---

Bruce sat in the small diner, the noise of the construction ahd died down for the day. After all this time people were still tidying up the mess from him and Abominations disagreement. Since then he and Hulk had had a deal, Hulk could come out at Night on the condition that he didn't smash anything. An easy enough deal to strike, considering Hulk only wanted to be left alone and the view of the stars under the desert sky was truly amazing. Besides it let Bruce have some sense of normality, he didn't need to worry about every little thing that could go wrong during the day and what use did he have for the nights anyway? He managed to make a life for himself here... the only town in the world where if Hulk was sighted it was considered a good thing. At least by most.

It was rare that him and the Hulk agreed on anything, but they both liked it here. He had a job in a small job in a shop, the pay wasn't the best but it was cash in hand and he got to live in the space above the shop so he couldn't complain. It kept him busy and Vista Verde was full of nice people. He smiled as the waitress walked up to him. "Refill 'hun?" Bruce shook his head as he moved his hand to take money out of his pocket.

"No thanks, if I drink anymore I'll be up all night-" He took a couple of bills out of his pocket and placed them on the counter. "-I'll see you tomorrow Veronica." He stood up to walk out, as he reached the door he noticed a couple of men in suits come walking towards the door. He wouldn't have thought anything of it at first except for the fact that one of them tapped his compatriot on the shoulder and nodded in Bruces direction. He just stopped in his tracks, it was far too late to pull his hood up and feign ignorance. They had recognized him, which meant they were either employees of LexCorp (In which case he should be glad that they weren't the Justice League) or special forces.

He did a quick scan of his surroundings, there weren't any vans nearby so that meant they likely weren't any of Ross' men, he would never be able to resist being in on the action. He wasn't quite sure how they tracked him, but that was really an i ssue for a later date. He turned around and walked back towards the counter and smiled at Veronica. "You know what, I think I will have that extra coffee." She smiled back at him and pushed a already full mug towards him. Had it been a couple of years ago he would have thought she had a crush on him, maybe even asked her out. Though after Betty, and what happened to her. He couldn't be with her, and he couldn't be with anyone else either. It was too dangerous. He pulled this weeks cellphone (while they were burn phones he never liked to keep them long) out of his pocket as the two men entered and sat at the far end of the diner, right beside the door.

At least they weren't willing to risk a confrontation around civilians, that described a level of intelligence that did point away from Ross who was hell bent on taking the Hulk down that he didn't care if people got in the line of fire. He held the phone to his ear as it dialed.

"Hello? Bruce, is that you?" Bruce let out a sigh of relief, they obviously hadn't tracked him via Rick. Otherwise they would probably have detained him. "Rick! I need you to come to the diner right now, and cause a scene." There was a moment of silence, though Bruce could hear the faint rustle of clothing and the distinct sound of movement, that was the good thing about Rick. No questions asked, a true friend. After all that happened Bruce didn't really deserve a friend like that, despite what Rick kept telling him. "Who is it I need to cause a scene for?"

"I think they're LexCorp as they're being awfully subtle, but I need to be fast before Lex finds out and sends some of his caped crusaders after me." At that Rick laughed. "Please, you could take any of them. Or rather, Hulk could." Bruce just frowned, if there was a T-Shirt in existence that said 'Hulks #1 fan' Rick would own it, in fact he probably had one custom made. While it was kind of comforting that Hulk could make friends Ricks arguments about how Hulk was the strongest being there is got kind of annoying. "I'd rather not have Hulk tear this town to pieces trying to catch The Flash Rick, how soon can you get here?" With that he turned to the door as he heard the bell tinkle indicate the door had been opened, and had to stifle a laugh. Of course he was already here.

Bruce stood up and began walking towards the door, both the suits got up too. He just ignored them, he had faith in Ricks ability.

"Hey, aren't you the guys that stole my bike last week?" Bruce just smirked as he walked out the door, and once out of the view of the window broke into a run. Deep breaths Bruce, get out of town... one step at a time. Don't lose it now. Looking behind him he saw the two agents breaking into a run after him, one of them had tapped an earpiece and was talking into it. That was never good, if Lex didn't know where he was before he probably did now. He'd have to break is deal with the Hulk and not let him out tonight, he'd never get away as a giant green goliath after all. He ran around the corner and stop as he was suddenly hit by spotlights, raising his hands to cover his eyes it took his eyes a couple of seconds to adjust and he just swore to himself as several military jeeps sat before him, a AAV siting at the back with a familiar figure on the roof.



"Well, if it isn't Bruce Banner." He pulled out his sidearm, as the doors to several of the jeeps opened dispensing soldiers, all weapons trained on him. Deep breath Bruce, you can still get out of this without destroying anything."You got something that belongs to me, and I want it back."

Steve stretched, leaning back in his soft swivel chair. One of the perks of being a super soldier was that he didn't get a back ache if he hunched over a desk for long periods of time. Though it didn't keep warmed up and battle ready. Steve couldn't even remember a time that he didn't have to worry about being alert. Ever since he was little he had to fight or flee. Though as he grew up flee became less and less of an option. Nowadays he only retreated, and that was only to protect those around him.

Steve finished his stretch and went back to his work. He was analyzing both recent villains and his team members fighting capabilities. It was important work. It helped them both on and off the field. It also gave him a better understanding of those under him. It kept them safe and alive.

Steve pushed the budding thought away. No time for the past solider. He told himself forcefully. He pulled up another file labeled Zatanna. As he did so he heard a snort come from behind him. He forced himself not to smile. Instead he turned to her with a frown. The team had dubbed it his "Captain America Face".

"Not busy enough?" Cap asked levelly.

Zatanna tipped back her head and laughed. "I'm plenty busy. It's amazing how much work the League has to do when not punching things." She shook her head sending her black hair dancing. "Too bad Lex just couldn't hire someone to do all our paperwork."

Cap frowned a little more. "We need to take responsibilities for our own actions. Everything we do has consequences. Including punching things."

His emphasis on the last word sent Zee into more laughter. "Yes Dad. I'm working Dad."

Steve turned back to his work so she couldn't see the smile that finally broke free of his dour countenance. Though if he went by her laughter, he probably failed. Still, silence resumed as the two worked diligently. Or rather Steve did. Zatanna worked... abet at her own pace.

"Steeeeve." Zatanna whined after a significant amount of time had passed.

Steve paused the new video he was watching and turned back to the woman. She was draped over her desk bonelessly. "I'm bored Cap. I don't want to do this anymore. It's not fair. Everyone else is ditching."

When Steve opened his mouth to rebutt her comment she waved her hand and continued.

"Yes, I know Carol's on a mission. Thor's out doing God-things. Probably making euphemisms about his hammer again. Then hitting people with it. And Scott is out doing family things. Magicians knows how he manages the dual life. And Flash is out doing his own life things. Like work. But I'm still tired of this. We've been working for hours!"

Steve sighed and opened his mouth to speak when he was cut off again.

"And please no lectures again about how important this is." Zee covered her ears. "I can recite it backwards at this point."

Steve raised an eyebrow and waited for Zatanna to lower her hands. When she did he finally spoke.

"Can I talk now?" Steve asked, sounding amused even to his own ears.

Zatana flushed a little. "Yeah, sorry Cap."

"I was going to say we could go get lunch." Steve didn't bother hiding his smile this time. It grew wider as Zatanna hopped to her feet. She did a small little jig.

"Tseb eht era uoy!" The excited woman babbled out before hurrying out of the room.

Steve stood up and reached for his shield as one of the alarms went off. The Captain turned and saw it was a message from Carol.

< “This is Captain Marvel to Justice League; looks like this protest is turning into a riot, feel free to you know... help. If you want. You know how the Brotherhood gets.” >

Steve felt his hand close around his shield. He latched it to the holder on his back and was going to press the button to reply, when eye was caught by the screen that displayed all the League member's locations.

"Hey Cap. I got Carol's message. We going?" Zatanna asked from behind. Obviously she had returned when she heard the message.

Steve shook his head and pointed at the screen. "Looks like Barry's already at the scene and Thor's inbound." Zee smiled at the knowledge. With Thor the three of them should be able to handle what the brotherhood tossed at them. Still, better safe than sorry.

Steve pressed the communicator button and spoke. "Captain Marvel. You have Thor inbound. Advise if you think you need more back-up."

"So... Food?" Zatanna asked hopefully after Steve was finished.

Lex waited a bit until he knew that Reed and Susan were on the elevator heading out of the building before he turned to the other two men in the room. The look on his face left no room for interpretation. Get out. The two men followed his unspoken command instinctively and rushed out of the doors. Finally Lex was alone. He locked himself in the lab which everyone working for him knew was basically a giant 'do not disturb' sign.

He paced around the room still trying to calm himself down from Susan's comments. He marched himself to the dry erase boards with his equation written out. One look at the large encircled 'X=?' sent him into a rage. With a yell he grabbed the board with both hands and threw it across the room. It impacted the wall with such a force that it broke off of its stand. He kicked the board on his left after a string of profanity.

"Who the hell does that woman think she is? He looked back at his machine. "They show up unannounced, I show them hospitality, and she insults me!" He finds the closest thing to him, a plastic cup, and throws it directly at his project. "In front of my staff while I am working on one of the most significant scientific discoveries in the history of the world!"

He stopped in his place and stood there. He looked around to find his lab in an even messier state than it had been when he first arrived. He lost himself in thought as he picked up the board he had thrown against the wall. After a few seconds of staring at the 'X=?' he placed where it belonged. After a few minutes his lab was more or less rebuilt.

He chastised himself. He was the most brilliant mind on the planet and he was acting like a child. He walked slowly to his desk ignoring the lights as they flickered again. He noted that he would have to look into that later. He sat at his desk and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. His computer monitor lit up with bright blue letters, INCOMING MESSAGE.

"What is it?" He opened the message. A man in a suit surrounded by desert appeared on the screen. He looked very proud of himself.

"Mr. Luthor we found him." The man said with a grin. Lex recognized him, he was one of the project leads of LexCorp's New Mexico branch. His name escaped him.

"Could you be more specific?"

"Bruce Banner." The man paused, presumably for dramatic effect. "The Hulk."

"Whatever you do, do not contact Ross! I'll get whatever members of the Justice League I can to respond." The other man's grin turned into a worried expression.

"General Ross is already here sir." Lex's face fell into his hands. Another annoyance. If Ross and the Hulk were in the same area the place was about to become a warzone.

"I want you to listen to me very carefully." He paused and looked at the screen using his hands as he talked. "Load up whatever company equipment you have within a fifteen mile radius and get as far away from that beast as you can. DO not contact the Justice League or any members of LexCorp security."

"But sir..."

"Shutup and listen to me! If the public is alerted in any way that we were involved in what is surely about to become a massacre the entire company could fall under investigation."

"Okay Mr. Luthor. I'll handle it."

"Make sure that you do. If this comes back to hurt the company, I'll know who to blame." With that Lex ended the transmission.

He rubbed his hands over his head. This problem could potentially bring too much unwanted attention to him and with Susan Storm suspecting him of planning to develop weapons using the meteor technology attention is exactly what he wanted to avoid. He began typing away at his computer. He had to contact his European contacts that were supplying the substance.

After making sure that the message would be thoroughly encrypted and untraceable he placed the call. After a few minutes a foreign man appeared speaking his native language. Luthor simply stared at the man until he stood he called over his shoulder. Not long afterwards the unmistakable image of the figure in charge appeared on screen.

"We have to postpone weapons development indefinitely. Any progress at this time would jeopardize our entire operation."

"Luthor, my time is not to be wasted by any man, even one such as you. There are others who will pay dearly for this product and my assistance in utilising it."

"You understand that I'm the only man on the planet capable of forcing even a small reaction of power out of this substance. That and I am also the only man willing to pay such a steep price. The truth of the matter is that you have no other options." Lex shot back confidently. His contact would have to take him at his word.

"There are always options, be grateful I pursue one that allows you to keep your head on your shoulders. Go play hero, little man, return when you are ready to move on to better things." With that the transmission was cut. Enraged Luthor yanked his computer out of the cords it was connected to and threw it against the wall. It exploded into a display of sparks and falling circuits.

He sat back down and stared back across the room. 'X=?' Taunting him. Luthor sat there in anger, the vein on the left side of his head popping out. Then, another annoyance, his phone began to vibrate again. He pulled it forcefully out of his pocket. Mercy Graves. Again.

"Mercy I told..."

"Lex it's about your father." She cut him off. The pause in her words only made him angrier. "He's being released from prison today."

"I gotta hand it to you, tiger; you picked a good one."

Mary Jane is seated across from me at the Silver Spoon Cafe, a little twenty-four hour diner just around the block from ESU's campus. Its combination of late hours and cheap food has made it the de facto hangout for many ESU students, my friends and I included. So naturally, when Mary Jane asked to grab dinner somewhere nearby, this was the first place I thought of. And I must say, despite my reservations and -- let's call it what it is -- my nerves about this almost-date, it's actually turned out to be a lot of fun! Effortlessly charismatic, Mary Jane makes an easy conversational partner. We've been trading high school stories with one another, and she's even helped me laugh at some of my own pain. At the time, they felt like the worst years of my life, but now I see how silly it all was.

I poke at the remains of my scrambled eggs with a fork, looking up as I say, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," MJ smiles. She leans back in the booth, craning her neck as she gets a good look around. "I like this place. It's got character. I'll take a good dive over a 'five-star' establishment any day."

"Well, good, because I can't afford any five-star establishments," I answer with a smirk.

She laughs. Why is it whenever she laughs, I actually feel like I'm funny? In any case, she takes her spoon out of her coffee and points it at me. "You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Parker. Contrary to all appearances, I'm actually a low-maintenance girl." She holds my gaze for a second longer before returning her attention to her coffee. Transfixed, I watch her pick up two packets of sugar and add them to the cup. "So, what do you do for money? I mean, are you on work-study? Part-time job?"

"Freelance, actually," I reply. "I take photos for the Daily Bugle."

At that, MJ raises an eyebrow. She bites her lip, an almost imperceptible movement that nonetheless draws all my attention. "You're a photographer?" she says, surprised. Holding her cup with both hands, she raises it to her lips. "Well, well. I can't say I pegged you as the artistic type. Taken any shots I might've seen?"

As she takes a sip of her drink, I rub the back of my neck. "I've... made the front page. Once or twice," I answer modestly. In reality, it's been much more than that, but only because Jonah insists on using the Bugle as his personal soapbox to smear my alterego. Unfortunately, it turns out taking the photographs doesn't give me any say over their editorial use. "Honestly, I don't think I possess much technical skill. I've just been lucky enough to catch a few shots of Spider-Man."

MJ swallows suddenly, covering her mouth. "Spider-Man?" she repeats. "Like, the original Spider-Man?"

I nod. Then, I realize what I just heard in the second part of her statement and ask, "Wait, what do you mean 'orig--'?"

Before I can finish my thought, the door to the Silver Spoon opens, and the air is filled with boisterous -- and all-too-familiar -- laughter. Because of course: I was having far too good of a time, right? My prayers that I might go unnoticed are short-lived, as it's only moments later that the voice of Eugene "Flash" Thompson calls out, "Parker?" Grimacing, I turn to see my high school nemesis turned tenuous friend flanked by Mal Duncan and Karen Beecher. Flash's brow furrows as he looks past me at Mary Jane, and I can tell what few wheels he has in his head are turning. He begins to walk over.

Mary Jane gives me a curious look, and I explain, "Remember that guy Flash I was telling you about?" She nods, and I half-heartedly return the gesture.

Flash claps me on the shoulder strongly and says, "Have you been hiding this girl from us, Parker? I'm offended." He turns to MJ and flashes his trademark smile. "Hi, I'm Flash Thompson. Who might you be, darling?"

"Mary Jane Watson," she answers, offering a hand. She glances at me then back at Flash. "So, you're the quarterback."

Flash straightens slightly and shakes her hand. His ego's being petted. "That I am," he replies. Without asking, he slides next to me in the booth, pushing me aside with his not-inconsiderable mass. "So, what's going on here?" He eyes my plate greedily, helping himself to an untouched slice of toast. As he takes a bite, he guesses, "Tutoring session?"

MJ laughs. "No, Peter was just treating me to dinner."

Full mouth and all, Flash says, "Like... a date?" He can hardly contain his shock at the thought of it. To emphasize his point, he raises a finger in my direction. "With him? Oh, sweetie, you can do so much better. No offense, Parker."

"Sure."

Mal appears at the edge of the table, ready to defuse the Flash bomb. Mal's a good guy. I attribute a good portion of Flash's softening to his influence. "Couldn't help but overhear. I'm Mal, that's my girlfriend, Karen." Mary Jane waves to them both. "We were stopping in for a quick bite, but we're actually going to check out this club opening down the street if y'all are interested in coming along."

Mary Jane looks at me expectantly. I make a face. "I shouldn't." MJ deflates a bit, and I continue, "I've got this huge lab report due on Monday, and I was going to use tonight to get a head start." The part about the lab report is true, and I really should get started on it. However, the truth is that in my last encounter with the Enforcers, I slipped a spider-tracer inside Montana's stupid hat, and the battery's due to give out soon. If I want to track them down and find out what they're up to, I need to go on patrol. Tonight. Besides, going clubbing with Flash is not my idea of a good time, even if Mary Jane is there.

Flash makes no attempt to hide his disdain at my excuse. "Pfft. You know, you're gonna end up missing the best years of your life, pal." Giving the table a pat, Flash stands up from the booth. "Alright, Parker's out."

MJ leans across the table towards me. "Come on, Peter. It sounds like a lot of fun." She stares at me with those emerald eyes of hers, and I know I'll be powerless to resist if I hold her gaze.

Much as it pains me to say, I utter, "I can't." I look up again. "Look, you should go with them. I can vouch that they're good people. Well, most of them, anyway." Flash gives me a light smack to the back of my head, but I still keep grinning. "Seriously, go. Have fun. You can tell me all about it."

She frowns but then says, "Alright. But only because that sounded suspiciously like an offer for a third date." Giving me a quick wink, she grabs her coat. I begin to take out my wallet to pay our check. As Mary Jane rises, I hear Flash continuing to make disapproving noises beneath his breath. If I didn't know better, I'd think he wanted me to come. Instead, he'll probably just try to move in on MJ in my absence. Knowing my luck, they'll probably end up married. Mary Jane wanders over to Karen and begins saying, "You and me are gonna have to talk about where you got those shoes," as I place the money on the table.



You probably think I'm an idiot for passing up a night of dark rooms, loud music, and close spaces with Mary Jane, and you're probably right. Fact is, as much as I'd love to live in the moment and make decisions for myself, I have an obligation -- a responsibility -- to uphold. The Enforcers may not be a Gozer-level threat to the city, but they're no small-timers, either. At one time, they were the right-hand men of the enigmatic Big Man, an up-and-coming boss who threatened to plunge all of Manhattan into a violent crime war. The Big Men's since been taken out of the picture -- quite gruesomely, in fact -- but the Enforcers survived long enough to find a new boss to follow. He and I haven't had the pleasure to meet yet, but I eagerly await our eventual face-to-face. And then, my fist-to-face.

Usually, my patrolling's pretty aimless, but tonight I'm swingin' with a purpose. As I mentioned earlier, I managed to plant a small tracking device on Montana. It's a device of my own design, programmed to emit a silent pulse that triggers my Spider-Sense. I call it a spider-tracer. Its size makes it incredibly easy to conceal, but it comes with a tradeoff: a built-in battery that can only hold so much juice. By tweaking the tracer's output, I've gotten its effective battery life to just about a week, but it dies pretty suddenly after that. Tonight's my last good night to track this one down. After this, I'm just gonna have to wait for the Enforcers to show their faces again, and by then it may be too late to disrupt whatever they're planning.

After nearly an hour of swinging, I get my first ping. It's faint, almost imperceptible. It feels a bit moving into a room that's just a bit too chilly, the kind that makes your hair stand on end. What proceeds then is like the world's oddest game of Warmer or Colder. I swing this way and that, feeling for the changes in magnitude of the pulse. At some point, though, the signal is clear enough to be like a beacon. I follow it to its source, arriving unsurprisingly at the docks. Criminals are always hanging out at the docks. It's like the Starbucks of seedy malcontents.

Finding a stack of shipping containers to perch on, I survey the scene. Sure enough, my boys are here. "Fancy" Dan Crenshaw, a gunslinger with a pinstripe fetish. Raymond "Ox" Bloch, a wall of a man as strong as he is stupid. And Jackson "Montana" Brice, the ringleader whose wide-brimmed hat hides the tracer that brought me here. Standing across from them are three men I don't recognize, general goon types. The central thug carries a large briefcase. No one says a word. Ox hocks a loogie. Boy am I glad I missed dancing with MJ for this.

Mercifully, a black sedan pulls up moments later. Out steps a stocky man with an abnormally flat forehead. Like Fancy Dan, this guy looks like he gets all his fashion trips from The Great Gatsby. The newcomer approaches the nameless thugs, who all straighten at his approach. This must be the new boss. "Gentlemen," he begins in a gravelly tone, "Glad you could make this meeting." After a moment, he looks around and asks, "Is your boss running late?"

"The Cluemaster sends his regards," the goon with the briefcase answers.

The mafioso grits his teeth and clenches his fist. "You're joking, right? Who does this guy think he is?" He turns to the Enforcers, looking for some validation, but their faces remain flat and focused. The flat-headed man takes another few steps forward, closing the distance between the two groups. "Meeting's over, boys. You tell your boss that Hammerhead only deals with the man in charge, not his lackeys." Turning sharply, he starts heading back to the sedan, signaling for the Enforcers to follow.

The so-called lackey clears his throat. "So, you renounce your claim to the merchandise?" he calls out. This stops the other party in their tracks. Smugly, the lackey continues, "If so, that's not a problem. There are other parties interested." He gives his briefcase a soft pat.

Hammerhead snarls and turns back around. "Merchandise," he scoffs. "These would be the unmarked painkillers that your boss happened to 'stumble' across? What were his words, a 'clerical error?' Gimme a break. I came here to see if this 'Cluemaster' was worth my time." He spits on the asphalt. "I guess not."

The thug balances his briefcase on his knee and pops it open. Reaching inside, he produces a small orange bottle and tosses it to Hammerhead. As he lets the mafioso inspect the container, the goon explains, "The rest of the batch is inside this case, and that's just the first shipment. The Cluemaster is prepared to cut you a very generous deal for the rest."

Hammerhead holds the bottle to the light, rattling the little white pills inside. With furrowed brow, he looks back at the lackey. "Alright, there ain't no such thing as a free lunch, so what's the catch? What's your boss want?"

"A seat at the table."

"That table got room for one more?"



I leap into action, firing a web-line at the briefcase in the goon's arms. With one quick tug, I pry it loose. I land opposite the two groups of thugs with the briefcase of stolen meds under my arm. "It's Spider-Man!" one of them cries out. As if called to action, they all draw their guns. Hammerhead sneers. "Hammerhead, right? I don't believe we've had the pleasure. I'm the guy who ran your predecessors out of business."

"I ain't making the same mistakes," he assures me.

I tilt my head. "You sure? I mean, you hired those clowns," I point out, motioning to the Enforcers who all give me a death stare. "Although, I will give you this: 'Hammerhead' is a way better name than the 'Big Man.'"

"Fifty thousand to the one who puts a new hole in his head," Hammerhead barks.

Before the bullets start flying, though, the ground is littered with little white orbs. Each begins spewing clouds of gray smoke. The criminals all move to cover their eyes and mouths, but luckily my mask provides me with a bit of natural protection. A figure moves through the cloud, gliding in on an extended cape. One of the goons gets dropped, and the others begin shooting wildly into the smoke. Just when I've lost sight of everyone, a shape of purple and black bursts through the cloud. We nearly collide, but I get close enough to see that it's... a girl?

"What's going on?" Ox calls out.

Another voice answers, "There's two of 'em!"

"Waste 'em both!" Hammerhead roars.

"Thanks for the save," I tell the mysterious girl.

"You idiot!" she barks. "You just blew my surveillance!"

Dumbfounded, I don't have time to formulate the proper response before the smoke clears and my Spider-Sense tells me it's time to move.

The Purple Man

The Purple Man sat with his legs slung over the side of the settee, listening to Abigail Bhatia softly play the piano, her bronze fingers gliding gently over the keys.

“Very nice, Abigail.” He gave her a warm grin, his attention divided evenly between her performance and the plastic tupperware full of egg-fried rice that he held in one hand. He’d never been allowed to eat out of the package when he was younger. Look at me now, mother, you deluded cow.

He’d found Abigail whilst out and about on the town, and had been living with her for the past two days.

The pianist sat across from him, perched on a small stool in front of the great wooden piano, frozen in place, except for her hands which tapped away at the keys like some kind of intricate machine. There was a smile plastered across her face. The same smile that had been there for the past three hours. He had told her to smile.

“Do you sing?” The Purple Man asked, once he’d forked the last of the egg-fried rice into his mouth.

“Not very well, sir.” She said honestly. He’d told her to call him ‘sir’.

“Stop playing. Get up. You’re done here.”

Abigail quickly left, leaving the Purple Man alone in the living room.

The overwhelming mundanity of life was the Purple Man’s greatest advisary. Even when nothing was beyond his reach, all that did was highlight how utterly pointless and arbitrary everything was. If he really wanted to, he could go and take control of a multi-million dollar company, or fuck movie stars. But what was the point?. If the Purple Man had done it once, he’d done it a thousand times, and it had stopped being interesting after the hundredth.

He’d been forced to develope a taste for the finest things life had to offer, in order to prevent himself from going completely and utterly insane. And God’s above, he’d had so many bloody phases.

“Abigail!” He shouted lazily “Get back in here!”

“Yes, sir?” She appeared almost instantly, filing back into the lounge.

“You’re going to drive me to the mall.”

---

The Purple Man strode casually down the walkway, Miss Bhatia scurrying behind him with a mountain of shopping bags strung over her.

“You look very fetching in purple, Sir.” She babbled.

“I know.” The Purple Man said off-handedly.

“Just fuck off and go spread your legs for another paedo creep on the internet, you fat bitch!”

The Purple Man stopped in his tracks. Not too far from where he was, strewn across the outside of one of the more fancy McDonalds, was a gang of about three teenagers, squaring up to a curvier girl in shorts and a tank top.

“Why do you even dress like that, slut?” One of them sneered “No one wants to look at your gross-ass stomach!”

“You guys are really being dicks.” The girl said quietly, staring at the floor.

“Oh, cry me a river, you fucking lard-ass.”

“Wait here, Abigail.” The Purple man said calmly.

He walked slowly forwards, drawing closer to the group of teenagers.

“Can I help you, mate?” One of the group shot the Purple Man a disapproving look. He was trying to look hard in front of his friends, but the Purple Man could tell that he wasn’t comfortable sassing a stranger, and an adult at that.

“Yes, I believe you can.” The Purple Man nodded his head “Why are you being so horrible to her?”

“P-please, mister, you don’t have to-” The girl began, but the guy who’d called her a fat bitch spoke up first.

“Because she never paid me any attention until I started saying things like that.” He blurted out, looking shocked at his own words.

“Dave, mate-” one of his friends started to laugh, but the Purple Man cut him off.

“Don’t interrupt him.” The Purple Man said calmly but firmly “Go and stand over there.”

The boy did as he was told, moving quickly away.

“Now,” The Purple Man turned back to Dave “why do you want her to pay you attention so badly?”

“Because she makes me feel good,” he said “I like spending time with her, but I get all nervous when I try and tell her that.”

The Purple Man nodded slowly “Do you not think she’d appreciate you being upfront with her?”

“Yeah, but I’m worried about what my friends would think.”

Dave’s mates stood, gobsmacked, staring at him with wide-eyes.

The Purple Man turned to face the girl.

“You can do so much better than these wankers.” He said plainly “You deserve so much better.”

The girl watched him, tears pearling down her cheeks, and leapt forwards, pulling the Purple Man into a tight embrace.

“T-thank you…” she sobbed “you’re a good man.”

“No, I’m not.” said Zebediah Kilgrave, sadly, as he turned and walked away.

New Troy, Metropolis

Lois Lane turned the key in the lock of her and Clark Kent’s apartment as gently as she could. The dim light from within the apartment radiated out into the corridor as she slid inside and shut the door behind her softly. She hoisted her coat on one of the pegs behind the door and set her handbag down on the small table where the house phone sat. There slumped in a seat in the lounge was Clark Kent. In his hands was a copy of James Ellroy’s The Big Nowhere that Clark had annotated as he’d gone along. Lois smiled as she approached him and leant in to take the book from his lap. As she did so Clark’s eyes shot open.

“Boo.”

Lane let out a squeal and staggered backwards. Clark broke out into a giggle as he saw Lane’s look of terror twist into a frown.

“Jesus, Clark! That’s not funny,” Lois muttered as she hurtled the book at Clark’s chest. “Why aren’t you sleeping? It’s late.”

Clark rolled his eyes as he set the book down on his desk.

“We’ve discussed this.”

Lois kicked off her shoes and made her way across to the kitchen. She opened a cupboard, pulled out a bag of potato chips that she pulled open, then perched on a seat by the kitchen table.

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t need to sleep, I get it, but it can’t be good for your mental health for you not to rest sometime, Clark. I mean, you don’t need to eat either but you still do that.”

Clark followed after her and declined as Lois offered the bag of potato chips in his direction. He pulled open the fridge and broke a tub free from a six-pack of chocolate pudding. He reached for a spoon, shoved it into the chocolate pudding, and took a greedy mouthful.

“That’s because chocolate pudding is delicious.”

Lois placed an arm around Clark’s broad shoulders as he took a seat beside her at the table. He kiss Lane on the forehead and then took another mouthful of pudding.

“How was Lacy?”

Lacy Warfield was the daughter of David Warfield. The David Warfield of Warfield Publications – the largest publishing house in America. Warfield had once owned the Daily Planet. Lacy had once been rather fond of Clark but despite that Lois and Lacy had struck up something of an unlikely friendship. They had become even closer since David Warfield died two months ago because Lois was the only person around Lacy that didn’t see her as a cash cow ready to be milked.

“Things are obviously a little tough for her at the minute given everything with her dad but she’s always been pretty resilient. As awful as it might sound, I think she’ll get through it soon enough.”

Clark smiled sympathetically between mouthfuls of pudding.

“Speaking of fathers, you’ve been saying for the past two weeks that you wanted to visit yours. What happened to that?”

He set down the little tub and his spoon and searched for an explanation. Though Metropolis had been Clark’s home for the best part of a decade it was Smallville, Kansas that had formed him. He hated going back there. It wasn’t the Smallville he remembered. The recession had turned what was once a thriving agricultural town, full of colour and life, into something bleak and depressing. The farms that Clark had played on as a child had been bought up or lay barren. Only Kent Farm remained – though not for much longer given his father’s condition was worsening. The words that left Clark’s mouth were not that but an excuse, something he sensed Lane would sniff through in a second, but one he offered all the same.

“I guess with everything that’s been going on I kind of… I don’t know…”

Lois shook her head.

“I know it hurts you seeing him like that but he’s still your father, Clark.”

It was hard living with the world’s greatest investigative journalist. Clark had heard some people refer to Bruce as the World’s Greatest Detective but living with Lois Lane had convinced him that nickname had basis in fact. Lois sniffed lies out like a bloodhound – even the whitest lies. Clark let out a sigh and shrugged his shoulders and he let the real explanation slip.

“I’m not sure what about it scares me so much. Pa was as strong as an Ox when I was growing up. He did things I’d never seen any other man do and made them look easy – and now he can barely remember what day of the week it is. To see someone that strong so… so vulnerable… I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”

Lois set down the bag of chips and wrapped both of her arms around Clark. She squeezed him tightly and felt his heart beating through his chest. It was that heart that set Clark apart. He was the kindest man on Earth – he empathized with people too much sometimes. Were this the other way around he would know what to say to make Lane feel better but all Lois could offer him was her embrace. It would have to do for the time being.

“I can only imagine how Martha feels.”

A little breath passed through Clark’s nose as let loose a heavy-hearted laugh.

“Hopefully you’ll never have to find out.”

Lane smiled awkwardly as she looked up at Kent.

“But… you will, Clark.”

Clark’s big hands wrapped around Lane’s waist and he lifted her as easily as a normal man might lift a feather and placed her in his lap. Lois slipped her arms around his neck and Clark let his rest gently on her thighs as he looked at her through the big, bright eyes that she loved so much.

“I’ll always love you, Lois Lane, even when you’re old and grey.”

Lois smiled and planted a loving kiss on Clark’s lips.


“You want me to come with?”

He shook his head and Lane nodded in acceptance. She reached for the tub of chocolate pudding that Clark had been eating from, plunged his spoon into it, and offered a spoonful of pudding to him. Clark's mouth opened wide and at the last minute Lois pulled the pudding away from it and scarfed the pudding down. Clark let out a consternated chuckle that was pulled by Lois prodding another spoonful of pudding into his mouth. As he struggled to swallow it Lane planted another kiss on his lips that sent the pair of them tumbling off the seat and onto the kitchen floor with a thud.

Coast City

It hadn't taken Raven Darkleholm very long to find her estranged son. The name Graydon Creed rang out in the slums of Coast City, hailed as a hope for those who feared and hated the mutant race. It brought a bitter taste to her mouth, "The Friends of Humanity" a growing number of non mutants, banding together, they were beginning to form a threat. She had avoided thinking about her son whenever she could, hoping that his life had fallen into the happy and ignorant norms of the humans around here. Giving him up had seemed like the safest option at the time, but she couldn’t quell the gnawing feeling that who he had become had only been as a result of her abandoning him.

Guilt. That was something she couldn’t afford to let cloud her mind. Mystique had travelled to Coast City to head up the work of the Brotherhood here. That was her focus. That needed to be her focus. Perhaps that and settling a score with Captain Marvel.

Mystique had spent the last three months concealing her mutant abilities so well that she was able to work for the United States Civil Service and quickly work her way up in the United States Department of Defense. The mission will have served its purpose, gathering intelligence and access to weaponry, before anyone would notice the officers she had replaced were missing. It was here that she learned Marvel was heading up an attack on The Brotherhood and realized the lack of organization in Coast City needed to be tightened up. She wouldn’t have the Brotherhood falling - especially by Captain Marvel's hands.

But there was something she needed to address before tonight's meeting. Crouched in a fire escape, Mystique used her camouflage abilities to sink into the shadows, something she was good enough at without her abilities.

It was a dark stretch of road, provided with dim beams of light from the pool houses and bars that lined the pavement. The hive of human chatter and music spilling out of the doors every time someone left for a cigarette.

Unsteady footsteps echoed round the corner of a nearby alley. Graydon Creed stumbled forward and grabbed a lamppost for support. He clung there, slack-jawed and slumped over, for a long time before he said, "You can’t leave me here, Jane.” The slurred words falling flatly into the empty street. His red solo cup slid from his hand to plunk pitifully on the sidewalk at his feet.

Mystique pitied him. She pitied the failure of a human her son had come to be. Perhaps if she had raised him as her own things would have been very different for him. As soon as she was sure her son had no mutant abilities she had given up any thought of potential their bonding could bring, but on behalf of the Brotherhood there was one last thing that she needed to take care of with Graydon.

Perhaps not tonight. Her attentions were needed elsewhere.


Industrial Sector
1:30am

Mystique entered the building to a hum of muted conversation. The building was an old factory under reconstruction, it was easier to meet like this, at night in abandoned sites. The Brotherhood was growing and they needed direction.

Climbing up on the mezzanine she could make out Pyro heading up the meeting.

"This is one more reason why we need to band together, brothers, if we look forward to the same goal, that’s the only way we will be able to move forward, as one. You have your cause and you are familiar with our plans going forward, we cannot afford divisions when the JLA have us in sight."

"That's all very well, very inspiring, sir! But when we have the so-called 'Friends of Humanity' coming at us from all angles, it's not like we can make any progress."

Pyro had caught the yellow of Mystique's eyes in his line of sight.

"You can trust in me that this is being dealt with, as we speak."

"I think it's fair to say that our trust in you has wavered given your choice of lieutenants taking things in their own direction. We need to be making waves in this city - not seeing our leading members in the news dancing with the Fantastic Four."

"You are correct. This is what happens when members our Brotherhood try to splinter off. And place their own glory above our cause."

Toad and Blob avoided looking in the direction of their leader's voice, they'd caused enough trouble, and attracted attention from Captain Marvel with their pursuits. Lucky to be alive didn’t come into it, it would have saved some effort for Mystique had they not made it out of that ruckus.

"Look lady, your ghost act doesn’t really instil much confidence in me either."

Mystique fingered some broken glass on the ledge next to her.

"That’s a shame, here I am in front of you, your leader, and you tell me you're struggling with the chain of command."

Stepping out of the shadows the dim lighting afforded the brotherhood member some clarity, and with it, fear.

"No longer will I put up with the mediocre effort you have been putting forward. Petty crimes to feed your fragile egos have no place here. We have our sights set higher than low level crime. We have a cause, and if you're not ready to commit to that you are free to leave. But let it be known, splintering off from this faction will result in severe consequences. We are here for the rights of our mutant brothers. I am here to make sure we will never have to bend the knee to lesser beings."

Shouts of support echoed the walls. To Mystique, the paltry hum of untrained mutants. There was plenty of work to be done here.

Pyro had made his way over to her through the pulse of bodies below.

"Raven."

"Funny, I seldom hear my old name anymore."

"Is it done?"

"Dear, you understand that you're asking her to kill my own son?"

"Don't try and spin that shit with me, Raven. Don’t try and kid me, or even yourself into thinking you're actually this guy's mother. You know you're the only shot we've got to turning him on to our side and we both know that’s a pretty slim fucking chance."

"Don’t doubt me, or my dedication to the Brotherhood. I'm prepared to do what I need to."

"Then get it done. You know we're getting closed in on, now is the time to make a move. This is the statement we need to keep those fuckers at bay, we've got bigger fish to fry."

Mystique moved in closer to Pyro, reaching up to drag her blue scaled hand down his cheek. "Have a little faith...Brother." Her claw finishing up around his chin slowly dragging across his neck.

"Don’t forget who's in charge here."

Coast City - United States - Midgard

Thor descended upon the parking lot of Coast City's arena and surveyed the pandemonium. Evidently the day's proceedings had turned hostile. A gaggle of aggressive citizens had been restrained behind several carefully placed loops of rope; their attempts to rejoin the fray simply placed them in each others' way and their uncomprehending struggles reminded Thor of a horde of bound Sleipnir, driven and frenzied without any sense of intelligence.

Thor spotted his compatriots. The golden haired Captain Marvel was engaged by a small group of miscreants while the fleet footed Flash appeared to be facing off against a rather drab fellow that Thor recognised as Pietro Maximoff. Thor had limited experience facing speedsters and, in any event, was not so uncouth as to leave a lady to fend for herself.
He prepared to launch himself at one of Captain Marvel's attackers when, out of nowhere, a bolt of crimson thudded into his midriff with the force of a giant's kick.

Thor was knocked down into the parking lot. Immediately, some of the uncontained citizens made for him. They kicked, hit and bit the fallen God; not doing any real damage but momentarily overwhelmed Thor by the sheer frenzy of their attacks. Thor was not a barbarian, he had no interest in harming the innocent despite their savagery. He called upon the elements and caused a sharp spurt of gale force to knock the humans back, winding them in the process. Thor took to the air, scanning the battlefield for his attacker.

Within moments he had spotted her, it made sense given that Quicksilver was in the vicinity; Wanda Maximoff, the self-styled 'Scarlet Witch'.
'Harpy!' Thor bellowed, 'you dare strike the son of Odin?'

Thor launched himself at his foe, the Witch once again lashed out with a crimson bolt but Thor was ready this time and retaliated with a bolt of lightning.


The lightning arc came close to the mutant spellcaster but never so much as grazed her. A protective shield, Thor supposed. This girl held formidable power but had never been formally trained in its use. If she had been born of Asgard there would have been a place for her to learn of her abilities with the masters of the realm; instead, here she was, a novice fighting misguidedly for her race. It was a shame.

'Cease your actions and tell your companions to stand down.' Thor ordered, 'Now you face the might of Thor and the Justice League!'

The Witch merely laughed before her fingers shifted and launched a wave of crimson energy towards the Thunder God; spinning his hammer into a whirling shield, Thor caught the attack, sending the energy spinning into all directions. With a battle-cry, the God of Thunder leapt into the air and brought his hammer down in an unrelenting blow, Maximoff worked her fingers into a powerful barrier spell, the two came into contact and battle was joined once more.

Bludhaven
Avalon Hills

The boy walked from the street up the yard toward the house.

A flash-bang grenade was bouncing in his hand, casually tossed up and caught as though he was playing with a baseball as he strode toward the bay window in the house where a group of men were clustered around a table. These were million dollar homes, in a gated community, in American suburbia. But it was still Bludhaven. The police officers who were on the take knew better than to get to a scene too quickly, in case they interfered with one of the mob's hits. And the police officers who weren't on the take didn't want to become a statistic when they rolled up, sans back-up, on armed criminals who were better equipped than the Los Angeles SWAT team. The average police response time to a 9-1-1 call in Bludhaven was thirty minutes.

That clock started now.

The glass shattered as the pitch sailed through the window to bounce off the middle of the table. Several loud exclamations were heard, before the crowd control grenade did it's thing and blew out the remainder of the window.

At the same time the shards were flying out to litter the front lawn, the small ninja was sailing inside of the house. He fired the first shot while still in the air, the bullet catching a man to one side of the dinner table in the ear. The blood spray from the exit wound flew in all directions as the man was spun around by the bullet. A pair of kid's black Heely sneakers slid across the table, clearing the wine and glasses as the child planed out as though he were doing the limbo. Two more shots were fired, each catching a man as they struggled to pull their guns in the wake of the flash-bang, the blood, and the gunshots. Planting on his back for a moment, the boy kicked up to vault over onto the floor.

The Walther was level in his hand as he landed, aimed at a disheveled man who'd been opening a second bottle of wine. Val Kaliban had a look of shock on his face. Another mafioso was bursting into the kitchen, a Czech-75 in hand. Adjusting his elevation just slightly, the boy took a shot that whizzed within an inch of Kaliban's head. The back corner of the kitchen with it's stainless steel oven/microwave combination built into the wall, was splattered in red as the bullet entered through the man's throat to exit out the base of his skull.

It was then that the Spook finally snapped back to reality. Blinking, the man was propelled back into the present. "Shit!" the man swore, hands and arms flailing about the counters as he searched desperately for a weapon with which to defend himself. His hand dove into the knife block. Faintly amused, the young assassin merely watched. Movement along the floor alerted him to a mafioso who was still alive. Shifting the pistol to his left hand, the boy casually brought the muzzle down toward a man struggling to lift his head up from the floor. Squeezing the trigger, the boy put a round through the top of his head. A gurgling sound echoing as the body convulsed before hitting the ground.

The slide had locked back with the shot. As the boy looked up, Val Kaliban had drawn a butcher's cleaver from out of the knife block and was running toward him. "-tt-" the youth uttered, clicking his tongue. Ejecting the magazine, the boy casually tossed the pistol up into the air before he shifted his body posture into a Jeet Kune Do stance. A left block-strike at the knife hand to deflect the attack, then he countered with a palm-heel strike to the man's throat.

Kaliban went staggering back, the knife discarded as the man gagged and choked, clawing at his throat as he tried to breathe. Catching the pistol as it dropped back into his hand, the boy reached into his pocket and casually removed a spare magazine. As Kaliban started to recover, the youth tapped the clip up into the butt of the gun, chambering a round when he forced the slide forward again.

Kaliban made another lunge for the child when a gunshot sounded. The Spook had gone down on his left knee before he'd even known what had happened, looking down in shock to see his right leg covered in blood and his kneecap completely out of alignment. A second gunshot caught the man in the left shoulder, spinning him around as he went down on the carpet. His heartbeat and the sound of his own labored breathing echoing in his ears as he gazed, wide-eyed and terrified over what looked like a war zone. Now, death was not at all as pretty as the television shows would have you believe. The smell of shit burned at his nostrils, mingled with the slight ammonia smell of gunpowder. As the muscles of the body seized and were suddenly relaxed, one or more of the corpses in the room had defecated themselves as their colons were voided.

Holstering the pistol, the child killer reached up to pop the ear buds from out of his ear as he produced a LexPhone. As he thumbed through the touchpad to FaceTime, the sounds of pop music could be heard trickling from the small headphones now dangling down the front of his shirt. ♪...lets lose our minds and go crazy crazy... oh ya ya ya I keep on hoping we'll eat cake by the ocean...♪ The child spoke what sounded like Arabic for a moment, before tossing the phone down so that it landed face-up near the Spook's head. A voice spoke English, the familiar tone immediately sending a new wave a dread through the man. "Mister Kaliban."


The man on the screen was Ra's al Ghul. And that was all that Val Kaliban knew. Who was he? Where had he come from? How was it that he'd avoided the notice of every governmental intelligence agency from the U.S. to the Australians? Kaliban had tried to find just some of those answers, and had quickly realized that the risks of such knowledge far exceeded the potential pay outs. But he'd assumed, based on what he knew, that Ra's al Ghul's League of Assassins was a minor operation with only localized power. That they couldn't conduct an operation inside of the United States. Not without tipping their hand to the FBI.

It seemed the Spook's intel had been wrong. "I was so disappointed when I learned that you had chosen to pursue new employment opportunities," Ra's said, through the screen on the smartphone. "But, the League respects that there are many paths for men to travel. We can tolerate diversity, Mister Kaliban, but not treachery. Nothing personal, of course. Simply good business."

Through the reflection on the phone's screen, Kaliban caught the child pulling what looked like some kind of short katana from behind his back. Twisting his head around, the man caught a flash of steel before he let loose an instinctive scream.

"I'll be seeing you soon, Mister Kaliban," Ra's was commenting, as a spray of blood suddenly covered the phone. A red puddle was spreading through the carpet around the device as the man added, "Well, part of you anyway."

The dead Grund's name was Grux. He'd arrived at Ungara from an area known as Asteroid Blue Heaven. As for what he was doing on Ungara, or who he was meeting, those were matters of Ungaran domestic law. He'd arrived on Ungara from a way station near the Forbidden Sector. I was halfway there when dispatch called.


_{A S T E R O I D}
B L U E   H E A V E N

All units in the vicinity of Sector 2814.666, be advised we have a reports of a domestic disturbance on the station. Proceed with caution.

The small spacecraft exited out of the singularity, a blue glow radiating from the ion drives as power was diverted to the sublight engines, the kinetic force combining with the resulting inertial to propel the pristine vessel toward the massive rock which hung like a rogue planet against the backdrop of space. Inside the space craft, a feminine voice echoed and said, "We have entered Sector 2814.666. Adjusting vector for approach to space station Blue Heaven."

Blue Heaven was originally a private enterprise. Long ago, this sector had been a commercial corridor for the movement of goods between the Kymellian Technomancy and the Shi'ar Imperium. Today, with that corridor closed off by an intergalactic prohibition on travel in or near the vicinity of the planet Ysmault the economic situation had taken a sudden downturn. Now, it was home to drifters and smugglers. Fringers, they were called. Without local government law enforcement, it had become necessary for the Corps to provide for community police protection before the outpost became even worse than it already was.

As it stood, this was the fourth time in the boy's short career that he had visited Blue Heaven. He had attempted to bring peace, but had settled for brief periods of ceasefire instead. Pausing, as he prepared to disembark the ship, the young monk closed his eyes as he drew in a cleansing breath. "Om mani padme hum," he uttered. Part meditation. Part prayer.

Part much needed support for his own sanity.

There were creatures in this world - in this universe - who tested the patience of even the most virtuous monk. If experience had taught him anything, it was that he should expect to have his faith and his character tested by what he was about to discover. Peace. Compassion. Peace... the boy repeated to himself, drawing in a deep breath which he let out slowly as he stepped into the airlock. The boy brought his right hand up, adjusting the distinctive ring on his middle finger. A green aura enveloped his small form, as the exterior hatch was pulled away like a curtain to reveal the naked cosmos outside. Gently, the boy's foot drifted from off the deck as he floated freely into the vacuum awaiting him.

Space could be frightening the first time. There was no concept of up or down. No compass points with which to orient the mind. Some never overcame the vertigo. But Kai-ro? Kai-ro felt like this was true freedom. Putting his arms by his side, the child ducked and then pushed himself out through the void like a dolphin sliding through the sea. Gliding across the emptiness, the youth arced upward to arrive at an airlock that would give entry to the asteroid base. A pulse from his ring and the door parted for him, and Kai-ro stepped inside.

A century before, the asteroid had been cored out by a mining corporation. Left an empty shell, the remains of the mining station had been hastily converted into a port of call for people out on the fringe of this part of space. Pirates. Smugglers. Drug runners. The Green Lanterns knew that Blue Heaven, as it had come to be called, was nothing more than a waypoint from criminal elements drifting through the sector. But suspicion didn't amount to evidence, and so the Green Lanterns could do little more than keep an eye on the station. Still, it remained a lawless wonderland. A ghetto in space. Trash crunched under foot, along with something squishy that Kai-ro immediately tried not to think about as he made his way inside of the shoddy asteroid port.

B37T4-A, or Big Bertha, had originally been programmed as a lab assistant for a chemical company. Later advances in robotics and artificial intelligence design had led to Bertha being thrown out with the trash, but instead of being resigning herself to being reduced to scrap, the rusted automaton had wound up opening a bar out on Blue Heaven. There, she'd met up with a waste disposal unit that everyone called 'Marty' and the two had mixed like oil and water. Their passions for one another were, perhaps, impressive given the limitations of their designs, but that passion led to destructive behavior - usually by Bertha - which was of increasing concern to the residents of Blue Heaven.

That alone was concerning. It took a great deal for someone who lived on Blue Heaven to want to call the Lanterns.

As the young Green Lantern walked through the doors of the bar, an ion bolt buried itself into the wall about three feet to the left and two heads higher than he stood. The smell of residual gas coolant gave credence to the notion that such hadn't been the first shot fired, which would explain why someone would have been willing, if not eager, to call the Lanterns. In space, with the risk of the hull being compromised, no one won a gun fight.

Bertha was behind the bar, plugged into a voltage converted that had obviously made her onboard components drunk from the power surge. In one of her reedy, articulate limbs was a relic of the Badoon Civil War, a gas-powered ion bolt caster that was little more than a high-tech slug thrower. "You whore," the robotic bar tender managed, loudly slurring her words as her servos were unable to precisely calibrate for motion. The rifle waved wildly toward a squat, dirty-looking robot. "I... I kill you and... and that automated hussy!"

"Perhaps we could begin by placing the weapon on the..."

"Bertha, my love! My binary blossom, it was nothing!" Marty's roughly synthesized voice interjected, as the squat box-like robot seemed to dance from side to side. "A thirty second upload in a parallel connection, I swear! She means nothing to me!"

Turning toward the squat machine, Kai-ro looked sternly over at the waste robot and offered, "I do not believe such protests will be effect..."

"Upload!?" Bertha echoed, drawing both Marty and Kai-ro's attention to the chemist-turned-barmaid at the distinctive sound of the caster bolt being drawn back. "UPLOAD!?"

"Upload? No, I didn't upload in her..." Marty uttered weakly.

This was, in the boy's mind, exactly what a train wreck in slow motion must look like. "Kakpa," the child swore under his breath, as a large green shield appeared between himself, Marty, and the bar as several ion bolts slammed into the willpower construct. This was not what he'd envisioned for himself when he'd been in the monastery in Tibet.

"I had reconstructive surgery for you!" Bertha barked, pausing her barrage as she gestured toward what were obviously a new set of oscillating processor tubes across the front of her torso.

"Yes'm, those are nice," Kai-ro quipped vapidly, not entirely certain that made sense, and less so just what he was saying, but it made sense to say something as he gestured with both hands for her to put the caster down. "We can talk about this rationally and without the need for viol..."

"Bitch, you best recognize that's my man!"

There were very few times that Kai-ro would have offered the opinion that discussion was a useless endeavor. As the automated food processor came wheeling into the bar, however, the Buddhist monk had to resign himself to the fact that this was one of those times.

"Oh, hell no!"

As Bertha roared and snapped up the rifle, the spry, young Green Lantern was already in motion. Quick as a snake, a sweep of the boy's leg had sent the Badoon rifle skidding across the bar top, as a series of green handcuffs snapped onto her reedy limbs. "Weapons discharge in an enclosed space environment is a class five misdemeanor," the youth asserted in a matter-of-fact tone. "I believe some time apart on Oa will help in alleviating this conflic..."

"GET YUR HANDS OFF MY WIFE!"

As he turned, Kai-ro saw Marty lunging for him, as the food processor came wheeling after. "That's my man!"

...next reincarnation, the boy decided that he would very much like to be anything other than himself right now.

One Short Flight Later,
Roxxon R&D Facility,
Abandoned Lot

Moon Knight had done several fly-bys of the area atop the Angelwing, his enhanced night vision and the Angelwing's own thermal sensors telling him that apart from a pair of guards set up at a little gate meant to deter 'rebellious' teens or kids there on a dare from going in, there were no enemies on the ground to worry about. Khonshu might radiate disappointment at the delay of punishing those even tangentially responsible for creating the lycanthropes, but it was good news for Moon Knight in Marc Spector's opinion. That meant the most difficult part of this job would be searching this big lot's every room and hidden nook and cranny until Moon Knight found either clues or the professor himself. A slow, methodical search and then Khonshu would have his justice, nice and neat.

Marc Spector should have known better, after all when the job seemed like it was too easy it probably was. A bolt of artificial lightning lashed at him from the darkness like the scourge of some angered night-demon. Moon Knight twisted and banked up, maneuvering the Angelwing to absorb the blast of electricity at the last second, though absorbing the sudden surge of power overloaded the glider's anti-gravity generators and sent it spiraling towards the ground with him attached. Thinking quickly, he unlocked his feet from the Angelwing and went flipping and spiraling away from it, his glider-cape deploying from the container at the back of his armor to slow and control his descent. Moon Knight glanced around for his attacker as he drifted downward, only to be slammed into heavily from above, the blow knocking the wind out of him as what sounded like blades shredded through his cape only to glance off of his carbonadium vestment. Fighting through pain and gasping for breath in midair, Moon Knight fired the crescent blade-tipped grapple lines mounted on his wrists into the wall of the old research lab and swung in through a third story window in a hail of glass.

The Lunar Legionnaire tumbled across the floor and slammed into a wall but was up and moving down the hall and away from the windows as soon as he hit, searching his surroundings before finding a corner to duck around. Blending with the darkness via his Shadow Walk, he peered around the corner and waited for his assailant to come and finish the job. Soon enough, a figure did indeed float in through the shattered window and touch down searching for him. As moonlight streamed down around the attacker through the window and revealed his face, Marc Spector cursed under his breath.

it was Simon Maddicks, a mercenary straight out of the Crescent Crusader's past life. Maddicks had always been an unstable monster-for-hire with standards so low they might as well have been subterranean, but the thought that he'd teamed up with someone willing to create literal monsters filled Marc Spector with a cold rage that thrummed with Khonshu's open approval. Slipping away and finding Milo was not an option. First Simon Maddicks must be made to suffer for his sins. Moon Knight threw his truncheon from around the corner such that it ricochet'd neatly off a lighting fixture in the ceiling above and clocked Maddicks straight across his unarmored mouth. Then he activated the magnetic recall feature so that it spun back and struck him again from the other side, sending him twisting back out the window.

Unfortunately for Moon Knight rather than taking a bone-shattering fall, Maddicks just hung floating in midair, stunned. Still willing to take advantage of the opening, Spector charged back down the hallway, catching and holstering his still moving truncheon before pivoting to leap atop the levitating mercenary. Maddicks recovered his senses and tried to fly away, but the split-second of weakness had lasted just long enough for the Crescent Crusader to wrap his arms around Maddicks and lock the arm joints of his armor in place, leaving them locked together face-to-cowl in a strange mid-air grapple. Maddicks regarded Moon Knight at first with shocked confusion, then a derisive snarl.

"What the hell are ya trying to do you idiot? Are ya gonnahug me to death?"

"No."

Moon Knight slammed his helmeted head into Maddicks' over and over again, and though Maddicks seemed to have gotten more durable than he had been in Spector's time, left bloodied and inconvenienced rather than unconscious as any normal man would be. Still, it seemed to be enough of a distraction that Maddicks' gravity-defying powers were weakened, as the two first lowered then plummeted toward the ground. The aerial combat was still Maddicks' domain however, and he was able to flip himself over at the last second so that Moon Knight took the brunt of their fall. The impact briefly overrode the suit's joint-locks and Maddicks dusted himself off, bloodied and bruised but still smirking.

At least until a stun grenade detonated at the mercenary's feet with an explosive bang and a brilliant flash of light. Maddicks tried to take to the air again in order to avoid reprisal only to find himself still earth-bound, with the Fist of Khonshu standing before him once more despite taking the brunt of a fall that could kill most men.

"Simon Maddicks, Khonshu's judgement is upon you."

Maddicks looked unnerved by the sudden loss of his flight powers, unaware that Moon Knight had deduced that he was partially powered by anti-gravity technology that was the stolen property of SpectreCorp. The barrage of headbutts had been nothing more than a distraction while his opponent had sent out the emergency override signal that he built into all of his company's work. Despite mysteriously losing his powers, the killer-for-hire quickly covered up his fear with more bluster and bravado.

"Look freak, I don't know who the hell you are or what your Conch-whatever is but even without flight powers it's gonna take a lot more than loony in black-and-white pajamas to take down Killer Shrike!" The light of the moon shone down on the two costumed men, each poised to end the battle with their next move.

Though the two were too close for energy blasts Shrike's punch backed up his words, not only much faster and more powerful than he could have managed in the old days but charged with electrical energy. But Moon Knight's superior training allowed him to intercept the force of that punch just behind the blades and redirect it into a shoulder throw in time, running off of pure honed reflex. Before Maddicks could recover from his surprise Moon Knight had already drawn his truncheon and jabbed it into Shrike's body to unleash an electric shock of his own. The resulting current caused Shrike's bladed braces to overload in an even bigger jolt and a sizzle of smoke as Shrike writhed and screamed but the Fist of Khonshu wasn't done. He hauled the killer up by his ridiculous plume and threw him into the nearby wall, cracking and denting it.

Shrike, the Butcher Bird. A fitting name given the man's past Khonshu whispered Let us see how he enjoys being butchered.

As Shrike struggled to stand Moon Knight threw a pair of crescent blades, impaling both of his hands and pinning them to the wall. As Shrike shrieked in pain Moon Knight raised another blade, carved a bloody crescent moon into Shrike's howling face then raised it up gleaming silver and red in the moonlight.

"Simon Maddicks, you have ravaged peaceful lands, grown prosperous on the lamentations of women and children, piled up the corpses of the innocent in stacks and hills and watched them burn without a care! Your heart is blackened and weighed down by the sheer volume of your sins! I should cut it out and show it to you-

"NO, GOD PLEASE NO!"

Moon Knight's blade made the plunge as Shrike wailed in fear and pain but froze with the tip over the man's chest. His arm quivered, strained, then moved back.

No Khonshu, I will not cross that line. Not again.

"-but since I am a just man I won't. Instead your sins will be purged through pain...and through truth." Shrike shuddered and began weeping with relief.

Marc Spector doubted he would have problems finding Milo now.

Pietro Maximoff, better known to the world as Quicksilver. One of the few pure speedsters in the world besides yours truly. Because his power stems from a genetic mutation and not a direct link the Speed Force, he's never been able to match me on my best day, but he's no less dangerous for it. All my usual avoid-and-overwhelm tactics are useless against someone who can see every attack coming. Whenever we clash, it always comes down to whoever can make the fewest mistakes. "Are you feeling alright, Flash? You look... slow," Quicksilver taunts. "Long trip in wear you out?"

"You wish, Pietro," I answer confidently, rising to my feet. "That run just got me loose."

He sneers. "Let's see, then." He bull-rushes me, slamming his shoulder into my gut as he wraps his arms around my waist. I'm thrown backwards as he drives my body clear across the parking lot and down the street. He slams my back into a brick wall, sending out a shockwave and causing the wall to shake. He raises a fist to strike at my face, but I duck under the punch. His fist strikes the brick and recoils. The momentary pause is all I need. I begin throwing as many punches as I can at his center of mass. Each connection pushes his body into the opposing fist, creating a feedback loop that allows me to strike many times faster than even my speed allows. Quicksilver zooms away from the punishment and back towards the stadium.

I give pursuit, easily closing the distance between us. Quicksilver banks suddenly to the left, and I follow suit, falling behind a step. He turns sharply around the corner of a parked car. As I approach the corner, a pedestrian is thrown in my path. I skid to my left, narrowly avoiding the obstacle while giving the man a quick grab to keep him upright. Before I can react, Quicksilver connects with a flying uppercut. My body sails for a moment, eventually finding purchase on the side of a minivan. The window behind my head cracks under the force of impact. Quicksilver throws himself at me again, but this time I see it coming. I simply vibrate to go intangible and watch his knuckles pass through my head and shatter the glass behind it. As he withdraws his hand, I reach out for his wrist and become stable once more. With one strong tug, I toss Quicksilver aside.

"Give it up, Pietro. This won't end well for you."

"If I were you, I'd be more worried about myself," he answers with a nod behind me. I turn my head just as three mind-controlled civilians take hold of my arms. Quicksilver's on me in an instant, fitting in as many potshots as he can manage while I'm momentarily incapacitated. The punches are disrupting my focus, making it impossible to simply phase through the grapplers. Luckily, they've left my legs unrestrained. I throw my head forward, connecting with Pietro's nose and sending him reeling. Having bought myself some space, I kick up my legs and begin twirling them in small circles. In a matter of seconds, my legs become little turbines, propelling myself and the three civilians backwards. We sail for a few moments until our bodies collide with a lamppost. The grapplers lose their grip, and I break free.

Having a moment to gauge my surroundings, I look to see how Carol's doing. Unfortunately, though I see flashes of light a few rows away, I can't actually see her side of the fight. What I do see is that Thor has arrived and is currently trading blows with Pietro's sister, Wanda. With another heavy-hitter on our side, it shouldn't be too hard to wrap this thing up. That being said, I've still got to finish what I started. Evidently, Quicksilver agrees as he begins to run circles around me. I know what he's trying; it's a trick I pull all the time. Create a vortex, suck all the air out. Unfortunately for him, I'm not some helpless victim who'll just stand here and let it happen. At the precise moment, I rush forward, colliding with Pietro and throwing him back.

"It doesn't have to be this way. The League wants what's best for mutants and humans alike. We can coexist."

Quicksilver rubs his mouth with the back of his hand. "Spoken like a true sapien," he spits. "Don't pretend to understand our plight, Flash. After this, you'll get to go home to a city that gives you ceremonies and monuments. Do you see anyone doing that for us?"

"Maybe they would if you choose a different path, if you extend a hand rather than a fist," I suggest.

He eyes me for a moment, and I almost wonder if I'm getting through to him. But just like that, the moment's gone, and his sour expression returns. "Enough lecturing. You call yourself the 'fastest man alive.' Prove it." He takes off down the street, and I give chase. We wind back and forth through the streets of Coast City, Pietro always changing direction whenever I get close. Again, if this were Central City, I'd take a shortcut, cut him off at a pass, and end this. But on unfamiliar turf, I simply have to follow and trust that my speed will eventually win out. Sure enough, he strings me along for a time, but I start to close the gap. Quicksilver glances over his shoulder at me and sneers. He knows that today won't be his day.



The punch knocks him to the asphalt, and I skid to a stop. "You know the difference between us, Pietro?" I ask as I walk over to his motionless body. "It's not our speed. It's that I know when to stop running." I shake my head. In the end, the Brotherhood may be terrorists, but it's hard to forget that they're just fighting for survival in a world that hates their kind. But violence isn't ever going to solve anything, and I can only hope that Pietro and his compatriots see that. With a sigh, I pick up Quicksilver and toss him over my shoulder. I rush back to the Ferris Air Stadium parking lot and tie Pietro up with the rest of the rioters. Then, I look to see if my teammates need any help with their fights.

Midtown Manhattan
11:22 PM

Sam Symington did a line of coke off his black onyx countertop. Symington cheered, surrounded by three call girls in their underwear who cheered along with him, and said something that Rachel couldn't catch. She was in a perch across the street from Symington's penthouse, watching the action with a pair of night vision goggles. She'd been watching the little shit since earlier this afternoon, taking over for Yorkie. In that time Symington had done six lines of coke, went through five bottles of eight hundred dollar champagne, and had some kind of sexual contact with all three of his hookers. The coke, the champagne, the girls, all of ti was paid for by stealing from others. Hundreds of people lost their life savings and Symington was living it up.

Rachel wished she'd been allowed to bring her sniper rifle tonight. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to put a bullet right through that assholes smug little smile and watch the bullet blow his teeth and brains across that penthouse. But Castle's orders said this was a simple recon job for the moment. Besides, blowing him away from afar wouldn't be justice. It had to be up close, he had to know what he was dying for. Plus, Rachel's company wouldn't like seeing Symington die.

There were two different FBI surveillance teams watching the penthouse, one up in another building watching the penthouse and one down on the streets just in case Symington left. She pulled out her radio and activated the three button sequence that encrypted it. The FBI had bigger fish to fry, but the last thing they wanted was the feds getting wind that someone else was watching.

"They still there, A?" Rachel asked into her radio.

"They left for about five minutes to get some hotdogs. They're back now."

"Shit. I'm gonna get the big man on the horn."

She changed frequencies and ran through the encryption code again.

"F, this is R."

-----

Lieberman's PC Repair
Brooklyn
11:24 PM

"I could do kiddie porn?"

David Liberman, better known by his handle Microchip, looked at Frank Castle with raised eyebrows. The back of Microchip's store was a cluttered mess of computers, motherboards, wires, and cables. Through all the junk he'd managed to carve out a workspace for himself and a chair for a guest. Castle sat in that chair while Microchip brainstormed ideas.

Castle shook his head. "I don't want to frame someone him for something he didn't do. I want to kill him."

On the screen in front of Microchip was Sam Symington's financial records. It took him maybe ten minutes to run down all the bank accounts and offshore holdings that he had. All told there was sixty-five million dollars in liquid assets and almost that much in property. Almost all of the money had been frozen by the IRS in light of the trial, but one of Symington's first legal actions was ordering those accounts unfrozen.

Castle looked at the screen and squinted. He followed the action on Symington's active account.

"Lots of cash withdrawls. Drugs?"

"Probably," Microchip shrugged. "The guy even buys his hookers with a credit card. So far as I know, drug dealing is still a cash and carry business. What about finding out who his dealer is and cutting his coke with rat posion or something?"

"Too sneaky. I want him to know why he's dying and who's doing it to him."

"F, this is R."

"F here," Castle said. "What's wrong?"

"A and I are surrounded by Feds. They're watching him just as close as we are. Two teams on two levels. They're not those Thornguard assholes, but they might as well be another group of bodyguards. It looks likee a straight up assault on the penthouse is a no-go. What do you want us to do?"

Castle sighed and spoke into the radio. "Leave as soon as you can slip away without the FBI noticing you. We'll have to go back to the drawing board. F out."

He disconnected and pocketed the radio.

"Always got to pick the popular ones, Frank?"

Castle grunted and stared at Microchip's computer screen. All that money that man had taken from others, all the lives he had ruined, the way he had perverted the justice system, and now he was getting defacto FBI protection to party all night and do blow and fuck hookers.

"Wait a minute," Castle said as he stood. "Scroll back up. Let me look at something. I may have an idea."

-----

One Police Plaza
12:45 AM

Oscar Clemmons was preparing to call it a night. He'd been here in the basement for close to sixteen hours. The bagel Chase brought him that afternoon served as his lunch, reheated Chinese takeout as his dinner. If his wife were still alive she'd be hopping mad that he spent so much time at work. He would be sleeping on the couch tonight if Sarah had her way. As it was, he slept on the couch every night. He couldn't stand to sleep in that bed anymore. It still smelled like her. He was afraid that if he got in he'd never want to leave.

No, better to spend most of the day down here than to succumb to that. At least here he was making progress of a sort. He had files on files of unsolved murders that occurred in the Five Burroughs. He'd been combing through each one to find something to link any more murders to the Punisher, or the Punishers as he had taken to calling them. There were maybe five additional ones he felt positive were Castle and whoever's handiwork. He knew the brass would be more inclined to stick more on Castle if they could. Nothing brought the clearance and solve rate down like charging a man you couldn't actually arrest. It was a paper clearance, chickenshit in Oscar's mind, and it only made the NYPD look good on paper but looking good on paper seemed to be all the brass cared about.

The elevator door opened. Oscar didn't bother looking up. At this time of night it would only be the cleaning crew. He stacked and filed another group of folders on his desk and didn't hear the man until he cleared his throat.

"Detective Oscar Clemmons?"

Oscar swiveled in his chair and saw a thin man with black hair standing in the doorway. He wore khaki shorts, flip flops, and a plaid button up shirt. Clemmons raised an eyebrow at the man and his dress attire.

He grinned widely. "Hi, sorry about this, but my name is William Rawlins. I was supposed to be here earlier but got tied up in Washington. I tried to contact you at home, but there was no answer so I called 1PP to see if they knew where you were."

"And here I am," Oscar said as he removed his reading glasses. "Who are you and what can I do for you, Mr. Rawlins?"

"I work for the government, detective--"

Clemmons smirked. "Government is a broad term, sir. Mind a little more specifics?"

"I work for the government," Rawlins said with a grin. He removed a sheet of paper from his suit and passed it to Clemmons. "And I have a special order signed by the Attorney General, Secretary of Defense, and even the NYPD commissioner all saying what I'm doing is above board and has their approval."

Clemmons looked at the paper, squinting a bit to read it. He shouldn't have taken his glasses off.

"What is it you're doing, Mr. Rawlins?"

"Officially? I'm consulting and offering technical support. You're in the capturing Frank Castle business, detective, which is something the US government very much wants to be in. So unofficially, I'm your new partner."

Rawlins smiled as Oscar handed him the sheet of paper back.

"Now, how about you tell me everything you know about Frank Castle?"

Smallville, Kansas

Martha and Clark Kent chatted amongst themselves as the Sun came down on Kent Farm. The sky was blood orange and the dreary crop-less fields that surrounded the old Kent house was overrun with weeds. Martha was in her late sixties and her once mousy brown hair had turned grey with age. Over her shoulders was a lime green cardigan she used to keep herself warm as she imparted her son with stories from his childhood. They fell silent as the door to the Kent house swung open and Jonathan Kent appeared through it. He was wearing an old shirt of his, drained of its colour by time, that was too tight by some way and his trousers were undone at the waist. He wandered across the porch, his hands cupped around his mouth, as he shouted out into the horizon.

“Clark! Clark!”

Clark shot his mother a look of concern and she stood up from her seat and approached her husband.

“Jonathan, honey, what are you doing?”

As she reached Jonathan she wrapped one of her wrinkled hands across his forearm gently to get his attention. He looked round at his wife with a confused look on his face.

“I’m looking for Clark. He should have been home two hours ago, Martha. If he’s hanging around with that Lang girl again, I swear to God I’ll have to rethink letting him go to tryouts. That girl is trouble.”

The elderly Martha smiled nervously as she realised what was happening and gestured her husband to the man sat on their porch.

“Jonathan, this is Clark.”

“What? I… I…”

Sensing that her husband still didn’t recognise Clark she gently pulled him closer and looked at him with the big, bright eyes that she shared with Clark. Though she wasn’t his biological mother she shared a stunning resemblance to Lara-El and Clark as a result. As Clark had aged people had often remarked that the two looked alike. To her husband though the man in the glasses was a complete stranger.

“You’ve having another one of your moments, honey.”

Suddenly there was a flicker of recognition in Jonathan’s eyes. Clark couldn’t tell if Jonathan recognized him or the fact that he should recognise him but as quickly as the moment had appeared it passed. Jonathan Kent looked down to his shirt and saw his stomach exposed through the gaps created by his gut and suddenly became self-conscious. He reached down and buttoned his pants and then looked to Martha with a tired sigh.

“I… I think I need to lie down, Martha.”

Martha nodded and led her husband inside the house and into their bedroom. The walls were lined with pictures of Jonathan, Martha, and Clark – one of Clark and the Kents at an early birthday party for Clark, another of Clark embracing them after kicking the game-winning field goal against Smallville’s crosstown rivals, and the three of them at Clark’s graduation. They were some of Martha’s happiest memories. Jonathan’s too. Though now the disease that ate away at his brain had robbed them from him.

Jonathan climbed into bed and Martha laid a gentle kiss on her husband’s head before she returned to Clark on the porch. She could tell from his body language that seeing his father that way had made him uncomfortable. He was stood leaning on the bannister along the porch when Martha joined him.

“He shouldn’t be here, Ma. There are places he could be more comfortable, where he could be cared for by professionals that specialize in treating people with deme-”

Martha’s wrinkled face twisted up the second the first syllable left Clark’s mouth and she interrupted her son mid-sentence.

“You know I do not like that word, Clark Kent.”

Clark shook his head with disapproval and stared out across the farm.

“This is his home. You think he’d be more comfortable waking up in some place he didn’t recognize? Your father was born on this farm, Clark. There’s been a Kent living in this house since before the Civil War, for God’s sake. There’s no way I’m putting him in a place like that.”

Perhaps it hadn’t occurred to Clark that despite what he thought, his father would never have wanted to leave Kent Farm. Even if he knew what was going to happen. The history of the Kents was as storied, if not as grandiose, of the house of El. To pry Jonathan from his land and his history would be to sever his connection to that. It would also leave his mother out here on her own. That more than anything left Clark disquieted. As children were so often wont to do, he’d never thought of Jonathan and Martha Kent as anything more than his parents – at least not until it was too late. The thought of his mother being left alone after a lifetime with Jonathan was heartwrenching.

“How do you do it?”

Martha shrugged her shoulders.

“He has good days and bad days. Sometimes I’ll find him out trying to tend the farm like the old days and I have to bring him in. He’s… he’s still Jonathan. He still has the same sense of humour as the Jonathan that I knew and he still looks as me the same way he used to. It’s… It’s not so bad.”

The two stood in silence as the sun disappeared over the horizon. Martha Kent pulled her cardigan up her shoulders to fight back the cold and then cleared her throat. Before she opened her mouth to speak Clark knew she what she was going to ask. It was what she always asked when Clark came to visit.

“You know, it would have meant the world to your father to be around to see you get married, Clark.”

Clark let a wistful laugh slip through his lips as he stared down at the weeds that had encroached across the field and onto the front yard in his absence.

“I think Lois and I are still a long way from that. I mean, we’ve only been living with one another for six months. We haven’t told anyone from the Planet but Jimmy – though I think Perry is starting to suspect something’s going on there.”

Martha smiled sweetly.

“I know love when I see it. You’ve found a good one in Lois, Clark, don’t you let this scare you away from making an honest woman out of her.”

Clark’s big fingers reached for the glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose and pulled them free. He rubbed at his eyes and pushed the glasses into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

“It’s not that. I just… I worry that my other job might put her at risk. What if someone found out my secret? What if they realised that the easiest way to come after me was to go after Lois? I’m not sure I could take it. I’m not sure what I’d do without Lois.”

Despite the graveness to Clark’s tone, Martha Kent found the hope in what her son had to say, as she always did, and rested her head against his shoulder with a grin.

“You don’t sound like a man that’s a long way from getting married.”

Clark embraced his mother and the two stood on the porch a while longer and watched the sunset. Once it had grown dark and colder still, Clark took a look at the watch that had once belonged to Jonathan Kent and Martha Kent prepared for her son to make his excuses. Instead Clark gestured towards the weeds in the front yard and across the fields of Kent Farm.

“You want me to work the field? I can try to tidy things up around here before I go. Maybe it’ll save Pa some trouble next time.”

Martha’s sweet smile broadened, though this time it was tinged pride, and she nodded her head at her son.

“You’re a good boy, Clark Kent.”

Clark undid his top button, pulled his tie free from around his neck, and dragged his cuff links from his cuffs as he pushed them up above his elbows. In a matter of seconds, Clark Kent, award-winning journalist for the Daily Planet, became Clark Kent, Smallville farm boy through and through. As he descended down the porch steps he shook his head and motioned towards the house.

“I had good parents.”

---

Vista Verde, New Mexico. 1940HRS Local Time.

"Well, if it isn't Bruce Banner." He pulled out his sidearm, as the doors to several of the jeeps opened dispensing soldiers, all weapons trained on him. Deep breath Bruce, you can still get out of this without destroying anything."You got something that belongs to me, and I want it back."

"I didn't do anything General. Please, just let me go. This doesn't have to get messy." Bruce was standing as still as he could possibly be, he was even breathing as lightly as possible. He could see the fear on some of these soldiers faces after all, and a scared soldier with a weapon trained on him could be unpredictable. That and Ross was in charge so he'd need to be doubly as careful, the smallest move could lead to thousands of dollars in property damage and some serious injuries, if not death. He still wasn't entirely sure how Ross had tracked him back to Vista Verde but it was taking all of his self control to keep himself from Hulking out, he had spent so long building a new life for himself. Hulk even had a life for himself, and here came Ross ruining it all. A small part of him wanted Hulk to tear them a new one. Though that would make him just as much of a monster as everyone claimed him to be.

"Other than the destruction of a expensive LexCorp lab, countless military property and Vista Verde on two occasions you mean? Also lets not forget what you did to Betty." There was a flutter of remorse in his chest as Ross mentioned Betty, he knew how much he cared for her why couldn't he just understand? It wasn't his fault, none of this was his fault. If he was just left alone! Everything would be fine, but no. They just kept coming, and coming and COMING, they would never... LEAVE... HIM...

ALONE

The small and fragile form of Bruce Banner doubled over. Bullets started to fire. Soldiers moved around him quickly. Seeking to evacuate all they could. Green fists hit the ground. Pavement caved from the force. Broken, shattered, ruined. Green eyes full of anger looked up. Bones grinding and clicking into place. Banner was gone. Hulk stood up. Shirt tearing off as his great chest expanded. His earth shaking roar filled the room. Then silence as he turned to Ross.

Hulk just wanted to leave, to be left alone. Much as Hulk hated to admit it he had been happy with life here, puny Banner had been happy too. Then the Ross man came along and ruined it, ruined everything. Like he always ruined everything for Hulk, he hated Hulk and Hulk hated Ross! Banner hated Ross too, that would mean that Banner wouldn't stop Hulk as Hulk smashed puny human. Then they could leave, and Hulk wouldn't let Banner have control again, Banner always messed things up for Hulk. With that he ran straight at the command vehicle, he didn't even notice that the soldiers who had been evacuating the streets to the side and behind were gone and then he heard a deep thud in the distance. He paid it no notice though, Hulk didn't care.

Until a shell exploded in his chest sending him flying into a nearby building. He tore through the wall, and straight through into the shop next door before he managed to find purchase to stop himself from going any further. Grabbing a nearby freezer he threw it back through the hole, anyone coming to inspect him would either have to dive out of the way to avoid being hit by it. Standing up he broke into a run back through the hole, Banner was screaming in the back of his head that this was a trap. Ross had planned this, everything was accounted for. Without so much as a second thought Hulk stopped in front of the line of soldiers, bullets peppering his skin.

Bringing both his fists above his head Hulk smashed them down on the ground, creating a shockwave and small tremor that sent many of the unsteady soldiers onto their backsides as they were knocked over.



Then in his right hand he picked up a chunk of the pavement before throwing it towards the line, colliding face on with a jeep it sent the vehicle spinning and rolling bouncing over soldiers. thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk. One of the 50cals opened up on him, raising his arm to keep his face covered he ran straight towards it. The man on the gun didn't hesitate, he just kept firing. If Hulk had cared, he would have thought the man brave. Though at the end of the day Hulk knew he was just another puny human who tried to get in his way. He placed one of his large hands under the front of the jeep before lifting up casting the jeep onto it's top.

Puny humans didn't understand, their weapons couldn't keep him from getting away.

Hulk is strongest there is!

He turned to see the command vehicle Ross had been standing on earlier rapidly reversing. Ignoring the rest of the soldiers, many of whom were tending for the wounded Hulk took after the vehicle that when reversing didn't have a hope of outrunning him. Grabbing the sides with two hands he dug his heels into the ground, the ground tearing up as he slowed the vehicle to a halt. The tyres trying to get enough purchase to send the vehicle backwards. Inside Ross was furiously shouting into his radio. "I don't care what Lex is doing, get him to answer the phone right now! We've got a problem!"

Though before the person on the other end could even think about it Ross suddenly felt himself pushed into his seat as the vehicle was lifted quickly, and then he was pulled against his seatbelt as he was slammed down again. Outside he heard the one thing he never expected, and dreaded to here the Hulk say...

"RROOOOOSSSS!"

The Polski guards at the Power Station were by far the few diligent men ever to work as security guards. They kept an eye on everything going on at the power station. So when a woman walked up to the fence line they were watching.

"Aktywista?¹" One of the guards postulated. Waiting for her to jump the fence and pull out a can of spray paint or something.

"Tak.²" The other guard agreed.

They were relatively unconcerned at seeing the redheaded woman. She wouldn't be the first to sneak onto the grounds after hours to spray paint ethical messages across a few buildings. Still, one of the guards would go out and escort her, probably screaming profanities, off the property. If she returned for the second time, they'd arrest her and call the police. They didn't even blink an eye at her black and green clothes that worked just as good as camouflage.

"Twoja kolej.³" The second guard said to the first. The first gave off an exaggerated sigh and began to stand.

Both men froze as the woman raised her arms and a giant tree root split the ground and wrecked a part of the chain link fence.

"Mutant.⁴" The cried nearly in stereo. In tandem they both grabbed their rifles and ran outside. Poland didn't have the same mutant registration laws as the United States. They were managing a more peaceful co-existence than the gun happy, explosion prone country. They didn't need superheroes or super villains. They were fine as they were. Yet the fact remained that occasionally some of the criminal activity was done by mutants.

The two guards ran with hearts in their throats. Their first priority was the power station. If it went down Poland would suffer major power flow issues and full on blackouts. So they shoved down their insecurities. The knowledge that they stood no chance. The knowledge that their training was of no use. The knowledge that one of them probably wasn't going home to their families in the morning. But leaving in a body bag.

The two men skidded to a halt and raised their rifles, training them on the woman casually walking up the sidewalk. In their fear they practically barked orders at her over one another.

Zatrzymać!⁵

Ręce do góry!⁶

When the woman smiled both the guards knew they were in trouble. Neither of them were able to react as the ground under them rumbled and roots burst forth. The first guard cried as the root snapped his legs as it wrapped around them. His hands reflectively spasmed from the pain and his rifle went off. He was lifted into the air, the gun snatched out of his hand and snapped in half by another root.

The second guard was pinned down by his root. Borne to the ground with nearly crushing force. He watched from an awkward angle as the woman slowly moved closer. He could barely see her muddy feet until they filled his view. The woman said something to him. English. He recognized the language. He cursed all the times he goofed off in his English classes. For he didn't understand.

"Proszę.⁷" He gasped out. The woman didn't respond. After a few seconds she moved off, leaving his field of vision. He surmised she had moved to his partner because he began to babble, begging her to spare him. Mentioning his children waiting for him. The his friend began to apologize over and over.

"Przepraszam. Przepraszam. Przepraszam.⁸" The suspended guard repeated through sobs. Barely understandable through his fear.

Crack

The pinned guard flinched at the sharp cracking sound. He let out an involuntary muffled cry. His friend's words died instantly. He couldn't hear the sounds of the woman's foot steps as she left because he was too busy crying over his friend's fate.

---

_{¹Activist?
²Yes
³Your turn.
⁴Mutant
⁵Stop!
⁶Put your hands up!
⁷Please
⁸I'm sorry.}

Coast City - United States - Midgard

Thor's hammer crashed down hard on the protective hex that the Maximoff girl had hurriedly established, the force of the impact caused the crimson field to crack, sending streams of magic at the Thunder God's unprotected midsection. Thor was thrown back once more.

Wiping a stream of blood from his nose, Thor's eyes narrowed; regrettable or not, this girl's power was a great danger to all who surrounded her. It was capable even of harming the son of Odin himself. Thor had met few spellcasters since his exile but he remembered his lessons back on Asgard.

When facing a being capable of reordering the world... Thor had been no older than a dozen summers but his father had already begun teaching him and his brother everything they would need to know when Odin ruled no longer. The lessons were numerous and had been both physical and metaphysical; warriors, wise men and warlocks from the Nine Realms and beyond had come to Asgard to teach the young princes.
Thor had been younger back then and had scoffed at the idea of magic being any true danger, his experience had been of court magicians and parlour tricks; the visiting warlocks had called upon the elements, revealed colourful magic rings with the power to make manifest what lingered in their minds and, more impressively to the young godling, had vanquished any warrior who challenged them.

One of the visitors had then taught Thor how to access his natural abilities of summoning lightning and controlling the elements. Thor had the pride of youth back then and had boasted of his abilities to all who would listen. His teacher had then challenged him to back up his boasts and call upon lightning. Upon accepting the challenge, the young boy had promptly been knocked unconscious by his fleet-footed teacher. Upon waking up, the young Thor had been given his final lesson: 'when facing a being capable of reordering the world,' his teacher had said, 'give them not the chance to act. Simply smite them where they stand.'

It was a lesson the young Thor had taken to heart.

Shaking himself out of his reverie Thor focused upon the Scarlet Witch, she had been shaken from their impact and was only now beginning to mutter a spell to herself.

Thor threw himself into the air, hammer outstretched in a mighty blow. His swing never reached its target for, in a moment of panic the witch gestured and, from its berth in the parking lot, a behemoth of a vehicle slammed into the Thunder God, knocking him to the floor. With a roar of anger, Thor used his strength to smash through the vehicle that was pressed against him.

The witch was still recovering from her efforts with the vehicle. Thor's eyes narrowed, 'Now we end this,' he promised, 'your foul presence will no longer endanger any citizen of this realm, I smite thee with the full power of Thor!'

With that battle-cry still echoing in his chest Thor channelled his power through Mjolnir and launched himself bodily through the air at his foe with a strike that would cleave her head from her shoulders.