Marie shook off her fear and anxiety, floating quickly down to the street and scanning for Joseph’s figure in the crowd of people that had collected to witness the horrific scene displayed on the highway. A small collection within the crowd began cheering as Marie came into view. Marie had no time to waste, Joseph was a mystery to her and there was no telling just how much power he possessed. She shot past the crowd, barreling down the streets as fast as she could, hoping to see him hidden somewhere within Chinatown.

After ten minutes of searching, she pulled out a small pendulum from within her cloak, a crystal held at the end of a silver chain, and began chanting Joseph’s name. The pendulum responded by spinning clockwise, then back and forth, until finally it pointed in a straight line. Marie followed the path her divinatory tool had laid out, a twisted, gnarled path that took her to remote locations of the city where anything other than darkness scarcely resided. Eventually, she came across a hooded figure running into an alley. Recognizing the figure as Joseph, she flew ahead of him, blocking his path. Sure enough, Joseph removed his hood and looked upon the White Witch with a wicked smile on his face.

“Nice to see you again, Marie.” He greeted her with a devilish grin. Marie jumped at the mention of her own name, caught off guard by his apparent insight. Before she could protest, he continued. “Don’t act so surprised, I’ve had Holt keeping an eye on you since the first time we met. I knew you were the White Witch all along.” A black mist descended upon them, centralizing and forming into the ghastly image she had seen several times before, Joseph’s familiar spirit. Holt gave her an almost apologetic look, as if he were sorry for having spied on her. Marie decided to strengthen her resolve. She couldn’t deal with a threat like his if she were always shocked and scared.

“Then I guess there’s no point in denying it,” she replied, removing her raven mask and revealing her beautifully pale visage, eyes puffy and red, cheeks flushed from exhaustion. Despite being utterly terrified, she managed to keep a stern look. She took a deep breath.

“I’ll bet you’ve still got a couple of questions you want answered, am I right?” He asked condescendingly. “Well, lucky for you I’ve got some time on my hands before my next job.”

“Job?” she questioned with outrage. “You just killed an innocent man and walked away like it was nothing!” She looked around to make sure she wasn’t heard. Luckily, or unluckily, the two of them were in complete isolation.

“You think he was innocent?” he chuckled. “Come on Marie, you know better than that. We’re witches, we don’t care about innocent, we care about ourselves and very few others. When someone wrongs us, we get even, it’s just that simple.”

“What the hell could he have done to warrant a death curse?” she screamed, still afraid to take action against him without knowing what sort of protective charms he had in place.

“Well, he didn’t do anything to me per say, but he did something pretty nasty to one of my clients.”

“Clients?”

“Maybe I had the wrong idea about you, Marie. Maybe you’re not as smart as I thought, because the answer to all of these questions is glaringly obvious.” Marie wanted to punch him, she wanted to become physical, but she just stood there, eyes like daggers. He continued. “We’re witches, Marie, we’ve been selling our services to the highest bidder since the Middle Ages, and we don’t ask questions, we just take their money and get casting.”

“So when someone asks you to kill a man, you don’t ask questions, you don’t care that you’re about to take an innocent life?” Marie raged at him. “Do you even know who that man was?”

Joseph nodded, “Of course I do. He was the proprietor of a local restaurant chain. And if you must know, he wasn’t all that innocent. My client was an employee at one of his restaurants. She told me that he made a habit of visiting the different restaurant locations and roughing up the female employees in the storeroom. She told me that something needed to be done, and here we are.”

Marie went silent. She stood there for a moment, desperately trying to care about the man she had once believed innocent, and finding only apathy where empathy should reside. Had she been in a similar position, she would have done the same, if not worse. She looked at Joseph, her eyes filled with uncertainty. He moved forward and gently held her shoulder. “No one’s innocent, Marie,” he said softly, patting her shoulder then moving around her to the wall at the end of the alley.

“W-wait,” she called out to him, her voice a whimper. Joseph turned around, sporting his signature grin. “I . . . uh, I don’t know what to do about this. I’ve been playing the hero, but if this keeps happening . . .” She was at a loss. The White Witch had come when Chinatown needed her, protecting them from petty criminals and a few raging metahumans, but the supernatural, her area of expertise, was a different story. Magic isn’t black and white as most think. There is no true morality that binds a witch to doing good or evil as both have their place in the craft. Marie could have decided then to abandon the darker practices, but that wasn’t something she was willing to give up. She believed in getting even, and tonight’s events were just that, someone getting even.

Joseph could see Marie’s dilemma. “Well you know what they say, Marie.” She gave him a confused look. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

“W-what?”

“You’re a talented witch and the only one who’s been ballsy enough to pull a stunt like White Witch. You want to make a difference in Lost Haven? Try expanding your area of influence. Stop chasing down criminals and start doing what our kind has done for centuries, appealing to the people who need you most, desperate souls willing to do anything just to have things go their way. Besides, that half-assed occult shop can’t be enough to pay for your rent and cover the cost of living in the city.”

Marie wasn’t sure how to respond. He was right, of course. Madalena was her friend and she loved her job, but Shadow of the Moon wasn’t rolling in cash. Marie had come to Lost Haven to be a cunning woman, and now she was given the opportunity to be a true influence within the city, operating in secret, still behind a mask, still having an effect on the city as a whole. She was too overwhelmed to speak, so she nodded, moving closer to him.

Joseph smiled, taking her hand in his and with the other, pulling out a small length of chalk from his coat and drawing a sigil on the wall, the inside resembling an imp or devil. The sigil glowed a bright red, the wall around the sigil beginning to separate, moving away from the wall and forming a door leading to a long corridor. The two walked through the wall together and down the corridor, Joseph opening the ornate, red door at the end. As he did, a brightly lit tavern with several tables, rooms, and strange denizens came into view. Marie looked in astonishment, she was entering a place where all the strange and fantastical things commingled. Joseph looked back at her and with a grin said, “Welcome to the Red Devil.”

“What the hell happened here.” Odysseus asked aloud, not intending for his ‘partner’ to answer it. Only a few days ago, the well-built archer had been hunting down leads on the Shroud Syndicate. Now, he was following around a bird-headed man, who was decked out in ancient Egyptian attire. Never had this Greek man seen such carnage like this before, even though he has seen some strange things while going after the various criminal underworlds that reside in the United States alone.

“Obviously those who have not respect for the dead. Leaving the bodies out for the carrion and the dogs would be a worse enough offense on its own. But using the broken and lacerated limbs of the fallen, as if they were Lincoln Logs, in order to taunt every single person of at least some noble mindset reveals how deviant these fiends are.” Odysseus was still trying to get use to how Jeffery, or the Son of Osiris, as he now referred to himself, would communication with him telepathically. Hearing your own thoughts is one thing. Hearing someone else’s voice in your own head is just downright bizarre.

“There must have been thousands of people packed into this stadium! What the hell are the two of us supposed to do against four individuals who can do something like this?” However, Odysseus did not illicit a response from his Egyptian-themed ally. The Son of Osiris continued to walk towards the side of the stadium that had the press box. The Greek archer was not quite sure what his partner’s plan was. In fact, he was not really even sure why they were in this creepy place. The police had already begun to create a perimeter around the block where the Lost Haven University’s football stadium was located. Or at least until the Son of Osiris began to speak (in his mind, of course).

“I sense a living soul up in the press box.” Odysseus suddenly heard the bird-headed man tell him. His partner floated up over the boundary that separated the stands from the field, while Odysseus climbed up over the partisan. Then they ascended the stairs until they reached the press box. However, the Son of Osiris abruptly before they reached the top. He turned back towards Odysseus for a moment.

“It might be better if you talk to whoever is in there. The sight of a bird-headed man who talks via telepathy might be a little too much for this person, especially considering what he or she has experienced this night.” Odysseus nodded in agreement. Heck, he himself was freaked out a little when he first met this ‘Son of Osiris’. How would someone who was not use to metahumans react to that?

While Odysseus went into the press box in order to find whoever survived this massacre, the Son of Osiris looked down upon the field. Most people would have seen the countless corpses disrespectfully arranged into a gruesome message that called out at the heroes of Lost Haven and the world in general. However, the Son of Osiris saw more. He could see the uncountable souls that stood horrified as they looked upon how their own dead limbs had been stuck together for some twisted purpose. These people had their lives stolen from them prematurely. Many would never learn the full experience of adulthood.

“That guy was a mess.” Odysseus creeped up from behind the Son of Osiris. “He’s too much in shock to give anything coherent. He kept mumbling about a living shadow, an all-consuming fire, a living skeleton, and a giant monster. I’ll say he’s in pretty decent shape considering what he had just experienced, being the sole survivor. I would hate to see what worse would look like.”

“There are two reasons why I do not fear this shadow.” The Son of Osiris told Odysseus inside the Greek’s head. “First, my ‘father’ is darkness.”

“Wait! You’re seriously thinking about taking on whoever did this” The archer gestured towards the mangled body parts that were used to write out Nightmare’s message for the heroes of Lost Haven. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we alone could do much. Heck, if we were here when this self-dubbed ‘Nightmare’ had attacked, we probably would be amongst the dead down there!”

“Have you ever heard of the myth of Osiris?”

“Not particularly.”

“Once, long ago, Osiris’ brother, Set, became jealous his sibling and eventually chopped him up into many pieces, which were scattered around the world. Isis, Osiris’ wife, scoured across the globe for the individual pieces of her husbands until one day she managed to reunite Osiris into a single body. On that day, Osiris, the Egyptian God of the Dead, was resurrected.”

“Hold your horses there. You’re not thinking about putting all of those bodies back together are you? I know you have a thing about respecting the dead and all, but that would take hours if not days! Plus, that guy in the press box was mumbling about an all-consuming fire. Couldn’t some of the bodies been, like, cremated or something?”

“Although you do bring up good points if I only intended to give these people a proper burial, I am surprised, Odysseus, that you have not bothered to ask what was the second reason why I did not fear this darkness. For while my ‘father’ is darkness, he is also life. You might want to divert your eyes.”

The Son of Osiris held out his staff, raising it out towards the message that was written on the football field. If someone had been watching the stadium from far away, they would have noticed a giant, blue burse of light. While it was not quite the intensity of an atomic bomb, the light was still blinding. Once the light had died down, Odysseus peered back down towards the bloodstained field below. What was once filled with lifeless corpses and mangled body parts, now the stadium was filled with countless resurrected souls, not yet ready to be taken away by death. Everyone was overtaken by a state of confusion since no one knew what had happened or could remember what had happened to themselves just hours ago.

However, something was not quite right. Although the Son of Osiris was successful at restoring the corporal state of Nightmare and company’s victims, he noticed that some of the bodies were still unanimated. Something had gone wrong, or rather something had prevented him from giving the entire crowd a second chance. It was now evident to the Son of Osiris that, whoever had done this atrocity, that group of individuals were motivated more than just the murder. Something peculiar indeed. And this anomaly vexed the servant of Osiris. Until he is able to figure out what had prevented a successful full resurrection attempt, the Son of Osiris would have to be content with those who had been saved and with the solace that would be given to the families of those who were not restored to life because they would have an intact body for burial.

“Their memories have been erased, as no one should experience death twice.” Osiris mentioned to Odysseus, who was stunned at what he had seen. Now, Odysseus wondered what the heck has he gotten himself into. This is no longer the game of beating up the thugs of corrupt organizations and mobs. However, before Odysseus could utter a word, his bird-headed ally had already placed his arm on the Greek’s shoulder and teleported them away from the stadium, leaving the crowd that has been given a second chance to deal with themselves.

A brow raised as Iron Knight shot heated comments right back at him despite the fact that War-Pulse had already agreed to help. He had not even bothered to acknowledge the handshake, instead deciding to further demonize and attack the mercenary’s stance rather than listen. Either this kid was very bad at negotiations or he had a lot to get off his chest. While he could not say anything about Icon, he could tell this Iron Knight was not one to make compromise lightly, or even shut up for that matter. In any other situation, War-Pulse would’ve slapped his helmet in right then and there, but Iron Knight heard what he wanted to hear and just had to be an arrogant dick about it.

He was just lucky that he was making some sense with his talk. While D-Day was a bit of a toss up between entertainment and necessity, there was the very real complication that with more metahumans work would be much harder to come by. There was no doubt in his mind he was the best of the best, powers weren’t going to change that, he had gone through enough lengths to make sure that on the off chance he ran into a person as strong as he that he could win on skill alone. He had done it before, he could do it again, powers alone did not make him a top-rank mercenary in his own mind. However, a potential employer might not be able to make that differentiation, which would absolutely mess with business. Part of him relished the challenge a world like that would bring, but he could almost hear Warden silently groaning at the thought that they would not be as profitable.

However, even with the facts laid out, that alone would not have stopped War-Pulse from giving Iron Knight the beating he very clearly needed.

It was the others that did that.

The speedsters, their words caught War-Pulse off guard, even caused his features to soften, combined with Icon’s previous words they provided a case he actually seemed to respond to. They did not seem to care if War-Pulse was doing it out of the good of his heart or not, but both just seemed happy that he agreed to join them. If he had said no to their proposal, it could have easily been seen as more scripted nonsense in a desperate attempt to guilt him into joining.

But he already said he’d help, and they still spoke as if they believed Icon and Iron Knight thought he could be redeemed. Did that mean they meant what they said? Were they really being so sincere?

Before he really got the chance to contemplate their motivations, Iron Knight had gone on to explain the next phase of his place. He had displayed another hologram of another metahuman, explaining his need to recruit this person last as part of the team for taking down this superpower threat.

The mercenary’s eyes popped wide, he recognized the girl almost instantly.

“Hey! I know that girl!” He jutted in, moving towards the group while pointing at the display. “I saw her during D-Day. She and I fought some kind of snake-demon in the sewers together, has one hell of a roundhouse kick from what I remember. If you want to send someone to go after her, send me. Icon’s your big gun, your poster boy, you’re going to need him in the city a lot more than you’ll need me for both publicity and for tactics. Lost Haven would lose their shit if the boy scout was seen bailing town.”

As he continued to plead his case, he did take the time to turn his attention momentarily to the girl speedster, who made it clear she was very happy with his choice. He returned her sentiments with a smirk underneath his facemask, giving her a thumbs up.

“Hell yeah, Sprint!” He shouted to her, giving her a nickname off the top of his head, intentionally poking fun at her exhaustion for the run. “Just don't make me regret my decision, I ain’t doing all the fighting for you!”

As he turned to Icon and Iron Knight, he motioned to where the two speedsters ran off. “I like those two. The guy’s a straight shooter, and the girl’s one hell of a firecracker...you know if she’s seein’ anyone?” He laughed, waving the two off before they could answer. “Yeah yeah, I know, not the point right now. Anyway, like I was saying, I know the Spider Chick and it makes much more sense to send me out to Ohio than it does Lost Haven’s prize fighter. Plus, I got an information broker on call, if anyone can pinpoint your lady, it’s him.”

He tapped his earpiece to emphasize his point. ”I can have him synchronize our frequencies so I can radio when I have her on board. Once her and I get back, I can tell you everything I know about the four metahumans who beat me. If this is a leap of faith we’re taking, then we’re dropping off that first step together. You have to trust me, I’ll get Madame Web to get on board.”

INTERLUDE

Traffic actually isn't too bad this morning, Stephen thinks to himself as his Safeguard armored van rumbles down Hayden Avenue. The streets are relatively clear, particularly for a Tuesday, and the van has been making good progress all morning. At this rate, they may actually complete all of their deliveries on time. As the thought crosses his mind, Stephen unbuttons the front pocket of his dark grey Safeguard uniform and reaches in, feeling his fingers wrap around a slender chain. He gives it a quick tug and produces an antique pocket watch of polished silver. At the press of the hinge, the face of the watch pops open. There, next to the ticking clock face, a tiny picture of Stephen's wife, Amanda, has been laid on the inside of the case. Stephen smiles to himself as he looks at it, then closes the case and returns the watch to his pocket.

"Very nice," Stephen's coworker, Stan, announces from behind the wheel of the vehicle. He turns his head slightly, giving a slight nod in Stephen's direction as he asks, "That new?"

Stephen nods. "Yeah," he replies, "it's a birthday present from the missus." He closes the button on his front pocket and turns his attention back to the road.

Stan smiles behind a bushy mustache. "My old man had one just like it," he explains as he gives a quick scratch behind his ear. After a laugh, he adds, "He used to carry that thing everywhere, and yet the man was still always late." As Stan launches into a story about the one time his father was late to his sister's wedding, the Safeguard van rolls through a succession of green lights. 22nd Street, 23rd Street, 24th Street. The two men are so distracted by their conversation that they think little of it, just a spot of good luck. The traffic around them slowly thins out, but this too goes unnoticed. Stan is just reaching the punchline of his story as the van passes the intersection of Hayden and 26th. Unbeknownst to both men, a set of explosive charges beneath the asphalt is silently ticking down their arrival. Stan finishes with a guffaw, "... and no one had the heart to tell him that he was at the wrong reception!" The van rolls into position as the charges tick their last...

BOOOOOOM!

A row of controlled explosions fans out in a straight line in front of the vehicle, causing the roadway to slump forward under the weight of the van. The two men are nearly thrown from their seats as the van lurches down into the newly-created ditch. Stan slams against the steering wheel, sending out a violent "HONK!", as Stephen crashes against the dashboard. The wheels squeal for a moment, seeking traction, until Stan takes his foot off the pedal and the vehicle comes to a full stop. Looking up as a thin line of blood begins to trickle down his head, Stephen gasps, "What the hell?!" Through the cracked windshield, the two men can see dark silhouettes striding towards the car. Instinctively, Stephen clasps for the gun at his side, but his movements are clunky and disoriented; he fumbles with the holster snap, struggling to wiggle his weapon free.

The figures appear on either side of the van, dressed in all black save for the round, white masks they wear. Each is toting a submachine gun under one arm, furthering Stephen's panicked attempt to draw his sidearm. As the figures approach the vehicle, they reach out and place metal devices on the outside of the two doors. Instantly, the doors lock shut. Stephen and Stan each scramble to unlock their respective door, but the latches are unresponsive. Before either Safeguard employee can make sense of what's happening, a third figure steps into view through the cracked glass.



"Pardon the intrusion, gentlemen," the man announces loudly enough to be heard from outside the van. "This will take but a moment of your time." Two more black figures flank the new arrival, and he gives them a curt nod. They disappear out of sight behind the van. "Quickly now, men," the ringleader instructs, "We have ninety seconds until the police arrive." A moment later, yet another explosion -- smaller than the rest -- rocks the tilted van. The sound of footsteps clamoring into the back of the vehicle can be heard from the passenger cabin. The robbery has begun.



Let's get one thing straight: I am not a morning person. My sister Victoria? She's a total morning person, and it always bugged the hell out of me. I value my sleep, even moreso now that I'm getting weekly superhero workouts. Unfortunately, I don't always get the final say in my schedule, which is why I wound up stuck with an 8:30 AM class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. (Just... don't even get me started.) Luckily, the one thing I can say in my defense is that generally once I'm up, I'm awake. Which is why, following the conclusion of said 8:30 class, I decided to go on a quick patrol around the city. Truth be told, it's not even about catching bad guys as much as it is getting to stretch my legs. There is no greater high than getting to experience Lost Haven from twenty stories up. In the time since I kissed any semblance of a normal life goodbye, the city has become my own personal playground to explore.

And yeah, sometimes I get to catch bad guys.

BOOOOOOM!

Speaking of...

At the sound of the explosion, I immediately pivot and change direction. I've gotten pretty good at pinpointing the direction of sounds in this city, if I do say so myself, and that one wasn't very far away at all. Landing on the pad of my foot, I springboard towards the sound of danger, clearing a small tenement building and landing on a gravel-covered roof. I tuck into a roll and launch myself over the edge of the building. As the sidewalk races up to meet me, I reach out for a stray flagpole and swing myself around again. At the peak of my jump, I stare up at the bright blue sky. Seconds later, I'm tumbling back down to Earth, just around the corner from where the explosion originated. I catch the edge of a rusty fire escape and launch myself around that corner, landing lightly atop a lamppost.

Just a few yards away, an armored truck has sank into the street. It's surrounded on all sides by men in black bodysuits. The back door has been blown clean off, and there are more men inside looting the helpless truck. That's when I spot the man in charge: a surprisingly well-dressed gentleman holding a shield in the shape of a clock and what appears to be an over-sized clock hand. I guess I don't have to ask what this guy's "theme" is. Ah well, who am I to criticize someone for being a little flamboyant? I am wearing green spandex, after all. Clearing my throat, I call out, "You know, it might've been simpler to stop at an ATM."

The ringleader looks up at me. "Mantis," he sneers.

"Clock... guy," I answer back uncertainly.

"Call me the Minuteman," he answers, "though I'm afraid we don't have time for a proper introduction. Second Hands, deal with the interloper!"

As soon as the Minuteman gives the order, his lackeys raise their guns at me. I've found that if you have enough guns pointed at you, you start to get pretty good at reacting to it. Given the sheer numbers going against me, I decide that I'm better off trying to evade rather than trusting my exoskeleton to protect me. With a spring-loaded jump, I send myself twisting through the air as the hailfire of bullets rains upon my abandoned perch. I size up the Minuteman's forces at the peak of my jump, counting at least five armed men. I'll have to dispatch them quickly before any of them get a lucky shot on me -- or worse, hit a bystander with a stray shot. Landing on the far side of the street from the armored van, I immediately roll behind a parked car. Bullets tear through glass and metal overhead.

Quickly shielding my head with exoskeletal armor, I sneak a peek around the fender of my hiding spot. There are three Second Hands facing me with a bead on my position. They open fire as soon as I pop my head out, and it's all I can do to get back behind cover in time. A plan occurs to me, but I feel bad about doing it. With a glance at the car behind me, I think, Hope you've got good insurance, pal. I turn around and press both palms against the car, giving it a good strong push. The car slides across the street behind my strength, and I keep pushing until I've pinned one of the three Second Hands against the side of the armored vehicle. Darting out from behind my cover, I bounce up from underneath the next assailant, knocking his gun away before he can react. I throw an armored arm around his neck and spin him around to serve as a body shield from the third shooter.

"Times up," I tell the Second Hand as he hesitates. I hold out my palm and fire a single stinger blast, catching him in the hand. He yelps and drops his gun, so I sweep the legs out from underneath my body shield and pounce at the disarmed shooter. With a sharp cross to the temple, I relieve him of consciousness and nearly knock the clock-shaped mask off his face. A quick glance at the ground reveals the shadow of an approaching Second Hand. I raise my armor and turn the corner of the truck, bull-rushing him. As I tackle him to the ground, bullets from the other remaining lackey bounce and chip off my exoskeleton. The more direct shots feel a bit like taking a sledgehammer to the back, but it sure beats a gunshot wound. I knock out the Second Hand in my arms and leap fist-first at the last man standing. He hits the ground at the same time as his gun.

Lowering my armor, I glance around, but the Minuteman is nowhere to be seen. Figures. Use the henchmen as a distraction to make your escape. He was traveling on foot, though, so he couldn't have gotten far. Now, if I were a time-based villain trying to make my narrow escape, where would I... ? My eyes fall upon a nearby subway entrance, and I get that feeling in my gut. Of course. Before leaving the scene, I rip the van's door off its hinges, freeing the driver and the guard trapped in the cabin. They begin to thank me profusely, but I have to dart if I'm going to catch the Minuteman in time. Bounding down the stairs toward the subway station, I pass a group of curious onlookers. "Hey, did you guys happen to see--?" Before I can finish, they point towards the right. I nod appreciatively. "Thanks."

The platform is all but abandoned, save for the Minuteman. He turns upon hearing my footsteps. "Miss your train?" I ask.

He raises his clock-shaped sword and shield. "There will be another." With surprising quickness, he lunges at me. I'm only able to cover my arm from the elbow down in time, but it's enough to catch the end of his unique sword. I try to fire off a quick stinger with my free hand, but he anticipates and deflects it with his shield. Following through on the motion, he bashes at me with the shield, catching me cleanly in the solar plexus. I stumble back, gasping for air, as he brings his sword around. Luckily, raising my armor has almost become second-nature, and I'm able to get it up in time. The sword clangs against my shoulder, and I swear I feel it nearly dislocate. This time, I grab onto his sword before he can pull it away. I give it a quick yank and pull him into my waiting fist. He tumbles away, quickly recovering.

"So, what's your story, then?" I ask between short breaths. "Disgruntled clock maker? Holding a stopwatch when you were struck by lightning?"

The fabric of his mask tightens as the face beneath smirks. "Stalling until the police arrive. Clever. Unfortunately, you are out of time, Mantis." There's a screech echoing down the tunnel, and a bright light appears. Minuteman throws himself at me once more with renewed vigor. Again, I armor myself, but he's ready for it this time. With a deft spin of his wrist, Minuteman brings the sharpened edge of his clock hand around to bear on me, catching the intersection between two exoskeletal plates. I wince as I feel it bite into flesh, and Minuteman smashes me over the head with his shield. The moment I lose my balance is all he needs. Minuteman takes a running head start and leaps across the platforms mere moments before the train pulls through. Hand on my side, I race to the edge of the platform, but there's nothing I can do. The ceiling is too low to jump over the train. By the time it passes, the Minuteman is long gone.

I take my hand off my side and look at the cut. It's not all that deep, should heal in less than a day. Still, I should get back and patch it up before my next class of the day. The Minuteman may have escaped, but the police are surely picking up his Second Hands as we speak. For my money, I'll count that as a win.

Icon watched in disbelief as Iron Knight continues ripping into War-Pulse even after the mercenary had agreed to help their cause, even if it was for selfish reasons. Personally, Icon didn’t care why War-Pulse had chosen to join them, he was just glad that they had one more weapon in this fight against Pax Metahumana, and with War-Pulse joining the fight, he knew that it only helped their chances of stopping this disaster.

He was equally impressed with Iron Knight’s ability to go from berating a potential ally to giving orders in almost the same breath. Icon watched as Iron Knight used a device to project an image of the woman that he knew as Arachne, albeit, a little more human looking. Iron Knight’s plan was for Icon to go to Ohio to recruit her for this fight, and his reasoning was sound. He had fought side by side with the girl against Ares and Polemos, so it was a good bet that she would be willing to hear him out. However, he didn’t agree with the second part of Arthur’s plan. While Icon could get to Ohio and back in minutes, he felt that it was an unnecessary waste of time to have Lyger, Radiance, and the others join him there from Albany. He felt that it would be more prudent to have the four of them back in Lost Haven, where they might be able to use the information that they might get from Zac and Kelly, he believed their names were, to possibly find the device and put a stop to this whole affair.

He was about to speak up and tell Iron Knight what he thought of the plan, when to his surprise, War-Pulse interjected instead.

“Hey! I know that girl! I saw her during D-Day. She and I fought some kind of snake-demon in the sewers together, has one hell of a roundhouse kick from what I remember. If you want to send someone to go after her, send me. Icon’s your big gun, your poster boy, you’re going to need him in the city a lot more than you’ll need me for both publicity and for tactics. Lost Haven would lose their shit if the boy scout was seen bailing town.” War-Pulse had told them. Though Icon could almost see the look of bewilderment and apprehension at the mere suggestion that he go in Icon’s place to recruit Arachne, Icon couldn’t argue with the logic. When War-Pulse added the fact that he had an information broker who might not only be able to pinpoint Arachne’s location faster than Icon could find her, but then broadcast any information that he could ascertain the moment he had it, Icon knew that this was the right play, though, even if he didn’t agree he might not have had any choice, as War-Pulse had indicated that this might just be a condition of his joining them.

“He’s right.” Icon said. “People are on edge as it is, if I were seen leaving the city now, it might send the wrong message. Besides, I think that I might be more useful here, trying to track down the device. I think that in light of the change in plans, it might also be better to have Lyger and the others come straight back to Lost Haven as well.” Icon then turned to War-Pulse, and nodded in his direction.

”It’s up to you. Go get Arachne and bring her here. I’ll see what I can do about this device.” Icon said as he took to the skies and headed back into Lost Haven proper, not giving Iron Knight a chance to protest.

Relief washes over Radiance as the pair agree to join her and Lyger on the trip back to Lost Haven, as well as a tinge of amusement at the “cat girl’s” tripping all over herself in front of Lyger. She even feels a bit of pity for the girl as Lyger just glares at her, clearly not amused by the girl’s antics. However, she is also a little worried. Zac has thrown down the gauntlet, and as a condition of his cooperation, he wants to know exactly how she and Lyger knew where to find them. Arthur had told them that if his part in all of this was known, he doubted that they would be so willing to cooperate.

“Well, we kinda had a little help finding you.” Radiance starts.

“STRIKE gave us a file on you, which included your names and your address.” Lyger told them. The three metas looked at him, each wearing a worried expression. Lyger felt for them, but the fate of the entire world hung in the balance, and he didn’t have time to coddle them. “I hate to break it to you, and you…” He said pointing at Radiance, “But they probably have files on all of us. You, me, and even Icon probably. I don’t like it any more than you do, but the fact is, they haven’t come busting down any of our doors just yet, and they weren’t the ones who kidnapped you. You want to know why you should trust us? Maybe you shouldn’t, I really don’t care. But we have a world to save, so if you’re coming, let’s go. If not, so be it.”

Radiance’s cheeks begin to flush and she sinks in her seat a bit, not knowing how they will react to her “partner’s” rant. She just hopes that he hasn’t blown this entire recruitment mission. She looks to Sammy, Zac, and Kelly with an apologetic expression, and then glances daggers at Lyger, fuming over what he had just said.

“I am sorry for Lyger, but he is right about one thing. We don’t have much time.”

The Red Devil, a curious place that exists somewhere within Lost Haven, but exactly where no one could be sure, was a sight to behold. It had the air of a medieval tavern, featuring a bar that sat at the back, whose stock was poured from barrels and into flagons, shelves lined with bottled oddities, glowing elixirs, and a large assortment of mundane and magical reagents, tables and booths scattered with controlled chaos throughout the interior, seating guests of all supernatural walks of life, a large stage where a live band played upbeat folk melodies on traditional wooden instruments, and walls lined with beautiful, archaic paintings depicting many strange and splendid scenes, whose images were invaded by a mischievous, horned sprite.

Marie stood in awe of the establishment, her eyes moving rapidly, trying to take in every strange and sorcerous sight. She was greeted with friendly nods from The Red Devil’s guests, who ranged from tall, fae women draped with ivy sashes, to stout, dwarven looking gentlemen, to amorphous creatures of many strange colors and materials. There were even humans and other mortal creatures scattered here and there, making idle chat or paying for some illicit, magical service. “W-what is this place?” she asked, her voice filled with childlike curiosity.

Joseph grinned, “A haven of sorts for our kind and those with whom we regularly deal.” He took her hand and led her around the crowded ground floor over to a staircase. “There’s someone here I want you to meet.”

Marie nodded and allowed herself to be taken up to the fourth floor, whose sole resident was a large office stationed behind a single, black door, lined with ornate, golden patterns. It was an imposing structure at least three feet taller than herself and several times wider. At its center was the same seal they used to access The Red Devil, a cluster of branches or vines in a wreath with an imp in the middle. To the side of the door was a placard, upon which was the name “Robin Goodfellow,” written beautifully in script letters. Joseph stepped forward and knocked.

“Come in, come in,” a response came from beyond the door in a voice that echoed with each word, a voice that sent a slight chill down Marie’s spine. Joseph pushed open the black door and revealed the office space, whose every corner was filled with some form of antique or artifact, lit only by candles and wall braziers. At the far end, across from the door, was a desk, a rather modern looking desk lined with papers, scrolls, books, empty ink wells, and feather quills. Behind the desk sat a handsome man with sharp features, not unlike Joseph’s, short, sculpted black hair, dressed in an expensive looking black suit. Atop the man’s head, protruding from his temple and curving along the side of his head were two large horns, like those of a ram. Upon seeing Joseph, the man stood up, walked around his desk, and hugged him.

“Good to see you back so soon, Joseph!” he greeted him in a booming voice, “You get the job done?”

“Of course, Robin. I always get the job done.”

“You do indeed, which is why you’re my favorite witch in this business!” He chuckled, then looked over at Marie, who was positioned awkwardly in front of the door, still adorning her White Witch costume sans the mask. “And who is this lovely vision?” he asked, moving slowly towards her. Marie couldn’t help but blush, never really good at taking compliments.

Joseph spoke up, “Robin, I’d like you to meet Marie, Lost Haven’s ‘White Witch.’”

Robin perked up and gave her a wicked grin. “Ah, so you’re the little witch that Chinatown’s been raving about? So good to finally meet you, and look at how she’s dressed! This one has an eye for detail, I know it.” He moved over to her more quickly, taking her hand in his and kissing it. “Hello my dear Marie, I am Robin Goodfellow, proprietor of The Red Devil. You might also know me by my informal name, Puck.”

Marie looked surprised. “Puck? As in A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“The one and only . . . well, there are a few differences of course. I’m a little more of a trouble maker than ol’ William made me out to be, but I’ve since forgiven him.”

Marie just stood there, unsure of what to make of this. She knew that the mysteries of the world, the tales told to children, folklore and urban legends, held some shred of truth, but she hadn’t imagined that she would come face-to-face with them all in the same evening. She had so many questions, but decide to narrow it down to one. “What are you doing in Lost Haven?” she asked, slightly more bluntly than she had anticipated. She qualified her original question with, “I mean, why here? Why not stay in Britain and Europe, why come to Maine, of all places?”

Robin smiled. “I like this one, she gets right to the point!” He and Joseph exchanged a laugh and a few looks before continuing. “You see Marie, the answer is actually quite simple: boredom.”

“Boredom?”

Robin nodded and motioned for her and Joseph to take a seat. He then sat down behind his desk. “I am a restless being, Marie. Some call me a spirit, some call me a faerie, some even think I’m dastardly enough to be called a demon, but any way you spin it, I’ve lived, and will continue to live, for a long time, if not forever. When you’re staring at eternity, you’d be amazed at the type of things you come up with to pass the time. Yes I played the odd trick on others of my kind, but they don’t react to it in the same way. They can fight back, which is no fun. I moved on to playing with humans. Tricking and pranking them, giving them powers at outrageous prices, I even went through a weird, moral phase where I started teaching them lessons if you could believe it. But after a while, it lost its appeal.”

“A few centuries passed, mankind fought over religion, enslaved one another, the usual, but there was something missing. Magic was scarce. Sure there were witch burnings, hangings, and beheadings, but that didn’t stop people from practicing. What stopped was their belief in magic and the supernatural. Suddenly man gets a few new gadgets and thinks he’s too good to conjure demons and hex the neighbor’s cattle, and I couldn’t have that. So I went all across the globe, rounding up what magics I could and setting them loose wherever possible. The Old World is still full of magic, cunning folk still mean something to the rural communities. But over here, in America, the ‘New World,’ science takes the limelight. I had a few smaller operations here and there, bringing together the magical communities in different parts of the states until finally making my way into Lost Haven a few decades ago. Crime is also an issue in cities, there were beings who needed some form of residence and a way to sustain themselves, plus all this metahuman nonsense was starting to kick in and upset the locals, so I figured why not set up shop where people were having the most problems?”

All of this just out of boredom? Marie thought to herself as he finished his story, both confused and inspired. There was no point in trying to make sense of the actions of spiritual and immortal beings. Marie knew that Robin could tell what was going through her mind by the look on her face.

“So what brings you to The Red Devil, Marie?” Robin asked, leaning in close from behind his desk. “Were you on the trail of our friend Joseph here?” He and Joseph both chuckled.

“I was,” she replied uncomfortably, “at least until he explained the situation.” Marie shifted in her seat a few times, thinking over her next words carefully. She tried to come up with some long, heartwarming speech, some beautiful piece of prose that would make them marvel at her intelligence, deliver a sort of oral resume, but once she remembered who she was dealing with, decided instead to say, “And I want in.”

Robin leaned back in his chair and laughed madly, wild with excitement. “You want to be a part of The Red Devil?” he asked. Marie gave him a single nod and he responded in the same way. “I like her, Joseph, good job!” He produced a large scroll from behind his desk and set it in front of her, along with a quill. “You want to be a part of the team, Marie? Then welcome aboard! You’ll be in the business of contracts, just like Joseph.” He snapped his fingers and the scroll unfolded. With an eerie smile on his face he pointed to it saying, “All you have to do is sign on the dotted line . . .”

The endless night was faced with a plethora of obstructions as it followed the opposing force, the cosmic body slowly keeping up with her. She was leading it into the endless net of asteroids of the mighty asteroid belt and trying to crush it under the mighty rocks, hurling a swarm of astral boulders in its direction. The obstructions collided with the black body of the being, each one rupturing the darkness, visible shockwaves erupting off with each thundering impact.

And yet they did nothing to stop its advance, like throwing peas into a tempest. It seemed undaunted by her attacks, and responded with its chilling bodiless words.

I will have whatever World I wish, there is no way to stop fate.

It punctuated its remarks with a vicious array, blasts of dark matter ripping from within its celestial body which tore through the silence to barrage the belt the Light had hid herself in. A few beams she could avoid, but she would not be so lucky with all of them, a concussive shot tagging her as she tried to escape, the sheer force launching her backward, slamming her from asteroid and asteroid as the entity pursued, a blackened moon-sized fog moving what seemed only like inches due to its size, but its travel time was extreme, absorbing passing rocks as it descended upon its miniscule prey.

You cannot defeat the inevitable, Oblivion comes to all.

As she tried to gain momentum, she was once more intercepted by an extension of the void, a tendril of dark matter enveloping her leg. She was still moving too fast to pull her back and absorb her into its body, resisting its pull with everything she had. This Light was proving to be quite a nuisance, fighting hard to keep from being swallowed by the eternal void. A ripple came from deep within its colossal core, the extension swaying wide from the base so that the Light could see the horrifying momentum forming from the swing before it launched her through space.

Straight towards the gas giant in the distance, a colossal ball of storms and chaos awaiting the oncoming cosmic beings as they continued their fateful struggle. The Light was still trying to recover, trying to come back as she was launched through the celestial plane, but she was only met with a colliding array of the belt, the colossal boulders being launched towards her preventing her from being able to regain any balance as the Destroyer pushed her towards the World of Storms.

You call me Pestilence? A disease? I am the Will of the Universe, and I am eternal. Everything faces an end, Little Mercy, if anything I am this World’s sweet release. A cure for their endless corruption.

Its words got more poignant as it ripped into the Light with another beam of Anti-Matter, a cold burst of nothing that parted the universe around it before its sickening impact into the light, the mighty storms and gas now covering the two as they entered the mighty gas giant’s atmosphere

To have come out this far to face me, you must have some semblance of potential, so I will speak to you with honesty. Have you lived among the people of your World? Have you listened to their thoughts? I have experienced what is called ‘humanity’ on that moss-covered spec you call ‘The World’, and I find it laughable. My intrusion upon that pebble was hardly even a noticeable difference from their day to day lives, they threaten themselves with annihilation almost daily, potentially threatening the tiny rocks around their tiny rock. I can assure you, this Civilization will not be missed.

The planet’s mighty winds caused the celestial darkness to sway and swirl as it came towards the girl, once more surrounding her. With a lash, it slammed her in the chest with a mighty tendril, knocking her back and forth between parts of it miles away, her body whipping through storm after storm before thrown into another lash of a second tendril among the mighty hurricanes.

Try as she might, the odds looked against her, she could not rush out and collide with only a mere fraction of the entity, nor could she escape deeper into the planet and be torn apart by the gas and the storms.

It was cornering her, with each passing second darkness filled her vision more and more, The Light barely being able to avoid its grasping Darkness.

It is no mere chance that I come bearing the End. It is Fate. I come to bring peace within Oblivion. I come to bring Silence to the Chaos.

I am an End, Little Mercy, and who are you to get in the way of Fate?

From the large picture windows that surrounded his cavernous office which sat on the top floor of the Midas Industries corporate office, which was the second tallest skyscraper in Lost Haven, second only to the Chambers Building, Richard Midas looked out over the city that he had called home for over two decades. In his time in Lost Haven, he had seen the city change a lot, from the vast urban development that had seen the city explode in both size and population, to the rampant crime and corruption that had been synonymous with Lost Haven for so long.

For the most part, none of that had ever bothered Midas. He had built an empire from within the city, an empire which has over the years, expanded far beyond the borders of Lost Haven and extended all over the world. He was the owner of a multinational corporation, which if it hadn’t been for his connections within the city of Lost Haven, may never have reached its potential. However, recent events within the city that he called home troubled him to the core.

It all began, ironically, when a flying man garbed in blue and silver had caught his very own space station, which due to sabotage had fallen out of orbit and threatened to flatten Lost Haven upon its reentry into Earth’s orbit. Though he had been infatuated with the man who had become known as Icon, hoping to work with the flying strongman, his proposals had been largely ignored.

That irked Midas. He was a man who was used to getting what he wanted, yet this supposed savior had rejected his invitation to work together to make the world a better place.

Icon may have been the first, but he was hardly the last. After his spectacular debut, the so called “meta humans” cam out of the woodwork, seemingly overrunning the city, as well as making their presence known all over the world. To Midas, it was of little surprise that things in Lost Haven seemed to go from bad to worse with their arrival.

From the devastation wrought on the city during what became known as D Day, to the riots that wrought havoc on the population a short time later. Then there was the “Nightmare” serial killer, which from what he understood, recently claimed nearly a full stadium full of college students at one of Lost Haven University’s spring football games. The death and destruction seemed to be endless, and none of the self appointed guardian angels had been able to put a stop to any of it.

Even the most recent threat to the city, a terrorist who claims to have placed a weapon somewhere within the city that would turn all of her denizens into meta human freaks. It was this current crisis which Midas was reflecting on as he gazed out of the massive windows at the city below, watching the headlights of vehicles move through the streets, as Lost Haven’s people commuted to and from work. Midas enjoyed watching the nightly ritual of rush hour traffic, it reminded him of the struggles of the average person, always stopping and going; giving the illusion of motion, but in reality, they were simply standing still. On this night, the traffic was significantly lighter than it normally is, many of the city’s population electing to stay home, or possibly leave the city entirely, at least until the latest crisis is resolved.

“Sir?” Midas’ manservant, Livingston said as he approached from behind. “It’s getting late, and with the current threat to the city, don’t you think it wise to go down to the bunker and wait it out?”

Midas looked up from the street, glancing over to Livingston’s reflection in the large window. Livingston had never looked so old in Midas’ eyes as he did right now. The thin, wiry man with the graying hair which seemed to cover less and less of his head as each day passed looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. The large, dark bags under his eyes seemed to confirm that theory. Midas just smiled and allowed his gaze to fall back to the streets below.

“The bunker? No.” Midas said much to the shock and dismay of his manservant.

“But sir.” Livingston protested.

“There’s no need my friend. The ‘heroes’ will put a stop to the terrorists threats, and life will go on normally, uninterrupted.” Midas told Livingston.

“And if they fail?” the older man asked, unsure if his employer had lost his mind.

“They won’t. When it really counts, they never do. And even if they did fail, I win.” Midas said, almost gloating.

“I don’t understand.” Livingston admitted.

“Do you know what your problem is, Livingston? You have no imagination. If the entire world is suddenly turned into a freak, there will be large pockets of the population who will be dying for a cure. The will be willing to pay anything for a cure. They will be willing to kill for a cure. A cure that I will provide for them. So even if we lose, I win.” Midas explained. “But that isn’t something that we have to worry about. As I said, the heroes will put a stop to this nonsense in spectacular fashion, most likely at the last moment….like they always do.”

“I wish I had your confidence, sir.” Livingston told him.

“And when it is all over, before the next madman can threaten our city with catastrophe, I’ll be there. I will remind the people of this city that we don’t need saviors in capes to save us…I will show them that we can save ourselves.”

Kristin and I hopped out from the warmth of my car into the chilling February air. Just a few blocks away from our apartment was Campus Fitness, a local fitness center that focused on attracting college students and local residents. The facilities there are actually relatively nice: new exercise equipment, clean areas for both the locker rooms and the exercise floor, and a helpful and non-intrusive staff (for the most part). Normally, we would walk there from our apartment, but, since it’s still winter, Kristin and I decided to drive there because we didn’t want to freeze off our butts walking over there.

We both hurried inside to escape from the February chill. Once we entered inside Campus Fitness, Kristin and I headed over towards the locker room. Now in the locker room, while Kristin was changing into her exercise clothes, I just hung up my scarlet sweatshirt in a locker and strapped my phone onto my arm so that I could listen to music while exercising. Kristin had brought a change of clothes with her, while I came dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a nice t-shirt.

“Don’t you have a work shift in an hour or two, Aubrey? I swear that this place has nicer showers than our apartment.”

“I’ll have some time before I need to leave for work. And it’s not the facility. It’s that I am going to smack the next person across the face if she asks me ‘are they real’, ‘who’s your surgeon’, or ‘don’t you have back pain’.”

Kristin just rolled her eyes at some of the comments that I have gotten since my ‘make-over’. On one hand, the people who were asking those questions were right that I wasn’t born this endowed. But at the same time, they’re still ‘real’ because some mumbo jumbo magic made them a reality instead of a plastic surgeon. And explaining that story is just more complicated than its worth. Plus, it’s not like I asked for this.

“So, we’ll meet back here in an hour?” Kristin nodded to show her confirmation of our plan.

The first thing I wanted to work on was my cardio. What’s weird about the power nullifier that I use is that I still have residual effects from my powers. For instance, my endurance is a little bit better than it was prior to when I got my powers, even without any extra training on my part. It’s not like I can run for hours on end or easily life weights meant for body builders, but I have seen a noticeable different in my athletic ability. That’s saying something because I wasn’t a slouch before either!

When I found an open treadmill in the exercise floor, I plugged in my earplug headphones and started my cardio. And the results of this workout fell in line with my previous observations. While I by no means ran something insane, like a minute mile or something, I still shaved off some time on how much time I could average for each mile. And that’s taking into account that soccer ended last year.

Once I had finished with the treadmill, I went over and took a little sanitation towel so that I could clean off the handle part of the treadmill. While I did not sweet all over the machine, it is just being polite and showing proper hygiene to give it a quick wipe down. As I finished up making sure that the treadmill was ready for its next user, I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I turned around, I found a young girl was standing behind me. She was wearing a polo, which had the Campus Fitness logo stitched onto the upper right hand corner of the shirt, and khaki pants.

“I know it is none of my business.” The girl began to say as I took out my headphones so that I could hear what she was saying, “But I felt that it would be wrong of me to remain silent at the same time.”

Oh, goodness. I think I know where this is heading.

“Well, you might feel a little bit more comfortable if you wore a second sports bra for some additional support.”

Knew it. I did not even bother to response with any words. Instead, I rolled up my right sleeve, which revealed that there were already two bands over my shoulder. When the girl saw this, her face immediately turned red because of her embarrassment. She quickly apologized for bothered me and returned to her station at the desk that was located several feet away from the exercise floor.

Well, that could have gone a whole lot worse. Someone could have tried to slut shame me, claiming that I was just drawing attention to myself. Sometimes I wonder whether this is karma for thinking that Danielle was an ‘adult’ actress. However, I quickly decide that that was not the case. It was not like we thought that because Danielle use to be the most endowed of us all. We just connected the dots of Kristin complaining about not being able to stay in her apartment because of Danielle and her boyfriend’s ‘activities’ and of Danielle being gone for extended periods of time. Plus, why would I be the only one punished. Furthermore, I’m the only one who has been punished. Kristin and my roommates didn’t get gag boobs. I did. They didn’t get guilted into doing a swimsuit photoshoot. I did. Therefore, I know it cannot be karma. Or at least it is not karma over this.

Even though Icon and War-Pulse could not see his face, Chris raised his eyebrows when he heard that the metahuman mercenary knew the ‘Spider-Girl’, whom he wished to recruit for their little cause. He must had run into her either before or after she had encountered him during D-Day, although he guessed that War-Pulse probably met her before she decked Chris. He came to this conclusion because Archangel had trapped Aubrey under that electrified net. Chris had forgotten about that little portion of the incident, probably because he usually remembered that part where the ‘Spider-Girl’ decked him. Things are going to be, well, interesting if they manage to recruit the arachnid-themed superheroine.

However, it was what War-Pulse said next that placed Chris in between Scylla and Charybdis.

”If this is a leap of faith we’re taking, then we’re dropping off that first step together. You have to trust me, I’ll get Madame Web to get on board.”

While on one hand, it would not seem like sending Icon to help recruit Aubrey would do anything except increase the chances of recruiting her. How many people would straight up refuse an offer from Icon? However, at the same time, War-Pulse did bring up a good point. If Chris really meant what he said about taking a leap of faith, he would otherwise appear like a hypocrite if he would send Icon along for the ride. There was really no way out of not sending War-Pulse alone to recruit the ‘Spider-Girl’.

“Well, it looks like we would require a Sokrates to break your argument. We’ll meet you, along with that ‘Spider-Girl’, back in Lost Haven at my recently purchased tower in Sherman Square. It’s the building in the best shape, considering on the crazy stuff that happens at Sherman Square. Shouldn’t be too hard to miss.”

After he approved of War-Pulse’s request to go after Aubrey, Chris pulled out a manila folder out of a compartment in his armor and handed it over to the metahuman mercenary. Contained within this folder was documents similar to those that Chris had given to Lyger and Radiance concerning Zac and Kelly. However, these files were about Aubrey.

“While I don’t mind that you use your information broker to supplement your field intelligence, there’s no need to reinvent the wheel. These should at least get you started on your mission. Also, you might not want to mention me to her. Let’s just say she’s not my biggest fangirl, to put it nicely.”

During the conversation between Chris and War-Pulse, Icon interjected into the discussion by showing his agreement with War-Pulse’s opinion, that it would be better if Icon remained near the city for the sake of its own sanity. Furthermore, he suggested that everyone in Albany should return back to Lost Haven instead of going to Columbus to help out on Aubrey’s recruitment. While Chris could not argue with this now due to the change of plans, he had only intended to send the two Albany kids because they have met Aubrey before. But that didn’t matter now, especially since Icon took out without Chris.

“Well,” Chris said as he placed one hand on War-Pulse’s shoulder, “I guess this is goodbye until you get back to Lost Haven.”

Chris then turned away from the metahuman mercenary and prepared to ascend into the sky. However, before he ignited his suits propulsion systems, he remembered what the Speedsters had said about him being a ‘Scrooge’. Chris turned his hand back so that he could look over his shoulder in order to get one last comment in.

“I’m not a total Scrooge. Placing a mercenary onto your payroll just doesn’t do any justice on one’s public image, if you know what I mean. Plus, Thunderbolt and Boom are probably jealous that they don’t have an entire room filed with gold coins in which you can swim in.”

With that comment, Chris soared up into the sky, heading back to the tower in Sherman Square where he had designated as everyone’s rendezvous point.

Jacqueline Freeman

The east board room was a simple design. Elegant yet comfortable for brief meetings, it had all the ideal elements Jacqueline required with the atmosphere to match. The relax mood and uniformed design made it among her favorite rooms within the building for conducting business, mainly was it gave those small creature comforts while she discovered her client’s motives, schemes and ultimately achieved her own. Few rooms offered this type of scenery with their bland off white coloring, wooden finishes and bland setting which often put business associates on high alert for whatever was tossed at them. Since this Dr. Morgan seemed so desperate to see her, Jacqueline assumed there was urgent reason and decided to use this excuse to pamper herself.

She deserved time to time after all.

Her figure skirted along the off white walled hallway, her hips swayed with a casual, predator movement with each heel click. Her hair pushed back behind her shoulders while it looked down and continued to read the report in her hand. The manilla envelope was wide open in her left hand, her eyes scanned over the detailed information about the SES project she had been supervising. Since a recent project escaped their custody, she had been applying more effort than usually into the maintaining of the facility’s security believing doctor Holley had disappointed her. Despite her directly taking control of the branch, the specimen had eluded all attempts to relocate and reacquire it. Something she found rather irritating in her grand plans.

Bodies, male and female, passed her walking figure with their own assigned tasks causing her to lift her eyes from the paper to observe them. They were the inner workings of her company, interns, who busted their limits in order to rise to the top or make ends meet. Each one hired strictly for their harsh worth ethics and ability to accomplish their goals, she realised with a light smirk playing across her lips. As she came to her destination, her legs started to slow and hand reached out to touch the metal knob. Her manicured fingers gripped it tightly while she made a precise, quick turn. The door came open with a soft click allowing her into the pastel teal room, the door thumped shut behind her shortly afterwards.

The sound was enough to cause the much older man sitting within one of the seven leather chairs to jump abruptly. Unfazed by his anxiety seeping through his figure, she spared an unimpressed look then inhaled quietly. Her hand snapped the manilla fold shut on her way to his side, her voice a polite, but crisp and businesslike tone. “Dr. Morgan, I assume?”

Mentally she took stock of his posture and was already making well guessed assessments over his personality, clearly in his profession for a long time. On his rise to his feet, she noticed he was dressed in a second handed down, American cut suit which gave his thin frame an unnatural boxy look. There was areas near the elbows and knees where the fabric was starting to wear slightly thin, hidden barely by rather shoddy tailoring. She suspected it was hand or cheaply done. At least the light, bluish grey complimented his African American heritage Jacquelin finding the more positive aspects to appeal to her nature that she wouldn’t completely tormented. Though she had come from the streets, she had developed some vanity toward others over the years which rarely every impaired her abilities.

Looking into Dr. Morgan’s face, she noted the wrinkles cracking along the smooth areas like his brow and brown eyes, hidden by thick rimmed glasses. She was suspecting his muzzle was covered in these wrinkles, the evidence hidden underneath his white bushy goatee. The grey streaked hair on his crown was receding causing her to mentally guess his age being somewhere in his early to late fifties explaining his attire to an extent.

Dr. Morgan wringed his thin hands in agitation over this meeting, his tongue flickered out to lick his lips then began to reply. “Yes, I’m glad you didn’t postpone meeting me.”

“I have a very busy schedule, Dr. Morgan, and other duties to attend to before the evening is through.” She stated firmly, her words chosen clearly with purpose to remind him he was in no way privileged in this meeting. “Please, skip the pleasantries since your time is limited.”

“Right, yes Ma’am.” Dr. Morgan’s hands wrangled harder, his eyes shifting and nervousness oozed from his pores. Sweat had already started to collect on his skin despite the central air ensuring heat reached but didn’t overwhelm the whole building’s comfortable levels, her eyes narrowed on his figure while he sat down.

Jacqueline turned to clasp the leather chair back and pulled it from under the table, wheeling it where she could easily listen. Gracefully she lowered herself into the seat, keeping her posture ridge and settled in with a poker faced expression. Her right leg crossed over her other while her hand placed aside the folder, her other hand straighten her skirt carefully when he began. The conversation itself was long but interesting to Jacqueline. Her face giving little away when he finished as she absorbed his story about Ms. Ruth Garth’s ill fated sickness, her symptoms and autopsy revealing interesting results that she suspected would reveal the location of her missing virus. And most likely its current victim. Inhaling, she gave a little charming smile then rose from her seat to hold her hand in order to thank the man. Looking confused a bit and worried over the matter, he graciously took it and shook, allowing her to lead him back toward the office door.

As expected, two thick bodied security staff, males,were promptly waiting outside during the whole meeting. Their images dressed in the identical grey and green colored uniform with the Gene Co logo upon the breast pocket, sneakers, gun holsters equipped with state of the art tasers, and ear pieces connected to the radio at their waist. The blond man, in his early thirties, gestured out his hand to move Dr. Morgan along to the lobby where he was going to be released into the street. Naturally the CEO had informed him she would personally attend to the matter about the woman’s illness to prevent anymore loss of life. It was enough to gain her attention into looking into the recent outbreak incident reports that would be popping up on her desk shortly after her request for them.

Meanwhile Jacqueline retreated back to snatch the folder from the table’s surface, shuffling the papers neatly before her departure from the room. Clicking heels lead her all the way to the nearest, but less elegant breakroom mainly used by the employees. Usually she would have Ms. Gibbs bring her usual up, alongside with her lunch, but today had been rather more eventful than she could’ve expected. Her body demanded coffee and wouldn’t be satisfied unless she gave in.

She had just walked in to see several staff members huddled around the tiny screen TV, usually left on for those to idly watch until their coffee was through or shut off when not being used at all. Oddly this time it was on showing the local news broadcasting causing Jacqueline to brush off her employee’s particular behavior when she trotted across the tiled floor and reach into the nearest cabinet, retrieving both the creamer and sugar while getting a ceramic mug. She set it down with a soft a thump when she heard something announced by the news anchor toward city wide threat having been made since last night. So far, Jacqueline had been too busy to pay attention as her confusion and curiosity got the better of her. She pivoted in place, forgetting her needs, to draw behind the already too thin crowd gathered there. It just now occurred to her how few of her employees had actually shown up this morning causing her study the threatening video being played for hundredth time that day.

“Hello, world.” A man said who was shrouded by darkness. One could only see his silhouette from a red light that was shining behind him. “Pardon the interruption of your nightly shows. Don’t worry, once this broadcast has ended, you will be returned to your regular programing.”

“Our world has been struck by calamity after calamity ever since these metahumans have made their appearance known to the world. There was that mass murderer who was taunting a secret organization called S.T.R.I.K.E. There was the ‘demon’ invasion of Lost Haven. Now there is this entity called Umbraxis that has already started to pile up a death count! How is the normal person supposed to live in a world full of metahumans who can obliterate an entire city block? What can we do about this?”

“Well, there is one thing that we, as a human race, can do about this problem. There is a common saying in American colloquialism that goes like this: ‘If you can’t beat them, join them.’ Therefore, I offer you all a gift. A chance to equal the playing field. Our environment is changing and we as a species must adapt with it. Why should these powers be limited to only a select, lucky few?”

“Therefore, in 48 hours, a device in Lost Haven will emit an energy dome that will eventually grant superhuman powers upon all those who are within its borders. First Lost Haven will receive this gift, then the Eastern Seaboard, then North America, and finally the entire world! By the end of this week, the entire world shall know what it feels like to be special.”

“I already anticipate that there will be those who will object to the transformation process. However, I would like to show you all something.” The shrouded man extended forth his hand in front of him, which was holding a small vial. “Not long ago, my own team of self-created metahumans prevented a terrorist from depositing this substance into a particular water supply near Lost Haven. After further study, this substance would turn normal people into mindless, muscular brutes. In contrast, my gift will not take away your normal intelligence. In fact, in some cases it might raise it!”

“My transformation process will affect people differently. Some will immediately receive their powers once they are within the dome, while others will see the effects emerging after a few days. Everyone’s body reacts differently to the effects of my metahuman-inducing serum. And to ease the worries of everyone, the dome has been tuned so that it will only affect regular humans. There is no need to worry about mutant rodents or cockroaches terrorizing our homes. Furthermore, anyone who would otherwise be labeled a ‘metahuman’ shall not be affected by the dome, since why should I give more power to the group with which I am trying to level the playing field.”

“Others might ask whether everyone deserve these powers. It is quite obvious that there are those who probably should not receive powers for the public good. Since I have already anticipated this complaint, specific devices have been set up in certain institutions of interest, such as prisons and mental hospitals that will dampen the dome and prevent those, who would present themselves as a danger to themselves and our society as a whole, from receiving powers. Will this prevent all evil people from receiving powers? Of course not. However, I reassure you all that the number of ‘good’ will outnumber the ‘evil’.”

“Now, I know there will be those who will try to stop my plans. These are your so-called heroes. Your champions of freedom and liberty. Yet, they are also the defenders of the status quo, upholders of the current chaos caused by the regular person’s lack of means to defend themselves from the average metahuman, let alone some global threat. They claim to want to protect the world, yet they don’t want it to change. Without change, more innocent people will die. These heroes are hypocrites. They will sacrifice your change at godhood for maintaining their own uniqueness within this world. They would rather have you all be dependent on them whenever some catastrophe happens.”

After the man finished his speech, he reached over and pressed a button on something that was on his wrist. Immediately afterwards, the shrouded man began to grow, both in respect to his height and his muscle mass. Once the transformation had completed, even though the viewers could only see his silhouette, it could be clearly seen that he had a similar body build as the Kingpin from the 90’s Spider-Man animated series. The only difference was that his neck was so elongated, just like a giraffe or a sauropod dinosaur, that his entire head was off screen. He then twisted his neck so that his head would be up close to the camera. His head was still entirely human, despite his neck’s length. His entire head was shaven bald, while he was wearing a pair of tinted laboratory goggles.

“Welcome to the Pax Metahumana.”

“I thought last night was a prank, just some stupid little prank.” Said a woman nearest Jacqueline, her voice held a slight trembling in it as her grip tightened around her now cold mug.

Nervous glances shuffled from employee to the next, their strength rattle causing the CEO to speak up. “Ahem, I think the best solution is to focus on completing our jobs before giving the heroes,” she held a slight contempt for the word which she barely hid as she continued, “ a chance do their jobs. Panicking now will only make issues worse as past events have proven, those not wise enough are often the most foolish. Now, back to work and Steven, a word?”

The sixty year old bent janitor paused in his steps out the door just when Jacqueline requested him, his eyes fixed on her with a puzzled expression. Her tone was deadpan serious the whole time, her arms crossed over her front while ensuring almost all the employees were cleared out of the room. “Will you unplug and store the TVs, radios, and any other public media within the office’s lounges and break rooms?”

“Ummm, yes ma’am…” He stated, his grey blue eyes softened through he started to wonder about her state of mind about what she asked of him. His fingers running nervously along the white sideburns, what remained of his hair, before finally giving into his biggest question. “Maybe I ask, why?”

“I much rather not have the employees dwelling all day on what they can’t control. It will only make things worse and stressful for those who decided to wait out this threat.”

“Aren't you going to leave too, ma’am?” The old looked at her and immediately knew her answer before she uttered it.

“Absolutely not…”

It cannot be.

This is impossible.

I.... I am failing.

It was working. I could tell. Leading the sickness on a chase, farther away from the World so that it would not be damaged as we fought, chipping away at it bit by bit with the smaller wraths, and trying to think of a better plan to finish it. But the plan failed as scything rays of something alien, something writhing with the corruption and darkness struck me repeatedly, launching me through space.

I felt it then, something I had not felt physically since childhood. I felt pain.

Where the concentrated beams of Pestilence had struck me my skin burned with an agonizing fire that I could only extinguish by shedding the outermost layer of my form. Something that happened almost instinctively as I struggled to reorient myself but failed as the sickness turned my own trick against me, firing the fragments of dead Worlds to strike me and force me back.

Again I try to recover but cannot as the rays of darkness strike me, burning and throwing me once more. But there is some relief. I enter another World now and feel a surge of renewed confidence. If this Pestilence's domain is the place between Worlds, this is mine. I begin to call to this World but am interrupted as the Pestilence follows me, vast tendrils of corrupted darkness flowing down into the atmosphere. And the voice keeps resonating in my mind pressing against my will.

"You are no salvation. You bring torment, sickness, death." I fire back, but in truth there is a place in the deepest recesses of my mind that the words speak to. Were there not moments when I pledged to give the World the final mercy should it be too far gone? Could this Pestilence be the sign?

No! I scream at my own rebellious mind. It is not too late. But as my own mind rebels I can barely avoid the Pestilence as it continues to attack me endlessly, pressuring me and forcing me deeper into the atmosphere. I call upon this World to shield me but it eats through the shields and is about to engulf me again.

Then in the darkness of the situation I see a light. I have grown so used to this form that I almost forgot. But I can shape myself and there is something else. Something else lurking in the bowels of my thoughts, a half remembered state that calls to me now. There is only time for one change and I choose now to trust myself.

I let myself change then and it feels so natural. I erupt, concentrated red light flowing from where my angelic form once hovered and spreading across this World. In fractions of a second my awareness expands. I can feel it all, the Worlds around me, the Pestilence that has come for them, the universe itself. I see new threads hidden to me, threads that run through even the void.

A new thought bubbles up within my mind, a new word, a new drive to join healing. "CREATION" I would blink had I eyes as my thought resounds like thunder through space and my will surges again.

Instinctively I reach out and this World of gas and storms turns against the intruder. I gift the winds with unstable matter, arcs of pure annihilation streaming through the darkness as the entirety of the atmosphere turns against it in an instant of effortless control. I drive the Pestilence back forcing it out of the atmosphere, forcing it back into the void of space above.

And then I rise. Red light streams in a cloud of wisps and swirling radiance as I return to the void as well.

"I am Mercy."

"I am Creation."

"And these Worlds are mine!"

SuperIOR Inc., Lost Haven

Chike Baatul had taken care of Skull Thrasher and Supercell with impunity. They were still heroes, after all; misguided heroes to be sure, protecting scum like Cunningham and Abrams. But heroes nonetheless. With those two unconscious and restrained, Chike interrogated SuperIOR's personnel until he was able to locate what he had come to SuperIOR looking for: a prototype energy detection device designed to track even the most invisible energy sources. The machine was a hybrid of the most cutting edge tech humanity had to offer, as well as equipment that was obviously not of this world. How the Hell'd they get their hands on a thing like this? Polemos had wondered.

No matter. There was work to be done.

A few minutes later and Chike had arrived at the rendezvous point, where Thune was impatiently waiting. The inter-dimensional traveler explained that he could no longer assist Polemos in this matter, despite his desire to see this villain put to justice. Apparently, Xavier had learned valuable information from his battle with Skyquake that he needed to act on at once. Chike couldn't exactly argue with the immensely powerful stranger and allowed Thune to be on his way. But questioned nagged at the back of the vigilante's mind. What, exactly, could Thune have learned that was so critical to his mission? It had something to do with Vanguard's fight with Umbraxis, that much was certain. Thune's reaction to Chike uttering of Umbraxis's name had been exaggerated and obvious. It was a name he recognized. This Destroyer was well known, even in other universes.

That begged the question: What was Thune planning to do with this knowledge?

His aggressive handling of Skyquake and impatient, driven speech, combined with what little Chike already knew of Thune's character...none of it matched up. Even when Thune had mistook Chike for a bitter enemy of his, the giant had been relatively jovial. Defensive and violent, sure, but jovial none the less. But after the SuperIOR incident, he was stone cold and serious. Something more is going on here than meets the eye. Chike thought gravely. But there's no time for that. Thune will have to come later. I don't have much time before that bomb goes off and the entire city is overrun by Supers. The blaring of approaching sirens echoed softly in the distance. Chike pulled his torn and stained jacket into place on his muscular shoulders and took off at a jog down the sidewalk, clutching his AK-47 to his chest. He followed the handheld tracking device to the largest unidentified source of energy consumption in the city.

---

Chambers Building, Lost Haven
Later

"Another bloody skyscraper. Fan-freakin'-tastic."

Chike Baatul was starting to hate these things. Towers of metal and glass, extending high into the clouds. They were kindred to monoliths dedicated to human greed and corruption; at least in the narrow view of morality that Chike prescribed to. He'd never been a fan of corporations or bureaucrats, even before he was recruited by the God of War. The Chambers Building was the tallest structure in all of Lost Haven. It was a glorious one hundred and ten stories tall, only fifty stories behind the world record holder in India. It was a few blocks from Sherman Square, if Chike could recall correctly. An impressive sight, to be sure; a testament to human ingenuity. Not that humans deserve any praise-

The warrior stopped. He blinked twice and allowed that to play through his mind once more. He'd heard his own internal discourse correctly.

Where did THAT come from? He asked. Chike held no contempt for humanity. Not as a whole, anyway. There was just as much good as there was bad. Even if the bad appeared to out way the good, that was never truly the case. Good usually just rode under the vigilante's radar, seeing as how he focused his life on taking out the maniacal and corrupt, not the selfless and generous. Polemos shook the thoughts from his mind. Now was not the time for this. Chike required perfect inner tranquility and unity if he wished to excel in the fires of combat.

Chike removed the AK-47 from its hiding place in his jacket and crossed the street. People glanced at him wearily and began to move faster. It wouldn't be long before the police were contacted; he only had perhaps five minutes prior to the entire building being surrounded by officers of the law. More than enough time for Polemos to find and disable this 'bomb' and kill the giraffe-necked asshole who put it there. Chike shoved past a group of suited office workers and walked with a purpose in his step inside the lobby. He was on the hunt. Polemos didn't notice the slender figure draped in white that had been hunting him ever since he drew his firearm.

"Everyone clear the building! Now!" Chike screamed at the top of his lungs. The entire room froze, their eyes glued on him. With a roll of his eyes Polemos pointed his rifle at the single and fired a handle of shots. "NOW!" The room's occupants were quick to obey the armed man's commands and swarmed out of the exits as quickly as they could. The secretary behind the front desk attempted to run as well, but Chike grabbed her and threw her back into her chair. "Pull the fire alarm first." He growled. The woman obeyed and immediately made a break for the exit once she was finished. Water poured from the sprinklers installed in the ceiling and a twinge of guilt ate at Chike's conscious. He knew they wouldn't listen if he wasn't rough; he'd learned that much from Ares. But the fear in their faces always brought doubt.

No time for that. Chike thought. Gotta keep moving.

Polemos briskly jogged toward the stairs (the elevators would be out after the fire alarm stunt, he reckoned), double checking the scanner. Yup. This was the right place. The device placed the bomb on the roof, so he'd have to move quickly if he wanted to deactivate the thing before the cops showed. They never were very understanding of the vigilante's methods, despite his intent.

Once Lyger blurred out that STRIKE had helped them locate Zac, Kelly, and Sammy (although in reality, it was really only information on Zac and Kelly), it almost felt as if the air was sucked out of the entire room. Zac and Kelly have had their own share of being kidnapped. In fact, they received their powers after being kidnapped for the first time. And then another time when they were ‘rescued’ from one set of kidnappers, they were taken into S.T.R.I.K.E. custody. They could not remember how they escaped, but obviously that one S.T.R.I.K.E. agent, who talked to them and Aubrey, had a hand in it.

For a moment, everyone just stood there, not knowing what to do. No one knew what to say next. In fact, what could they say? They were just told that Lyger and Radiance used data that was gathered by S.T.R.I.K.E. in order to locate them (although what the five of them did not know was that information was not gathered by S.T.R.I.K.E. but rather by Athena and Helios). However, Sammy was the first to break the silence.

“I’ll go.” Sammy declared out of the blue. Zac and Kelly just gave their friend blanks stares, not knowing what had gotten into Sammy that would make her say such a thing.

“Well, they do have one point. If these S.T.R.I.K.E. people really wanted to capture us, they probably would have done so by now.” Sammy defended her statement. At that moment, Sammy took a seat on the arm of the couch that was nearest to Lyger. Her cat tail began to wiggle its way along the back of the couch until it reached Lyger’s far shoulder. Then, she curled her tail back towards herself, loosely wrapping it around Lyger’s neck.

“Anyways, seeing this guy squirm is just so cute. He really needs to relax a little. And since you two are making it such a point that ‘we don’t have much time’, I am assuming we’re leaving in something fast. Maybe even a jet! Therefore, I’ll go, but only if I get sit next to this little grumpster.”

Sammy then turned her head back towards Zac and Kelly, giving them her best puppy eyes. While Zac tried his best to resist her begging, Kelly knew that she had to throw up the white flag. If she did not do so, Kelly knew that Sammy would be bugging her for at least the next couple weeks, if not longer, about how she had been instrumental in setting up Kelly and Zac up and that Kelly did not return the favor with Lyger. Even though Sammy was obvious to how complicated Lyger’s romantic life was at the time, she would nevertheless still bug Kelly about it.

“Fine, we’ll go, too.” Kelly finally admitted.

“What?” Zac responded in shock to what his girlfriend.

“It’ll probably be worse staying here where Sammy will annoy us to death.” Kelly said to her boyfriend. She then turned back towards Lyger and Radiance and began to address them. “However, if this somehow is a trap, you two have to promise to help us out. I am sure that Icon wouldn’t stand for leading us into a trap.”

“Well, looks like I’m outnumbered two to one, so I guess we’re coming along. However, you two still have not answered one of our questions. You still have not told us your names.”

Josie's limo drove down the street, lights flashing past her windows at regularly spaced intervals. There was the smell of rain in the air, but the moon still poked through the heavy cloud cover, like a persistent, ever-watching eye. The mood outside the limo, on the streets, was tense, like it knew that either rain was about to fall or .... something else was going to happen, in a sudden torrent of violence. The news had most certainly picked up the news of the slaughter of the Steel Whips last month, and most people who were involved in street-level activities, gangs, police patrols, it didn't matter who, were wound up. Anxious. Uneasy. Which meant they would lash out with violence at the first provocation. Just the way she liked it.

The limousine that was transporting the Enigma Gang's head enforcer, was heading down to the docks. Apparently, some... thugs had captured a shipment that was pretty important to the Enigma establishing their presence in Lost Haven. With military-grade guns, crates of drugs, and cases full of unmarked bills, the shipment had almost made it into the dock, where a whole bunch of Enigma gangers were waiting, when it was intercepted by an unidentifiable fishing trawler, and when some guards had gone to check it out, the enemy gang members spilled out, overwhelming the guards of the shipment. Apparently, one had managed to escape into the harbor, and swim over to his comrades waiting for him on the dock. That's the only reason they even knew what was going on in the first place. When Byron gave the order for her to sort out the matter, Josie had her driver come over with haste.

As they pulled up to the pier, Josie could see the men gathered around the dock, some sitting, others staring at the cargo ship, but they all had one commonality. They were all nervous. When they were around Tall Byron, they were respectful. When they were talking to Bleeder Jack, they were almost reverent.

When they were around Josie, they were afraid.

Opening the door of the limo, and walking with purpose towards where Tall Byron was standing, Josie put on her hat stylishly, and winked at a nearby gang member, causing the beanie-wearing tough to gulp nervously. As she reached a cluster of people around Byron, the crowd parted, people pushing each other out of her way frantically. They didn't want her to get irritated with them. For when Josie was irritated, people lost fingers. When she was mad, they lost limbs. When she was furious?

They lost their lives.

Byron waved her over, and with a smirk on her face, Josie said, "So what do you need me all the way out here for?" The big man scowled, and with a long drag on his cig, and pointed out at the bay, specifically, at a small cargo ship, which had a fishing trawler pulled up next to it.

"Y'see, Jo, you already know what happened. All I need you to do is go over there, kill all of the other guys, and open the way for our guys to retrieve the cargo. Brent here-" He pointed at a scowling man wearing all denim, "Will pilot a speedboat alongside the starboard-aft end, and you will enter the ship, killing everyone within. Understand?" Josie nodded, and lit a fag of her on, and taking a deep breath, and then exhaling, she walked over to the boat, and sat in the passenger seat. With Byron jumping in the pilot's seat, in front of her, they sped off in the night, low hum of the engine and spray of saltwater under a sky with no stars. Rather, there were windows, each light, a life. How insignificant.

When they reached the starboard-aft end of the boat, Josie created a blade, no wider than a wooden guard rail, like one would find at the side of a road, and stepped onto it. Flying up to the top deck, a member of the hijackers' crew, armed with an AK-47, fell backwards onto his ass, as he saw the mafia-themed metahuman flying up towards him. He was about to shout, but with a surge forward, Josie jumped off the blade, and let it fly into the man's windpipe, the blunt side of the metal crushing his throat. Landing on the deck of the ship, hands in her pockets, she crouched, ducking behind a crate, as a spotlight swung her way. The beam of light remained for a few seconds, before the operator shut it off, so it didn't attract the attention of the Navy Harbormaster.

Swiftly moving forward in the darkness, Josie sprinted towards the bridge, where the only light able to be seen was that of a guard's cigarette. Summoning a blade the width of a sword, Josie stabbed it through the glass, shattering it with a crash, and drove it through the guard's temple before he could even react. Summoning another one, the size of an axehead, she split the guard on top of the wheelhouse's head in two, as he turned towards her. She listened to the sound of their bodies dropping, and smiled. The thump was funny.

Walking towards the wheelhouse door, and kicking it in, bits of metal flying from the now-ruined lock, hands still in her pockets, Josie headed towards the hatch that, once opened, revealed a ladder, with about 12 steps, which led to belowdecks. The lights were on down here, and a single guard paced the hallway, smoking, gun on a sling around his shoulder. As Josie descended the ladder, the guard cursed, and fumbled with his gun. Smiling like a slasher from one of those bad horror movies, Josie simply stepped forward, hands in pockets. When he did manage to get the gun out from around his shoulder, she ducked down, as a spray of gunfire erupted from his rifle. Diving forward, before he could adjust his aim, Josie got in close, and summoning three small, curved knives, shaped like the talons of a bird of prey, stabbed the gang member, and grabbing the blades between her fingers, ripped them upwards, opening the man from bowels to chest. The spray of blood splashed over the front of her suit, and the scent of iron filled her nostrils. A little chuckle came out. The man had died so easily.

Stepping over the body, she could hear the muffled thumps and thuds of guards making their way to where Josie was, attracted by the gunfire. Summoning three blades, each about the size of a katana's edge, she languidly strolled through the corridor, blood painting the bulkheads and deck behind her.

The first gang member rounded the corner, and the carnage began, and it was terrible, and glorious.

---

Anthony 'Shotgun' Reid was nervous. He had sent, like, twelve guys up there to see what was going on, and despite all of the gunfire and screaming, none of them had come back. Which left a few reasons. The police, tipped off somehow, a meta meddling in their business, or the Enigmas had come for their property. Anthony wasn't sure which terrified him more, as he sat there, huddled in the darkness of the cargo hold, surrounded by twenty-four of his guys.

He was wondering if one of his guys were finally coming back, when he heard footsteps from the doorway at the far end of the cargo bay. Hopefully sticking his head up, his expression became one of horror, as some... person, the blood covering... her? head to toe, and sloughing off of her, falling onto the ground in pools. One of his guys began to retch, and Anthony, now absolutely terrified, shouted, "Well, don't just stand there, WASTE HER!"

At these words, the figure dashed forward, and about twenty knives appeared in front of her, rotating like a plane propeller, as they opened fire. Their bullets merely pinged off the many spinning swords, and she was among them, slashing, cutting, and shredding them, with those blades of hers. Men around her fell like wheat as she began to extend the area of the blades' rotation, as the gang members began to focus less on firing at her, and more on running away. They didn't get far. Mostly, the remaining ones who tried to run got chopped in half, or decapitated, but one got his right leg chopped off at the knee. 'Shotgun' Reid fell to the ground in agony and terror, covered in the blood of his friends. All he could do was writhe on the ground, in pain, as the woman stepped closer, a freakish smile on her face.

---

Josie was enjoying herself. Humming a small tune, and smiling as she approached the gang's leader, enjoying his whimpers, as he desperately tried to crawl away, the Red Reaper stepped over the bodies, shoes getting soaked by the blood that would, in a few days, stain the floor. Shaking her head, and tut-tutting as if Anthony were a small child who needed reprimanding, Josie pinned him to the floor. By stabbing six-inch blades through his shoulders. Crying out in pain, the only thing Reid could now do was stare at Josie.

"Please... don't kill me... I got a kid brother..." Smirking, Josie crouched, getting close to Anthony's face.

"I'll be sure to pay him a visit too, Mr. Reid." Anthony's face contorted in pain and fear, as Josie materialized a wicked-looking, strangely shaped blade, with hooks on the back end, meant to tear the flesh as it went in, and out. Laughing in the man's face, Josie thrust the knife in the man's shoulder, and went to town.

---

Later, as the LHPD would investigate the ship, they would find that an empty cargo ship was full of dead gang members, with no lead on who the killer was, for there were no security cameras, ship manifests, or data of any kind. DNA searches were useless, for nearly every deck, bulkhead, and square inch of the cargo bay was covered in blood and gore. The only nearly recognizable corpse was the gang's leader, a man named 'Shotgun' Reid, who had been found arranged in a position similar to that of a crucifixion, missing a leg, and half of his face, along with his chest cavity. Due to the lack of evidence, the police were left guessing, and chalked it up to a Nightmare killing. Who else would chop up people like that, and flense them afterward? It had to have been Nightmare.

Right?

The Red Devil was abuzz with information about Pax Metahumana. There were no televisions in the demon tavern, its only source of overworld news coming from concerned customers, insightful witches, and mercurial spirits. Normally the tavern’s denizens would ignore such city-wide panic, a great number of them immortal or semi-immortal beings unaffected by most mundane affairs, but the sheer number of humans seeking a magical remedy for this most recent catastrophe made the avaricious Robin Goodfellow open his arms to the citizens of Lost Haven, his greed appearing to them as sympathy. In the hours following the mysterious broadcast, Goodfellow took Marie and Joseph into his office, instructing the other four witches in the tavern, with whom Marie was unfamiliar, to focus on their current contracts.

“Alright you two,” Goodfellow addressed them with a wicked grin, “I want you to forget about your other contracts until this bomb business is sorted, got it?” Marie and Joseph nodded. “Wonderful! Now, here’s how we’ll handle this. I want both of you scrying for the bomb’s location. Once one of you finds something, I want Marie to assume the mantle of White Witch and take to the city.” Marie gave him a confused look.

“Why do we need White Witch? Surely there’s something we can do about the bomb without getting physically involved, right?”

“Perhaps,” Goodfellow replied, “but I want to spread the word about White Witch. So far you’ve confined yourself to Chinatown and insist on donning her mask when working here. If the whole of Lost Haven becomes familiar with the White Witch’s many powers and charms, they’ll eventually be drawn to her services, which will lead them to me.” Goodfellow chuckled, thinking of all the people that might find themselves in his clutches.

Marie nodded hesitantly, exiting the demon’s office with Joseph. It was true that she hadn’t wandered past Chinatown to conduct her business, and that, when working at The Red Devil, wore her costume so as not to be recognized. Her reputation as White Witch had grown considerably since her contract began with Goodfellow six months ago, but her sphere of influence hadn’t. Perhaps this was the best way for her to be recognized, to gain more customers.

She and Joseph went into a room on the second floor that housed the tools of their trade: circles of candles, shelves lined with reagents and ritual items, mystical trinkets scattered here and there, assorted grimoires and ancient texts, and a large, brass cauldron at the far end of the room. Joseph grabbed a silver bowl, filled with water, piped in drops of a dark, herbal mixture, and began interpreting the resulting shapes. Marie, on the other hand, took up a scrying mirror, one whose glass was painted black and inscribed with sigils and runes, and peered into its surface after inducing a trance. The two used their respective divinatory tools until finally, each was granted a vision of their current objective. Within the dark haze of the scrying pool, Joseph saw a tall building towering over the city, whose peak was surrounded by a thick mist. Marie was greeted by a shadowy figure in her mirror, whose features were unclear, but whose outline was made larger by the bulk of what appeared to be armor. They both took a moment to themselves, momentarily exhausted by their prophesizing.

Marie turned to Joseph. “What did you see?”

“I think I saw the bomb’s location,” he responded, not entirely sure of his vision, “well, the general area anyway. It was a tall building that stood over the entire city.”

“The Chambers Building near Sherman Square?” Marie theorized.

“Makes sense. If I were gonna unleash something that would enclose the entire city, I want the highest vantage point. What about you, what did you see?”

Marie shook her head, “Not sure, but I think it was someone else going after bomb. I couldn’t make out many features, but they looked dangerous.” Joseph nodded, then, after looking around the room for a few moments, handed her a small amulet with unfamiliar inscriptions.

“Take this. It’ll keep you out of harm’s way.” Marie took the amulet and smiled at him.

“Thanks,” she replied quietly, putting it around her neck. “Guess I’ll go suit up and take a look.”

“Be careful,” Joseph called at her as she left the room. Marie put on her White Witch garb, which she had been leaving at The Red Devil for added secrecy and ease of access, opened the door to the city on the first floor, and sped off on her broom, the Chambers Building her destination.



The atmosphere of Sherman Square was different from Chinatown. The threat of Pax Metahumana was more present here than in the corners of Lost Haven and the citizens who walked the streets did so at a quickened pace. Marie flew above the city, catching strange and fearful glances from the streets below. The Chambers Building came into view, as well as the figure from her vision. Marie hung back and watched, trying to assess the level of danger and judge the other arrival as a friend or foe.

Suddenly, the figure removed an automatic weapon from his jacket, pushing past the people in the street and making his way into the building. A few moments later, the sound of shots could be heard as people fled the building. Marie jumped, then flew closer. She stopped as she neared the door, figuring that she stood a better chance if a fight were to break out in the open. She could hear the sound of racing footsteps inside behind the blaring alarms and stuttering sprinklers that had gone off. In the distance, sirens and lights from police units and fire trucks raced through traffic towards the building. Marie flew up to the top of the building, scanning the tower’s peak for the bomb and, unable to locate it after the first few passes, decided to wait for the armed assailant, hoping that he might lead her to the bomb’s location.

Lyger remained still on the couch even as the young woman with the cat ears sat on the arm of the couch next to him, and proceeded to run her tail run her tail over his far shoulder, and wrapping it loosely around his neck. As the girl playfully flirted, a wave of anger washed over Lyger, though it was not directed at the girl, or her friends for that matter.

It was directed and Chris Arthur.

These kids aren’t ready for this. He thought to himself. He’s going to get them killed.

Though he wasn’t much older than the three before him, he could tell that they hadn’t experienced anything like what they were up against now. Lyger didn’t understand why Arthur needed these three, if it was information that he needed, he was sure that he and Radiance could get what they needed her and now, without ever having to bring these three into the line of fire. He knew what he was signing up for, as did Radiance…and War-Pulse, as well as the speedsters who had just recently stared down Umbraxis at Icon’s side.

They were ready for this, this was their choice.

But the same could not be said for the three that stood before him now. These three had an innocence about them, a naivety that told him that they were not cut out for this. The fact that Arthur had such a cavalier attitude about throwing them into this fight didn’t sit well with Lyger in the least, and when this was all said and done, they would have words.

Despite his reservations, there he sat trying to recruit these three for their cause. As the two girls, and then the young man agreed to come along, a sense of dread washed over Lyger, knowing that these three college students, not much younger than him yet with a whole lot less experience in this sort of thing, may have just signed their own death certificates.

Lyger looked to the young man, who had just again asked for their names. He felt pity for the young man, who was more hesitant than the two ladies to join this mission, and wanted to tell him to forget it, to just pretend that this never happened.

“I’m Lyger, and this is Radiance.” He said instead.

Perhaps at times the city was fortunate, and perhaps at times luck favored those who were having difficulties already with a piece of luck just before snatching everything away again. For whatever reason there was some luck at play. The area of the city had been largely deserted since the terrible riots which combined with damage dealt by the demonic invasion had resulted in an area where very few people lived, either dead from the invasion or fled due to the damage that the buildings had sustained.

It was this largely abandoned district of the city that the fugitive arrived, fresh from her restoration at the docks had found her way mere hours ago. She had wandered the skies, seemingly lacking in direction in a quite erratic fashion before at last descending to the roof of one of the many burnt out buildings. It was there that the figure seemed to take stock, standing for long moments and looking out at the expanse of the city with what her difficult to read face, cloaked as it was by the protective white layer, showing seemingly a look of confusion.

After her long moments she began to act however. The set of shards that grew from her head and shoulders detached from her body to levitate and spread out around her upper body in a vertical semi circle. “--- -- ----- - --- --- --.” As her lilting 'alien' voice faded the shards began to glow and she stretched out her hands, making gestures as if she was shaping the air before her. But the gestures did not merely shape the air.

The building upon which the figure stood began to change, it was not rapid, not the forceful and unstoppable change that Mercy brought with a thought, but those who had seen Mercy's power would find this familiar. Slowly pieces began to break away and rise, various components hovering around her where she stood.

In time the building was merely a husk, only the outer walls and the roof remaining as the figure continued to work. Now atop it upon the roof was the framework of a new structure, one that added several stories in height to the building. It was a decidedly odd framework, a narrow tower rising, only to broaden into a great hoop-like structure vast enough to allow a plane to fly through it. The work had only just begun.

But the time for uninterrupted work had ended. Only the lack of people in the area had kept the project from being noticed until now. But the unfamiliar shape on the skyline had attracted attention. Helicopters began to circle the area, and the sound of sirens began to echo through the surrounding area. Interference was coming quickly.

Lights on the helicopters beamed down, illuminating patches of the construction and flickering over the being who was constructing it. But thus far there was no direct intervention as the police and others attempted to figure out what they were dealing with. Announcements made over bullhorns and other attempts at communication were returning no responses, though the figure atop the building appeared to be quickening the pace of construction.

Icon had flown all over the city since he left War-Pulse, Iron Knight, and the speedsters. He had flown from Carver to Royal Park, from Sherman Square to the infamous Tartarus Island, which housed some of the regions most notorious criminals inside the walls of the Supermax prison which rested upon the rocky shore. He had searched every inch of the city for the device which was set to go off in under 48 hours and supposedly carried a payload that would alter human history forever.

As he circled back over the city, something caught his eye in the distance. Between Sherman Square in Little Sicily, in a section of town that had felt the brunt of both D-Day and the recent riots, some sort of commotion was ongoing. With his enhanced vision, he could see a number of police helicopters circling an odd structure that hadn’t been there just a short while ago.
“Gotcha.” Icon said as he sped toward the new structure.

As he approached the structure, he could see that it looked to have been built from the remains of one of the burnt out buildings that had sat vacant since the riots had ravaged the city. For some reason, the new structure, which had what resembled a large ring or hoop on top of the building, which for some reason made him think of an amalgamation of the industrial age and the tall, thin towers that so heavily populate science fiction and fantasy movies. Icon advanced on the structure, and as he got closer, he saw that in the bright white spotlights of the police choppers, there was a single figure who looked to be manipulating and shaping the structure with little more than a thought.

Though his first instinct was to crash through the large, hoop-like structure that sat atop the building, he instead pulled up and hovered above the figure, which seemed oblivious to his presence. He hung in the air for a moment and watched the mysterious figure, and when he had seen enough, he made his presence known.

That’s enough.” he declared with his gaze fixed on the back of the figure’s head. “You know I’m not going to let you do this.”

The figure standing upon the roof, clad in strangely fluid garb of crimson and silver, what looked like cloth seemingly flowing like rippling water, and with what looked like a coat of porcelain or some similar substance coating her body turned at the man's words. The halo of shards that hovered around her swirled as well, reversing position even if they seemed to be the same on both sides.

Then she rose from the roof herself, seemingly hovering as she lifted towards Icon. In the background behind her now the work seemed to have paused momentarily, various pieces hovering in midair and the reshaping of certain segments pausing as well. She rose to the point at which she was level with the hero and came into clearer view. A pair of faintly glowing orange eyes gleamed within a delicately sculpted face, and her expression, though it would be more difficult to read than normal showed something that looked very much like a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“-- --- -- ----- ------| --- -- --- - ---| - --- -- -- -- - --- --?” The words that flowed from her mouth, the motions of which certainly seemed a bit odd, as if the words were coming out a bit before the outer layer moved, were smooth and flowing, but completely undecipherable. Though the tone would be clear, these were questions, or at least there was clearly curiosity in them.

The figure which he could now see was a woman, turned to face him and gradually rose to meet him in midair. Her strange clothing almost seemed to be alive as it flowed around her, rippling like water. As she approached him, it seemed that whatever she was doing with the strange structure paused while her attention was on him.

Then she spoke.

The words that she spoke made no sense to him, as they were spoken in a language that he had never heard. However, he did recognize the tone in her words, as well as the look in her strange orange glowing eyes.

Confused, questioning.

Icon was taken off guard by her reaction. He was certain that this woman was one of the terrorists, and that this must be the device that they planned to use to turn the population of not only Lost Haven, but the entire world into a meta human. He had hoped that once she realized that she was caught, she would simply comply and turn herself in. However, he had been in this line of work long enough to know that this was not a likely outcome, so he had expected her to attack. What he did not expect, however, was for her to engage him in conversation.

“You don’t have to do this. It isn’t too late, shut this thing down.” He said, and the way she tilted her head as he spoke told him that he wasn’t getting through. “If you come quietly, I can help you. This doesn’t have to get ugly.”

And indeed the woman seemed to have understood nothing of what he was saying. Though it appeared that she was not finished with her attempt to communicate as she spoke again a moment later, this time in what was clearly another language, but just as clearly a language that he also had never heard before. “… .. …. .. …. … …… .?” Once again it came across as a question, though this time given the way she had switched, he might actually be able to guess at what she was asking. Though it also seemed that this time there was something of frustration also present in her voice.

In the background though the work began again, pieces fitting together like bits of a jigsaw puzzle as the great construct continued to be assembled. And other things that had not been present before began to form as well, built from pieces that had not been included in the looming construct. What the other pieces were doing would be unclear as afterall that was much more subtle and his attention was fixed upon the woman.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.” Icon said to the woman, his hope for a peaceful resolution to this slipping away.

He looked the woman in the eyes and held out his hands, palms up hoping to show that he intended her no harm. Thus far, the woman hadn’t shown any aggression toward him, only curiosity. His hope was that he could keep this interaction peaceful, despite the language barrier.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said as he noticed other pieces of the structure moving about, jockeying for position as they continued to contribute to the structure that seemed to be growing more massive as they spoke. “What are you doing?”

But of course his words had no real impact as she was not able to understand him anymore than he was able to understand her. Her orange eyes did remain locked on his but there was no immediate reply as the construction continued in the background, now smaller pieces being added to the larger framework, and perhaps ominously brief flashes and sparks of energy as certain parts connected.

She did seem to be doing something in response though. She raised one of her hands, and as he watched the white layer seemed to slough off and fall away from it to reveal a delicate long fingered hand coated in skin that gleamed faintly in the twilight with a vaguely silver tint. Slowly she began to reach out with the hand towards one of the hero's outstretched ones, the sort of slow motion used to avoid causing alarm.

However, in the seconds just before contact could be made, one of the circling helicopters flew much closer to the structure, likely in an effort to get better pictures, and she reacted. She whirled away, and as did her shards. And something changed. A sheet of rippling silver energy pulsed outwards from a smaller device at the base of the structure, a sheet that quickly encased it.

The helicopter veered away and the woman turned again, but this time it was not an expression of curiosity and surprise on her face it was a look that spoke of something else. A look of disgust possibly, or outrage, it was difficult to be sure with the way the white layer, that the hero would now know was some sort of outer covering not her skin, obscured her features.

At the same time the rippling clothing had changed as well, silver and crimson still but rippling no longer as it settled into a form that looked ominously like some sort of armor. There were clear indentations where the floating shards around her could reattach, and it was a mixture of practicality and something out of a science fiction film. The hand that had formerly been outstretched towards him now once again was coated in the white substance and was raised in a very different manner. One that spoke of preparation for something entirely different. Though she didn't attack, it was unlikely that the hero was still trying to communicate.

Dammit, no! Icon thought to himself as the sudden intrusion of the helicopter suddenly put an end to any potential breakthrough he was making with the woman. No longer did the woman seem interested in attempting to communicate, the sudden shift in her attire conveyed her preparedness to do battle. Icon slowly raised his hands in a “stop” motion, with his palms pressed toward her.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.” Icon said in a softer tone trying to calm the tense situation.

Then, the components of the structure began shifting again, and something else happened within the structure itself. A silver colored form of energy emerged from within the structure and quickly enveloped the structure within its rippling, shimmering form. The sudden activation of what looked to be some kind of energy shield alarmed Icon, who expected the woman to attack at any moment. He knew that with the sudden change in the woman’s demeanor there was almost no chance that this would end peacefully.

“I’m sorry that it has to be this way, but I just can’t let you activate that device.” Icon said as his eyes began to glow with a reddish hue, just before a pair of powerful energy beams blasted from them, pummeling the silvery shield with a sustained assault.

As the energy beams blasted outwards from the hero to strike at and batter against the force field that had been erected around the gateway device the woman who had raised it, and who was still raising it, though that would be difficult to tell behind the energy distortion and the rippling of the field in the face of the hero's assault upon it, appeared to have been caught off guard, at least initially. It was difficult to be sure if it was merely that she had not expected the hero to attack the shield, or if she was surprised at the nature of the attack itself, but regardless there was a brief moment of hesitation before she reacted.

Though when she did react it was with brutal efficiency and speed. The distance between the two was not large and her hovering form darted forwards closing the small gap. Then she delivered a series of blows. The first struck upwards a fist connecting with the underside of the hero's chin and knocking his head back, leading to the optic beams firing into the air. Though from that very first hit, it would likely be apparent, strength was not her thing.

Still the first blow was followed up by several more in a rapid flowing fashion that struck at a number of nerve centers and should have temporarily removed the man's control over much of his body while they spasmed. But somehow they didn't and he swung a powerful albeit clumsy punch in her direction rather than dropping. She slipped it, dropping in the air with an ease that spoke to experience in aerial combat maneuvers and then the shards around her flared brightly. In an instant thin streams of something lanced between them to collide and then shoot forth in a brilliant if thin and rather short lived beam of energy that struck the man straight in the chest.

The impact temporarily knocked the hero away, and seemed to have at least temporarily caused him to fall from the sky, a moment that she took advantage of. The force field surrounding the structure fluctuated for a moment as several things flew out from inside of it and over to her. One was a long 'spear' of some white material, with veins of bluish silver lights running through it and a wider top than the bottom. The other was small by comparison and something that definitely looked like it was from a science fiction movie, it was probably a gun of some kind, similarly made from a white material.

With these things in hand she steadied herself, apparently winded, though whether it was from the physical exertion, or whatever the energy attack she had used was that it done it, no one knew.

Icon was taken by surprise by the woman’s sudden attack. The series of blows that she had thrown at him had managed to knock him off balance, but caused him very little pain. When Icon regained his bearing after the woman’s initial attack, something was different about her. She was now holding a long white spear in one hand, and what looked like some sort of pistol in the other. Icon moved toward her, and as he did she pulled the spear back as if to stab him with it, but he put his shoulder forward and rammed into her, sending her crashing into the rooftop.

His counter attack had proven successful; however the woman was already trying to get back to her feet.

“We don’t have to do this.” Icon told the woman as she quickly fired a pair of energy charges from her pistol. Each shot hit him directly in the chest, and would likely have proven fatal had it not been for his near invulnerable skin. He rushed the woman, grabbed her by the shoulders and tossed her back to the ground.

“You’re done.” Icon said to her, hoping that his words were beginning to get through to her. “Stay down.”

But as it seemed that she was about to hit the roof of the building again her momentum abruptly halted as the shards that formed a halo around her pulsed again. She raised the staff like object in her left hand and pointed it as the hero spoke. What came next was likely not what the hero had expected from it.

There was a pulse of something, a vague ripple in the air, and then a wall of force struck him with a force not dissimilar to that of being struck head on by a train going full speed. Perhaps had he been well braced it would have less impact, but with the man floating in the air after his successful bull rush attempts it hit him hard.

This time however his opponent seemed disinclined to give him the chance to recover and kept up the offensive. Her pistol continued to spit bolts of energy at him and she began to, now that she had a measure of his speed counter his charges with waves of force from the 'staff'. This would likely go on for a few moments before it might become apparent that she wasn't fighting to win, or even trying to do significant damage, since the weapons she was wielding clearly couldn't do lasting damage to the man, but that she was likely trying to buy time.

For in the background, behind the force field the device inched ever closer to completion.

Icon struggled against the force of the woman’s staff. From the moment that he lay eyes on her, he had assumed that she was one of the terrorists who had planned to detonate the device to turn Lost Haven’s population into meta humans, but slowly, doubt began to creep into the edges of his mind. This woman didn’t match the photos of any of the metas that War-Pulse had previously encountered, and she didn’t seem to be fighting like a fanatic. In fact, it was becoming obvious to Icon that she was simply buying time, he just didn’t know for what.

Then it dawned on him. The structure that she had been molding was continuing to grown and change, and as he looked at the device through the shimmering silver energy shield, he could see that it looked as if it were nearing completion.

Perhaps he had been correct in his initial assessment and this woman was one of the terrorists, and this was in fact the device that would bring about the evolution of the human race. In this case, Icon knew that he had to destroy the device, and he also knew that he didn’t have much time to do it.

The woman continued to pummel him with the force from the staff, and Icon stopped fighting against the current of force pushing against him. In fact, Icon retreated, at least momentarily. He flew away from the woman and the structure, traveling about a half a block away. He needed to get through that shield, and he hoped that if he hit it hard and fast enough, he would be able to get through. So as he circled back around and went back toward the structure, Icon lowered his head and increased his speed.

He rocketed toward the structure, moving so fast that he nearly broke the sound barrier. He traveled so fast that everything around him almost seemed to be going in slow motion. The traffic below him seemed to be at a standstill, even the choppers surrounding the strange structure appeared to simply be hanging in place in the night sky. His focus was on the silvery glow of the force field surrounding the structure. Almost like a moth to a flame, Icon raced towards the glowing structure. As he flew passed the woman who had been assembling the structure, the thought did occur to him, [i]what if she isn’t with the terrorists? Who is she? What is she doing?[i] The thought was fleeting, interrupted by his impact with the silver tinged energy shield, and a fraction of a second later, the structure itself.

Surprisingly to the hero, after he had breached the force field that was protecting the gateway device he did face one last barrier, a barrier that spoke of desperation and a certain amount of self sacrifice. The woman who had been opposing him appeared in his path, interposing herself between him and the structure and there was a harsh shower of sparks as he collided with her first. And then the continuing momentum carried them both through it. With a single strike, the heart had been torn from the structure and the energy that had begun to gather in the center of the massive hoop faded away.

And as the structure failed the hero would find himself on the other side of it upon the roof, with what was likely to be rather horrifying to him. His fist that had been meant to strike against the device had picked up another passenger and was impaled through the woman's chest. It had punched straight through her strange armor, through the odd layer of white that coated her body, and into her innards. A dark bluish black fluid seeped out around his fist as the woman's fading orange eyes looked up at him in what could only be described as shock and what seemed almost to be despair at failing.

But then when it seemed like she would have breathed her last there was a feeling of incredible warmth, almost burning in intensity that began around Icon's hand and then swept through his body, a sensation that seemed to root him in place and make movement impossible. And with that warmth came an odd distance as the world around him would seem to fade away in a wave of odd pleasure and hazy visions.

Aurelia knew what she was doing, the art of the hostile communion was something that was abhorrent, but it was dubbed necessary for situations such as this, and to learn how to stand against the corruption, she knew what to look for in the mind and body of those she forcibly communed with. Icon on the other hand did not. While she teased out memories and knowledge that she needed he was instead met with a series of likely rather surprising and alien images and memories.

They were fragments, snapshots and snippets grasped from the mess that he found himself immersed in. The first was a shining city, a realm that seemed to glow with splendor and majesty, a place where even the buildings looked as if they were masterpieces of technology. There was a clear sense of pride, an emotion that came along with the memory, pride in the greatness that he now saw before his eyes, not necessarily as it truly was, but as it was remembered. Stretching above it and as far as the eyes could see was a dome of silver energy that would seem familiar.

Another flicker… He saw for moments a smaller place, a town to the prior city, though here the vision was more faded and less clear, and the emotions were a strange mix he likely would not be able to quantify.

Flicker…

Now the same place as before but blackened and ruined, strange shapes darted about and beings that moved in impossible ways, beings that hurt the mind even as half remembered shadows advanced towards. Terror and grief resounded ther-

Flicker…

Beams of destruction, weapons of force, giant craft that soared through the skies, all visible, all firing. And against them he saw things, things that here were falling back. But the sensation was not one of triumph it was one of relief and sorrow as the vision shifted to show a panorama of death and the fallen. Fallen who looked an awful lot like the woman he had just fought.

Flicker…

A great parade, thousands of soldiers marching through the streets, a view from the middle and a sense of pride with cheers resounding. But at the same time one of growing despair and desperation. This was not a march of the victors-

Flicker…

A broken sky, a broken land, bleached and twisted beyond recognition. Things roaming, then charging, moving in impossible ways. A sense of despair more crushing now as the vision shifted, showing a portal a hole in space-

Flicker…

A shining city in battle seen from above. Things swarming as the shield failed. Grief, resignation, hatred, as something fell towards the city and then-

Flicker… Flicker… Flicker… They were coming faster now, more jumbled and less sensible as the visions overwhelmed his mind and then abruptly faded along with the warmth.

And when they did and he awoke the woman was gone. Her blood was there, as the was the wreckage of the device but she was gone. And he would feel weakened physically as if his reserves had been emptied.

It took several moments for Icon to regain his bearings after the strange connection that he had made with the woman. The visions haunted him. There was so much destruction, so much hopelessness. Though it seemed to him that the woman had made a last ditch effort to communicate with him, he wasn’t entirely sure as to what exactly, he had seen.
Or felt, for that matter.

Was the hopelessness and despair that he was feeling his own, or the woman’s?

The only thing that was clear now, was that this woman was not one of the terrorists that he had been looking for, and he had not destroyed their device. Guilt washed over him as he wiped the woman’s blood from his fist, at least he thought it was blood, as it was not like anything that he had ever seen before.

Icon’s legs felt heavy as he got to his feet, he assumed that his fatigue was a side effect of whatever it was that the woman had done to him. He may not have known exactly what the device she was building did, but he was beginning to think he might understand. That mattered little at the moment, as the device was destroyed and the woman had vanished. He would be able to try to track her down later, but as for now, he had a bomb to try to find and a terrorist to bring to justice. So he gathered his wits as best he could, and took once again to the skies to try to end this crisis before it truly started.

“You’re not afraid of Pax Metahumana?”

“Of course not, Specter.” Came the smooth voice of The Cowl, reclining in a large leather seat as he watched the news on a wall-mounted television with a few choice members of the recent ‘Renaissance Project’ in a lounge located in one of his nightclubs on the south side of Little Paris. The club had been recently renovated after being bought out by its previous owners, reopened under the name ‘Vagrant’s Paradise’. It was large, ritzy, the Cowl’s party sitting over in one of the more secluded off-center area that was a mere fraction of the VIP part of the Lounge, a balcony overlooking the rest of the property illuminated by warm, peach colored lights. “The entire caped community is up in arms due to the threat, which in and of itself was a poor choice to reveal to the world. Why did he bother explaining his plan on national television? That attracts so much unwanted attention, the fool might as well have just turned himself into the police.”

“But the threat of everyone becoming metahuman...is that not a worry to you, sir?” Specter said, gesturing to the TV in the lounge room. “There is the possibility that those we have influenced would be able to level the playing field with newfound powers...”

“Even better,” The Cowl said, leaning backwards in his chair, the hood slowly coming off to reveal his detailed mask, securing his true identity at all times as usual. “If his plan actually succeeds, we have a whole new market to play, with a whole new group of buyers. This...this man thinks he’s going to level the playing field by making everyone metahumans?” He waved Specter off, scoffing audibly. “He’s just creating a new arms race. Mutations replace munitions, augments replace armaments, illegal genetic manipulation will become the new AK-47 of the weaponized world. If his plan succeeds, he isn’t stopping men like us, he’s helping us take advantage. Do you know how much our investments in genetics will skyrocket? The work we’ve put into places like Gene Co as well as the smuggling job that was accomplished will put us in prime position for this new world of contraband. Trust me when I say this; the Shroud Syndicate has nothing to fear from Pax Metahumana.”

“I...wish I had your confidence boss.” Specter replied, shifting uneasily, exchanging glances with some of the more worried guards in the room.

“Everything’s a market, Specter. I didn’t get to where I am without seeing opportunity everywhere I go.” The Cowl returned to a reclining position, beckoning over a man with a dossier by the mere snap of his fingers. “That being said, while every Cape is busy in town, this gives us ample time to discuss another issue.” He swiped through a few pages of info before handing the papers to Specter, revealing a few news articles and reports on a single man, one of the heads of a corporation by the name of SuperIOR, the articles seemed to cover a man by the name of Jack Grey.

“Mr. Grey?” Specter replied, picking up the papers and flipping through them, the files covering up to the last few years of his time in SuperIOR, making big business moves and moving the company forward. “You have been keeping a file on Mr. Grey? Why He’s been one of our best inside men on the technological market for years, letting us smuggle countless SuperIOR tech out.”

“Because of all the things that Mr. Grey possessed between a stable, profitable career, a loving family, and a cunning business sense, there was one thing I always knew he lacked.” The Cowl replied, his typical calm demeanor only indicating disappointment as he spoke. “A backbone.”

“Has...he become an issue, sir?.” Specter replied.

“Regrettably so, our old friend Jack Grey has exposed you and everyone who works for me in his little corporation to his boss.” the Cowl said, the attitude of the room becoming extremely cold as the armed thugs shifted uneasily, the lounge waitresses shivering a little as they heard The Cowl’s tone go bitter. ”My other inside sources say that under duress, Mr. Grey has gone ahead and revealed who on SuperIOR’s payroll are taking our money to look the other way and let certain tech go missing.”

“That’s...incredibly dangerous. Many of our inside operatives are now jeopardized.”

“And such a waste of good business potential, too. The kind of money that tech would sell for...” The Cowl said, shaking his head. “I had really hoped we could keep Mr. Grey around for a bit longer, but unfortunately he has burned a bridge he cannot hope to rebuild.”

“So how would you like to deal with his actions?”

“I need to send a message.” The Cowl began, placing his hands together as he leaned back in his lounger, staring out the city “I may not have powers like most of these metahumans parading about the city, but you do not betray the Shroud and get away with it, not in this city.” He motioned to a few of the men sitting around the lounge, who immediately turned their full attention to the lounging crime lord as he called for them. Three men came to his attention, the first one Paulo “Osprey” Juarez, leader of the biker gang known as ‘The Talons’. He was followed by Harlow “Slickshot” Toms and Dennis “Great White” Evans, leaders of The Brothers in Blood and The Sharks, originally enemies who had all had a truce when the Cowl stepped in, becoming lieutenants in the streets. “The three of you will send the call through the streets, let the city know that there is an open bounty on Jack Grey’s head. I’m offering $3 Million to the man or woman, metahuman or otherwise, who brings me the CEO’s head. That will be increased to $4 Million if they bring him to me alive, and $5 Million if they make SuperIOR suffer for it.”

“Sure thing boss.” Dennis replied, placing a toothpick in his filed teeth. “We’ll send it to all corners of the city. Knowing you, Jack’ll be dead by dawn.”

“Let us all pray that he is.” Said the Cowl, grumpily gesturing the three of them to disperse in a panicked hustle before turning his attention back to his lieutenant, returning to an upright sitting position as he spoke. “While that’s being taken care of, we can discuss the other matters at hand.”

“You mean the Cancer?”

“Yes, though the Cancer has been awfully quiet since he sent his message, which is the most concerning.” The Cowl muttered, bringing a hand to his chin in contemplation. “This worries me terribly, his operations have gone silent even from my moles, who I’m starting to presume are dead.”

“You think he’s planning something?” The Specter asked, sitting in the lounge chair next to the Enigmatic Capo.

“I know he’s planning something, I just don’t know what yet.” He replied, his gaze staring off to the nearby jazz band serenading the sizeable lounge area of the club, illuminated by warm, peach colored lights. “I want to keep the family prepared, but with a man like the Cancer there is very little we can do until he acts. I’d rather focus on keeping our operations working rather than hunting for a man like that, which means we need to claim more assets.”

“I may have a few solutions.” The Specter replied, a smile crossing his face. “Since our smuggling operation I have had a few ‘talent scouts’ placed around the city, looking for any potential recruits we may have missed. I’ve come up with a few potential results of both human and metahuman persuasion."

“Oh?” Said the calculating Crimelord. “And what have you found?”

“The Brits have just stepped foot in our town, and they’re hungry for power.” The calculating crimelord was focused on the lovely woman singing as he spoke, her sultry voice taking the formerly present anger out of his voice. “They go by the Enigma Gang, a group originally based in Britain and has since made a move in Lost Haven. I have a source they they took out the Brown Rat Gang, which is a bonus for us as they had been holding out one of the docks for a long time, so that alone allows them to have an audience.”

“An audience, yes, but why should I be ask for a working partnership with a subsidiary?”

“Because there is a metahuman among them.” Specter said, causing the Cowl to shift slightly in his seat. “Her name is Josie, but she is referred to as ‘The Red Reaper’ by some of their gang. A white-suited woman who did most of the killing on the aforementioned ‘Brown Rat’ job.”

“Is she a confirmed metahuman?”

“My source down by the docks said she sliced a man clean in two with a blade that appeared from nowhere.”

“Hmmm…” The Cowl said, scratching his chin once more. “I don’t know if that’s necessarily a confirmation, but still a worthwhile investigation nonetheless, the more metahumans we can get on our side, the easier some of our operations within the city will be...is there anyone else of note?”

“Well, what about War-Pulse?” The Specter suggested. “Big name mercenary, a bit too public with his actions, but certainly feared among the metahuman community.”

“We both know our situation with that braggart.” The Cowl said, waving the idea off absent-mindedly. “He has his part to play, but directly hiring him would bring its own case of troubles.”

“Then I may have a solution, a ‘War-Pulse light’ is you would would be so bold.” The two men chuckled, apparently both sharing a sense of humor as they selected potential criminal candidates. “Apparantly there is a metahuman who is capable in a fight down in Sherman Square, has kept a low profile, but quickly is gaining a reputation as a woman who can get jobs done.”

“How do you know she’s a metahuman?”

“One of my talent scouts said they saw her take a lead pipe to the head and responded by ripping her attacker’s arms off.”

“Good god,” The Cowl said, his eyes widening as he shook his head. “What is her name?”

“Uhhhm….Flower.”

“Really? Flower? Not like ‘Face Crusher’ or ‘Strength Girl’ like the rest of these pompous tight-wearers parading around town?”

“This coming from someone who calls himself ‘The Cowl’.”

The Cowl chuckled. “You know, if I didn’t have you in such high respect, that comment would cost you your tongue.”

“I know,” The Specter said, giving a sheepish laugh in response. “In any regard, it sounds like for the right price, she may be worth looking into, especially in the case of Jack Grey..”

“Very well, send a contact to the Enigma gang, and send a call out for this Stephanie girl.” The Cowl said. “I’m going to spend a bit more time here in the new lounge before retiring.”

Specter nodding, raising from his seat to perform his duties. “It will be done, sir. I’ll report back when I have the tasks in question completed.”

A small nod from The Cowl, and Specter was off, leaving through the back entrance between two of The Cowl’s heavily armed bodyguards. Of course, once he slipped from view, he made sure to use the newly renovated secret exit built within the freezer of the kitchen, down to the extensive tunnels built underneath the building.

After all, why not use the massive network the Renaissance Project had produced for just such an occasion?
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“Jack Grey? Who the hell is that?” Came a grumpy voice from the overweight patron of a bar on the coastline of Little Sicily, looking out across the bay into the mainland. The bustling, albeit slightly unkempt, pub known as ‘Finnegans’ was already bustling with its usual crowd of dockworkers, scummy sailors, and general misfits, all with some manner of criminal past decorating their reputations of their bodies in the forms of scars and tattoos. The fat man, known simply as Tubbs, took a large swig from his foggy glass after he asked.

“Some bigwig CEO scrub, nuthin’ more than a salesman with a wallet thicker than his dick.” Said the barkeep, a slender, aged man by the name of Ollie Barnes, with more hair covering his chin then his head. “But I heard down the grapevine that the Cowl wants him dead.”

“The Cowl? Shit, whoever he is, he better start gettin’ his affairs in order. You don’t escape from a kill order from the Shroud, especially when it’s the Cowl himself offering the check.” Tubbs slurred back. “You get in good with a man like the Cowl, you’re set for life!”

“Yeah, but that’s a scary crowd to walk with. The Shroud ain’t for the faint of heart.” Ollie said. “I heard a guy once, said his name was Teddy or somethin’...”

“Oh yeah, Teddy ‘Tin Man’ Williamson, didn’t he used to be a patron here?” Tubbs said.

“Yeah, then he did a job for the Cowl, got real big too.” Ollie said, cleaning out one of the stained mugs with a ratty towelette, the squeaking of cloth against glass somehow still rising above the bar room chatter. “Then I heard he stole from the Cowl’s friends, a crime family in New York.”

“Oh? What happened to him?”

“You remember that ‘War-Pulse’ guy? Freak with the explosive hands on the news?”

“Yea.”

“The Cowl hired him to splatter Teddy across Little Sicily.”

“O...oh…” Tubbs replied, “Well...all the more reason to get on The Cowl’s good side, right?” The man leaned in, his spare tire rolling up to the top of the counter as he got closer. “What’s the capo offerin’ anyway?”

“Word on the street? Three Mil.”

“Holy Shit!” Tubbs exclaimed, an excited laugh sputtering out of his jowls. “That’s enough to set me up for life! Even pay that bitch of an ex-wife’s alimony checks! Or better yet, a better lawyer so I don’t have to!”

The fat man laughed once more, clapping Ollie on the back and causing the dirty mug he was cleaning to pop out of his hands, shattering along the ground.

“Tubbs, you have no idea how the law works….” Ollie sighed, grabbing for the nearby mop. “And one of these days, that blabbermouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.”

“Pft, no more than it already has, Ollie!” He chuckled. “I’m protected by the Dread Men anyway, what’s the worst that could happen?”