long then. With a more frustrated sigh, she collapsed backwards onto her bed.

A King sized bed that many of the girls who had laid on it absolutely swore by. Framed in a high glossed white frame with tall headboard and Princess sheer white canopy tied back to each bed post. With a mattress made of more space age materials than the X-Jet, bedding with layers of cloudy felts and soothing silks, a large LED HD TV that rose out of it’s footboard, and more pillows than any one girl could possibly use, Jean’s King sized bed was the place in the Girl’s Wing for movie night. It wasn't the only defining feature of the room, but it was the main reason the drew visitors, well, beyond Jean's company, which accounted for at least a few.

For the moment, at least, she was left in blissful solitude. She allowed her mind to 'drift' through the halls of the school, not probing into their minds, simply becoming aware of their location. There was Kitty falling through the floors, late for something, Hank making the best of his free time in one of the various labs the school provided and Bobby...

Some mental activity was too strong for her to keep out, like mental 'shouting' she couldn't help but pick up whatever it was the individual was thinking about, and Bobby was hardly a subtle individual. She heard the thoughts through his voice, even though she was sure he had yet to begin. Of course it would be on a day when they had new visitors, she wasn't sure whether it was just a terrible coincidence or if Bobby had really planned the event just to irk her. Both were quite probable. The chant was building in Bobby's mind, soon it would be made reality. Jumping up from the comfort of her bed, as much as she was loathe to, she dashed out of her door.

Running through the halls, she spotted a young girl she didn't recognize, making her one of the guests, decided it would probably be rude just to ignore her, especially as new student were generally part of her duties, Jean attempted to introduce herself while running as fast as she could, avoiding the last resort of telepathy given the fact she would have only just arrived.

"HiI'mJeanGreypleasuretomeetyouI'llshowyouaroundjustneedtodealwithtroublefirst." Probably not her best or clearest introduction, but it would have to do, she was fairly sure Bobby was about to start shouting in the actual sense.

She burst into the cafeteria a moment too slow. The chant was up, and in reality, that and the food was flying. She clenched her teeth together as she looked for the individual who started all this. She found him, already in his ice form, half way through throwing a large congealed mass of pudding.

"Bobby!"

"Oh shi-- Jean, I thought.." A look of honest surprise, but then, Bobby Drake could like like the best of them, this didn't mean he hadn't engineered the event to fall on a certain day.

"Yes. Me." It was a little darker than she intended, but the look of slight horror on Bobby's face made it worth it as he began to levitate, the food he was holding separated in a bubble of telekinetic power. She too began to levitate to meet him, a look of fury spread across her near-flawless features as their eyes met.

"Did I ever tell you how nice you look without makeup? I think it's the freckles." His usual tone was even faster as he attempted to placate the 'wild Jean' that had just appeared to attack him, but a reminder that she hadn't had time to apply makeup since leaving the danger room to deal with him wasn't the way to go, her eyes narrowing further, as the food-based projectile she had confiscated from him hovered perilously close to his face.

That was when a mass of 'something' struck Jean in the back of the head, exploding down her hair and back. With a disbelieving yell of frustration, she turned around in the air, dropping Bobby and then the pudding right on top of him. Her eyes found her assailant, it was obvious really, everyone had gone silent and was staring, rather intently, at the male mutant, James, a pyro a few fears younger than her, trying his best to look as small as possible. Her eyes remained locked in her determined mask of fury, but the corner of her mouth turned up in a smirk.

"Oh...you're on."

Old Gotham
9:35 PM

Hearing Mr. Wayne holler from a distance, "Move in, Dick! Take them down hard and fast!" I doubled back on my back and returned to the vicinity of the mobster-mobile.

Five mafiosos versus Batman & Robin. I liked those odds. It took a second for me to leap off my bike and into the mess of disoriented mobsters. While they all screamed, my helmet screened out the whine of the sonic weaponry while amplifying communications with Wayne himself.

The driver struggled to stop covering his ears so he could stand up straight and aim his pistol at me. But his concentration was nonexistent due to the pain ringing through his ears. His hands shook wildly as he pointed the gun, like Vesper Fairchild at a party, but unlike Vesper, I wasn't going to give him the time of day. So I reached behind my back and tugged my telescoping staff from it's holster, spinning in a quick circle as it expanded. Like a weed-wacker, it twirled and whipped his hand, forcing him to throw the gun away. And while he was unarmed, I punched him in the face before doing a spinning kick that struck his jaw, instantly rendering him unconscious.

It all took about three seconds for me to beat the driver, and I saw that the Bat was now among us, helping me against the other four shell-shocked assassins.

Dick disabled the driver of the car just as I swept a leg underneath one of the other men. His name's James "Jimmy Legs" Trafficante. I knew everything there was to know about him, from the two mistresses he had to the amount of back taxes he owed to the IRS, even down to his bad knees. Jimmy Legs visited Gotham General nearly four times over the past ten years because his left knee. It had a tendency to dislocate if enough pressure was applied to it, everything from falling down a flight of stairs in 2011 to horsing around with his children in 2005 caused the knee to slip out of socket. A steel-toed boot to the appropriate place should do the trick quite well.

I jammed the heel of my boot into the back of his knee and heard it pop out of place. Jimmy Legs yelled, the screech drowning his cries out. The pain in his ears and knee should keep him out of the fray, but I had to make sure. I kicked his pistol out of his reach and turned to Toots himself. He tried to aim his gun in my direction, but the loud sonic pulse kept his vision blurry and unfocused. He got a shot off, a shot that whizzed by me and into a car behind me. Growling, I pounced on Toots and slapped the gun away. Toots swung with a free hand and hit me flush in the temple with a punch. The blow bounced off my protected cowl but still shook me a bit. I could slug it out with Toots, but it would take longer than I would have liked to disable him. Instead, I feigned pain and fell backwards, luring him into a fight. Toots sensed weakness and wound up for another punch while I tripled tapped my right index and ring fingers together to generate a charge.

He charged forward and swung again. I pushed forward, blocked with my left, and shoved my right index finger against his face. The micro taser charge loaded in my glove kicked on and sent a bolt of electricity coursing through Toots' body. He collapsed to the ground, jerking and spitting loudly. The taser was strong enough to make him lose consciousness for a few seconds, and keep him dazed for at least five minutes. Two men left. The sonic pulse on the wrecked car started to lose power, its squeal growing softer and softer. I looked over towards Dick, who was squaring off with another man. I turned to the last mobster still standing as our advantage began to erode away.

"Oomf!"

I'm getting tired of getting by by fighting off mob men. They're like the stuffed animals of the criminal world. Every time you use a little pressure, they make about four different sounds. I've heard the Joker makes about three. A laugh, a monologue, and the sound of chaos. I hear that I make about five: The sound of roaring engines, talking, shattering bones, snores, and eating.

As the whining of the sonic distraction began to die down and the mob men regained theid senses, I did Bruce and myself a favor. Tapping a small black button on my wrist gauntlet, I activated a small laser light at the top of my wrist's base. From there, I pointed it at the eye of the man who was staring down The Batman. The surprise, while useless to me, did buy Bruce a precious moment to make an opportunistic strike, one I'm sure he'd make.

Most people don't realize something about fighting. They don't realize how hard fighting really is. There are no 'fair fights', someone always has some sort of advantage that unlevels the playing field. It's not an art, it's a struggle for your life. So I never feel bad when I make an 'overly vicious' attack.

"Gahahahaha!" By overly vicious, I mean to say that an example would be extending my staff into the man's testicles,

The man who would be my attacker was thrown off for just a fraction of a second by Dick's distraction. It was more than enough time to grab the back of the man's neck with my left hand and drive the flat of my palm up into his solar plexus. I'm not strong enough to do any lasting damage to that part of the body, but I can do more than enough temporary damage. The blow drove the wind from his lungs in a choking sob. He gasped for air while I backhanded with my right hand to knock him to the ground. The blow to the abdomen mixed with the blow to the face is more than enough to keep him down. Dick meanwhile squared off with the last mobster, landing the last few knockout hits. I activated the mobile channel in my cowl and dialed 911.

"911, what's your emergency..."

"I'm on the 2000 block of Springer Street, there was a car crash and bunch of men fighting."

"We're dispatching emergency services to your location, please stay on the line, sir."

I hung up and looked over at Dick, who floored his opponent with a stick blow to the face.

"Time to disappear."

Midtown High

Usually I'm not sore after a night of taking down some creeps, but the Sandman really beat the tar outta me. I wince as I close my locker and swing my bag onto my back. It's not easy to be a crime fighter at night and a high school nerd during the day. To be honest there's constantly someone trying to take me down. Sure, here it's just for lunch money, but still. It gets old.

"You see Spidey take on that freak!?" Flash Thompson's voice explodes from the other end of the hall. Quarterback of the football team, homecoming king, and boyfriend of Liz Allen, the most popular girl in school, Flash is basically the king of the school. He had also been a thorn in my side, that is until recently. The two of us were friends when we were young, back when Flash was Eugene Thompson, but he became too cool for me and turned me into "Puny Parker". We've patched things up recently, which is mostly because he thinks Spidey, who he basically worships, is my friend. But I'm not getting stuffed into lockers anymore, so I'll take it. "Man there's no one that can beat Spider-man. Parker! You get any pictures of my main man last night?"

I've been giving Flash the pictures J. Jonah Jameson doesn't want. It's more or less protection money.

Oh, right. Jameson's my boss at the Daily Bugle, the best media site in New York. I'm the only one that can get even halfway decent pictures of Spider-man, so he pays me well for them. Sure, it's probably a little unethical, but you try and fund a superhero operation and have a girlfriend on the meager allowance Aunt May gives me.

"Yea, Flash," I respond with a shrug. "I'm going to see Jameson after school today. I'll give you what he doesn't want tomorrow, okay?"

"You better," he slaps me on the back as he walks by. I pretend to topple over, selling the strength of the big man on campus. That may be the hardest thing I've had to do since becoming Spider-man. I'm stronger, faster, and more agile than anyone in the school by a large margin. But the Peter Parker before that time was clumsy, awkward, and weak as a kitten. Trying to balance both lives has never been easy, but playing the flimsy nerd is definitely the most difficult.

"Need a hand," Gwen asks as she comes up beside me, helping me up. As I get to my feet, she pulls me in and whispers into my ear, "Way to play that off."

"Thanks, I try my best."

"You okay?" she looks at me with a worried look. "You didn't call when you got back last night."

"Yea, sorry," I shrug. "It took me forever to get the sand out of my suit."

She continues looking at me. Clearly I'm in trouble for giving the sarcastic answer. Classic Parker.

"Can we talk later?" I protest. "Probably not the best place for this discussion."

"Sure," she shakes her head as we head to class.

**********

Daily Bugle Building
Manhattan

I rock gently back and forth in the chair outside J. Jonah Jameson's office. Stopping a bank robbery? Easy. Going up against a super villain? Piece of cake. But having to deal with JJ? That is my ultimate fear. Jameson's picture is next to the word intense in the dictionary. I'm pretty sure he could give Walter White intensity lessons. Godzilla would yell, "J. Jonah Jameson!" if JJJ went to Tokyo.

You get the idea.

Sitting across from me is the stunning Betty Brant. Betty's a college student at Empire State University, and Jameson's secretary. Smart, witty, and beautiful, she was the reason I have this job to begin with. She had seen my pictures when I first came into the Bugle, and insisted Jameson use them. The simple fact that she stood up for him made me adore her. Sure, it is just a crush, but it is one I'd never even consider mentioning to Gwen. No reason to make her jealous over nothing, right?

"Giant sand monster," Betty strikes up small talk. "That's a new one, huh?"

"Yea," I respond sheepishly. "I didn't get there though. All I got were a few of Spidey."

"Ohhhh, Pete," she says sympathetically. "You know he's not gonna be happy about that one."

I smile, "Is he ever happy about anything?"

"PARKER!" Jameson's voice booms from his office. "GET IN HERE!"

"Good luck," Betty coos as I pass by her.

JJ snaps his fingers at me as I enter, pointing to his desk. I slip the pictures out of the envelope and plop them down in front of him, "Awful. Crap. Terrible. This one's okay."

"Mr. Jameson, I was hoping I could get a little more-"

"Ha!" the man exclaims as he chomps down on a cigar. "Parker you slay me. Now agree to the same price and get outta here. I just found out my wife 'borrowed' my credit cards this morning and I have to catch her before I come home and have another one of my walk-in humidor converted into a walk-in closet! You gonna give me the picture of the masked menace or not!?"

Jameson hates me. Well, he hates the Spider-man side of me. I've yet to understand why, but I don't care much. He knows I sell papers, so I continue to have a paycheck a few times a week.

"Sure, Mister Jameson," I nod. "See you in a few days."

I leave the office, and as I do, Betty laughs, "Didn't get that raise again?"

"Nope."

"Better luck next time, Pete," she smiles sweetly.

Charles Xavier’s School for the Gifted

Charles Xavier understood; he understood better than M’gann could have imagined. But the information that he himself was a sort of telepathic creature had been information that she had not been told and for the first time since she landed on Earth she felt some sort of relative connection with a living being. Sure, Howard had been the savior of her woes on the dangerous gladiatorial “War World” and she was very grateful for his services but there was something about finding another sentient telepathic being that wasn’t distant and cold towards her. Perhaps blaming the other martian for his lack of connectivity with her was petty, but being a teenager was being all about petty and melodramatic—something of which she vocalized very well when in grief to her alien companion. But here she was in a room with somebody not even her own race who was in the powers scheme of things relatable to her in at least a telepathic level and she felt comfortable in her own skin.

“You don’t have to hide your true idenity at this school.” The bald man stated kindly as Howard shot a glance that spoke of his disagreement with the statement. The dissent towards aliens after the kryptonian invasion was something to note, but M’gann felt like there was a sort of truth to Xavier’s assurance and that it wasn’t untrue. Howard had warned her that they should worry about revealing their origins so quickly, but it was like Xavier had a way of getting people to feel comfortable which was very obvious with M’gann.

“I appreciate that.” M’gann stated and despite this comfortable feeling felt like she had to be cautious. “But this…”

“I understand. I’m sure you’ll see here at this school, that, we as people will accept you. Give it time.”

M’gann smiled as she looked on at the elder man in her human form. “I hope so.”

“Until then, you will be offered the services I offer to everyone else—your friend here, Howard, I’ll find a fit for him as well. You both earned such safe existence away from the paranoid, cynical world we live in.”

Howard raised a brow but nodded. “Well, I guess we’ll talk some more after we get M’gann sorted here.”

“Indeed.”

Theatrically twirling my staff, I gave it a final spin before it gyrated into the final mafioso's cheek, then I heard a savage crack that notified me that I had made a successful strike. As I watched the man drop to the ground, I smirked, telescoping my staff back to it's original size and placing it back in it's 'holster'.

"Time to disappear," Bruce's words brushed over my ears like butter on bread, smoothly fading away as I looked over and nodded in agreement.

A small crowd had begun to form around us, closing in and taking photos of both us and the criminals we'd just beaten and humiliated. The sound of snapping shutters from the civilians' phones made it obvious that it truly was no time to stick around. I looked over at Bruce who nodded before snapping his cape over his face with one arm and throwing down a smoke-pellet with the other.

Following his example, I did the same, saturating the area with such a thick smoke that no one could tell what was going on. The populace both panicked loudly and gleefully chattered as though this were a theatrical performance, although ironically we do utilize thematic elements whenever possible.

Overpowering their chatter, I revved my motorcycle, making it howl before lurching forward, going from 1 to 60 in practically no time, while I'd assume that Mr.Wayne grappled to the rooftop or something of the like. But you know what they say about assuming.

"Robin to Batman: What's your location."

"Behind you," I said as my own motorcycle drew even with DIck's. "Good work back there. Only thing I would say is that we both should have been a little faster and got in and out before the scream's battery died. Regardless, we did what I wanted to do. I'm sure we'll have plenty of recordings and intel on the network when I get back home. Now, let's head to the museum..."

---

Dick slid down the rope and down into the museum. The timer on my HUD ticked down from ten minutes and read 9:45 and counting. Since the museum was a Wayne Tech client I could easily disable the cameras and other security systems in this section of the museum to give us cover. But the protection only lasted as long as it took the guard to do his ten minute patrol and go back to his station.

I followed Dick down the rope and landed softly beside him. The UV filter in my cowl activated and bathed the room in a eerie purple glow.

"Let's get started."

The young, pig-tailed former heroine wasted no time. She could unpack later, right now she was eager to see the rest of the school. The Xavier mansion was the largest house that she had ever seen. Which, was this what would be considered a mansion or was it more like a modern castle? The latter was appealing for the image it planted in her mind that by virtue of residing in such a modern castle, she was - by default - a princess. After all, anyone could be a chosen instrument of Kymellia, charged with great power and destined to save the planet. But, to be a princess, that was special.

This illusion of her own making was quickly lost to the emptiness of her blonde mind as soon as the small girl had exited the women's dormitory wing and nearly collided with Carter, who had apparently been waiting for her. In some ways, seeing Carter was better than princesses. Primarily because there was, to the best of her knowledge, no pending destruction of the planet at the hands of crocodile-like aliens or mutant hating bigots who just happened to hold a deep-seated belief that she was one. Typically, when she'd seen or spent time with Carter in the past, one of those two things had been the case. Or both, simultaneously, the end of result of which had been a bad day all around.

But this was a good day.

Bouncing up on both feet, Katie grabbed one of the boy's hands with both of hers as she excitedly asked, "Canihavethetournow?" This may or may not have been intended to be six separate words. In execution however, Katie spoke so fast that even she wasn't quite certain of what she'd just said. And the best part of being friends with a telepath? She didn't have to be. He probably hadn't even been aware that she'd said anything verbal-like.

Young Carter Ghazikhanian, for his part, despite the advantage of his mutation, seemed at a loss of words at the bouncing, bubbly, bombastic girl who was holding his hand. "Uh," the boy managed, with a blink, as though trying to comprehend what had just happened. Then he remembered, this was Katie. Katie had just happened. In which case, this would be considered normal. "Sure!" the boy affirmed finally, a smile lighting up his face as he pulled gently against her hold and said, "We should start with the cafeteria. There's a lot of students there right now..."

No sooner had they started however, than Carter suddenly brought their wide-eyed tour group to a halt. "There's really a lot of students in the cafeteria," the boy repeated, his gaze growing distant as though he were no longer paying attention to what was happening around him. "What are they..?"

As the young telepath trailed off, Katie looked up into Carter's face as though bewildered by how her friend had just suddenly checked out of his own mind. To confirm this suspicion, Katie waved a hand in front of his eyes. Yep. Checked out.

And then he was back. Blinking, Carter looked at the girl without explanation and offered only, "Uh, we should look at the cafeteria later. After they've had a chance to clean up." Changing direction, the boy pulled the girl down the other side of the hallway. "The professor's in his office though. You should meet him."

"Professor? Like a teacher?" Katie echoed, her face adopting a slightly sour expression. "Uh, can't that wait. Every day without homework is a good day," the child commented candidly.

"You want to get better with your power, right?"

Carter's question caught the girl unexpectedly. As she numbly nodded, Carter offered, "You'll like his homework. He knows everything about... everything. After all, he started this school."

| A S G A R D |

"Now, you will lay down your weapons or... frankly, my lady, we shall send you all back to the Hel from whence you came."

The army of the dead stood between the warriors of Asgard and the heroes of Olympus. Hela had walked into a trap. She was intelligent, she had to understand that there was no good outcome for her in this. The best course of action now was to yield and submit to Asgard. Still, standing within reach of the Lady of Hel, this had to be counted among the bravest things that Loki had ever undertaken. If she would not be swayed from this course of war, their fighting would still result in needless bloodletting and death. Least of all possibly his own, for he was neither armored nor armed for the fighting. And still he stood his ground, standing on the line drawn in the snow, with the message that said to her army this far, and no farther.

Were she Aesir, she would kill him where he stood and march gladly into the waiting arms of death. With horns blowing and poets to sing the praises of the fools and the fools who followed them.

But Hela was not Aesir.

Still, were he honest -- which, he would admit, was truly the best policy and yet, by simple process of elimination, dishonesty was then the second best policy -- but if he were honest, then Loki would admit that in the moments between breaths, he said a prayer. To whom did gods pray? Loki did not know. Still, even without knowing to whom he was offering a prayer, he did so anyway. Because he wanted to believe that reason could still triumph. That intelligent, reasoned beings could be reasonable and not resolve their objections through the art of war.

War was unforgiving, indiscriminate, and had nothing to do with truth or lie... but to the victor went the spoils. And, if that were true, then reason was madness for it was a futile pursuit in a world where might made right. Loki was more interested in the saving of lives than the taking of them. For what was the life lost? Glory? Honor? Vengeance? With all regard for his father -- for Odin -- Loki would not be that king of Asgard. If there existed the option to avoid war, then that option must be the one he championed.

He hadn't been honest before. Not even to himself. Loki knew to whom he had prayed.

He prayed to Odin.

And, for just a moment, he thought that Odin might have answered. Looking down at the young king, the Lady of Hel lowered her sword so that it pointed to the ground. "I..." the goddess began, as her mouth began to form the shape of the next word. He knew what she was about to say. The word 'yield' was already written across her face.

"HOLD!"

Hela stopped mid-sentence, jerking her head up as Loki turned to see Balder the Brave riding through the army of Asgardian warriors astride a white horse. Balder, who had abdicated the throne and then gone in search of Thor. Returning now, in Loki's moment of triumph, the victory a bloodless war, without Thor. And with brandished sword. Still, despite the evidence, in spite of his own conscious, Loki found himself uttering aloud, "What is he doing?"

"Men of Asgard, hear me!" Balder shouted, circling in front of the Asgardian warriors before raising his sword and turning toward the column of Greeks. "Champions of Olympus, lend me your ears. I am Balder, firstborn of Asgard and rightful king of all Asgard!"

...and rightful king of all Asgard. The words ran through the boy-king as through he had just been impaled upon the sword that Balder the Fool was waving. He should have been relieved. He had never wanted the throne. He didn't belong on the throne. And, yet, never had Loki known fear as he did now. Fear as to what Balder would do with the throne of Asgard. Because he knew. He knew the answer. The invasion of Jotunheim, the completion of the task that Odin had abandoned: the genocide of the frost giants. Only, Balder would not be satisfied by that glory. He would set all nine realms ablaze if he could be king of the ashes.

"The Lands of Hel have risen up arms against Asgard. Will you let this slight be forgiven?" Balder shouted, turning back toward the Asgardians as he worked to stir their bloodlust.

And the Asgardians answered, "No!"

"Will you let yourselves be led by this virginal boy who does not even carry a blade?"

As the roar of the crowd sent a tremor through the air, Hela raised her sword. The army of the dead braced itself for the charge, as Balder again turned toward the Greeks. "Olympians, did you come for a fight!?" As the Olympian gods added their shouts to the roar, Balder pointed his blade at the Lady of Hel and roared, "FOR ODIN!"

The Asgardians blew their horns. The Greeks raised their spears. And then the two armies collided with the legion of the dead with such a thunder as Loki had never experienced before. The ground shook as though the earth itself was moved by the advance of the two great armies, and when they met in combat the combined force unleashed a terror unlike any witnessed by any mortal eye. Beta Ray Bill's hammer send bodies and pieces of bodies flying through the air, while Ares' blade cut down whole columns of men as though he were reaping stalks of wheat. And, in the midst, was the giant Lady of Hel, her massive form and blade hewing Asgardian and Olympian alike until the sky rained with the blood of the fallen.

And there stood Loki. King. Son of Odin. First of his name. Standing on the field of glorious battle, hearing the horns of his brothers and beholding the banners of Olympus, his mouth agape in horror at the massacre taking shape. Tears formed behind his eyes, falling as he saw the first Asgardian felled. And, in that death, he saw the whole of his reign as king of Asgard. And he knew. He knew in that instant that he had failed.

He had failed them all.

"Damn him," the boy muttered, as he raised his tearful eyes to try and glimpse upon the blood splattered Blader the Brave. "Damn us all," the youth affirmed darkly.

"My lord!"

The sound of her voice made his heart stop. As the color drained from his face, Loki realized that Sif had followed him out onto the battlefield. And following Sif had been...

Grabbing her king roughly by the shoulders, Leah used the weight of her body to shove the boy out of the way of the spearman's thrust. The shaft of the dead warrior instead running through her body, as Loki could only look on in horror.

"NO!"

There is no scream of rage, but as all of his sorrow and hatred combined in that single moment, the boy held his hand out toward the dead spearman who now stood over the crumpled form of Leah and wished that the man did not exist. It was a whim. It was a child's anger. But, for one with Loki's power, such thoughts were, themselves, weapons. The spearman briefly glowed with a greenish light before his body broke apart, burning from the inside out with witchfire as it dissolved into ash.

Sinking to his knees, the boy-king of Asgard held a handmaiden in his arms and realized... he didn't have the power to save her. He didn't know what to do to save her. He only knew to hold her, wishing for one moment longer as he witnessed her life passing between his fingers and watched her fade away.

Leah was dead.

His subjects were dying.

Balder the Brave, he who would be the rightful king of Asgard was getting his earnest wish. To set his throne upon bodies strewn across the battlefield. And, like all good kings, it mattered little whose bodies littered the ground they were so long as Balder emerged the victor. For to the victor went the spoils. Might made right. That was the Asgardian way.

And, still, something inside of him whispered and said no. This could not be Asgard's future. That voice found shape as the boy rose to his feet and locked a spiteful gaze upon Balder -- upon he who Loki was destined to kill -- and he shouted, "Brother, please, end this!"

Dispatching his opponent, the black-haired Aesir prince stormed through the army of the dead until he stood over the small boy-who-would-be-king. And Blader answered, "Take heart, young giant, this was your idea."

The comment stunned the boy for a moment, as Balder's free hand wrapped around the boy's shoulder, drawing the youth in close as he bent a knee. As Balder pulled him near, Loki felt a cold sensation as the breath seemed to suddenly leave his body. Gasping in an attempt to catch his breath, Loki's vision blurred out of focus and he heard Balder's voice.

And the voice said, "The All-Mother sends her regards."

Grabbing onto Balder's arm to steady himself, the boy blinked to clear his vision and then realized that the hilt of Balder's sword was jutting out of his midsection. Looking up at his brother in confusion, Loki shuddered -- in his breathless state, unable to scream -- as Balder stepped back and pulled the sword from out of the boy's body, spilling his blood out onto the snow as the young king dropped back to his knees.

As he looked down at his own blood, the boy saw a dead magpie lying in the snow. Glancing up, the boy's mind wrestled to make sense out of events, as he witnessed Sif standing beside Balder.

And then Loki realized, that wasn't Sif.

"Ikol?" the boy asked, because he'd been uncertain at first. But, somehow, it made sense. Perhaps the blood loss, but he was certain with a second look at her. Which left only one question remaining: "Why?"

The darked hair avatar of his former self merely looked down on him as if he were a street urchin as she answered, "I did say, I am Loki, who you must not trust."

And so it would appear. He had been out Loki'd by Loki. Perhaps there was no dispute in that. Who better than Loki to un-do the work of Loki?

As his body began to surrender to its wounds, the boy crumpled to the ground. He had not realized until just then where he had been standing when he'd been felled. He was facing her. The color had drained from Leah's face. Her lips had turned blue as the warmth left her body like the blood spreading in rivets through the snow packed around her corpse. Even in death, she was still the most beautiful thing that he had ever laid eyes upon. In his lifetime, he had loved her. And had never told her that. Still, it was a lucky thing, the conscious of the king who lay in a deathbed of earth and snow, a fickle thing, the last whimsy, the last conscious thought of life, that he would die within sight of her.

And so passed Loki, son of Odin, King of Asgard.

As Bruce swapped modes on his cowl, I pulled the domino mask off of my face and, folding it in half, placed it in a pouch on my utility belt before swapping it for another, more specialized mask. Without wasting time, I spread it's two symmetrical ends apart and watched the lenses light up. It operated on a limited battery nowhere near as powerful as Bruce's cowl, but it still allowed the same function for a time.

"Let's get started," Bruce whispered, cracking his knuckles as he began to search through the room.

I did the same, analyzing the area where the woman had been shot, just a short way away from the spot where the crowd had been encircled by the four men in police uniforms. Standing several feet away, I'd eyed a gentle twinkle on the carpet. So, getting on my armored hands and knees, I stared at the source of the sparkling light, then I announced a theory.

"Batman," I whispered quickly, getting his attention. "There is a series of fibers spread over the floor, likely to provide a surface upon which a realistic model of a hologram could've been cast." Poking at the model of ultra thin fibers, I noticed that they were very easily movable and reshapable, explaining how no one had paid them any mind, probably even purposefully disregarding them, but the moment I released pressure they reverted to their previous shape with impressive elasticity. "Neat."

“The king is dead. Long live the king.”

The boat moved through the mists, a tidal chop lifting and dipping the bow of the Nordic dingy as it moved over dark waters and stranger tides. The youth wasn’t certain of at what point he had become consciously aware of his existence on that boat, for time was a concept which now seemed to elude him. What was moments ago seemed no different than what was happening now. Or perhaps what was – what had been – was all that was important in this place.

He was.

He had been.

And now? He wasn’t even certain that there was a now, let alone whether or not this was now. This did not even seem to be a moment, but perhaps, instead, he was in the moments between moments.

And so, for how long he had drifted, he knew not. There was a light upon the horizon, a light like that of a fisherman’s village upon the shore, and so he journeyed toward it. A journey of seconds, a journey of a thousand lifetimes, a journey in which the journey was meaningless. It was all the same.

The bottom hull ground into sand, the boat beaching itself in a shoreline which dipped into the dark waters and gave rise to an ancient village with spear towers and palisades, dirt streets on which Aesir, frost giants, elves, and dwarves mingled and mulled. It was a place quite unlike any he had seen in life.

“You, there, boy!”



The child looked up from the bow of the ship, as gray ash from the fires burning in the village began to snow down around him. Red eyes peered outward from out of a face that was a midnight blue, the color of his skin having been a fixation. Because he realized, this was his flesh. This was his true color. And he had never seen it before.

A dwarf, the owner of the voice that had called out to him, appeared from out of the mists and smoke on the shore, wading through ankle-deep water as the bearded warrior took hold of front of the boat and got a better glimpse at its sole passenger. “You’re a wee one for a frost giant,” the dwarf offered by way of greeting, a meaty arm stuck out to help the youth ashore. “Welcome to Hel.”

As the boy’s bare feet sank into the wet sand the sensation of the coarse silt crunching between his toes made an immediate impression as to how very real this was. And, yet, none of it seemed real. Not his blue flesh. Not spontaneously waking in a boat somewhere on a dark ocean. Not landing here in the spectre of so many yesterdays. He felt empty, as though there was a void somewhere in his very being – his very blood – and he knew it to be the absence of magic.

He had no power here.

“Startling, eh?” the dwarf rumbled, clapping the youth on the shoulder. “Aye. Aye, it is,” the bearded creature offered simply. “But, let’s get you with the maester. You don’t want to put off the scales of fate.”

The maester was an actuary of souls, a man who looked as though he might have been the personification of time itself, a withered body of an elder man whose pock-marked skin was stretched taunt across a hunchbacked frame of brittle bone. His beard trailed the ground as he hobbled between book shelves teeming with tomes and scrolls; the accounts of the living, the deeds of the dead, the sins of the damned, and the libram of heroes.

In was in a round, animal skin hut that he was to meet judgment. The judgment of his fathers, and their fathers, and their fathers. It was daunting to try and fathom how many had gone before this man. Had Loki done so before? Another chapter in life, another story...

”Your name,” the maester demanded simply, holding a quill pen and looking down at the youth as he prepared to make another entry in the voluminous scroll whose parchment overflowed the simple wooden bench on which he labored at his scribe.

Holding himself proudly, proud like he hoped Thor might be of him, the boy held his head high and answered, “I am Loki, son of Odin.”

Laughter.

It crept through the walls, through the shelves, through the books. An eerie, otherworldly sound, as though souls of a thousand reckonings were looking down now upon him. And the maester? The man set his quill aside and folded his spindly arms down on the table. “We have no sons of Odin here, little man,” the actuary stated, in a very matter-of-fact tone. Looking the child up and down, the man stood on trembling legs and made his way to a shelf, from which he procured a large, leather and iron-bound tome, the cover of which was marked by the symbol for Jotunheim. Dust flew from out between the pages of the book as he spread it open on the table and looked back at the youth. “And Odin has no son named Loki,” the man stated in the same observational commentary, as a witch’s finger trailed down a list of names. “But, let’s see if you’re here...”

In some ways, the boy found himself terrified of what might be written there. He was Loki Odinson. He had been Loki Odinson from the time he could first walk. It was Odin who taught him to lace his own tunic, to string his own bow, to hold his own in the hunt. It was Odin who had calmed a child’s nightmares, soothed a child’s fever, and encouraged him to not back down from his own fights.

But Loki was a frost giant. And so it was true. Odin could not be his father.

“Ah, yes, I see. You are Loki, son of Laufey,” the actuary announced, looking up from his book as the boy blanched slightly.

Laufey. Odin’s enemy. The barbarian king of the frost giants. And he was Loki’s true father?

The actuary had blanched somewhat as well. “You are the Odin ward. The frost giant who became king of Asgard,” the man stated, as the laughter suddenly hushed over the room. An uncomfortable silence ensued, in which the boy tried to wrestle with his own denial of his parentage and the actuary seemed to want to doubt that the frost giant child before him was the person he now knew the boy to be.

“What are you doing here?”

The question hung between them. Loki had no answer, and neither did the actuary.

“Bah! Things are such a mess with new management,” the man proclaimed gruffly, slamming the cover on the iron-bound tome in another flurry of dust.

“Hela did not return from Asgard,” the young giant noted aloud. It hadn’t been a question, even though the boy was fishing for something that would confirm suspicion sparked by the man’s last comment.

“No. Heimdall now rules in Hel in her place.”

“Heimdall?” the boy echoed, in disbelief. And, yet, it made sense. Heimdall’s eye was everywhere. Heimdall, alone, could have witnessed Balder assassinate the young King of Asgard. That made his presence in Asgard a problem for Freya and Balder, aside from which, their new Loki likely wanted to leverage dignitas and prestige for herself by claiming Heimdall’s role as Observer. And Heimdall’s Observatory was likely the only place in Asgard where Loki could be reassured that Freya didn’t have agents. That was the thing about Asgard. Even the walls had eyes, and all of them loyal to the All-Mother.

“Aye. Strange eve it is, even in the long night of Hel,” the actuary offered candidly, before giving a snort and waving at the boy in a dismissive manner. “But, ours is not a fate you should concern yourself with, young king,” the man said, as the dwarf who had led Loki to the man now reappeared through the doorway. Looking at his Hound, the actuary said, “Light the signal flame. This one belongs in Valhalla.”

“Wait,” Loki commanded, the request clearly a demand as the boy still spoke as though he reigned still. He heard it as well, the sound of his own voice immediately making him mindful of the fact that he was no longer king. And he had no power in Hel. In Hel or in death, and so what he did now he would have to do with the assistance of people. And not because he was king.

“You do not wish to go to the honored halls of the All-Father?” the dwarf asked, clearly in disbelief at being commanded to stand down from such an august task as to led one to Valhalla.

Turning back to the old man, the boy said, “Someone should have passed through Hel not long before I. A handmaiden of Asgard.”

The old man did not move. He merely peered down impassively at the youth as he asked, “You would stay in Hel for a handmaiden?”

“Her name is Leah,” Loki stated, ignoring the question. Or answering it. To be truthful, the answer seemed obvious.

“I know this name,” the actuary responded. “A Valkyrie awaited her arrival. I could not judge her.”

A Valkyrie? Waiting on a handmaiden? “Then she has passed to Valhalla?” Loki inquired hesitantly. Already, he felt a knot of dread in his stomach. His being here was no mere accident of fate. Neither, then, should he assume Leah or the Valkyrie’s presence to be mere coincidence.

“No.” the actuary confirmed. “They are here... as though they await something,” the man remarked, hesitating as he came to the final thought as though achieving a realization there. Looking down at the boy, the actuary asked plainly, “My king, are you betrayed?”

“All the Nine Realms betrayed, maester,” the boy affirmed firmly, as in his mind he began to put the pieces of his own life together in such a way as he had never viewed them before. “In life, my mother saw fit to lay a trap for me. She does so again in death,” Loki stated, as he turned back toward the door and prepared to take his leave. “And I shall not disappoint her,” the youth added in a quiet, reflective tone.

“My child, to be destroyed in Hel is to be destroyed in totality,” the man warned in a stern voice, pausing the youth’s brash step as he warned further. “Your story will be over.”

Turning his head, Loki looked back at the old man and smiled a smile that was as deep in sorrow as it was in pity. “It was never my story, maester,” the boy-king stated, and then he left to meet his fate.

Nightrunner said
I analyzed the area where the woman had been shot. It was just a short way away from the spot where the crowd had been encircled by the four men in police uniforms. Standing several feet away, I'd eyed a gentle twinkle on the carpet. So, getting on my armored hands and knees, I stared at the source of the sparkling light, then I announced a theory."Batman," I whispered quickly, getting his attention. "There is a series of fibers spread over the floor, likely to provide a surface upon which a realistic model of a hologram could've been cast." Poking at the model of ultra thin fibers, I noticed that they were very easily movable and reshapable, explaining how no one had paid them any mind, probably even purposefully disregarding them, but the moment I released pressure they reverted to their previous shape with impressive elasticity. "Neat."

"Looks like a high tech version of memory foam," I said from behind Dick.

I reached into my belt and pulled out a mini powersaw and handed it to Dick. My cowl scanned the section of floor for fibers or fingerprints. The HUD dinged and announced that it found a partial palm print. Dick finished cutting the piece of floor out and lifted it up while I sent the palm print back to the bunker for a later analysis.

"I got a hit on something," I told Dick. "It's a partial print, but I can't run it through the databases from here. We'll have to wait until we get back to do that, but it's a lead and a nice catch on your part. Let's fan out while we still have time and see what else we can find."

| H E L |

The fields in the mists were the dark places where souls were lost, wandering aimlessly in death as many had in life, an eternity without end, without purpose. On the sides of the twisting, winding, roads which looped back upon themselves, crows feasted on the flesh of the damned, devouring the eyes of those who had committed perjury. The valkyrie was there, the familiar form of the raven-haired girl bound, hand and foot, at the braided warrior's feet. For an honorable sister of the valorous dead, it seemed a rather cowardly thing. Indecent at best. Which was not at all behavior to be expected from the valkyr.

Freya's influence then? Or the Lady Loki? Just how deep did Ikol's web of deception descend?

The braided, blonde, buxom warrior looked up as the blue-skinned child appeared from out of the shadows, walking through the mists in a manner quite unlike the souls passing aimlessly. He walked with a purpose. He walked with his head held high. He walked as though he were someone. Bristling, the woman flexed her grip on the pommel of the twin blades sheathed at her hip. "On your way, little ant," the Viking war-mistress commanded harshly, waving the young frost giant off.

"I'm afraid I cannot do that."

The woman balked at being spoken back to, her shock quickly evaporating into an anger that seethed through her grimacing smirk as she slapped the handle of one of her swords. "Be gone, jotun," the woman uttered, spitting on the ground as she said the ancient name of the Frost Giant race. "Before I make you gone."

The boy stopped just a few feet from where the woman towered, though his gaze never once lifted to her eyes. Instead, he seemed focused on the waif at the valkyrie's feet. When he did, finally, lift his eyes, the woman was startled at the fire they held within the blood-red irises. "If my presence disturbs you, you are free to leave," the boy stated in a matter-of-fact tone which seemed to beg no question. "I am not here for you."

The warrior drew the outer most of the two sword, driving the point down into the dirt, and placing her hands atop the counterweight at the pommel as she glared down at the boy and warned, ominously, "You will address me with the proper respect."

Pausing, the boy seemed to consider her words. But none of the spite in his eyes ever once wavered, so she knew he considered them not as she intended. "A thousand apologies. Allow me to introduce myself, honored lady of Valhalla," the young frost giant intoned, each word more biting than the one before it, as the boy bowed slightly in a way that made the gesture more mocking than sincere. As he straightened up, his head still held high and proud, he said. "I am the Odinson, king of Asgard, and lord of your Valhalla." As he finished, the valkyr pulled the sword from out of the earth, holding it at the ready as he stood there, staring up at her with a mixture of contempt and arrogance. "You will address me with the proper respect."

Holding her sword level with the child's head, the valkyr seemed to be weighing the option to strike or not. Then she laughed. A mirthless, hollow sound. "The sight, or smell, of you makes me want to vomit, jotun. But you have made me laugh," the woman barked hoarsely, waving him off with the point of her blade. "On your way."

"As my lady commands," the boy answered dully, genuflecting in same, mocking, motion as he added, "When the girl is free to leave as well."

The point of the blade returned, just an inch from his head, aimed precisely between his crimson eyes. "Who are you?" the valkyr demanded.

The blood-red eyes of the young giant traveled up the length of the sword, traversing the distance of her arm until, at last, they stared up at her. And in those eyes, she saw only hate. "I am Loki."

"Loki is Aesir," the valkyr stated, as the sword crept closer, even while he did not so much as flinch or pull away from it. The tip pressed against the flesh atop the bridge of his nose, but he did not waver. That was to his credit. "Aesir and king of Asgard."

"And Thor is said to be a thousand feet tall," the young giant retorted caustically, reaching up with one hand to take hold of the point of her blade and direct it away from his face. "He wields the great hammer Mjolnir and shoots bolts of lightning from out of his arse."

The valkyr hissed at the jest taken in the name of the Aesir. "When I have taken you by the throat and squeezed the breath from your lungs, your last breath will be to give me your name."

"You have had it," the boy intoned flatly, holding out his arms as he stared upward, as though addressing an unseen audience. "If Heimdall's eye be everywhere, then let him look down now. If he has ear, let him hear," the youth stated, far more eloquently than the warrior had expected. Particularly for a frost giant. As his arms fell back by his side, the young giant looked at her again. "For I am Loki, begotten of Laufey and son of Odin."

"Do not speak the name of Odin, jotun," the valkyr scoffed angrily, again leveling her blade toward his head. "Profane my liege again and I will remove your liar's tongue."

"Only a fool mistakes that which offends as a lie, accepting instead that which is preferable to an inconvenient truth."

"I grow tired of your voice, worm," the warrior barked, her voice resonating in the mists, as she again pointed with the sword to indicate that he should depart her company. "Leave now, whilst I permit it."

And yet he was unmoved. "I will leave with the girl," the boy stated simply.

"She is of Asgard, filth," the valkyr snapped, drawing in a breath and then demonstrating her malfeasance by spitting on the young frost giant.

Not at. On.

The mixture of mucus and saliva hit him just below his left eye, causing him to wince involuntarily. Then, calmly, he raised a hand to wipe away the offending, sticky, wetness from his face. If she had hoped to dim his spirits, then it appeared that she had failed, for when he had looked back up at her -- her spit upon his face, her snot running from between his fingers -- she saw spite in all its purest form. "She is Leah, daughter of Roman, handmaiden to Sif, and servant to the Halls of Volstagg," the boy stated politely, almost reverently, as though cherishing each word. "...and beloved of the king."

Scoffing again, the valkyr planted her sword into the dirt again. "Of what king do you speak, jotun?"

"I am he for whom you wait," the child answered cryptically, as his red eyes lit upon hers once more. "I am Loki."

"A strange wish you have, jotun," the valkyr uttered grimly, plucking her sword from out of the earth and holding it upright. Then she tossed it down at the boy's feet, drawing instead the other blade at her hip, as she took a step back and readied as though for a duel. "But if you desire to die this day, I shall give you the death you seek."

The small giant's eyes glanced briefly down at the sword, the toe of his foot propping it up slightly. "Any idiot can raise a blade," the child noted wryly, pausing as he took a moment to admire her form. "You make that point for me in fact," the youth boasted sarcastically, drawing her ire before adding quickly, "But there is no need for this. What harm has the girl done to you? Let her go."

"A coward I see," the valkyr noted somberly, as though disappointed yet not surprised. Leveling the point of her blade toward his head, she made her own jest. "Too stupid to lift a sword? Or too weak?"

The woman's words made the boy crack a smile. Not a sardonic smile. Not a smirk. But a smile of genuine amusement. "You mistake unwillingness for ignorance. Reluctance for ineptitude," the young giant noted placidly, as though he had already emerged victorious. Locking his eyes on hers, he said only, "I assure you. I am neither."

The valkyr thrust her weight back. "The fight is begun. You are unwise not to raise your sword!" With those words, she propelled her body forward, sword raised high, coming down in an arc fully intent on splitting the child's head in two.

She saw his move and still did not believe her eyes. Kicking the sword from off the ground with his foot, the boy grabbed hold of the handle and then braced the flat of the blade against his shoulder blade as he took a step to the side. The edge of her sword skidded down the length of his, sparking grinding out in an impressive display, as the valkyr found herself with all of her weight through forward as the boy, quick as a snake, whipped the sword out from behind his back to strike at her leg as she went stumbling by.

She grimaced as she felt the bite of steel, staggering to a halt as she turned, her left hand reaching down to the wound in the back of her calf where he had neatly severed her hamstring.

"I was schooled in your arts of war by the Warriors Three," the young frost giant stated, casually tossing the sword from his right hand to his left, and then throwing it behind his back and catching it. "Sparred daily with Thor from the earliest days I could walk," the youth added, casually spinning the blade like a master swordsman as he leveled it out toward her in the same manner she had at him before. "Test me... at your peril."

Snarling, the valkyr drove forward again. Ducking left, then right, the boy proved lightning quick as he dodged back, under, or around her efforts. Metal clashed as his strikes were swept aside, as the two danced the warrior's dance of death. Her powerful strokes too slow to catch him, his reach too short to be a threat to her. Round and round they went, until a downward slice gave him opportunity. Using momentum and the weight of his blade to knock her's aside, the boy leapt up and slammed her across the face with his left fist.

Popped her right in the jaw. Cursing, the valkyr took a step back to check that she hadn't lost a tooth. Cradling a bruised pride more than a wounded jaw, the woman saw her own blood as her hand came away from her lips. Looking over at the boy, the warrior asked, "Was it Thor who taught you to hit a woman?"

Chest heaving, the young giant was obviously starting to struggle at maintaining his energy in the fight. "No," the youth offered breathlessly. "That was Hogun."

"Where?"

The voice boomed from out of the mists, as the shroud parted and there, in golden armor, was the one-eyed observer of Asgard. The newly installed Lord of Hel. The one foretold to kill Loki.

"Lord Heimdall," the boy uttered, at once at a loss of what to do. Should he be afraid? Should he be grateful? If Freya had betrayed Odin, then whose side was Heimdall on?

"Where did Hogun teach you to hit a woman?" the dark Aesir lord boomed, as he looked down on the valkyr and the giant.

"Svartálfaheimr," the boy stated simply.

And Heimdall said... nothing.

As he turned his head, Loki caught a fleeting glimpse of a large, valkyr fist. The woman's punch caught the boy about the head, blinding him as a series of stars exploded across his vision. Caught off-balance, the boy tried to ready his sword in case she pressed the attack. "You hit..." the child began, before he found his legs giving out on him. As he sank down to the ground, darkness claiming him, he uttered, "like... a girl..."

Parker Residence
Queens, NY

"What are you doing?" Gwen asks as she comes up behind me, putting her chin on my shoulder. "Because it's certainly not the homework you wanted to do together."

"Huh? Oh. Sorry. I did that hours ago. Just wanted you to be here to help." I continue to type away at my computer, desperately looking for any clues.

"Help to do what? I have homework to do, clearly," she laughs.

"What do you think could turn someone into a bunch of living sand?" I question without looking away from the screen.

Gwen sighs and flops back down on the bed, flipping through her book to the homework assignment, "Pete that's a bit above our expertise, no?"

"Maybe. No. I dunno. But I need to figure out what may have done this." The sight of Flint Marko contorting his body and becoming pure sand is burned into my memory. The guy was a crook, but no one deserves to be turned into something like that against their will.

"Have you looked through Oscorp's projects?" she arches her eyebrows.

I have, but I hold back saying so. I'm frustrated, and I shouldn't take it out on Gwen. "I've taken a look. Nothing jumps out at me on their site. And I'm worried about digging deeper and drawing suspicion. I don't need to advertise to Stormin' Norman Osborn that I'm Spider-man any more than I already have."

"What about Doctor Connors?" she suggests. Connors had been Gwen and I's scientific mentor during the school year last year. He had once been an Oscorp researched before taking a teaching position at Empire State University. "I thought about it, but I worried it might set off suspicion."

"Fine, you big baby, I'll go do it," she rolls her eyes.

"Thank yooooou!" I hop out of my chair, flip through the air, and kiss her.

"You're lucky I love you," she pushes me off.

"Seriously," I chuckle. "Who else can put up with my shenanigans."

**********

Two Hours Later

With Gwen gone and Aunt May at work yet again, I don my mask and head out into the night. I'm not going out on patrol, but to talk to someone. Captain Stacy isn't on duty tonight, but one of his detectives is most likely out on the beat. She usually is, and I need to talk to her.

Swinging in Queens isn't fun until the houses start turning into skyscrapers, but once they do I can really get going. Slinging a web onto a light pole, I swing around it, catapulting myself high over the street at an extreme speed.

"Woo!"

Attaching another line to a building face perpendicular to my path, I yank the webbing hard, turning sharply and quickly. I flip, landing in an alleyway. There I wait for my contact with the major crimes unit. After a few minutes, she passes by the alleyway, and I call out, "Hey lady, you looking to buy?"

I've busted enough drug dealers in order to learn the lingo. Of course I'm still a one hundred twenty-five pound high schooler, so I don't really sound the part. Still, it gets her attention, and she turns, coming into the alley, Once there, she crosses her arms at me, "How many times do I have to tell you, call me if you want to talk."

"My phone's out of minutes," I tell her the sad, horrifying truth. Ah, the life of a teenager.

"You are the true definition of a man," she says sarcastically. Renee Montoya's one of the best up and coming officers of Captain Stacy's crew. One hell of a detective and strong to boot. Gwen's dad had always raved about her, and I made sure to bring her into my group of allies early one. She was on my side before old man Stacy was. It helps I helped her take down a human trafficking ring run by the Big Man early on. But that's all she needed to trust me, and ever since then we've been virtual partners. "What do you need?"

"I need you to do a little digging into Oscorp. See if there's anything that could have created that sand creature the other night." Before she can ask why I'm not doing it, I explain, "I can't. I'm already on their hit list, and if I go digging I run the risk of leading them right to me."

"You're lucky I think you're on our side, kid," Detective Montoya nods. "When do you need them by?"

"No rush," I respond, firing a webline into the air. "I'm sure I'll have something else on my plate sooner rather than later."

Superman slammed down into the center of the Raft's courtyard, kicking up a wave of dust that obscured the chaos in the area. Guards struggled against their super powered charges, and many laid dead around the Man of Steel. The Raft was constructed on Ryker's Island in New York to house the super powered criminals and super max prisoners of the east coast. It's partner, the Triskelion in San Francisco, held the west coast criminals. The raft was a maze of hallways and cells built into the topography of the island, and it was one of the most secure locations on the planet.

At least it was supposed to be. The fact that someone managed to hack into the facility's systems and release all the prisoners almost simultaneously meant they were dealing with one of the most skilled hackers in the world. Finding him or her would have to wait, however. Clark had a bunch of scum to round up.

"Okay," he boomed in a commanding voice, "if you all return to your cells, I promise no one will get hurt."

The criminals began stepping out of the dust clouds like shadows into the light. They looked at Superman carefully, before a group charged him.

Clark sighed, "Fine. Have it your way."

Superman waited for the attacking mob to clear the guards they had been attacking before exhaling a great breath. The cold, frigid air that flowed around their legs froze the damp air, stopping them in their tracks. Clark floated over them, and smiled, "I hope you've all learned your lesson."

But his victory is cut short when an explosive force bats him out of the air. Clark lands hard on the ground below, and as the fires of the explosion dimish, a gigantic toy soldier appears over the wall of the courtyard.

"Toyman," Clark seethed. The insane inventor Winslow Scott had once been one of LexCorp's most successful weapons designers until he failed to create something that would help Luthor stop Superman. He was fired and lost his mind. Turning to crime, he began designing weapons based on the toys he had always loved. Clark had put him away last year. "How did you get the time to make that?"

"Oh," his voice came forth from the soldier, "this little party has been in the plans for quite sometime, Superman. I was just told to bring the favors."

The robotic soldier's arm opens up, and a minigun begins firing down on the people below. Superman speeds towards the arm, knocking it up, keeping the spray from killing anyone. He tried to snap the arm off as he had done many times before, but he found the alloys holding the mechanical man together were stronger than he had ever encountered before. Toyman used the other arm to swat the superhero off of him, sending Clark crashing through one of the prison's wall.

"Even with all your strength," the Toyman mocked from outside, "sufficient preparation and planning will still win, at the end of the day."

He fired the minigun again, the bullets harmlessly bouncing off the "S" on Clark's chest. Toyman knew it wouldn't do any good, but Superman figured it was probably being done to mock the Man of Steel. Superman responded by letting loose with his heat vision. The intense ray of heat began to melt the gun and the arm of Toyman's mechanical suit. But before Superman could press his advantage, a missile fired from the robot's knee and slammed into the cellblock, causing it to collapse on top of him. From beneath the rubble, he could hear Toyman escape.

**********

The cleanup was long an arduous, even with Superman's help. They managed to save the majority of lives trapped under the collapsed building, but some guards didn't make it. On top of that tragedy, Toyman and Metallo both escaped custody. That fact told Clark all he needed to know. Whoever had done this was targeting him. This was meant as a message for Superman.

"So who do you think it was?" Nick Fury's voice called out behind him.

"I have a guess," Clark said through gritted teeth.

"Luthot," he nodded.

"Who else would it be?"

"Well," Fury sighed, "we don't have any proof of that. If we get it, I'll be in touch. Until then, leave Lex Luthor alone. I don't need one of the military's most famous contractors beaten up by one of my boy scouts."

"Understood," Superman said as he kicked off the ground, heading back towards Metropolis.

"You're not worried at all about the break out on Ryker's Island?" Gwen asks as we stroll down the street, her arm locked around mine. "One of your...friends already got out and was turned into a sand monster. What if someone else got out?"

She isn't wrong. A high level cyber attack was carried out on The Raft, and a few super powered criminals escaped. I don't think anyone I've ever tussled with got out. Two of Superman's enemies got away, and a few low level guys apparently got out on a guard boat, but I haven't heard anything that makes me worry.

"Nah, I would have gotten word from my friends if that was the case," I shrug. "Besides, I'd be able to take care of whoever it was. I haven't lost yet."

"How many times do I have to say your cockiness is going to get to you before you listen?" she sighs.

"At least one more time, clearly."

I try not to be big headed around her. She hates it, but I just can't help it most of the time. I spent most of my life cowering in a corner, and knowing I'm now one of the strongest people in the city is intoxicating. On top of that, no one's been able to touch me as Spider-man so far. The Goblin came close. Harry came close. And that ended with him dead. It is a bit of a sobering thought, but I wouldn't let that happen again. No way. Uncle Ben and Harry are my great mistakes. It isn't going to happen again. I'm Spider-man, and no one is going to die on my watch.

"Well, promise me you'll at least look into the escaped convicts?' she spins in front of me taking my hands.

I plant a kiss on her, "How can I refuse a request from that face?"

"Gross," she winces sarcastically. "Laying on a little thick aren't we?"

"I do my best," I smile goofily.

"I'll call you after work," she calls as she heads into the science lab of Empire State University to do a shift as Doctor Connors's lab assistant. "And I'll make sure to talk to Doctor Connors about your friend."

**********

"The Sandman didn't work, doctor," Norman Osborn says through gritted teeth before taking a sip of his scotch. "I was promised results."

"I would say Project Sandman produced optimal effects, Mister Osborn," is the response from the video monitor feed coming from the most secret lab in Oscorp Tower. "We successfully changed a man into living sand. I do not know what else you would like to see."

"I would like to see Spider-man at my feet," Norman answers straightly. "You said he would do that."

"I can only make the powers, Osborn. I cannot change the mind controlling them. All I've had to work with are buffoons."

"The next time a Nobel Prize winner volunteers, Octavius, I'll make sure to send him your way," the CEO of Oscorp rolls his eyes. "For now, work with what I give you. And bring me Spider-man."

The feed cuts out and Otto Octavius is left to his work. He turns to the cage where the beast that was once a man slams repeatedly into the walls, screaming to be let out. The Sandman may have failed, but the Rhino certainly won't.

"Aleksy," Doctor Octavius smiles as he calls to the impervious tank, "how would you like a night out on the town?"

"Doc," the Rhino growls, "I was beginning to think ya were never gonna ask."

Museum of Art, Gotham City

Resting on my hands and knees, I began to sample different aspects of the crime scene. My samples included both a small section of the carpeting, and a short segment of the 'memory-fiber'. When I pocketed those, Bruce concluded his own analysis and announced that further investigation of his particular lead could only be found at home base.

As useful as a partial print would be, a more personal touch might be useful from the 'perp'. So, I placed myself directly in the area where the illusion of the woman had been, and I looked for a spot that could have presented her image completely uninterrupted. Considering her walk, there were only a few angles that could display that image. So, placing myself in 'her' footsteps, I strolled through the museum, looking upward the entire time. I ran through this several times before I used a flashlight.

"Batman," I whisper-shouted. "I've found it." With a mere four minutes remaining before the guard should've cycled back to our location, I spotted the projector, mounted upon the ceiling. "I see it!"