Hamilton-Meringue Theatre
Appleton City

The reflection of the moon's pale blue light spread over the floorboards, covering all but the spectral silhouette of a stranger. Otherwise, the theatre felt empty. Rick Tyler, the Hourman of Appleton City, felt like an intruder (which he technically was) on the serene space. The air had a special, lung shivering taste, as though it was forbidden itself.

Defying the whim to flee, he swept over to the wooden door, a chipped and aging door. It was locked. Fortunately, he had his means of getting around that. He withdrew a set of lock-picking tools and surgically persuaded it to yield.

With a pocket flashlight in hand, he brushed over the interior shelving while taking note of the variety of guns, bags, and masks. Innocent of wrongdoing or not, Mike had been truthful. Every detail lined up thus far, in the paperwork he'd delivered on. And after a second peak, he even spotted the picture of the actor he'd targeted: Matt Dallas.

Dallas had recently been featured in the tabloids as a mutant rights activist after being thrown into the spotlight on account of a biological anomaly. The media found out about his belly button, or more accurately his lack of one.

The closet was peppered with other hints, like a newspaper with Senator Kelley's face stamped on the cover.

"Perfect. He's amnesiac, prejudiced, and guilty." The time-keeping crime fighter walked over to the shelving before lifting the dusty articles and packing a backpack full of evidence. "This is fantastic. Next he's going to have multiple personalities and a knack for genetic engineering."

"I'd be less offended if you had a single discernible personality trait besides bossy."

Rick's spine filled with lightning and his fists snapped into battle formation. "Wait a sec.. what are you doing here Dave?"

"I may have memory loss, but I also have a job. And responsibilities to fulfill besides fitting your criteria for guilty. I work here, doofus."

Okay. Okay. Take it in. Learn. Never do this again. From now on you don't do soliloquies. You have internal monologues.

"I'm on your side, Mike. But, I also have to be on Matt's side. I can't let you go and commit this hate crime."

"I already called him off. I called him off hours ago and that was that. He hung up. Case closed. Now get out of my place of work. I don't need you here and I swear to god if I ever catch you here again I'm calling the cops."

"Yikes. Umm, sorry."

At that, Rick emptied his load and slumped past his former client. "But don't ever waste my time like this again."

"P-lease. Do not think you can--can. . ." he started before being persuaded to tame his tongue by the crime fighters overwhelming presence and burning eyes.

"I don't know what's gotten into you, but I do know that before too long, I'm going to get it out of you."

It didn’t take long for Scott to find himself a seat. The train to Metropolis always seemed relatively empty at this hour, often sporting the occasional drunk or tired businessman, who tried their best to keep themselves and their expensive suits away from the pre-mentioned drunks. Scott decided to take the businessmen’s attempts one further and essentially avoid everyone in the entire carriage. Securely fastening the Ant-Man helmet in the carriage’s luggage rack, Scott gave a brief wave goodbye to the other patrons, despite the fact they weren’t paying the man any attention whatsoever, and began to shrink. Midway through his size change, he left into the air, landing on the rack next to his helmet. Giving one last look to the rest of the train carriage below him, he leapt once more, shrinking down even further as he entered the depths of the inside of his helmet.

Months ago, Scott had been shrunk down cleaning yoghurt off of the inside of his helmet when he had discovered something amazing. Hidden within one of the inside walls, was a microscopic lab. The place had been one of Pym’s spares, having created many such places dotted around during his time as the Ant-Man. This place had soon become a haven for Scott since the day of the yoghurt spillage, with him referring to it as his own personal little headquarters. Little being the definitive word.

Once inside, Scott let out a huge yawn as he strode through the main room towards the computer. After quickly sorting out the wedgie that his spandex suit had given him, he flopped down into the seat, letting out one more yawn. It had been a long day. First there had been that stupid Porcupine guy who he had run into, and then there was everything with Peggy. New York had really fallen to crap. Scott was lucky the League had relocated him to Metropolis as he couldn’t even imagine how he’d survive living in such a city any longer. The only good thing about the place was Cass.

Ah, Cassie. The thought of Scott’s little princess made him smile.

Turning his chair so that he was facing the main computer, Scott decided that he may as well start doing something productive with his time. Loading it up, Scott frowned. It would seem that he had missed a call from his fellow Leaguers. Two calls in fact. Carol had had a run in with the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants while Cap’ and Zatana had battled the Absorbing Man downtown. Guilt filled Scott for a second, before he realized that even if he had received the message, he wouldn’t have been able to get to any of the situations in time. Besides, they seemed to have handled everything fine!

Scott also found that he had received another message from Hank. He groaned loudly, as he read the message’s subject line; Insect-esque Robots. Did the guy really had to email him every time he came up with a new invention? Besides, bug robots? Why would Scott need that? He had the ants! Scott rubbed his eyes slightly, stifling another yawn. Maybe it would be best to email the guy back. Tell him what a good job he had done. Yeah, Pym would like that. Tiredly, he typed out a response;

Hey Hank. Good job. Scott.

Satisfied with his response, Scott spun his chair away from the desk. Determined to get in a little nap before the train arrived, he leant back further into his chair and shut his eyes, ignoring the pinging sound from the computing signifying that he had received a new message. He’d answer it later.

It couldn’t really be that important, right?

---

Piotr was beyond the disgruntled look of people as he walked past, had he not been as tired he would have cared. He had always cared, ever since Anya. It was strange that she had still remained in his heart, perhaps what some of the others said at the mansion was true, perhaps he was too soft. It did not matter anyway, he had hidden away from her. In the time before registration, he had saved her life. Twice in fact, the first time as strangers and the second after they had inexplicably fallen in love so fast. When he saved her life for the second time she saw him change himself into who he truly was, and the look on her face was one of pure horror. Before he could truly react she was gone, and he never saw her again. Occasionally he would hear of her exploits on the stage, but he wouldn't venture to see her. It would hurt too much, the look on her face would always haunt him. No matter how much running he did.

So he didn't hide who he was anymore, after all. If he didn't hide nobody could accuse him of deceiving them. He held up his arms as he walked through the metal detector. Sighing slightly as they approached with the smaller rod detectors. "I am afraid that won't work." They both looked at him with a slightly confused look. It was Ruth who had to intervene.

"He's made of organic steel."

They just nodded to eachother and continued to pat him down, he didn't bother to point out to them that if he really wanted to cause some damage he didn't need a weapon. Though they'd likely perceive that as a threat and then they wouldn't be getting the train to New York, which would probably annoy the Professor who already had to pay for the train tickets due to the jet being required elsewhere. He didn't know exactly where of course though he saw the news, word of Brotherhood activity probably meant that the X-Men were in the field. It did mean that they needed to spend over a day on a train, but at least the journey would allow him some time to write a letter back home and even get some sketching done.

He had fallen behind on his promise to draw everything he saw, so that one day he could show all of his adventures with the X-Men to Illyana. They were the reason he had left after all, it wasn't only to escape those who wanted to make him into a weapon. It was to try and make the world a safer place for his little sister and everyone else out there. Part of him just wished it wasn't at such a cost, the way he was made into a soldier parading around in armour. It wasn't him, was he an artist or a weapon? That was the real question that plagued his mind, his entire existence seemed to be a contradiction to itself, maybe one day everything would be resolved and he could spend time discovering who he really was and what he was really meant to do. As he hoped that a life of punching people was all that awaited him in the land of the free.

Though the name itself seemed to be wearing a little thin, especially after the passing of the Mutant Registration Act.

"You alright big guy?"

He turned to face Ruth, shaking himself out of his reverie. He hadn't even noticed that they had boarded the train. He had just been running on autopilot through the station, it was as they say 'one of those days'.

"Apologies Comrade, I am just tired. It has been a long couple of days, at least now we shall get some good rest on the train back home." Piotr stepped through the doors onto the train before leading them to the carriage. One bunk sat waiting above another one, he just raised an eyebrow as he viewed them. "Perhaps it would be better if I were to take the bottom bunk."

"Yeah I'd rather not be a pancake."

There were very few bright lines in interstellar law. Made up of over 160 independent world and colonial governments, the universe preferred to operate laissez-faire. The laws enforced by the Green Lanterns were for the protection of society at large. Murder. Narcotics. Slavery. And the Golden Rule: If a world didn't possess the technology to go out into space, then space stayed out of their world.



All the marvels of the cosmos, and still the boy was awed by the majestic wonder of the solar system.

The large storm swirling within Jupiter's atmosphere, a world so large that it defied belief. Then a vast stretch, like Route 66 through Death Valley, as one traversed through the asteroid belt. That in itself told a story. Many stories, with many different faces. Asteroids with their own orbiting moons. Comets passing along their orbits in the long, cold night of space. There were stretches of time where there was naught but darkest night, vast empty fields occupied by nothing. And then, it appeared. The red planet, with its irregular shaped moons -- Phobos and Deimos.

"...the preliminary report from the Ungaran Narcotics Division purports the alleged customer at the receiving end to be the Kree."

That one of the interstellar races would be involved was a given. Glitter by itself was a narcotic that had been trafficked heavily despite attempts at criminalizing it. To develop it into some kind of... pharmaceutical implied that this was more than just a narcotics case. But to so prominently list a member of the Coalition Security Council invited disbelief. "I would like to believe our interstellar partners are not so foolish," the young monk opined, as his luminous green form crested over the world of Mars.

It lay ahead of him. The destination. A mottled jewel of blue, white, and green.

Home.

"Would that I were so naive. As it stands, I've dispatched Ch'p to Ungara to collect evidence for presentation to the Guardians."

Through the connection supplied by the ring, the young monk was discussing the developments in the investigation with Salaak. In terms of the Green Lantern Corps, he was pretty much the Chief of Police. Even as he neared the lunar orbit, the boy hesitated toward his destination. "Ungara is my responsibility. I should..."

"You should do as you are instructed, Green Lantern."

How was one Green Lantern supposed to be responsible for multiple planets in a sector at once? It seemed there was wisdom in Salaak sending Ch'p to Ungara while Kai-ro pursued his leads elsewhere. "As you say, Clarissi," the boy responded meekly.

"If the Kree are on Earth, I will need a witness to that fact before I can bring this case to the Guardians. And, if the Kree are not on Earth, then whoever arranged for the shipment of narcotics will be. In either case, Earth holds the answer."

Drifting out past the moon, the boy lingered in the emptiness that spanned the reach between Earth and sky. The lights of civilization popped out from the dark side of the world, while the light side radiated with a pristine blue purity as the light was scattered across the moisture of the atmosphere.

It was a home he had left behind months ago, never allowing himself to miss it for a moment until he looked down at the world beneath his feet and realized he had come home.

"Earth," the boy uttered, softly.

Steve arched an eyebrow at Hawkeye's parting words. The man was obvious in his dislike of the League, even if Superman had been cordial about the whole thing.

"What was that about?" Zatanna asked curiously.

Steve shook his head. "Just some unsolicited advice." He left the rest unsaid. There was a large part of him that wasn't okay with this world. Everything was strange, and it hadn't gotten any better in the ensuing years. If anything it had gotten stranger. He didn't agree with the Bill about mutants. He still remembered hearing about the Jews in Europe. But he had never had the occasion to meet any mutant that wasn't a little off. Which was a nice way to say villain. It didn't mean they weren't out there. Even if they were, what could be do? He couldn't voice his dissent, not while he was team leader. Especially not when he knew Carol had concerns of her own about the subject. He had to be strong for everyone else. Troubles just piled up. Like Creel. What had he been doing? Chances are it would come out in the ensuing days after the man reformed. And chances were it was something inane, like he was bored.

Steve and Zatanna lapsed into silence as they waited for the government officials to climb out of their vehicles. They all knew their part in this song and dance and it went smoothly. Creel was passed over and vanished into one of the vehicles. Steve made sure they knew Creel's powers and they went on their way. The two watched the vehicles move off. The reporters lingered, waiting to see if there was anything else to film.

"So." Zatanna said as the cars rounded the corner. "Still hungry?"

Steve's traitorous stomach at that point chose to rumble and voice it's agreement. He had to chuckle. "What are the chances they held our food?"

"Lets go find out." Zatanna practically beamed as they headed back to the restaurant.

The room was dark. The only source of illumination was weak and flickering, a small TV set. On it was live footage showing Captain America and Zatanna smile at each other then walk off. The TV clicked off with a soft sound, plunging the room into darkness. An ominous chuckle sounded before a chair creaked. Nothing was visible in the darkness, but that apparently didn't impede the occupant. There was another sound then, "Is it ready?"

No reply was audible. Yet the answer must have been an affirmative because there was a murmured "Good" and another click.

B R O O K L Y N V I S I O N S A C A D E M Y
T H E N E X T D A Y
0 5 : 1 5 P M

“…offering fifty million dollars to the man who brings me the head of the Batman. That's fifty million dollars, tax free completely under the table and free to do whatever you want with. All you have to do is, kill the Batman.”

Ganke paused the video on his iPad. They were in the library, seated at two long, wooden tables connected side by side. They were meant to be studying for their physics test, a frightening behemoth that awaited them in not even twelve hours – something that Ganke, rather evidently, wasn’t taking seriously. He stared at Miles intently. When it became clear that his attention was on his studies, he cleared his throat. Miles looked up from his notes. “What?” he whispered.

“Were you listening?” Ganke whispered back.

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Are you gonna help him?”

“Who?”

“Dude,” Ganke whispered in exasperation. “Batman.”

“Yes, Ganke,” drawled Miles, “Because I’m just going to go to Gotham City and help the Batman fight whatever deranged psychos he has to deal with. What a good idea. Why don’t I go to Metropolis and help Superman while I’m at it? Or join the Justice League?”

“Well, you fought that Ravager guy, didn’t you? I mean, come on, you totally kicked his butt. Completely and utterly. As thoroughly as Lana swears.”

“Ganke…” he began, eyes dropping to the table. He remembered that fight as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. Ravager’s agonized screams rung loudly in his mind, screams brought forth by his venom blast, sending him tumbling off the Brooklyn Bridge and to his death. It was a memory Miles preferred not to spend time thinking about, but nonetheless managed to worm its way back into his head – no thanks to Ganke. “I… really need to study.”

“Oh. Right.” Ganke scratched his chin. “Well, the others are late.”

Miles’ brows furrowed. “The others?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “You know, Judge. Lana.”

A black-haired girl, attractive, and probably (most definitely) a year or two older than them, walked into view, phone pressed against her ear. Miles raised his eyebrows at Ganke.

“– Clint, please. I’m at school. Nothing bad ever happens at school. (Well, except for, y’know, school.) Anyway, I have to go. I have this study-group-thing with these guys that are – okay, right. Say hi to Lois for me.” She tucked her phone in her pocket and arrived at the table, placing the books she carried at the end opposite of Miles and Ganke. Everything about her screamed of style, from her expensive clothing to the way she carried herself – easily, without much effort. And so it was with ease that she said, “Hi. Kate Bishop.”

“Uh – hi,” replied Miles. It was all he could do not to stare. “Miles.”

“So, Ganke said that your group’s good at all this physics stuff. I’m in grade eleven, but… I need help. A looooot of help. That’s cool, right?”

“Yep,” said Ganke before Miles could say anything. “It’s cool. Everyone’s cool. We… are cool.”

Miles rolled his eyes. Kate sat down.

A thin boy with large headphones approached the table, a girl with heavily applied black lipstick and nail polish not far behind him.

“Hey guys,” said Judge, “Sorry I’m late.”

“Yeah,” said Lana, “I didn’t know we had a study group. It was kinda last-minute.”

“No, that’s cool. Cool, cool, cool. Well, come on, people,” Ganke said, rubbing his hands together in an animated fashion, “This exam won’t study itself!”

Miles sighed and returned his attention to his notes, as did the others. As much as he needed to focus on his work, he couldn’t help but sneak glances towards Kate; there was something about her that was magnetizing. He had no doubt that Ganke only created this study group to get a chance to talk to her – such were the ways of fifteen year-olds without an inkling of knowledge on girls. “Okay,” he began, poising his pen above a blank page in his notebook, “Physics.”

---

Chicago, IL
Kord Industries HQ,
Primary Laboratory

Yes, it was another bright day in the Windy City, the home of billionaire genius inventor Ted Kord, ever hard at work in his laboratory working on scientific marvels that the world has never seen at every moment!



Or shamelessly using working in his lab as an excuse to indulge in junk food while he worked without being judged. But then, was it really his fault that Big Belly Burger was both addicting and a perfectly portable food for science-on-the-go? Plus he was hardly working on anything delicate, just making modifications to his B.B. Gun. Even if he did need some more important and sensitive work, he had plenty of help for that. Speaking of which-

"Hey Ted, could you hand me that laser cutter?"

A shimmering hologram manifested next to him in the form of his own grinning self and picked up the tool in question before walking back over and handing it to the inventor. His whole building was equipped with hard-light hologram projectors of his own design with an extremely humanlike AI that aided in everything from giving tours to home defense to helping with lab work. The fact that they were programmed with a fairly accurate summation of his own genius mind was just an added bonus.

"Sure thing Ted! and may I say you're looking particularly handsome today!"

"Right back at ya Ted-ster!"

A door at the back slid open and another Holo-Ted ran in, excitedly waving his arms.

"Hey Teds! Ted and Ted just got the new version of The Bug up and running! We're at 90% solar power!"

The real Ted Kord gave his holo-duplicates a thumbs up

"Great work Teds! Give yourselves a pat on the back for our in-TED-ible work today!"

"BWAH-HAHAHAHA!~"
"BWAH-HAHAHAHA!~"
"BWAH-HAHAHAHA!~"

Ah, sometimes he made himself laugh. But the joking around and junk food and casual super-science was interrupted by something serious and unprecedented. It was an alert from the vault where Ted stored some of his most valuable and dangerous projects and items, specifically from its' deepest and most well-guarded layer. It was the place where he kept the artifact entrusted to him by his old mentor Dan Garrett: The Scarab. Dan had thought the Scarab was an item of mystical power, but over years of analysis Ted had long ago determined it was actually some sort of alien super-technology, centuries ahead of even some of the other alien gadgets and gizmos he'd studied in the past. Dan had activated The Scarab with magic, but he'd always said it had a bond with him, a bond Ted had been unable to get it to answer to, causing him to conclude that the use of magic had damaged it somehow. As a result, he had used the Scarab as an object of study but otherwise locked it away for safekeeping.

For years, ever since the death of Dan Garrett, the Scarab had lain dormant and Ted had gone about his work and become Blue Beetle on his own merits.

But now...now the Scarab was awake.

And it was sending out a signal.

Baxter Building, New York

Reed Richards rubbed at his tired eyes as he stared at several screens on the desk in front of him. On them was footage of Reed working with SHIELD scientists on the shuttle that would carry Reed, Sue, Ben, and Johnny into outer space. Nick Fury swaggered into sight, a thick cigar between his thin white lips, and stood beside Reed as he slaved over the shuttle. Before then-Reed opened his mouth, now-Reed mouthed the words that were due to come out of them. “It’s going to work,” he mouthed. “It’s really going to work, Nick.” There was no way Reed could have known then how wrong he would be. Somewhere along the line Reed had made a mistake and the shuttle had been incapable of weathering the radiation it had been exposed to. It had cost Fury his Directorship of SHIELD and Reed, Johnny, and Sue the chance at a normal life. For Ben, it had come at an even greater cost. Though he was blessed with incredible strength, Grimm’s body had been transmuted into living rock.

The guilt Reed felt kept him up most nights. He would review footage he’d reviewed a thousand times before, run endless tests on material from the shuttle, and try to use fragments of Ben’s rock skin to reverse engineer a cure. As of yet nothing had proven successful. It was ironic then that it most often fell to Ben himself to massage Reed’s guilt. Tonight was one of those nights. His broad, craggy silhouette loomed over Reed from the laboratory’s doorway and he smiled at Richards sympathetically upon noticing what was on the screens.

“I think I’m going to turn in for the night, Stretch. You ought to think about doing the same soon. Staring at those screens all day long is likely ta turn your brains into mush.”

Reed was so focused on reviewing the footage that he barely reacted to the sound of Ben’s voice.

“Stretch?”

On the second time of trying Reed jolted into attention. He turned to face Ben and gave him a tired smile.

“I’ll try not to be too long. If you see Sue on your way to bed, would you tell her not to wait up for me? I want to watch through this again and make sure I haven’t missed anything.”

Ben sighed and walked closer to the screens.

“What is it that you’re hoping to find? You know those videos well enough to recite them word for word, Reed. If you were going to find something in there, I reckon you woulda found it.”

Reed shook his head.

“There has to be something in here that I’ve missed, Ben. I’ve checked over my calculations a dozen times, two dozens perhaps, and they aren’t a single digit out. The shuttle should have been able to withstand the radiation. There has to be some other explanation and this footage is all I have to go on.”

One of Ben’s rocky hands reached for one of his shoulder blades. He rubbed it as gently as he could muster and the sound of his fingers scraping against his shoulders screeched through the lab. On his face was a pensive look and as he moved to speak his voice was tentative. There was a vulnerability to it that Grimm rarely often allowed out.

“You ever think that maybe what happened to us happened for a reason?”

Reed furrowed his brow a little as he looked at Ben.

“What do you mean?”

Ben shrugged his shoulders.

“You’re saying to me there ain’t no way that radiation should have turned us… turned me into this Thing. Yet here I am, ugly as the day is long and as strong as the Hulk. Maybe that happened for a reason, Reed. Maybe it was meant to happen to us. Maybe the world needed heroes like you, me, Johnny, and Suzie to stop the Dooms of the world?”

Reed considered the thought for a moment. How comforting it might be to believe that they were all moving parts in some galactic concert – that some all-knowing being had deigned that the universe needed the Fantastic Four to set right the world’s wrongs. He could see the tenderness on Ben’s face, that Grimm was half-willing for his theory to be true, but Reed couldn’t bring himself to lie to his old friend. God knows he had caused Benjamin Grimm enough pain already without lying to him.

“I… I don’t believe in predestination.”

A little grumble passed through Ben’s lips.

“Well, it’s either that or it was some kinda freak accident. I don’t want to believe I ended up like this because we were in the wrong place at the wrong time, Stretch.”

Reed sank his head into his hands out of tiredness. He had been burning the candle from both ends ever since they had arrived back from Metropolis. Seeing what Luthor built there, what LexCorp was capable of doing, had lit a fire under Reed. He still couldn’t understand how Lex had extracted energy from the rock where he had failed to do so. There was no safe way of doing so, of that he was certain, but he had seen with his own eyes that Lex had managed it. Reed sighed and shared his doubts with Ben.

“The meteor rock, the reason that Fury sent us out into space in the first place, Lex Luthor has found a way to harness its power to create a nearly endless power source, Ben.”

Again Ben shrugged.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I thought so at first but something Sue said stuck with me. There’s something… something not right about it all. I can’t quite put my finger on it but I think she was onto something. That rock is dangerous but for the life of me I can’t prove it.”

Ben placed a sympathetic hand on Reed’s back.

"If anyone can, it’s you, Stretch. You’ve got the biggest brain this Earth has to offer – Stark, Luthor, Kord, and all the rest can’t hold a candle to you and you know that. You hafta know that."

Reed shook his head. This time it was Reed’s secret thoughts that crept to the forefront of his mind. The meteor rock, the shuttle, what had happened with Ben, it was all linked in Reed’s mind. He had been dubbed the world’s smartest man before he turned sixteen and had carried with him the weight of that responsibility ever since. Reed Richards was going to save the world, cure all its diseases, and put an end to war and hunger before the twenty-first century was out. It was all he had heard for as long as he could remember – but the more he aged, the more Reed seemed to encounter problems he couldn’t solve.

“If I can’t even explain what happened to us or why it happened, what chance do I have of figuring out the meteor rock? What chance do I have of curing you, Ben?”

Ben sighed and crossed his arms. His big blue eyes looked away from Reed’s and instead he stared down at the ground.


“I was a nobody before what happened to us, Reed. The only reason SHIELD took me on that damn expedition was because you insisted I pilot the shuttle. If not for you, I’d still be serving drinks down on Yancy Street. I’m not gonna pretend waking up each morning to this mug doesn’t… upset me a little, but… I can help people in ways I never could before. If you think I’d trade all that in just to see my own face again you’ve got another thing coming.”

He looked towards Reed and smiled at him gently – the kind of smile that only Benjamin Grimm could smile. It was encouraging and heartening in equal measure. Coupled with his words, he saw a weight lifted off of Reed’s shoulders, if only momentarily, and the super genius smiled back at his old friend. For as much as Ben needed Reed, Reed needed Ben every bit as much. Grimm kept Reed’s feet on the ground, he kept him grounded and confident, and without him, Sue, and Johnny around he wondered whether Richards might have crumbled under the pressure. Luckily for the both of them they would never have to find out. Ben was going to be with Reed until the end of the road. He knew that much already.

He patted him on the back gently and gestured towards the laboratory door that he’d entered through.

“So how about you quit beating yourself up and get some sleep?”

Reed nodded in agreement, shut off the screens in front of him, and made his way out of the room. In the black screens Ben saw his reflection and grimaced at the sight of his own face before following after him.

---

There was something poetic about being virtually off the map. Only people who lived here lived for tourism. The only people that came were tourists, Bruce had spent some time in communities like this. They were quiet, simple. Nobody gave him a second glance as he walked off the bus, hand raised to shield his eyes from the blinding sun. He looked down at his new clothes almost chuckling to himself slightly. Long gone were the lab coats, instead he had a much more rugged look compared to what he would have ever dreamed wearing. He had purple trousers on, if that wasn't a sign that the world was going mad he didn't really know what was. Several years ago he had been using his intellect to try and make the world a better place, now he was using it to procure enough money for him to get here.

He stood on front of a derelict house, one of many that called this small 'Ghost Town' home. At one point he had bought it, with grand plans on renovating it. It would have been a nice summer, if not retirement home one day. For him, and for Betty. Shoving what had happened out of his mind he walked up to the house, the wooden porch creaking underfoot, before putting the key in the lock and twisting it. The smell of dust greeted him as he walked into the house, closing the door behind him. He didn't know how many people knew of this place, but he knew that LexCorp and the military didn't. If they had they would have searched it years ago, he'd be safe here. At least until he could get back on his feet again. Loosing his life in Vista Verde had been a major blow to him, it had made him realize that peaceful co-existence wasn't possible with the Hulk.

He had desperately hoped it was, after all the Hulk had fought the Abomination. Though was that out of heroism or just blind range? Probably the latter. Hulk after all, only really cared about Hulk and no-one else. Ignoring everything else he walked up the creaking stairs, hoping they didn't collapse under him, and into the bedroom. While he had barely furnished the house he had had a bed brought in. After all when he was going to be renovating he wasn't going to be paying for a hotel. Collapsing into the almost solid mattress sheer exhaustion meant that it did not take him long to fall asleep.

Flashes, massive fists pounding into the ground. He could see Ross, before something hit him. Hit him hard, the force sending him backwards through walls of brick and mortar. He looked up, and there in a glass pane crouched the Hulk. Banner tried to back himself up and out of the way, but Hulks arm grabbed him around the waist and through into the darkness...

Where he was falling, falling. Until he hit the bottom, air leaving his body with the force of the fall. Until he felt the large hand of the Hulk pick him up, squeezing him hard enough that he couldn't draw breath.

"What do you want?"

Hulk leaned forward, all that existed in his eyes was anger and rage. Through gritted teeth he spoke.

"Leave, Hulk, Alone."

With that Bruce awoke with a start, sweat running down his breath. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he worked to fight against it. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath in letting it fill his lungs before slowly releasing it. He had just got here, he was not going to let Hulk ruin things for him again. In fact, this time it would be he that ruined things for the Hulk.

---

How disappointingly predictable, he had expected such tactics from the beast. Though from Banner he had expected far greater things, it had taken him some time to discover this small lodging. He would give Banner credit for that, but he had found it and had watched it ever since. Truly he had given up the prospect that Banner would ever return, but as with all science it was preferable to cover every variable and on this day it offered the best results possible. Pinos Altos was far away from any LexCorp or Military interference and that was exactly what he needed, it gave his employee room to play with.

"I have the location for you. Move now."

Coast City - United States - Midgard

Thor was still.

Hammer held by his side in a clenched fist, the Odinson stood utterly still but for his heaving chest and gritted teeth. The only noticeable movement was in his arm; his muscles were taut and straining. His hammer was growing heavy.



Even as he had struck at the witch in a flying leap Thor had felt it. As he had lashed out Thor had felt his trajectory alter by the barest minimum, enough that his blow would no longer prove fatal.

It had not mattered in the end, his crimson compatriot had whisked Thor's foe out of harm's way. Even now the Flash whirled around the battlefield, dealing with all he encountered with a speed that even Thor envied. He had not rated the fleet-footed fighter as much of a challenge at their first meeting but, having fought beside the man, Thor was impressed by the Flash's ingenuity in his use of his abilities.

A shout from one of the mortals around him brought Thor's attention back to the present.

The hammer in his grasp was heavier than it had been only a few moments ago. 'Enough Mjolnir,' Thor murmured softly, 'I understand.'

Worthiness was a mysterious concept. Before he had arrived on Midgard Thor had killed many enemies and was known for his hot temper. He had used Mjolnir in his victories and his hammer had never so much as tired his arm.
Now he was unable to deliver a killing blow. After all these years Thor still did not know why. But he knew what it meant. To be worthy in this realm, Thor could not kill.

The heat of battle had caused him to forget, had brought his own way of thinking to the fore. Now, as he stared at the battleground around him, Thor knew only one thing: he could not remain. The battle was not quite over but, for his own sake, he could not risk rejoining the fray.

As if sensing his new state of mind, Mjolnir seemed to grow lighter once again; allowing his fingers to loosen his grip Thor released his hammer until he was holding it by its leather strap. He swung Mjolnir until a small whirlwind began to form. Releasing the motion, Thor allowed the energy travelling through Mjolnir to bear him into the sky.

Thor soared into the air and allowed Mjolnir to carry him away from the battlefield. He soared away at speeds even the fastest bird could not hope to match.

Tony Stark's personal workshop 'The Garage'
Stark Industries, Coney Island, New York

The doors to the 'Garage', Tony Stark's personal workshop and the birthing chamber of Iron Man, slid open with a Star Trek style whooosh. Completely by design, of course. After all, who doesn't want their doors to sound like Star Trek? Tony had always felt it was a nice touch. What wasn't so nice was in-pouring of harsh, bright, white light in his hitherto dimly lit man-cave. He shied from it like a cheap, B-movie vampire, trying – and only partially succeeding – not to hiss at the intruder who had caused him such an inconvenience.

The trespasser in question posed in the doorway, halfway between the light and the shadow, dressed in a dark tailored pencil dress that perfectly accentuated her tall, lithe, figure. The gloom darkened her usually-strawberry blonde hair, though had little effect on her expression. That was dark enough without the help.

“Pepper, what an unexpected, yet lovely surprise! Unless you have an appointment. Then I suppose you're expected. Do you have an appointment?”

Virginia 'Pepper' Pots, Tony's very own girl Friday, did not look like she was in the mood for any friendly banter. Not that she was ever in that mood. Technically speaking she wasn't paid for banter, and she took that fact very seriously. Instead she ignored his comments while stepping further into his 'pit', hitting the lights - nearly burning Tony's retinas out of his skull in the process – and illuminating the impressively disorganized mess that was his 'safe-place'.

The Garage looked exactly what it sounded like; a garage, except instead of second hand cars and your dad's neglected tool box this garage held multiple suits of the most sophisticated war-fighting armour on the planet, expensive machining tools used to manufacture those suits, 3d holographic imagining computers, and parts and materials for all those things so expensive that they'd make even Lex Luther arch an eyebrow in monetary concern. Pushed into one corner was a neglected cot where, theoretically, Tony could catch a few zzz's during mammoth engineering sessions. In practice it was used as extra shelf-space, evident by the fact that it was currently holding up several weighty physics and engineering related text books.

Books, of all things! Who else still had books in this day and age!

When Tony's vision finally returned he realized that Pepper had stepped up to his work bench, delicate nose wrinkled in disgust at the cartons of half eaten Chinese food dumped there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten Chinese food. He noticed that she was studiously ignoring the empty scotch bottles littering the room.

“It stinks in here.” She sighed. She had the look of a disappointed parent who's just come home to find that their teenager had thrown a house party in their absence, despite promising not to before they'd left.

“Then again, you're the person I pay to deal with all my appointments, so I'm not sure you actually need one.”

“Tony, when was the last time you bathed? Or slept, for that matter.”

“Who would even schedule your appointments? Would you have to do it yourself, because that seems mildly obscene, and I -- ”

“Tony,” She cut him off, “I'm serious. You need to sleep. I bet even Superman sleeps.” Her brow was furrowed in concern, and her eyes were pleading with him, pleading to stop messing around. She cared about him, regardless of how little he deserved her concern. He met her gaze for a heartbeat, but couldn't hold up under her scrutiny. He glanced away, uncomfortable now, and returned to what he felt safest doing.

“I'd take that action.” He quipped, her brow furrowing even further, this time in annoyance, but he didn't give her the time to reprimand him. “C'mon Pep, I get plenty of sleep. Look at the cot, why would I even have that if I didn't sleep. I can't just be buying cots and not sleeping in them. I'm not made of money!” Judging by the frown that one didn't tickle her funny bone either.

“Really sleep Tony, not just pretending to nap here when really you're busy trying to find a way to integrate 5G into the next Iron Man armour --”

“Pfft, 5G. You wound me, like I would still be --”

“Tony. Go. Home!” Pepper stood with her feet firmly planted and her arms folded across her chest, the universally accepted body posture of a person who's done playing around. It would be easier by half to just let Pepper have her way now than to continue to butt heads with her for the next hour and a half, just for her to get her way then. If the Blizzard had Pepper's tenacity then he might be a halfway decent rogue.

As soon as he'd slipped her he'd just get back out of bed and straight to work anyway. Whether she liked it or not he couldn't sleep, not any more.

Not without the dreams.

Tony threw up his hands in mock surrender.

“Fine, fine, I give. Ceasefire. White flag.” He turned from her to start cleaning up the messes he'd made in the Garage. Well, less cleaning and more pushing one pile of assorted detritus into another pile of assorted detritus, making two piles into one larger pile. “Tell Happy to start up the car, I'll be out in a moment once I've finished one last thing.” She stood watching him for a moment, suspicious of how easy that was. When it became apparent that he really was just tidying up she mellowed, though not by much.

“I'll be waiting by the car. You've got five minutes, then I'm sending Happy down here. . . With orders to drag you out kicking and screaming if he has to.” By her tone there was no questioning if she meant it or not.

He clicked on the news monitor while putting away some physics journals, more for background noise than a genuine interest in what was happening in the outside world. It was just bad luck he decided to turn on CNN when he did, because he really did intend to do what he was told for once, he really did. Pepper had his best interests at heart, he knew that, and he knew it would be so easy for him to give her what she wanted. In the end it all came down to bad luck and poor timing.

“. . . And we return to the scene at S.T.A.R Labs, New York, where the police are currently locked in a stalemate with suspected terrorists. The terrorists are heavily armed, and have taken several S.T.A.R labs personal hostage. . .” The report went on, but Tony had already seen enough, especially after the camera had glimpsed one of the suspected assailants, a figure garbed in muted yellow body armour and a bucket-style helm, looking like he took style tips from a futuristic bee-keeper.

He was an A.I.M operative. There was no mistaking it. And that meant the police, as well-meaning as they were, just weren't equipped to deal with the situation. Tony glanced over at the MK XII Modular Iron Man armour, gleaming in the corner and ready for action. It was more than enough to handle whatever A.I.M had brought to the party. That alone made it practically his responsibility to clean up this mess.

“J.A.R.V.I.S, time for us to go to work buddy. Begin the start-up process on the MK XII, then open the back door.” Lights were blinking into life upon the MK XII before the last word had even left his mouth. Tony stripped off his sweats and pulled on the skin-tight body underlay that allowed him to better interface with the armour.

“Sorry Pepp,” He whispered to himself before clambering into the suit. “Looks like I'm going to have to let you down after all.”

Outside Stark Industries, Coney Island, New York

Pepper had spent the entirety of the five minutes she had allowed Tony watching the second hand sluggishly wind it's way around her watch face and tapping her foot impatiently against the concrete. He wasn't coming, she realized. She sighed. She really thought he'd meant it this time.

"Five minutes are up Pepp. Want me to go get him?" Happy had ambled over from the, big hands thrust firmly in his pockets. Happy took his job, protecting Tony, very seriously, and was aware enough to realize that the biggest threat to Tony's safety was usually Tony himself. To that end Pepper had no doubts that the ex-boxer could easily make good on her earlier threats to drag the billionaire out if she asked him too, but the thing was that she really didn't want to have to ask him too. She had wanted Tony to take this step on his own. The first step in solving any problem was admitting there was one, after all, and if anyone had to admit they had problems then it was her boss. She watched the doors, willing Tony to walk through them, her better judgement knowing it was a pipe dream.

"Well?" Asked Happy, an insistent urge to his voice. He wasn't going to do anything without her say so.

"We'll give him two more minutes Happy. That's all." Happy didn't say anything else, or at least if he did she didn't hear it over the sudden and distinct roar of repulsor fire. She just managed to catch a glimpse of the rapidly receding red-and-gold figure before it disappeared over the horizon. For several seconds the two merely stood in stunned silence, watching the vapor trail disperse, before Hogan spoke up.

"Something tells me that he ain't gonna be coming out of those doors in two minutes."

Phoenix, Arizona

In a warehouse downtown, rain pelted against the windows. A merciful reprieve from the harsh desert climate, though within, nefarious machinations were afoot. Numerous roughnecks, shaved heads and tattoos all around, stood around a circle of motorcycles with a pentagram drawn by skidmarks in the center. They watched nervously as their leader looked at the screen of a laptop held in a briefcase by a man with sickly greenish skin, his face hidden by a shadowy hood and a tattered mask. with their mysterious benefactor- a masked crime lord with long, red hair, a full-body spandex suit, and piercing red eyes.

“...So you're telling me, that you can see and hear me talking, while I'm here and you're across the damn country?”

“Uh... yeah, boss, that's... that's kinda how Skype works.”

“Fascinating. Technology certainly has changed.”

The leader, shaved head and swastika tattoo glistening with a nervous sweat, shifted awkwardly as the other members looked in on the circle of motorcycles. The ninja kept his eyes locked forward.

“Sure... sure has, boss.” “So... Deathwatch, uh, sir, you're sure this ritual's legit?”

“Certainly. It is a ritual used by demonic cultists on several occasions, handed down directly from a demon. I will take care of the singular element, but I'm certain you can handle... Well, you can find the skull quite easily. I'll have Death Ninja here take care of the innocent blood. Can't find that too easily out in Arizona I'd wager.”

“Thanks boss. We'll have the ritual done as soon as we get the reagents.”

“Of course. Farewell, members of the Fuhrer's Fiends. May your efforts prove fruitful.”

With that, the ninja snapped the briefcase shut, reaching into his pocket and throwing down... something. With a bright flash, the smell of brimstone, and smoke, he was gone, along with the briefcase. The thugs breathed a sigh of relief. Something about Deathwatch wasn't right... even beyond the company he kept. The man in the center of the pentagram, however, raised his fist- obviously more confident.

“Alright boys! We're on the track to getting back the boss! We just gotta hold up our end of the bargain, and Deathwatch'll handle his! Don't you worry- Big Daddy Dawson's never steered you wrong before!”

The gang cheered uncertainly before the group broke up, milling about the warehouse. The portly man, evidently named Dawson, retired to the security office, where he lit up a cigar as he popped open a leather-bound tome. Even if Deathwatch gave him such a swanky new book, the fact it was in latin kept him from grasping the finer points of the strange rituals outlined on the page. But the translation provided was simple enough. A pentagram made by warriors using the tracks of their steeds. The hair of the one to be resurrected. The blood of an innocent. The brain of an animal. Mix well in the skull of a murderer, dead a hundred years at the death of your intended. Kill two virgins in the pentagram... and drink. And then, their leader would be returned to life. The question was what Deathwatch got out of all this... but that would wait. For now, they needed to get a man out to Hangman's Gulch.

---

Phoenix, Arizona, 9:55 PM
Death Ninja sat in the shadows, waiting. Phoenix, Arizona was the kidnapping capital of the USA. It would be quite simple to pass this disappearance off as just another victim of Phoenix's human trafficking- although it would be quite difficult to have it go unnoticed altogether, especially given his intended victims. The only truly innocent people, innocent enough that even the strictest ritual would find no fault, were children. Of course, children would cry and scream and kick, and weighed between thirty and eighty pounds. Which would be very bad for stealth. This was why he decided to trade weight for more crying. As a man in khaki pants walked beneath him and turned out the lights, Death Ninja dropped from the vent into the maternity ward of St. Luke's Hospital. Silently, the ghastly figure lurched forward, sliding a plate into the door to stop the pressure sensor against the wall before sliding it back into place. He looked around and shrugged. Two innocents, and, unless something was seriously wrong with the staff here, virgins. The ninja snatched up a half dozen infants with his withered, skeletal hands and began making his way back to the vent as the children awoke, beginning to cry... Only to run into a security guard with a taser drawn, standing in front of a blinking security camera.

“FREEZE, BRAINMUNCH-”

Unfortunately, the guard didn't have time to finish his sentence as Death Ninja threw a baby off to the side, leaving the guard to scramble after it as the undead ran down the hall. The guard dove to catch the infant, sighing with relief before turning back to see the ninja run down a hallway. Two other guards ran down the hall, drawing their weapons as well. The ninja saw the two glass panes meeting, and new he'd come to the corner of the building- a lower roof three stories below. From down the adjacent hall, he could see two more officers.

“Don't move, scumbag! We've got you surrounded! Put the kids down an-”

However, Death Ninja didn't even stop. With a rather impressive leap, he drop kicked through the window, rolling on the roof- and double checking that his payload of infants were alright. Satisfied that his sacrificial infants were unharmed, the ninja nodded and jumped to the adjacent roof, silent footsteps all the while.

---

Phoenix, Arizona- 10:05, The Quentin Carnival!
Johnny Blaze- the world's most famous stuntman. The star of the Quentin Carnival, and the world record holder for motorcycle jump length at 350 feet. What most DON'T know about this daredevil darling is his familiarity with the arcane- or the terrible secret he holds. For each night, as the sun sets, Johnny's flesh and blood are burnt away, and he becomes...



Tonight, as always, it was difficult to sleep. This meant Johnny was preparing for the morning's stunt: he was set to jump Hangman's Gulch, an infamous canyon home to many tragic deaths, and the site of the unmarked graves of at least a dozen souls. If something went wrong, Johnny might be joining them- which was why practice meant EVERYTHING right now. However, a signal on the radio brought him out of the practicing move fairly quickly.

“...repeating... an amber alert has been issued... five newborn children have been kidnapped from St. Luke's Hospital's maternity ward by...”

The man's voice grew quieter as the sound of a moving microphone came over the air.

“Are you kidding me Rogers? You can't seriously expect... what? *ahem*”

The man's voice returned to full volume, though it was clear he didn't believe a word of what he was reading.

“...the perpetrator has been described by officers at the scene as... ugh... a sickly green figure, with glowing yellow eyes, wearing a tattered ninja getup. He has shown clear disregard for his life... and those of his victims. If you have any information, please contact...”

Johnny turned around, surprised, and fearing his secret discovered... only to see his beloved Roxanne Simpson over by the radio. He dismounted his motorcycle, and walked over.

“Rocky, I'm sorry but-”

Roxanne leaned up, and gave Johnny a kiss on his skeletal cheek. The two shared a brief gaze, full of the understanding that kept Johnny grounded in the ever-madder world. Though he had no lips at the moment, Johnny did his best to return the gesture. After a moment in his lover's arms, the Ghost Rider held out his arms as the earth cracked open and a flaming motorcycle rose out. Roxanne smiled and waved him off.

“I'll try to keep Bart from doing the jump before you're back.”

---

10:10, the Phoenix Skyline
Death Ninja checked his equipment.

Four babies. It had taken two to distract those officers that ambushed him under the bypass.
A nebulous number of shuriken. Inaccessible due to having his arms full of children.
Shoe and hand spikes. Left in the vent due to the possibility of bleeding out the children early.
Smoke bombs. Again, inaccessible.
A sword. Definitely not the best time to be using it.

Death Ninja was starting to regret going for reagent redundancy as he ran from the police chasing him up the fire escape of a building, reaching the roof... only to be blinded by a spotlight and deafened by the whir of helicopter blades rising up. His silent footsteps, and even the sound of helicopter blades, were slowly being drowned out by an approaching roar...

“THIS IS THE POLICE, WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED. PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND-”

Three babies.

Thinking fast, Death Ninja tossed the child back over the fire escape, leaving a police officer to scramble for it as he took a running start to the edge of the building. However, the officer came short... only for a trail of flames to appear up the wall next to him, and an unharmed- if terrified- baby in his arms. A motorcycle jumped up the wall and landed on the other side, its rider putting down a foot and glaring at Death Ninja, who began backing away. The pursuit helicopter's camera zeroed in on the new figure. The pilots looked down at the screen, confused by the arrival of what seemed to be a burning Halloween decoration.

“Hey, check out that guy's stunt suit. Is... that Johnny Blaze?”

“I... don't think this is a stunt routine man. Those flames ain't cheesy enough to be part of the Ghost Rider act.”

“...First some kinda zombie ninja, now some skeleton looking dude on a bike... this is above our paygrade, man. Let's blow this pop stand.”

Death Ninja wasted no time. The arrival of Ghost Rider, the fact he was down to three babies, and the interference of police meant this was going south far faster than he anticipated. He was left with two babies, tossing one into the arms of a policeman that had just crested the top of the fire escape before taking a running leap towards the helicopter... and beginning to run across the spinning blade to the other side of the street. He leapt up, crossing to the higher building.

The difference in height would make this jump impossible for a normal man. For the average stuntman, it would be a daunting prospect, requiring much thought, planning, and practice... Were they thinking of their own safety. Johnny's thoughts weren't on himself, however- they were on the three ahead of him. Straddled between life and death. The innocent children, and the ninja. With a rev of his bike, a look at the slant of the stairwell leading into the building, and a menacing glare, Ghost Rider began to build up speed.

"Lester Sullivan!"
Lester looked up, staring hard through the bars of his holding cell at the bored police officer who had called his name. She tucked the clipboard away beneath her arm as she went to her belt to pull of a set of keys, the metal jangling against itself as she fumbled to unlock the cell's door.
"Your bail's been posted. Get up."

Lester complied. He didn't ask who paid my fee. He didn't ask why did they bail me out. He didn't ask what do they want in return. He complied, getting up silently and calmy, nodding slightly to the officer as he left the cell. The officer ignored him, locking the empty cell back up behind him. The station was quiet as Lester walked from the holding area through the front lobby toward the main entrance - nothing but shuffling paper, clacking staplers, the ocassional bored whistling or slurping of coffee coming from cops stuck behind desks. There was no mob lieutenant awaiting him with a favour to be done. There was no mafia boss to whom a life debt was owed. There was no one but police officers in a police station. Lester nearly laughed. He never missed a mark...and sometimes he dodged bullets too.

He almost skipped down the stairs out of the station, disinterested passer-bys questioning his joviality, and he paused at the bottom to survey both lengths of the street, watching the city churn in front of him. A hand placed itself deftly on his shoulder from behind. Lester locked up. He hated being surprised. He felt like he'd been shot.

"Mr. Sullivan. Your erstwhile benefactor would like a word, if you could spare a moment of your time." Came a calm, stoic voice. Relaxed, but calculating. The hand fell, and Lester turned. A man, who held a calm demeanour and wore an expensive suit, with carefully-coiffed hair and a pair of designer glasses. He reached up with one hand and adjusted his tie as Lester summarily studied him, before gesturing with the other a short way down the street. There, on the curb a few yards away, sat an unassuming - yet stunningly dignifed - all-black sedan. Lester didn't hesitate. He probably would have been killed if he had.

---

Matthew walked carefully, stick clacking the ground in front of every step. Karen held his arm, matching his pace but slightly behind; she felt odd - being led by a blind man, who seemed so confident in his pace. She attributed it to the years Matt had spent in the dark. The human being could get used to anything.

In truth, Matthew was only paying half-attention to the burning miasma of counters, boxes and stall-runners. He was picking scents from the air, trying to place the hints of perfume he'd caught from the arms-dealer the night previous. Matthew had smelt it the moment they walked in - he had planned to attend alone, but Karen was concerned for him. The docks were violent, and he was blind. Technically, at least. It took a couple more passes of the aisles to avoid seeming suspicious - Matt told Karen he was looking for fresh Swordfish for steaks - but they finally stopped at the dealer's stall. She was selling, rather than buying, as Matthew had initially suspected. It made more sense, he supposed. A good cover for late night activity, money laundering built-in, and a lot of storage space for an arsenal.

"Can I help you?" She asked, voice course and short on patience. Matthew looked at the source. Karen spoke first.
"We're looking for swordfish? No-one else seems to have exactly the quality we're after."
"That's because no one wants to fish it themselves just to sell it in Hell's Kitchen. I've got a couple recent catches, though - I'll even do the cuts for you myself. Some kind of anniversary?"
Karen giggled. "No, no. Just looking for my friend here."
Matthew smiled. "I like to impress."
The dealer raised a skeptical eyebrow that garnered a frown from Karen. Matthew didn't see either. "I bet you do, cooking blind." She said. Matt just threw her a wide grin.
"I'm resourceful."
"I bet you are..." she bent over for a second and lifted a large coolbox onto her counter, unclipping it. Matthew could smell the ice and the meat inside it. She wasn't lying - it was a recent catch. The stench of sea salt and boat oil was still fresh.

"I'll take it." He said. "But I'll need to return to collect it later. When do you close up?"
The dealer nodded as she put the case back and marked it with a pen. Judging by the sounds of her strokes, she had written 'BLIND GUY'. "Got into the city at 3AM. Been here since 5. We'll close at about midday and then I'm back out of the city at 2PM. You've got until 1 to pick it up."
Matthew nodded, pulling his wallet out of his jacket pocket and handing over the necessary cash. Karen squeezed his arm as he did so, and he smiled again.
"Thank you so much. I'll see you later." He said, and Karen squeezed his arm again as they walked away.

"Looks like you got what you came for, then, Matt." Karen said as they left, heading back to her car.
"Certainly did, Karen." Matthew replied.
"I just wish you'd tell me how you're going to manage to cook swordfish."

---

"Good morning, Mr Sullivan."

Lester swallowed nervously, lifting a hand to wipe his forehead.

"No need to be nervous, Mr. Sullivan. Let us make introductions first, before we begin with our business. You may not know me, but I'm sure you've heard of me-"
"I've heard of you, sir. You're the Kingpin."

There was a moment of silence. The Kingpin leant forward in his seat, ever so slightly, near-imperceptibly - but the micro-movement carried all the intimidation of a shark's fin breaking the ocean's surface. "I would appreciate it, Mr. Sullivan, if you did not interrupt me. Yes, I am the Kingpin. And that is the name you will use while under my employment - if you use any name at all." It was almost a growl, but still maintained that level of civility that was friendly yet still off-putting. Ever-so-subtly, Kingpin moved back. "But, so we are on equal grounds in this conversation - my name is Wilson Fisk."

Lester swallowed again. Next to him, Kingpin's assistant reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, vicious-looking custom-made knife, which he rest on his leg. The doors locked, and the car began to move away from the curb and join the main traffic of Manhattan, heading to the higher echelons of Hell's Kitchen.
"Now, Lester," Kingpin continued, "let us talk about debts."

"That was three days ago!" Lex rolled his eyes with annoyance at general Ross's voice. He had no intention of hiding the fact that he was done with this conversation. Even over the phone he projected an attitude of disinterest.

"General I've warned you on multiple occasions not to engage subject H without proper LexCorp reinforcements." Lex said back with a sigh. He could practically see the older man's veins popping out of his head with anger.

"You weren't planning on sending reinforcements Luthor! I have witnesses claiming that some of your employees high tailed it out of there as soon as they spotted Banner!"

"Don't refer to that beast by name general." Lex replied. He walked back to his desk inside his personal office. The carpet had been pulled out a day ago and the floor was now just ply wood on top of metal. The new carpet would be arriving in a few hours. "And those employees you referred to were nothing more than scientists. Did you expect them to throw notebooks at the creature?"

"They could have called for the Justice League. Or hell just your damn security forces." This time Ross spoke with a more calm tone. Apparently Lex's attitude was rubbing off on him.

"The Justice League is busy confronting international terrorists in Coast City. And frankly dealing with some failed scientist turned green rage monster destroying Nowhere, New Mexico isn't at the top of my to-do list." With that Lex hung up. He put his phone back in his pocket and returned to the meal on his desk. Mercy had gotten him a steak from one of the local restaurants. He cut himself a hunk of meat and chewed it slowly, the tender sirloin melting in his mouth.

Mercy had been distant over the past couple of days. Usually he was the one avoiding her, but now she barely spoke. Watching her boss/lover murder his own father apparently didn't sit well with the woman. Lex shook away his thoughts as he ate another piece of meat. He sent a message on his computer to the LexFoundation workers in New Mexico. They were expected to begin work cleaning up the damage immediately.

The spot on the floor where his father died was still visible. His blood had soaked through the carpet onto the wood below. Lex stared at it as he ate. He could feel his heart grow heavy again. A part of him wished that he had decided not to go along with his plan. A small part. He yawned softly and put his head in his hands. The past few days had been filled with sleepless nights of research for the generator.

The equation was still left unsolved. The image of 'X=?' encircled by red marker was burned into his brain. Despite this he had converted the building's own independent power system into energy from the meteorite. He had considered calling Reed Richards to further discuss his work but ultimately he was still angry with Susan.

He forced himself away from his thoughts and turned to the computer screen. His eyes grew wide when he pulled up a local news story. The article was of course written by Daily Planet reporter Lois Lane and photographed by Jimmy Olsen. The headline read, Justice League finally siding with Superman? Pictures of Captain America and Zatanna fighting alongside the alien and some archer in purple littered his computer.

"No." Lex said to himself, No they aren't."

N E W   Y O R K

Whatever Mother had planned, it involved the United Nations building. He didn't know the particulars, and he wasn't asking. But as people trickled in and out of the hotel suite overlooking Central Park, the child was able to overhear enough to get the gist of what the adults were talking about. A fact with prominently brought to light that he was far more aware of the people in the hotel room than they were of him.

This was New York. He was sharing space with his mother for the first time in weeks, if not months. So the boy was eager to try and spend some time with her. Perhaps merit just a little of her attention. "Mother, can we..."

"Your studies, Damian." She'd dismissed him without so much as a glance. "Now."

The boy's elated mood quickly evaporated into apathy. "...yes, Mother," the child uttered softly, backing away from the sitting room that had been re-purposed into a war room.

The lady in the niqab, one of his mother's usual bodyguards, gave the boy some math assignments to occupy himself with. Fractions. Algebra. Nothing too spectacular, though he was rather proud after he'd completed a particularly misleading quadratic equation. Homework in hand, the child came up from the table in the room where he was working with his paper in hand as he hurried over toward his mother as she walked through the condo-sized suite. "Mother, I finished..."

"Not now, Damian."

Reaching out with one hand, Talia pulled the door shut to Damian's temporary room. Closing him in, alone. The paper with his homework on it dropped to the floor, trampled underfoot as the boy turned and pounced atop the bed. Popping the headphones into his ears, the boy turned up the music and allowed his mind to fade away as he picked up a copy of Dickens' Tale of Two Cities that had been left for him.

Why was it that he was loneliest when around his family?

He stayed like that, curled up atop the pillows with a book, until he'd lost all concept of time. He left the sanctuary of the bedroom only to get a drink. Pulling open the door, the boy stepped out into the hall to cross toward the European style kitchenette when he nearly collided with Talia.

"Damn it, Damian!"

The child just blinked. He was just stepping out of his room for a drink! "What'd I do no..." the boy began, finding himself seized by the shoulder before being spun around.

He was summarily ejected out into the hotel hallway as the door to the suite was shut behind him. Apparently it was Parent's Night In. The mixture of emotions didn't sit well, as the boy glanced back at the door. "-tt-" he uttered finally, before flipping the hoodie up over his head and making his way toward the elevators with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

He'd been in many cities across the world, from Canberra to London, Berlin to Hong Kong, but New York seemed a metropolis on a whole different level. Even still, the park was nice. And a short walk from the hotel. He could see it from the windows of his room, so it made sense to get a look from the ground up. He wasn't sure if he was pouting or fuming, but he was a mixed up ball of angry emotion trying to clear his head as he walked through the paths of Central Park.

With the Justin Bieber turned up in his ears, the scream had to be pretty loud for him to have heard it.

He hadn't seen what had caused it, but as the child turned his head to a group of thuggish young men surrounding an older lady, it was easy to guess that the purse strap caught in a tug-of-war between the woman and one of the thugs was the cause of the incident. What he did see was the large, meaty fist slam into the woman's face to get her to let go.

She went down to the ground, and now it was a game to the trio. Surrounding her. Legs rearing back as the other two wanted to get in on the action. Stomp the lady to the ground, prove how strong they were. The boy grit his teeth. _"-tt-"

The child's foot connected with the side of Punchy McGee's head. The sound, the shock, and the look of sheer disbelief stopping the other two in their tracks as Punchy went careening in ballerina twirls to the cement and the child neatly flipped through the air. He made the landing so that he was between the woman and her fanclub.

Tweedledee and Tweedledum actually took a step back away from the nine year old, their minds still in the process of trying to catch up from then to now.

And Damian? He could give a damn about their petty crime or the woman huddled on the ground. He just wanted to open a can up on some sonuvabitch and these bastards had just become the blue light special. Hooking the purse strap with the back of his foot, the child kicked the purse up into the air behind him -- propelling it over to the lady, who fumbled to catch it. With one hand, the boy sneered as he glared back at the woman and gestured for her to beat it.

Punchy McKee was nursing a bad look, pulling a Saturday Night Special as Tweedledee pulled a switchblade. Grinning wickedly, the boy dropped down into a stance that might be recognizable as being derived from Muay Thai.

Three eighteen-to-twenty nothings versus one nine year old.

Maybe three more and it might be a fair fight.

The Daily Planet, Metropolis

It was morning in the Daily Planet newsroom. Clark and Lois chatted by their desks about the events of last night. Carl “Crusher” Creel, the Absorbing Man, was now in custody thanks to the intervention of Superman, Hawkeye, Captain America, and Zatanna. Word around the newsroom had it that Hawkeye had be seen leaving the city that night, bound for his usual stomping ground in New York, and that the team-up had been impromptu rather than planned. Still, it was all over the news and one picture in particular had been making the rounds on every news channel in America. Finally Jimmy Olsen had managed to get Perry White to put Superman on the front page of the Daily Planet. All it had taken was to photograph him with the previous century’s American icon – Captain America.

Olsen had managed to catch the pair of them at exactly the right time, Superman’s cape fluttered behind him majestically and the light bounced off of Captain America’s famous shield. It was a great picture, there was no doubt about that, and Clark was thankful that Jimmy had captured the moment rather than some freelancer from the Daily Bugle. This morning the whole world over would see Jimmy Olsen’s photography.

There was a ding and the lift to the Daily Planet newsroom opened up. Through it stepped Olsen with a cup of coffee in hand and a shoulder bag slung over one of his shoulders. He tried to navigate his way through the newsroom as inconspicuously as possible but from within his office Perry White spotted him. He grabbed a copy of the morning’s Daily Planet, cupped a hand over his mouth, and his booming, commanding voice shook the entire newsroom.

“Ladies and gentleman of the Daily Planet, I wish to draw your attention to the arrival of soon to be Pulitzer Prize-winning photographer – James Olsen.”

Every head turned to face Olsen and his cheeks reddened with embarrassment. An impromptu round of applause broke out and Jimmy smiled politely through it and attempted to wave people quiet. It didn’t work. If there was anyone more beloved at the Daily Planet than Perry White, it was Jimmy Olsen. Everyone knew who Jimmy Olsen was. He was on first name terms with the people down in the mailroom, in the cafeteria, and even with the cleaners. To a man and a woman, the Daily Planet reporters passed their congratulations to him, either shaking his hand or patting him on the back, until finally only Clark, Lois, and Perry remained.

A still-red Jimmy let out an exasperated sigh as White smiled at him proudly.

“Very funny, Chief.”

White picked up on a hint of doubt in Jimmy’s tone and shook his head.

“What? You think I’m kidding? You might actually win a Pulitzer for this picture, Olsen. I mean, I’m not sure you’ll live to collect if you ever wake me up in the middle of the night like that again, but at least your obituary will be a little more colourful than it might have been this time last week.”

He patted Olsen on the back with a smile and disappeared into the Planet newsroom. Beside Olsen, Clark Kent eyed the photographer with a bemused look.

“You woke Perry up in the middle of the night?”

Jimmy lifted his hands into the air as if to claim innocence.

“What was I supposed to do? I had a picture of Captain America shaking hands with Superman, Clark.”

Clark smiled. Sometimes he let the fact that Perry White was fairly spry for his age trick him into thinking his editor was a much younger man. Perry was only half a decade younger than Jonathan Kent but had kept his brain and body active as he’d aged. His mind was sharper than it had ever been and his body, but for some aching in his knees and hips in the cold, had held up fairly well in his advanced years. Though sleep was still sacred.

“You’re a braver man than I am, Jimmy Olsen.”

Lois appeared beside Clark and smiled at the young photographer she had known since he was fifteen. Olsen had started at the Planet the same year that Lane had. She’d been not long out of college then and Jimmy had been volunteering down in the mailroom. They had both come a long way since then. Lois was now a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist that was renowned the world over for her incisive writing. If Perry was right and Jimmy did win a Pulitzer for his picture, Clark would be the only one out of the three of them that hadn’t won one.

A wry smile appeared on Lane’s lips as she dug an elbow into Jimmy’s side.

“What’s your secret? It’s almost like you know where Superman is going to be before he’s even there.”

Before he had a chance to answer she slapped her hands against her cheeks with faux-surprise and took a step backwards.

“Wait a minute, it’s so obvious. I can’t believe we never put two and two together before, Clark. Jimmy is Superman. You’ve been under our nose the whole time, haven’t you? That’s how you get the pictures.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes and began to unpack his things.

“Leave me alone, Lois.”

Clark let out a laugh as Lane reached for Jimmy’s hair and playfully grabbed a handful of it as if searching for black roots.

“I knew you weren’t a natural redhead.”

Another exasperated sigh was about to slip through Jimmy’s lips when Perry White’s face appeared again and spared him the effort. He frowned in Lane’s direction and she let Olsen’s hair slip through her fingers, then White looked in Clark’s direction and let out a husky bark as he tried to recall the message that had just been passed to him.

“Kent, there’s somebody waiting for you downstairs, some detective from Metropolis Police Department.”

Clark’s brow furrowed. The only detective Clark was on first name terms with was Crispus Allen and he would likely call ahead if he was going to visit him. Kent looked to Lane and she shrugged, equally unsure as to who it might be.

“Did you catch a name?”

A chortle left White’s lips as he passed Kent, Lane, and Olsen on his way towards his office.

“What do I look like, your secretary?”

Clark shrugged his shoulders, muttered to Lane and Olsen he would be back shortly, and took to the lift at the mouth of the Daily Planet newsroom. As he rode it down his mind raced through every encounter he’d had with the Metropolis Police Department, both as Clark Kent and Superman, as he tried to figure out who might be waiting. He all but drew a blank, disembarked the lift, and spotted the trench-coated figure waiting for him.

He was tall, six-foot-two and heavy built, and the well-worn fedora and trench coat looked like something out of a bygone era. Even from behind the detective resembled a private investigator out of an old noir film more than he did a Metropolis Police detective. As he turned to face Clark, the Man of Steel suddenly understood why.


“Clark Kent? My name is Detective John Jones, Metropolis PD Missing Persons. I’m here to talk to you about an open case I’m working on that I thought you might find of interest. Is there somewhere we could go that we could talk a little more... privately?”

M A N H A T T A N, N E W Y O R K

The study group went about as well as could be expected. They spent the good part of two hours tutoring each other about the fundamentals of physics, Miles trying hard not to stare at Kate as she imparted upon them what she knew from what little time she spent paying attention in class. It was as if she had always been a part of their little group; she was so easy-going that it took little effort to make conversation with her. After they put an end to their studies, she left the library with a smile and a thank you. Ganke left it a lovestruck red and singing Stevie Wonder’s I Just Called to Say I Love You.

Following dinner, Miles had Ganke cover for him as he left school grounds to squeeze in a few hours of patrol. It was easy enough to fool the teachers – that wasn’t what he needed help with. It was to keep Judge, their roommate, from getting suspicious – and that was already proving to be difficult, and he was only a few months into his crime fighting career. Just a few days ago they had to lock him out of their dorm as Miles changed out of his costume, resulting in a rather heated back-and-forth and a less than pleased dorm supervisor. They made amends in the end, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that sooner or later, Judge was going to catch on – and the latest they could make that, the better.

As Miles made to leave through his usual route via the dorm block’s roof, he saw another familiar figure heading in the same direction – Lana Baumgartner. It was no secret to him that Lana secretly moonlighted as the vigilante, Bombshell. He’d run into her more than once in his early days as Spider-Man, and her domino mask and the absence of the makeup she applied so reverently did little to conceal her identity. It didn’t take long for him to figure out that the popular goth girl (or so she appeared to be) that sat at the back of the classroom was one and the same as the masked, trench coated girl that could shoot explosions from her fingertips. And while he knew her secret identity, she didn’t know his; so when he saw her sneaking out the same way he was about to, he backtracked and used his backup route: the front door.

And now he was in Manhattan.

The wind rushed past Miles as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he spun above the mass of congregating flesh and machine, a mixture of yells and car horns combining into an impenetrable wall of noise. Whenever he did what he was doing now, jumping into the air at speeds matching that of a speeding car, he felt a thrill unlike any other take him over, a thrill so potent and true that he couldn’t help but whoop in exhilaration. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what the original Spider-Man must feel like, swinging from web to web so far up amongst the New York skyline, allowing gravity to carry him down towards the Earth before he grabbed a hold of his lifeline. The joy he must feel. The thrill.

He caught sight of a few pedestrians, businessmen and hipsters alike, holding up their phones as they captured him careening above their heads, the bright flash of their cameras almost enough to blind him. He took a moment to wave before running up the side of a building, somersaulting onto its roof to be greeted by the darkened green of a Central Park in moonlight. With the proportionate grace of a spider he dropped to the ground, landing on soft grass that welcomed his feet. He had many fond memories here. His parents brought him here often as a child; it was where they’d gone on their first date. It was where he’d learned to ride a bike.

He made his way along the path, shielded by invisibility. People walked past him completely unaware of his presence, minding their own business as they too traversed the park, leaving Miles to his thoughts as he reminisced times gone by.

The scream was quick to shake him from his thoughts. Without a second thought he ran towards it, only briefly allowing himself to think of how much cooler it would look if he jumped from tree to tree like a ninja out of some movie.

The scream’s catalyst soon came into view, and the sight of it was enough to make him grit his teeth in anger. Three men of good health and body, only five or so years older than Miles, surrounded an older woman, intent on giving her a good beating for the trouble she’d caused them in refusing to give up her purse. Their leader sneered as the other two made to kick her, and Miles prepared to intervene –

– before a boy, who couldn’t have been older than ten, performed a flying kick that sent the thug leader flying into a heap, the sound of contact echoing with a sickening crunch. Miles stared in disbelief as the kid flipped to land between the woman and her tormentors, kicking her back her purse and flippantly signalling her to leave. His eyes widened beneath his mask as one of the thugs pulled a switchblade from his pocket, the other slowly recovering from the ground – his mouth hung agape as the boy made no move to run.

Miles didn’t care what belt that kid was in karate. He wasn’t about to let him get stabbed.

“Uh, excuse me,” he began as he launched towards Switchblade, “I’m looking for an idiot. He’s pretty tall, kind of looks like you.” His feet smashed into Switchblade’s ribs, a light crunch testament to the impact as the thug sailed into the remaining uninjured ape, sending them crumpling in a tangle of limbs and curses. Miles landed on his back, flicking back up onto his feet in a fluid motion. “Oh, hey,” he continued, “It is you. Funny how the world works, right?”

He turned to the kid. “Hey, buddy. Now would be a great time to leg it.” He glanced towards the thugs’ leader, who looked to be recovering his senses with every passing second. “I mean, now.”

Gala Park, Appleton City

The warm, sweet music of whistling lips saturated the park. Pleasant sunshine and the cheerful hymns of the birds lifted the spirits of everyone present, except for Mike. His doctor recommended that he have a certain amount of exercise, a total that he'd been dragging behind for days. So today he'd decided to make up for his mounting deficiencies.

His heart was thumping like a drum kit that someone gave a seven year old for his birthday. Messy and irritating. Draining. And good Lord, his lungs were tired. They felt like deflated balloons. He wished it didn't feel like an air hose had been snaked down his throat.

He passed by a bench, and caught sight of a familiar face. A dreadfully familiar face indeed.

"Gaugh!"

The sight of Mr Matt Dallas' face was half rotten and covered in a thin, sticky looking blood patch. One eyelid was hanging on by a thread of tissue. Despite this appearance, he cocked his head to the side and grinned.

"What are you--! How the-- H E L P!!!"

A few other park goers rapidly came to his aid, elbows out and eyes open. But they quickly wrote it off before smiling at the man on the bench and giving Mike a dismissive eye roll. They walked off and left Dave standing there like an idiot. Paralyzed by some combination of fear, confusion, and embarrassment, Dave could hardly move a muscle.

"Hey Dave. How's it going?"

No response.

"Well, since you asked, I'm not doing too bad myself," he smiled with a mouth absent of teeth. "The wife, the kids, the whole nine yards and then some. That's that," he dropped the smile before the bones of his face redefined themselves and his flesh flapped about before tightening up, like the sheets of a freshly made bed. "So business: Two thousand dollars, not a lot to ask and for such a simple task, it should've been a snap. I get it. You didn't change your mind, the car accident did and you lost your grudge. But a deal is a deal."

He reached out his hand for the still standing man to hold. Mike grabbed hold. And the stranger pulled him in.

"I want my money, Mike. And I am going to get it out of you one way or another. Perk up now, this way doesn't actually involve you losing anything except possibly a few teeth. So you're coming with me."

---

Piotr sat underneath the a tree in the park, sketchbook on his knees as he focused his gaze from the notepad to where Ruth sat eating. He had made a habit of drawing all of his compatriots since becoming a member of the X-Men, as while his English had improved over the years he was still not the best at writing letters. So one day when he returned to Russia, or Illyana visited him here, he could show her all the amazing people he had met over the years. In some hope, that it could make up for his absence through her life. Many things pained him, though that was the heaviest burden of them all. It made him realize how hard it must have been for his brother to leave him to go into space, a decision that in the end had cost him his life and set Piotr on this path.



Without second thought Piotr stood up, he could see the smoke billowing from a nearby building as people ran out coughing. Cars stopped and pulled over, one in particular raced away. That wasn't important now, he turned to Ruth. He threw his bag with all his sketches into her hands. "Wait here little one."

"but I can..."

"This time, you do as I say. Psychic powers do nothing against fire." He broke into a run going for the building, he could hear screams from inside. At least one person remained in the building, and the flames burned too hot for anyone to get near the building. Ground shaking under him slightly as he ran, people turned to see what was coming towards him. Moving out of the way as he ran straight through the open door way into the flames without a second thought. Once inside the building he could feel the heat, though it did not burn his metal skin. Though when it came to picking people up he would have to be careful, less he burn their skin to his. Though he had little time.

Moving up the stairs to the second floor, the crying became louder. Deciding that it was from the room to his right he kicked the door off it's hinges and ran into the room. In the corner sat a little girl, no older than Illyana had been when he had left. She screamed at the sight of him, he must have appeared to be truly frightening with all the was going on. His heart sank at that thought, though he could not linger. Not if he wanted for her to survive this.

Moving over to the bed he grabbed her quilt before walking up to her. "Wrap yourself up in this, little snowflake. I am going to get you out of here." Shaking hands, she took the blanket. Still sobbing as she did so. Once she was secure he picked her up and held her into his chest to protect her frail form as best he could. Walking back out of the door he headed for the stairs.

"Wait!" Piotr stopped. "My brother-" The girl picked her head up, and managing to wind her arm out of the quilt, pointed to one of the other rooms. "-you have to get my brother!"

"I cannot carry you both, but once I get you out I will return for him. On that, you have my word." Using the quilt to pull her head back in he ran back down the stairs, a bit uneasy as they began to creak under his weight. He would need to be fast to get out and then back in as quickly as possible. He closed his eyes as he neared the door, flames licking at his face. He turned his torso against them. "I need some help here Comrades!" They looked apprehensive but the second they saw the girl they didn't hesitate to move in. He could hear sirens now, that was a good sign.

Without another word he ran back into the building, as he ran up the stairs he felt them begin to give way under his weight. Upon reaching the top they fell, had he not been moving forward at the speed he had been he was sure he would have fallen back onto the first floor. While that would not have done much damage it would have made any rescue attempt impossible.

Heading down the hallway he saw a figure at the end of it, by an open window. They were fully robed, their features hidden. "You need to get out of here!"

The figure didn't say anything, but pulled something out from underneath his robes and threw it into the corridor. Right beside the door to the boys room. It began to flash and beep, the figure turned around and jumped out of the window. A bomb. He ran towards it as the beeping began to increase in both pitch and tempo.

"NO!"

Then there was a blinding light.

---

<"I knew this day would come. From the first time I saw you change, I knew that you were a gift. Like Mikhail, I knew you were a gift not just to me but to the world.">*

<"Father, what should I do?">

<"You already know. Just as Mikhail already knew when he asked me the same question. You cannot hide here, living in fear, waiting for them to come for you. Your gentle heart will turn hard and cold to match your skin. If you want to protect Illyana, you know what you have to do.">

_{*translated from Russian}