Ivy groaned as she regained consciousness. Her head pounded and her entire body throbbed. Her brain felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. It wasn't a pleasant experience. At least her plants had stopped screaming. Ivy gently reached out for her tree and felt...nothing.

Ivy lurched upwards. Or rather, she tried to. Instead she found herself bound. Tightly. Ivy's eyes shot open and was greeted by blinding white light. She closed her eyes tightly and fought against a sudden vertigo.

"You're awake." An unfamiliar male voice spoke. Their words were unusually loud. After effects of drugs; the rational part of her mind chimed in.

Ivy choose to ignore the man. Instead she tested the bonds holding her. Straps. They weren't overly tight. Nor did they chafe. Coupled it new noises she was now noticing Ivy was willing to bet everything she was in a hospital. Poland? Ivy wasn't sure. The man spoke in English. Then again, they could have investigated her and figured she didn't speak Polish.

"Ms. Isley, please don't make this harder on yourself." The man spoke again.

This time, because Ivy was expecting it, she was able to detect a slight accent to his words. Not a native English speaker. He did speak quite well. Either he was well educated or had lived in an English speaking country for a time. Having not been around very many Polish English speakers, Ivy couldn't place his accent. They could be anywhere in the world for all she knew. With his words he was most likely a cop.

"I know you are awake." The man was beginning to sound annoyed.

Ivy reached out again for plants. Any plant this time. They were distant, strangled by human growth, but there. Grass, a small tree, a few potted plants, but that was it. Nothing that was remotely useful. Even if she could do anything, which she couldn't, so it was a moot point. That established Ivy opened her eyes once more.

The light was still blinding. She snapped her eyes closed again. Artificial light was always harsh on her. Though third time was the charm. She was able to keep her eyes open and look around. She turned her head to the side and spotted the man. He was older. Had grey hair and a kindly looking face.

"Good." The man sat up and looked her in the eyes. "Ms. Isley do you remember what happened?"

"-Ee." Ivy croaked out. Her voice was raspy and thin. She licked her lips with what little moisture she still had. She missed the man move distracted as she was. However she did see the straw he held out. Ivy raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged. As if to say 'drink or don't. I don't really care. But I'm not going to free you if that's what you want'.

Ivy sighed and accepted the straw. When she was done he pulled the cup away and replaced it on the tray. He looked at her expectantly.

"It's not Isley. It's Ivy." Ivy told him seriously. She no longer wanted the Isley name attached to her. She had left that life behind years ago. And the Isleys were more than happy to see her go. The man looked a little surprised but it vanished off his face as quickly as it had come.

"Ivy then. What do you remember?" He pressed her again.

"Where am I?" Ivy countered instead. It irked her questioner a little. He was tired. She could see that as she studied him. Too many days awake. Even the coffee he had close at hand must not be making a dent anymore.

"Answer the question." He told her sternly. Ivy didn't resist the impulse to roll her eyes.

"Are we really going to do this?" Ivy laughed. Her children sometimes did the same thing. They asked each other questions than refused to answer. It usually ended with a shouting match. One would yell, 'I asked first!' and the other would counter that it didn't matter. They wouldn't answer until the other kid did.

Ivy enjoyed the fact that his eyebrow twitched a little. "Just answer-"

"The question. I know." Ivy cut him off. She looked away from him and around the room. The blinds were drawn but it was dark outside. Night. She must not be in the city. Then again, if her baby had done it's work, it was possible she was in the city. There was just no power. The thought didn't fill her with joy. Her target hadn't been to cut off power. Her goal was to save the planet. Everything else was a side effect.

"Ms. Ivy." The man tried again.

"Police? Federal agent?" Ivy asked as she turned to the man again. "Do you have a badge? Or do I start screaming?" The longer she was awake the more her wits returned. Ivy had always been a good actress, even if she never did anything with her skill in the professional sense. She was more than willing to use those skills against the people who impeded her. So as she spoke she added a little worry into her voice. Not much, but enough that he'd notice and think she was trying to hide it.

"Michal Filipowski. Federal Agent as you Americans would say." Michal admitted and pulled out his badge. Ivy might have been strapped to a hospital bed and on drugs, but she still had it. She scanned the badge. It was in a language she couldn't read. She gave a small nod of her head and he took it away. He was silent and they looked at each other. She waited until he opened his mouth to repeat his question to interrupt.

"Remember what?" Ivy demanded. She added just a little more worry into her voice. "Something that warrants me being tied to a bed?" She added a small choke on the word tied. She thought about adding in tears but it was probably a bit premature at this point. The officer looked a little uncomfortable at her words. Perhaps if he had been less tired he might have seen through Ivy. But he didn't and he was caving to her female in distress play acting.

"No." Ivy decided to press her luck. She made her voice small and tiny, like she was afraid. Not that she wasn't afraid. There was fear there. Would she go to jail? Would they move her somewhere she could never feel light again? It would be easy enough for them to call her a mutant and make her disappear forever.

"What do you remember?" Michal pressed, but more gently this time. Like he was afraid of being overly mean to her.

"I-we..." Ivy turned away from the officer. Well, just her head since she couldn't move the rest of herself. "Please, where am I?"

There was silence from the man. At first Ivy thought he wouldn't answer. Then he sighed. "Szpital Wojewódzki im. Jana Pawła II. Or rather, Capital Hospital for short."

"Still in Poland?" Since he couldn't see Ivy's face she added a small waver to her voice. As if she might cry any second.

"Yes. You said there were others with you?"

Ivy could hear him thinking over the implications. She hadn't targeted any of the surveillance systems. However it was doubtful they survived. His reaction confirmed it. The power station must have been massively damaged from her precious darling. If the size it was before she blacked out was any indication, it was big enough to destroy the entire station.

"A few of us." Ivy took a deep breath and turned back to Michal. She made sure to look suitably regretful and nervous. "My boyfriend, James, he convinced me to join. I love plants. That's why they call me Ivy" She offered the officer a small shaky smile. "He said that the power station was polluting the environment and they were going to protest." She swallowed thickly. "Is James, is he okay? Can I see him?" She looked around the room again as if this fictional James might just appear out of nowhere.

"Miss. Please, tell me what happened." The officer pressed, but he was looking less and less convinced that she had done anything wrong. She could see the lines forming. Poor girl. Used by her boyfriend. She didn't understand. This James was the one who should be blamed.

"I'm not sure." Ivy continued in a small voice. "It was all going okay as until we jumped the fence. Then it gets all jumbled up." She frowned as if deep in thought. Which was entirely accurate. What would she say next?

"Do you know if your boyfriend or any of your other friends have powers?" The officer asked as Ivy thought.

"Friends?" Ivy repeated as if the idea startled her. "They weren't my friends. James had met up with them." She ignored the part of his questions about powers. Ivy knew there were some very noticeable differences biologically in her body after her change. If they had only pulled out the bullet and gave her a transfusion, they might not have noticed. But if they ran her blood work? Ivy needed to play this next part very carefully.

"What happened after you jumped the fence?" The officer must have decided to change tactics. Smart man.

"I'm not sure. I didn't want to go. But James said I had to." Ivy worried her bottom lip a little and stopped making eye contact. Then she took a deep breath, as if to steel herself. "I-we were making our way to the main building. But that's the last I remember." Ivy paused then looked back up at the officer. "Did I get shot? I remember blood."

The man gave her a small smile. "The doctors here patched you up." He reached out and started undoing the straps that held Ivy to the bed. "Did James ever said who his friends were. If they were part of any organization or group?"

Ivy scrunched up her face, thinking hard. "Eco-warriors?" She made sure she sounded unsure. The Eco-warriors were a well known Eco-terrorist group. They had happily claimed responsibilities for a few of her actions. They probably wouldn't mind that she pointed the finger at them for this incident. After all, other than her word, there was nothing tying them to the incident. "Or weekend warriors. Something Warriors."

Apparently the officer had heard of them for he gave a small nod of his head. That was what happened when you had preconceived notions. He assumed that there must have been a group of people involved. And that they were probably affiliated with terrorist or a radical group. While he was processing her false information Ivy rubbed her wrists and began to test her limbs. Everything appeared in order.

"Can I see James now?" Ivy had nearly forgotten about her fictional boyfriend she wanted to see. That would have been awkward if she had and the officer called her on it. At least now she was free.

"I'm sorry. You can't." The man looked truly regretful. Ivy enjoyed the fact that he was letting her believe James was being held either in the hospital or in lock up. For being a rube, he wasn't as dumb as she was starting to believe he was.

Ivy capped her performance by bursting to tears and demanding to see James. She refused to be calmed down and eventually the officer made an excuse to escape her room. After the door closed behind him Ivy lowered her hands and wiped off her face. She took the unexpected freedom to investigate the room. She was right about being in the city. The power was out in most places. The hospital was undoubtedly on backup generators. As she looked out the window she briefly wondered how her baby tree was doing. Did they chop it down or leave it?

Ivy was startled from her thoughts as the door opened. A female nurse walked in with a smile. She babbled something in Polish. Ivy just shrugged. The nurse looked at her then put something on the tray. Ivy squinted at it. The nurse mimed drinking and Ivy made a face. No drugs. She shook her head. The nurse put her hands on her hips. Stalemate. Ivy thought ruefully.

Ivy eventually won that confrontation. The nurse had thrown her hands up into the air, said something and left. Ivy moved closer to the pills and tossed them in the trash. She then went on to investigate the room. There was no clothes, which meant she was stuck in the hospital gown. At least it didn't have the back open to the air like gowns on TV.

She poked her head out of her door slowly. A man dressed in a police uniform smiled at her. He didn't engage her in conversation. Still, the meaning was clear. She was to remain there for the time being. Yet Ivy wasn't easily dissuaded.

"Can I have clothes?" Ivy asked him.

He looked at her for a moment then spoke in Polish. Ivy was really beginning to hate the language. She sighed and went back into the room. There was no escape for the moment.

---

Ivy was found lounging on the bed flipping through the TV channels later that morning, the sun was finally shining through her window. The vast majority of the shows on were in Polish. She had stopped on the news. They had been talking about Ivy's handy work at the Power Station. She didn't understand any of what they were saying, but she was thrilled to see that they hadn't chopped down her tree. It was lovely, reaching to the sky. And best of all, the power station was in ruins. They couldn't possibly rebuild without major work. Chances were they would either move the station to a new location or give up entirely. She made sure not to look happy just in case anyone was watching.

There was a knock on the door. Ivy waited to see if whomever it was was just going to enter, but no one did.

"Enter." Ivy said after a little while. The door opened to reveal the same officer as the morning.

"Officer." Ivy turned off the TV and greeted him. "Am I to be arrested now?"

The officer made a face but produced a small bundle. "Should be about your size."

Ivy climbed off the bed and took the offer items. There was a packet of underwear, pants and a t-shirt. No bra, but she could live without. "Thanks." She said sincerely. Perhaps one of the only truly sincere things she had said to him. She retreated to the bathroom to get dressed. When she emerged she repeated her earlier question about being arrested. She wasn't about to let him get out of it.

The officer's smile vanished. "Not quite. But you're going to have to come with me to the station."

Ivy welled up tears. Still, that was good news. She stood a better chance at getting away closer to her plants. Despite the fact she was feeling much better, she wasn't strong enough to reach anything of sufficient strength to free her from the hospital. "Okay." She agreed in a small voice.

They left the room. The officer outside her door nodded his head at the agent and feel in behind them. Two. That would make escaping a little harder, but not by much. They walked in silence, despite Michal's efforts, to an awaiting police car. Ivy was placed into the back and the two men sat in the front. Ivy buckled herself in. The unnamed officer saw that and said something in Polish. Michal translated.

"My partner asked if you were afraid of his driving."

"Safety." Ivy said simply back.

Michal relayed this to his partner and the man shook his head and said something that sounded like 'Americans'. Ivy turned her head to look out the window. As they drove she felt for plants. Within a few minutes she found a cluster of trees that would suit her purpose. She gently pressed her will to them and roots sprung out of the road. The car swerved wildly but it wasn't enough. It hit a root off center and flipped.

Ivy released her seatbelt as the vehicle skidded to a stop. She could hear the two men groan and she gave a small order for the trees to hold them. Then she was gone, vanished into the city.

The Daily Planet, Metropolis

The door to the Daily Planet meeting room clicked shut behind Clark Kent and John Jones. Once Clark had done a quick scan of the room, he instructed Detective Jones to a seat at the long table at the centre of the room and took a seat opposite him. Jones removed his hat and set it down on the table. The detective’s dark brown eyes flashed red for half a second. Beneath Detective John Jones, Metropolis Police Department’s finest, was the Martian superhero known the world over as Martian Manhunter – a being that Clark had worked with several times over the past three or four years. He had proven to be as trustworthy and reliable an ally in the fight against evil as Clark could have. He was the ice to Hawkeye’s fire – where Barton was all muscle memory, J’onn J’onzz was a cool, calculative mind.

“I apologise for the ruse, Clark. I did not want to arouse any unnecessary suspicion by coming up to the newsroom. I understand that your identity is something you take very seriously.”

Clark smiled.

“It’s okay, J’onn.”

Clark saw much of himself in J’onn. Or at least he saw much of a possible self in the Martian. Had Clark’s craft not been discovered by Martha and Jonathan Kent, had he spent his life locked up in a lab somewhere, there was every chance he would have had trouble adjusting to life on Earth. Watching J’onn attempt to integrate into human life had been enlightening. A lesser man, with a head less cool and a temperament less even, might have struggled but J’onn seemed to have taken to Earth far faster than Clark had ever expected. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised that J’onzz had chosen to take up a day job in law enforcement. It suited him.

“You never mentioned you worked for Metropolis PD.”

J’onzz nodded calmly.

“Even the Martian Manhunter must have a day job.”

A smirk crossed Clark’s lips.

“One befitting the name, it would seem.”

J’onzz met Clark’s smirk with one of his own. There was an unnatural quality to it but it was far more convincing than J’onn’s early attempts at smiling. He had explained to Clark once that communication on Mars was almost always telepathic and that he had found human facial expressions especially troubling to mimic. It wasn’t contorting his face that troubled him but knowing the right context in which to deploy the facial expressions. He would often smile at inappropriate times. A particularly unhelpful trait when one spends their days consoling the parents of missing children.

“Tell me about this case of yours, J’onn.”

J’onn reached into his trench coat for what Clark expected to be a case file. Instead he pulled out a small silver packet of Oreos and bit one in half with a single bite. He crunched his way through it greedily as he recalled the facts of the case.

“I was passing through the Arctic on some other business when I felt something, a presence if you will, calling out from the blackness. There was pain, Clark, a pain unlike any I had ever felt before. It came from the stars but with each passing second the voice, the presence, it grew louder and stronger still. It spoke one word: Terri.”

J’onn reached for the second of four Oreos and scoffed it down almost in a single mouthful. Clark stifled a smile as the Martian’s stoicism slipped for a second and his face seemed awash with pleasure. Once he was done crunching on the Oreo, J’onn’s probing red eyes stared deep into Clark’s.

“I believe the voice belonged to one Hank Henshaw, Clark. Do you remember Hank Henshaw?”

The name sounded vaguely familiar but Clark couldn’t remember where from.

“I can’t say that I do.”


“He was aboard an off-world flight that disappeared some three years before the shuttle that gifted Reed Richards and his crew their powers. Where they returned with incredible abilities and were met adulation, the world forgot about Hank Henshaw and those aboard his ship.”

Clark shook his head in disbelief as he imagined Henshaw drifting through space unaided.

“How could he have survived out there? That doesn’t make any sense.”

J’onn smiled.

“Less sense than a Kryptonian life raft crashing to Earth and it’s passenger becoming Earth’s protector? Or a Martian pulled to Earth by a teleportation beam designed by an elderly professor? I do not think so.”

He crunched his way through the last two Oreos as Clark nodded in acceptance.

“I take your point.”

J’onn twisted the silver Oreo wrapper between his fingers at great speed, making small tears and folds as he went, as he formed a model out of it. He held the model up to Clark. It was a perfect replication of Clark’s Fortress of Solitude. J’onzz twisted the silver paper Fortress between his fingers and it floated through the air across the table towards Clark.

“Henshaw is coming back, Clark, and from the course he is plotting I believe his destination is none other than your Fortress of Solitude. We must be there to meet him when he arrives.”

Clark lifted the paper Fortress up and twisted it between his fingers.

“How long do we have?”

The momentary pleasure that the Oreos had brought J’onn disappeared. The Martian stared down at the watch on his wrist and his expression shifted back into a blank stare that was as grave as it was unforgiving.

“Six hours.”

N E W   Y O R K

There was a fourth person joining the crowd.

Switching from out of the loose Muay Thai stance and into a more conservative Krav Maga one, the boy's mind worked to triangulate the opponents on the field and size them up individually. It was a moment before the black and red costume connected in his mind. "Spider..!"

Wait.

Turning his head, the boy turned his attention as he sized the web-crawler up with more scrutiny. Spider-Man was a lot shorter than he'd expected. And smaller.

Punchy McGee was leveling the snub nosed pistol. Whipping around, the boy lashed out with a roundhouse kick that was distinctively Okinawan martial arts. The back of his heel connected right as the trigger pulled, recoil combining with kick to throw the shot up and to the left. The boy's demonstrated knowledge of Israeli MMA came back as he allowed the momentum to carry his body weight, throwing his other leg out in a straight leg kick that connected solidly with Punchy's groin.

Who knew such a strapping young man would turn out to be an alto?

Tweedledum seemed to backing away at this point, his switchblade buddy and leader on the ground. And police sirens were echoing nearby. "-tt-" the boy chirped, catching wind of the sirens and noting that they were getting louder. If he got taken back to the hotel by the police, his mother was going to kill him. And his tourist visa was a rather complicated situation, particularly because he hadn't been carrying the passports and, thus, had no idea under what fake name he'd entered the country.

Turning back toward the costumed hero, the boy gave the web-slinger a wave as he decided to take the vigilante up on that offer. "All yours, Spider-Boy!" the child offered, before taking off in a sprint off the walkways and trails.

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

The boy didn’t do as Miles said. Instead, he chose to face the thug’s leader head-on, unmindful – or uncaring – of the snub nosed handgun that was being aimed at his chest. He disarmed the man with quick, brutal efficiency, delivering a crushing kick to his nethers that left Miles wincing. Okay, he thought, So maybe he does a little more than karate.

The sound of sirens called from the distance, and the boy appeared to take that as his cue to leave. “All yours, Spider-Boy!” he shouted as he turned and ran down the path, leaving the thug’s leader holding onto his groin for dear life as he whimpered on his knees.

“Who’re you calling ‘Spider-Boy’ – ” Miles cut himself off as he saw the two thugs he floored climbing back onto their feet. Switchblade cracked his neck to one side as he stepped towards the young webhead, baring his teeth in a grotesque snarl. Miles focused and he went invisible, Switchblade and his friend letting out confused grunts as their eyes darted around in search of him. He dashed towards them in silence, presenting them with swift strikes to the chin that sent them to the ground. He hit their leader for good measure before running after the boy, his legs like hammers on the ground.

Before long he caught up to him, flipping over his head as he silently thanked the spider that bit him. “Wait,” he said, hunched over with a hand on his knee, the other extended in a stop sign as he fought to catch his breath. “Kid. I have to ask… you some questions. As Spider… Man, I need to know… where the hell did you learn to do that?”

_{Silicon Alley, Manhattan, New York}

Cross-town New York traffic was a thing of the past for Tony Stark. When he was wearing the Iron Man armour he was the true man of tomorrow, and for the man of tomorrow taxi choked avenues and traffic light littered cross-sections were replaced by clear sky lanes. The trip from Coney Island to Manhattan's Silicon Alley barely took half a minute, and yet it still seemed to take an eternity to Tony. People were in trouble, and he was taking too long to get there.

The New York S.T.A.R Labs was in sight now though, the fifteen story glass fronted building looming large in front of him. The police had managed to set up a wide cordon around the laboratory, but spectators were already straining against the thin blue line that stood between them and calamity, eagerly ignorant of the dangers to them, all in the quest to catch even the barest glimpse of the action.

That was New York, Tony mused, so desensitized to the superhuman scene that they treated situations like this as nothing more than an amusing distraction from their otherwise hum-drum lives. Don't treat the dangerous criminals who would as soon kill you as look at you as a threat though, oh no, regard them with the same respect you would a living-statue street performer.

He made one fly-by of the building, letting J.A.R.V.I.S scan the labs and the surrounding area, managing to identify the officer in charge in the process, an African-American female lieutenant with a wild bush of dark hair only partially stuffed under her cap, handing out orders to the other police present, yelling at the civilians, and really doing quite a commendable job of looking like she was still in her comfort zone. He was also quick to notice two twisted, burning hunks of metal that dimly resembled police cruisers, as well as several areas of scorched, blackened concrete along the surrounding buildings an streets.

Tony ratcheted down the jet engines in his boots, hanging in the air in front of the lieutenant for a moment before dropping to the ground in the three-point landing that, thanks to some clever marketing, was now synonymous with Iron Man. At the sight of him the lieutenant's ice-cool composure disappeared for a heartbeat, eyes going wide with shock as she took an involuntary step back, but she quickly recovered before any one other than him noticed. The crowd gathered behind her were as equally impressed by his appearance, many turning Lexphone camera's in his direction, or calling out support for him. Unlike Superman or Spider-Man, Iron Man had a much easier time connecting with the general public. He liked to think that it was because he was a 'self-made' man, that his powers were all directly related to his own hard work and intelligence, or that he was willing to share his true identity with them, that he wouldn't hide behind a mask. In reality though he was pragmatic (read: cynical) enough to admit that it was probably because he could afford a much better PR team.

“Lieutenant. . . . Knight,” He got the name from her badge. “What's the skinny?” She didn't answer at first, instead incredulously looking him up then down, not really sure what her next move should be. On the one hand she knew – like most people since President Kelly's inauguration – that inside that red and gold suit was none other than local billionaire Tony Stark, and that while he was a hero kitted out in the most advanced exo-suit on the planet, worth more than she could make in a lifetime, he was still technically a vigilante operating outside the law. She wasn't sure if legally she should tell him to get back and join the rest of the civilians, or to demand if he had a permit for the weapon he was wearing.

On the other hand the situation with S.T.A.R Labs was really over her pay grade. The yellow garbed terrorists had been equipped with firepower that made mockery of the pistols and shotguns she and her fellow officers carried. If there was ever a need of a man like Iron Man, then this was it. Tony was used to law enforcement types constantly having this very struggle with him. New York might be getting used to Superheroes, but the NYPD still hadn't found a convenient place to slide them into the chain of command. That's why he'd stopped sliding the visor of his helmet up when speaking to people, like he had when he'd first started out at this 'job'. He'd found people we're more likely to defer to the grim, steely frown of Iron Man, than they were to the fleshy regular-person face underneath it, even if that face did belong to one of the richest men on the planet.

Thankfully that frowning face plate worked seemed to work it's magic again, as after a few moments indecision lieutenant Knight decided that teaming with Iron Man was really her best option.

"I doubt I have much to report that you don't already know, sir. Twenty minutes ago we got a call from a panicked scientist, claiming that unidentified armed assailants had stormed the building, and were going room to room, taking anyone they found prisoner. The call was cut-off when the scientist was discovered. We responded to the crisis as quickly as we could, but by the time we arrived the bad guys had the place locked down. That's two of our cruisers out there, burning in the street. We've set up the cordon, placed sharpshooters on the surrounding buildings, and SWAT's gearing up, but we just aren't trained to contend with that level of fire-power. . . " She fell silent then, her gaze misting over as she scanned the lab, her fists clenched tight. "Only two officers got out alive. One of those will be lucky to walk again." She murmured, more to herself than to the Golden Avenger standing before her. Tony felt for her, but he couldn't afford to let her have her moment though, not when those A.I.M goons were still running the show.

"Firepower? What kinda toys are we talking here?" The lieutenant snapped back to attention, and looked momentarily embarrassed at her lapse. She coughed nervously before answering.

"They, uh, had laser guns. . . "

". . . Laser guns." The lieutenant colored at Iron Man's flat reaction, obviously feeling like she was being mocked. Which, if Tony was honest, she was.

"Well I don't know, they looked like props from Star Wars, shot light beams, and didn't go bang! You tell me what they were if they weren't laser guns, Mr scientist!" They way she spat out that last line made Tony think that she didn't think very highly of the more academically gifted. Back in grade school she probably beat them up for their lunch money. He decided not to press her any further.

"Ok Lieutenant, I've got a good news/bad news type situation for you. Good news is your about to see a real, live hero in action. Bad news is that things are gonna get real messy, real quick, so you're gonna have to push this cordon waaay back." He bent his knees slightly, getting ready for take off before the Lieutenant spoke up.

“Wait, what are you going to do?” She'd taken another involuntary step back, as if whatever he was planning might go off in her face at any moment.

"Shock and awe, miss Knight. Shock and awe. "

---

"Bruce Banner, Audio log. It has been two days since my last 'incident' as I am calling it. Local news near Vista Verde is of course reporting the activities of the military and the Hulk however national outlets appear to be oblivious to what transpired. How the Military and LexCorp are preventing larger companies such as the Daily Bugle and the Daily Planet off their scent is beyond me, most likely with the one thing everyone understands. Money."

Bruce stood up from the makeshift desk he had in the 'living' room of the house. He had had a productive day yesterday, once he finally had some good rest. Getting all the money he had stashed away in various accounts had been the difficult part, it now sat in a duffle underneath a floorboard in his bedroom. He couldn't exactly open a bank account after all.

After that the rest had been easy enough, furniture wasn't hard to come by even here. It wasn't the best furniture he had ever had, though it gave him some level of comfort.

"Technology poses the biggest challenge. While I managed to acquire a television and a laptop at a local store, any complex lab equipment is out of the question. Even if I was able to buy it doing so would put myself at risk. There are watch lists to consider after all, should the F.B.I, N.S.A or C.I.A decide to keep tabs on me due to buying patterns my whole world could come crashing down on me again." Bruce walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice. He removed the lid and took a swig straight from the bottle. Betty would have hated that. _Betty... Screwing the lid back on the carton of orange juice, he then pulled out a microwavable dinner. Throwing it straight in without bothering to check what it was.

"As such I have taken to making my own equipment, that said it's crude at best. The only piece of reasonable scientific equipment I have is a microscope that I got in a local pawn shop. Cost me a fortune because the lady knew what she had, at least if I do successfully manage to make a centrifuge or take my own blood I'll be able to analyze it properly, albeit the old fashioned way." Bruce looked through the window of the microwave. Watching his food cook.

"On the bright side since I came to town there have been no unusual circumstances with people waiting outside the house, nor have I been followed on the rare occasion I have left the house. It looks like this location is truly as much a secret as I previously thought. That said, I must remain cautious. Keep to myself as much as possible, any attention-"

There was a knock at the door and Bruce just sighed. "Audio log pause." He stood up and walked to the door, floorboards creaking the entire way, pulling back the latch he opened the door. "I'm sorry, but I don't have time for vi-" He froze as soon as he laid eyes on her face.

She just smiled.

"Hello Bruce."

N E W   Y O R K

Faster than expected.

Also, much lighter on his feet. The boy hadn't even realized that Spider-Boy was overtaking him until right before the web-slinger was beside him. The League had files on individuals expressing physical abilities beyond the normal range of humanity. The Big Blue Boy Scout of Metropolis was one such examples. Damian wondered what, if anything, they said about Spider-Man.

Which, on the name dropping, merited a skeptical and juvenile look that ought to have made clear that the wall-crawler was dealing with a bonafide child. "As Spider... Man... I-I-I need to know..." the boy echoed back. He had a knack for voices. The tone and inflection a near enough match for Miles' own voice that it could have fooled some voice security software. Which may well have been why he'd been trained by a voice coach. Dropping back to his usual voice, the child said, "Spider-Man, really? Really?"

It's not that Damian was hating. He was visiting New York, had just busted up a mugging, and was now having a conversation with Spider-Man in the park. This trip had already turned out to be more eventful than almost any of his others. He usually flew in and was just babysat or tutored while his mother took care of business. Then, in the last year or so, it had been Damian who was expected to contribute to the family business by undertaking missions.

Still, the fact remained that the size of the costumed individual in front of him was not the body mass of most adults. Particularly among males. He was four, maybe five years older than Damian was. "Can you really take yourself all that seriously if you can't smoke, vote, or drink legally?" the boy asked, ignoring the hero's question. "Can you even get into R rated movies?"

Now, there was a subject on which Damian could rightfully hate. So, his mother was okay with him decapitating some random dude. But for him to see an R rated movie was not okay? What, was she worried it was going to warp his conservative moral ideology?

Whatever. "Anyway, it's called MMA," Damian supplied, answering the question as he stuffed his hands down into the pockets of the hoodie he wore. "There's probably a half-dozen places around the block that teach it. It's not rocket science."

Midtown, Manhattan
10:33 PM

The party was in full swing at Sam Symington's penthouse. For the FBI agents watching the action from the skyscraper across the street, it was already old news. The douchebag always bought drugs and always fucked hookers three at a time every night. The two men watching got a sick thrill of out seeing it the first night, but that was six days ago and now it was just old news. It made them angry that this little weasel could live like this and get away with it. The US attorney was gearing up to at least stick the fucker with drug charges, anything so he couldn't just steal millions from hard working people and get away with it. But to most people that felt like a chickenshit charge. They wanted him on something that would stick and leave him in prison for a long time.

"That redhead looks hot," one of the agents said with a chuckle. "Always had a thing for 'em."

"That's the sixth one we've seen. Symington must have a thing for 'em too."

The redhead in the slinky dress disappeared into the bathroom of Symington's bedroom. On the bed, Symington was engaged with the blonde while the brunette stripped her dress away and climbed into the bed. The FBI agents made sure to zoom in on the bathroom door to get a good look at the redhead when she came out, just in case she was naked as well.

"Woah," one of them said as the door came open. "Fetish shit?"

The redhead was dressed in all black with a skull on her chest. Her hair was up and she carried a combat knife in one hand, a silenced pistol in the other.

"Gun! Call for backup, we have an active shooter in Symington's penthouse!"

---


Brooklyn
Six Hours Earlier

"Sounds simple enough," Rachel said with a nod towards Microchip.

"One Symington calls out for hookers I'll make sure that the redhead's phone number gets rerouted to here. From there, you get the info you need to get into his penthouse and past his security."

"Have you got a dress?" Castle asked from the doorway leading into Microchip's store. "Something that looks like whatever a hooker would wear, but not too revealing. You'll need to wear your tactical gear under it and figure out a way to smuggle a weapon in."

"Have you got cash, Castle?" she asked with raised eyebrows. "I don't have anything to wear, but this is New York. I can get hooker chic within the hour."

---

Now

The hookers screamed when they saw the weapons in Rachel's hands. They were too close to Symington for her to take a proper shot. The screams alerted the two bodyguards in the penthouse. One came in with his gun out and ran right into Rachel. She hooked him with her left arm and tossed him to the ground. A knee to the back of the head crashed his face into the floor and knocked him out. She stood up just in time to sweep the legs out from underneath the second guard. A pistol whipping to his face knocked out a few teeth and the man's urge to resist. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to shoot both men in the head and be done with it, but Castle's orders were clear. They were probably bad men, but they had no proof they deserved to die. Only one man would die tonight.

The hookers had fled by the time she was done with the bodyguards. The bathroom door was locked. She shot the lock off with the pistol and opened it. Symington was on the toilet with his hands up.

"Please, whoever you are don't kill me. I'll give you money."

"I have money," she said as she held up a hundred dollar bill. "Unlike the people you stole from."

"Oh, god... please! I'm begging you!"

Rachel leveled her pistol at the now weeping man. "Samuel Symington, this is your punishment."

---

Three Hours Later

"She was gone before the FBI could get upstairs."

Oscar Clemmons looked at the dead body of Sam Symington. There was a neat hole in the middle of his forehead, the back of his head was blown out and his brains covered the backseat of the toilet and the bathroom wall. Stapled on his lips was a hundred dollar bill with a skull drawn on it. Beside Clemmons was William Rawlins. While Clemmons looked at the dead body with concentration, Rawlins was having the time of his life. He wore paper booties around his feet because the FBI wouldn't allow him in the crime scene with flipflops.

Clemmons looked up from the body at the FBI agent who'd escorted them into the penthouse.

"And you're sure it was a woman?"

"Two field agents recorded the whole thing. Redheaded woman, white, late-twenties to mid-thirties. She wore all black and had a skull on her shirt like the one on the bill."

"Awesome," said Rawlins.

"Mind explaining that one," Clemmons asked.

"This proves your theory."

He pointed at the skull drawn on the hundred dollar bill.

"Castle has help. And that means conspiracy to commit murder and various terroristic acts. And detective, that falls under my purview."

Clemmons stood and stared at Rawlins over his glasses.

"And what is your purview, Agent Rawlins?"

"National security," he said with a wide smile. "By any means necessary."

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

Miles was shocked. A million questions popped into his head as he tried to process exactly what this kid was saying. How did he mimic his voice so well? Why was he so antagonizing? Was it really that easy to see that Miles was just a teen? Did the kid actually expect him to believe that what he did was simple MMA? Just who was he?

“Okay, first of all,” started Miles, “Yes, it’s Spider-Man. It’s not my fault that I have dwarfism, and honestly, I don’t need you to remind me. It’s bad enough that people ask me where my parents are when I go to watch a movie, let alone walk down the street, so I really do not need or appreciate your judgemental attitude. I am an adult, American citizen, and quite frankly I think that someone’s parents should give a little lesson in respect and open-mindedness.” He took a breath. “And if there’s an MMA club that teaches a ten year-old how to stare fearlessly down the barrel of a gun, sign me up. Seriously, who’d you learn from, Chuck Norris?”

A question that Lynne had asked herself countless times over her short stretch on the earth; with each thorough investigation yielding a different answer. When it was finding herself halfway through her senior prom, suddenly minus a prom date and plus an ex-boyfriend, the answer had been a Friends marathon and a tub of Cheesecake brownie ice cream. When it was a two year relationship, and her dreams of a family, being suddenly and cruelly snatched away, the answer had been late night camping trips, coupled with a fucktonne of MDMA. When it was her entire family being blown to kingdom come, with seemingly no way of finding the person responsible?

She hadn’t quite figured that one out yet. But she was getting there.

It had started with a two month mourning period, and a three month stint in hospital. After the surgeries and the psychologists, it was quitting the force and taking time to carefully orchestrate her next move. Having just inherited twenty dead relatives worth of cash, she wasn’t exactly wanting for money.

But she’d inherited more than just money, and one particular piece of her inheritance had proved to be tremendously interesting. Amidst all of her father’s possessions, there had sat a letter. A love letter to one “Bedisa Taylor”.

Bedisa Taylor was not her mother.

Bedisa Taylor was a student at Blúdhaven Community College, and Bedisa Taylor was going to give Lynne the answers that she so desperately craved.



Vengeance. Vengeance tastes better than Ben and Jerries, and the high lasts a hell of a lot longer than 200 milligrams of molly.

---

Mason Belrose lounged in front of the television, the belt which ran through his jeans hanging loosely across his lap.

Once upon a time he’d been a nobody. A dropout with no family and no future. Until he’d met a man named Damien Simitiae.

The most recent girl that Simitiae had sent him was propped up next to him on the sofa, leaning on his shoulder with those big sad eyes of hers fixed on the television; drinking in the next episode of Rawhide.

You ever see a girl look so good in Daisy Dukes? Mason grinned to himself, stealing another drawn-out gaze at her ass, whilst she looked the other way, pretending not to notice.

“C’mere.” Mason demanded, and the girl complied, shifting all 120 pounds of her onto his lap. He ran his fingers across her skin and through her hair, pressing his lips against the soft of her neck.

“I’m good to ya, ain’t I?” He asked her.

“Yes, daddy.” She replied quietly.

He wrapped one powerful arm around her waist, squeezing her gently as the evening slipped away.

---

Looks like the princess has found herself another prince.

Lynne watched the hillbilly and his whore from her spot, out in the darkness.

You were always such a fucking idiot, Dad. She thought bitterly. I bet you thought you were the only one she was screwing.

Despite all her digging, Lynne had never found any mention of Bedisa sleeping around, or hanging with white trash scum like Mason Belrose. That didn’t mean she was innocent, it just meant she knew how to cover her tracks.

What did you see in her Dad? Why throw away your family for that skank? Her parents had always seemed so happy, and full of life and laughter, right up until the end. She’d been in relationships in the past when she’d fallen out of love with a boyfriend, but to the rest of the world she’d seemed happy and content. Was that how Dad felt? Hollow and tied down, longing to be out of a loveless relationship? Was he too much of a coward to confront Mum? Was Bedisa his easy way out?

Having seen enough, Lynne crept quietly round the back of the house, her feet crunching softly on the gravel pathway. She ducked down below a window, and crept steadily up to the back porch, slipping effortlessly through Mason’s garden, with the night shrouding her every movement.

Three years studying criminology, five years on the force, and a lifetime growing up in Blúdhaven. Picking a lock was child’s play.The door was protected by a laughably simple mechanism, and it took a whole twenty seconds of fiddling with a pick and screwdriver, for it to click open.

Lynne carefully placed her tools in their pouch, eased the door open, and slipped into the kitchen. Her hand shot down to her satchel, fishing out the mask which was hidden within the leather bag.

Mask on. Unleash the beast .

The flick of a wrist. A switch blade in one hand. A .45 Peacemaker stuffed down the back of her pants.

Lynne fluttered through the house, her footfalls blending it perfectly with the world around her. It was a small, single-floored building, and the happy couple were making far too much noise for finding them to be any real challenge.

One. Two. Three.

She burst into the living room, barging through the door and striding over the coffee table.

The whore screamed. The hillbilly swore and jumped to his feet, one hand still down the whore’s shorts, but Lynne forced him back down with her foot.

“One word leaves your dumb cunt mouth and I’ll cut off your ear.” Lynne barked at the hillbilly, her voice muffled from behind the porcelain white mask.

“You got some nerve-!”

Her hand wrapped around the back of Mason’s head, as she jerked him forwards. The switch-blade came screeching forwards in a flash of steel as it shot through the air, and bit into his white trash flesh.

This time, both the whore and the hillbilly screamed.

She ripped through him, and his ear game away in a splatter of dark carmine.

The whore screeched and sobbed, shooting back across the sofa, as the hillbilly clutched at the bloody tatters of his ear.

“That was four words.” Lynne said plainly “But I won’t push the point. Do we have an understanding, white trash?”

“Motherfucker…” Mason hissed, but otherwise stayed quiet.

Lynne turned her attention to the quivering body of Bedisa Taylor.

“Alexei Riordan.” Lynne snapped “What does that name mean to you?”

“Oh god…” Her voice wobbled “please don’t…”

“The past has come calling. Answer my fucking question.”

“You stupid bitch!” Bedisa screeched, shooting forward with sudden fierceness “He was a good man! Why can’t you people just let him rest in peace?!”

Lynne grabbed hold on the scruff of the whore’s shirt and yanked her forwards in one swift movement. When Mason tried to stop her she struck him with the back of her glove-clad hand.

“What do you mean?” She demanded.

“Fucking hell…” Bedisa sobbed “I loved him, okay?! And he loved me! You people put him and his family in the ground! What more can you take from him! Crawl back to Simitiae and tell him that Bedisa says he can go fuck himself!”

Fighting through tears, Bedisa glared daggers at Lynne.

“He’s taken my future, my innocence, and the man I love. There's nothing more he can take from me.”

From beneath her mask, Lynne grinned.

Simitiae.

She had a name.

She struck Bedisa for good measure, then swept back across the room, through the kitchen, and out the back door, scampering away into the night.

But still there was that void in her chest; dark and gapping and empty, as it swallowed up her insides. It could never be filled. She could never be satisfied. And no matter how many times she tried to beat it back, she would always need more.

The Fortress of Solitude, Arctic

Superman and the Martian Manhunter stood in silence outside of the crystalline formation known as the Fortress of Solitude. Their bright costumes were a shock of colour amidst an ocean of white that stretched as far as they eye could see. Flakes of snow and ice drifted through the air and onto the unpressed snow around them. J'onzz stretched out his hand and caught a flake of ice atop on of his fingertips and eyed it for a moment. Clark glanced over to J'onn inquisitively and smiled as he spotted the snowflake. Their serenity was burst by the sudden appearance of a shuddering piece of metal tearing through the sky above them. It was shrouded in flames, billowing smoke, and emitting a noise like a thousand metallic teeth grinding at once. The superheroes watched as the metal came to a crashing halt some two hundred metres away from the entrance to the Fortress of Solitude.

As the craft hit the ground with a bang the grinding fell silent. Though the smoke continued to billow the flames were extinguished by the cold and snow as J’onn and Clark made their way towards it. Both men unsuccessfully attempted to scan the insides of the craft before J’onn extended a hand in its direction. J’onzz was one of the foremost telepaths on Planet Earth, perhaps second only to Professor Charles Xavier himself, and it was in these moments that Clark appreciated J’onn’s telepathy the most.

As J’onzz approached the ship his voice projected itself into Clark’s mind.


Clark followed after J’onn closely and watched as the Martian thrust one of his green hands down through the craft. Without a sign of stress or exertion, J’onn peeled away the metal and a gas emitted through the inside. Both the Martian and Superman staggered backwards, instinctually covering their mouths, as a form came crawling from inside the craft.

It coughed and spluttered metallically as it attempted to push its way from its front onto his hands and knees. The coughing continued through the smog until a pair of red eyes looked up at J’onn’s direction.

"Who are you?"

The smoke cleared and Clark Kent’s face crumpled with disgust as he recognised the face looking back at him. At least he recognised part of the face. The thick black hair, the deep, piercing blue eyes, and strong features were the same features he saw when he looked in the mirror every morning. Except three quarters of Henshaw’s face had been replaced by metallic parts.

Clark shook his head in disbelief as he spotted the Kryptonian symbol for hope on Henshaw’s chest. His was emblazoned on a black and red crest and interwoven with his cybernetic parts.

"You have… you have my face."

Henshaw’s neck wrenched round and his eyes filled with hatred. It wasn’t a rational hatred but a deep-seated primal one. The look a predator got in his eyes when it spotted its prey for the first time. Within half a second of the look appearing in Henshaw’s eyes he had sprung to his feet and launched himself in Clark’s direction.

"You. You’re the one he sent me to kill."

Superman and Henshaw went flying through the air and crashed in a snow mound. They wrestled for position and Henshaw rained punches down on Superman, his organic arm packing a punch equal to his cybernetic arm. Whatever had been done to Henshaw had made him Superman’s equal in almost every respect. Except in skill. Clark’s experience shone through as he managed to writhe from beneath Henshaw and incapacitate him long enough to call for assistance.

"A little help here, J’onn."

J’onn shot to Clark’s side and helped to pin Henshaw down. Once they had secured him, the Martian attempted to reach into his mind, as he had done Clark’s earlier, to piece together his broken psyche.


Probing Henshaw’s mind only seemed to enrage him further and he managed to throw Superman and the Martian away from him.

"You stay out of my head, you freak."

Henshaw climbed to his feet and circled them. J’onn lifted one of his green hands into the air and spoke as softly as he could. It was clear that he saw some part of Hank Henshaw still inside of the man and was determined to reach him.

"I heard your pain. I know how you suffered out there. You must calm down and let us help you if you want to see Terri again."

There was a flicker of humanity in Henshaw’s eyes at the mention of Terri Henshaw’s name and he forced a robotic howl of anguish from his mouth.

"Terri? What have you done to her?"

Before J’onn could answer Henshaw let loose a blast of heat vision in Superman’s direction. It was wild, more a flail than anything else, and Clark managed to block the blast with his hands. His feet slid back in the snow as he attempted to hold the heat vision back.

"I don’t think this is working."

Henshaw darted after Clark and attempted to tackle him to the ground again. This time Kent stood his ground and the two locked hands – each straining to gain leverage over the other.

"It was you, wasn’t it? You’re dangerous. He told me you were dangerous. He said your kind had to be dealt with or… or… Earth would be destroyed. If you’ve hurt Terri, I’ll kill you. I’ll kill both of you."

Superman shook his head defiantly.

"Nobody is getting killed here."

A wry smile appeared on Henshaw’s face as he threw Superman aside and extended his hand in the direction of the craft.

"We’ll see about that."

It lifted from the ground and hurtled towards J’onn and the Martian phased through it. J’onn was about to aid Superman when the craft burst into flames beside him and knocked him to the ground. The Manhunter attempted to regain his senses until he noticed the flames wafting ever closer to him. Suddenly J’onn J’onzz began to scream in fright and he assumed the fetal position by the burning craft.

Clark pointed an accusatory finger in Henshaw’s direction.

"What’s wrong? What did you do to him, you monster?"

Henshaw’s rage slipped for a moment and confusion washed over his face.

"I don’t… I… I have to do this. Your people are dangerous. He told me so…"

"Who? Whoever did this to you has messed with your brain, Henshaw."

The rage appeared as quickly as it had passed and Henshaw roared as he flew in Clark’s direction. The pair of them went flying through the air and came crashing down but a metre or two from the Martian. This time Henshaw’s pure, unadulterated rage overpowered Clark’s finesse and he pounded at Clark’s face.


"No! I won’t let you trick me. I know what your people did, I know how they butchered millions, and I won’t stand by and let you butcher my planet."

Beside them the balled up J’onn attempted to drag himself towards Henshaw and Superman. His green skin bubbled and distorted, once spiky and rough, then fluid as the Martian seemed to struggle to control his form. Through the pain he reached a hand towards Clark.

“Super… s-superman…”

Through the barrage of punches, Clark pushed his thoughts towards J’onn and hoped that he could hear him.


The Martian’s outstretched hand shook feebly for a moment as J’onn watched as Henshaw pounded on Clark mercilessly.

“Fight… no… not fight…”

Suddenly a defiant scowl appeared on J’onn’s face and his shaking hand turned into a fist. With a gust of wind, the Martian disappeared off into the horizon at such speed that it tore through the snow beneath him. Henshaw grinned as he spotted the Manhunter had fled and let up from the punching to goad his downed opponent.

"Are you going to run too? Or will you meet your end like a man?"

He sent another punch in Clark’s direction but this time Clark caught it and began to twist it away from Henshaw with a strain.

"Run? No, now we’re on our own I can finally stop holding back."

Today, millions in Poland are still without power. Three days ago there was a terrorist attack on the Bełchatów Power Station. The catastrophic damage destroyed the Station completely. Almost twenty percent of the country is without power for the foreseeable future. Already aid is pouring in from the European Union to assist in the efforts of local humanitarian services. PEG is working with many companies around the clock to set up localized power to all those effected. Notable companies are Stark International, Wayne Enterprises and Lex Corporation.

While recover efforts are ongoing, the perpetrators are still at large. So far the Police have been unwilling to comment about any leads or witnesses. The only survivor from the attack was a Polish security guard. They have released his name as Alesky Dubicki. Married for twelve years. Father of three children. He was one of the security guards on duty when the terrorist attack occurred. He was released from the hospital yesterday. There is still no word on what he saw-

Ivy turned off the TV with a sigh. There was a part of her that was remorseful about all the people who were suffering because of the power outage. It was only the thought of the children in Poland that made her feel that way. They were innocent of their parent's apathy. But that guilt didn't hold a candle to the fact that she saved so many lives. Plants who would grow and reach maturity.

Despite all the good, Ivy had been seen. They knew her name. And they now knew for sure it was her who destroyed the Power Station. She might throw them a little by making them look into the Eco-terrorist. But they would be coming for her. Which was why she had yet to return to her home. With any luck she would secure a plane flight back to America. If her contact would come through. There was a chance her kiss would wear off before the necessary details were in place.

Ivy frowned at the blank TV screen before huffing out another sigh. She was going stir crazy locked up in this motel room. She craved the outdoors. Yet she couldn't risk it. If she was seen she could be arrested again. So she suffered, not happily, but patiently.

---

Ivy tilted her head as someone knocked on the door. She moved to the door and peered out the peep hole. A balding middle aged man stood there. Ivy didn't fight her grin. Men were so susceptible to her. She didn't even have to use any of her plant pheromones to entice him. Just one look at her body and he was practically throwing himself on her. Which suited her plans just nicely. Since he worked for the airline he was her perfect ticket to get back to the states.

Ivy opened the door and looked down at him. "Did you get it?" She demanded harshly. The man didn't even blink at her tone, but passed over a rectangular envelope. She opened it, revealing one airline ticket. One way to Detroit. It wasn't her end destination but it was close. She bent over and kissed him. When she pulled back he had a blissed out look on his face.

"Perfect." Ivy practically purred. "You played your part well. Now go home to your wife and sleep. When you wake this will just be a dream." With that Ivy promptly closed the door in his face. Her flight would leave in a few hours. She still had to be patient and wait some more. At least the hard part was finally over.

---

Ivy shrugged off her jacket and nudged off her shoes. The man giving her a lift hadn't been willing to leave her in the middle of nowhere. She she gave him a kiss for his concern. He was far more agreeable after that.

Ivy watched her clothes vanish into the grass and gravel. When the last item disappeared she stepped into the trees. Everything seemed to reach out for her in greeting.

"Yes my dears. I'm home. I'm back." Ivy told them as she stroked, petted and touched every plant in her path. It was a good twenty minute walk to the place she called home. It was a small grove. Simple, yet elegant. Trees branched overhead to protect them from prying eyes. And no one would ever find them on foot for all the paths were impassable. Yet when she stepped into the clearing Ivy knew there was something wrong.

"Darlings?" Ivy called out, fear clutching at her. True fear, unlike the minor concern she had felt in custody of the police.

"I-Ivy?" A small girl's voice wobbled. But the girl still wasn't visible.

"Dani." Ivy moved towards the sound of the girl's voice. "What happened? Where's Paul and Sarah?"

"I'm here." Paul said stepping out from behind a tree. His face was a mass of bruises, and he held his arm around his chest as if it hurt.

"My little one!" Ivy cried in horror. "What happened?" She gently reached out for the boy and looked him over. "My poor boy." She felt tears gather and forced them back. Paul was strong. He stood there, barely flinching as Ivy's light touch passed over bruises and abrasions. They didn't need her to cry. Not when they were in trouble. Dani looked out from behind Paul. The younger girl was untouched. Ivy reached out for her and grunted as Dani threw herself into Ivy's arms.

"Where's Sarah?"

The walk up to Elijah Goeth’s apartment was frustratingly long, past well-dressed doormen and narrow corridors.

One of the block’s staff had taken one look at Lynne and told her that squatters weren’t welcome, and that the building was strictly for resident owners and guests.

“Klavdiya Riordan,” Elijah greeted Lynne with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he opened the door, dressed only in boxers and a loose-fitting dressing gown “what’s a lowlife like me done to earn the pleasure of your company?”

“You know I go by Lynne, asshole,” Lynne scowled “and I’ve come to ask a favour.”

“You’ve got a funny tone for someone who wants my help, little missy.” He scoffed.

“I respect you far too much to fancy my words with groveling and sweet-talk.” She smirked.

“That sarcasms most unbecoming on you, young lady,” Elijah moved out of the doorway, ushering Lynne into his apartment “now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings.”

The room she entered into was polished to a crisp white gleam, with dark wood furniture and broad windows that caught the sun’s glow.

“Can I getcha anything to drink?” Elijah called over to Lynne, as he slid behind the marble counter and fished a square bottle of Jack Daniels out of a cupboard.

“Why the hell not? I’m retired.” She reasoned “I’ll have it straight.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. So, what was this favour you wanted to ask?” Elijah came swaggering over, his dressing gown flapping about behind him, with a cold glass of whiskey held loosely in either hand.

“You ever do dealings with anyone called ‘Simitiae’?” Lynne gave the man an almost unnoticeable nod of appreciation as he handed over her glass, taking a fearless swig of the whiskey.

“Before I answer your question,” Elijah spoke slowly, choosing his words with well-honed caution “What’s in it for me?”

The young woman’s free hand slipped into her Tory Burch handbag, fishing out a fat wad of about $500.

“How’s the contents of the Riordan ‘rainy day’ fund sound?”

“Exquisite.” Elijah grinned like a snake, as he caught the cash Lynne threw his way.

“You ever buy coke in Blúdhaven? Chances are you were putting cash straight into the pocket of Damien Simitiae. He’s behind the Cártel de Juárez’s presence here, and he’s quite the ruthless fucker.”

Lynne nodded, making a mental note of what Elijah had said.

“You know where I can find him?”

“I might, but it’ll cost you. Double.”

Another $500 was exchanged.

“He likes to go to this club, the Chunky Chika, down in the Narrows. You can find him there most Tuesday nights, doin’ business deals and what not.”

“Thanks, Elijah.”

That’s when the 9mm came out.

The silencer muffled the pistol’s fierce bark, as the inside of Elijah’s head painted the crisp white apartment walls. His body hit the floor with a thud, before a dark red river of blood flowed out across the floor.

“Dickhead”. She muttered as she finished her drink, scooped up her cash, and shut the apartment door behind her.

---

"NO!"

Piotr dove through the light, through the door. The heat tore at him, a regular man would have burned. The building began to collapse on top of him, a regular man would have been crushed. Though he was no regular man, he was Piotr Rasputin. Colossus, member of the X-Men. He would not lose again! Using the force of the explosion he sped himself towards a cot in the corner of the room. The entire building was shaking at this point, he could feel the floor beginning to come away from him. Whatever explosive the man had used, the entire building was going to come apart. Using his body to block the flames he leaned in the cot to grab the blanket around the babe. Same as before to prevent himself from burning the poor child.

Lifting the child to his chest with one hand he turned his head back over his shoulder, the flames had now become too intense. He would never make it through them while keeping his charge safe. That left one alternative, stepping backwards he turned his left shoulder forward and ran at the outer wall of the apartment. Crashing through the wall gravity immediately took it's hold. Leaning back to prevent him falling on his chest and crushing the baby, instead when he came into contact with the ground his legs smacked onto the concrete. Distinctive feet marks breaking through the surface. As soon as people noticed him they came running towards him, who was obviously the mother pushed herself to the forefront.

He held the baby out at arms length. "Make sure not to touch my hands, the fire has heated my body." The crying mother pulled her baby away from him and straight into her chest, backing away she merely mouthed the words 'thank you'. It confused him at first, why would she not say such words allowed? Though then he found out.

"You better get out of here freak! You aren't fooling us. Saving kids, we saw that second explosion. You were the only one in the building, trying to curry favour are you?"

"Yeah! You aren't fooling us! We've seen the news, what's happening up in Coast City!"

"You're lucky you can walk around our streets, then you go and pull a stunt like this?" One of them took a couple of steps forward.

"No comrade, do not touch me."

"Oh what you gonna do baby-" he palm of the mans hands touched his skin, there was a sizzling sound as the skin burned against his steel flesh. Heated from the blaze that still ate the house. One the bright side, authorities were here. He saw a fire engine pull up, the firemen immediately disembarking and going about tackling the blaze. "-Ah! He burned me. You guys see that? He burned me! I bet he can control fire as well or something."

"You know, I wish the League would just lock all you people up already!"

"Yeah! What he said!"

Colossus sighed, he didn't do what he did for the reward. However it would have been nice not to be accused of setting the fire only to curry favor at the same time. That said, it was probably time to leave. Crowds could get rowdy and while in Texas he had to fight for the safety of others he would not fight these people. They were the victim of their media. America, land of the free. Another fire engine pulled up, and this time one of the crew took notice of the mob.

"Hey! You guys, you gotta get of there-!" The man paused as the group dispersed, and he could see Colossus. His clothes partially burned to reveal a yellow and red outfit. He could never understand the Professors choice for what he decided to put the teams in. Running now, would just make him seem guilty. Something he was not, he would have to stay and clear himself. Walking up the alleyway he raised his voice so the man could hear him over the commotion.

"I have helped those that were in the building out Comrade. I will gladly await for the police to arrive, and give my statement."

---

"Name?"

Piotr sighed, he expected to give his statement. Instead he was sitting in a police interrogation room, with his arms chained to the desk. he could easily have broken the chains had he been in his metallic form, though he felt it best while in the police station to remain as regular flesh and blood."Piotr Rasputin."

"You registered."

"Yes." Of course, that would be the second question they asked.

"You do understand that subsection 5 of article C prohibits mutants from interfering at the scene of a crime, under threat of persecution?"

"Yes."

"Then mind telling me what you were doing Mr.Razpootin."

Piotr just sighed again, trust the Kelly Act to turn his good deed into a crime. "I was sitting drawing, when I heard explosion. I knew that flames could not hurt me, so with fire department on their way and people calling for help. I decided to go into building. I saved small girl, then I went back outside. When I went back in, for her brother, I saw man-"

"What did this man look like Mr.Razpootin?"

"-I do not know. He had hood up, hiding face. He threw a device down the hall, a bomb. I can only guess that he is the one that placed the first device in the building. Having little time, I charged into room of little girls brother and grabbed him. Once I was outside, I gave boy back to his mother and was questioned by those outside. I waited at fire engine for police to arrive, and you brought me here." He had told the exact same story to the fire chief, and even to the building manager. The Brotherhoods recent attack in Coast City however had everyone a little twitchy. He just hoped Ruth was doing alright on the outside.

"So you're saying, some man decided to blow up a house in Palmer Square?"

"Yes."

"Why would he do that?"

"I do not know, you would have to find and question him."

"I don't know what it's like back where you come from, but we don't see many mutants in this district. So I find it hard to believe that when one turns up a nearby building just happens to blow up by coincidence."

"I am telling the truth, check your records. I have nothing to hide, I was mutant when I came to this country. I studied and learned to control my power, since then I have caused no trouble. Why would I change now?"

"That's not up to me sonny. There's gonna be an investigation."

There was a knock at the door, the detective stood up and walked to the door. He rolled his eyes and stood back, as in walked a woman with black hair, and tight fitting black clothes. Piotr never found her dress entirely appropriate. Though he was glad to see her. Though he was surprised she had got here so quickly.

Evangeline looked at Piotr, and the chains. "What do you think you're doing to my client? Why is he chained to the desk? Has he been charged?"

"Well no Ma'am-"

"Then untie him." If stares could burn, the one she gave him could have burned through the chains that held his arms to the desk.

"He's a mutant Ma'am."

"That may be so, but until a bill is passed that revokes his human rights. He still gets them, unchain him. Now, then get out." It was the detectives turn to sigh as he walked over the desk, removing his keys from his belt he undid the chains and then walked out the door before turning back.

"If you need anything-"

Eva just slammed the door in his face, before moving over to the desk and sitting down, shaking her head as she did so. "What the hell are you doing Peter? You know the rules."

Piotr looked at the desk, like a child being told off at school as he thought about his retort. "People were in trouble. I could not leave them to die." Eva just shook her head.

"You're soft, you know that."

"Da."

She just sighed as she leaned back in her chair. [color=black][i]"You'll be glad to know though, that a neighbor collaborates your story. Congratulations! You have a witness, not to mention a thankful mother. They're just questioning you because it's procedure. You'll be out by morning."[/color]

Piotr was relieved, the last thing he wanted was to end up in Ryker or any of the prisons specifically developed to holding people with abilities in. He doubted he could survive in such a place, not so much physically but mentally. In truth, it was getting harder and harder for mutants to operate. Which was why the X-Men typically only got involved in conflict against the Brotherhood or in helping mutants getting to the school. The law was complicated, he was just glad that they didn't have members of the military or some form of secret service watching them 24/7. He never really saw the problem, the Professor had tried to explain it once but he didn't understand.

Yes people feared change and the unknown, but what made Mutants different from the Superheroes that existed around the globe? They too could do amazing things. One of the best examples was Superman, he was supposedly an alien. Yet there was no act banning him from operating. People saw him as a symbol of hope! Piotr just wanted the same thing, to inspire others. TO make a difference. "Then what are you doing here? If you already know all this."

"Cerebros having some problems, so the Professor needs you to pick up some spare parts. He also wanted me to check you were alright." Colossus just nodded as he processed the information. Cerebro was the system the Professor used to locate other mutants, so likely there was a mutant nearby that needed to be taken to the school. The fact that he was going and not Eva meant that they expected trouble, as unlike himself Eva was not registered and in fact avoided her mutation as much as possible.

"I can do that on my way back, I would be happy to help of course."

"You're a good man Peter, anyway I'll go tell them I'm done." She stood up and walked out the door. "I'm afraid I can't stick around though, I'm needed in Coast City. I'll catch up with you next time I'm in Wechester!" Piotr smiled and waved at her.

"I look forward to it Eva, safe journeys my friend."

N E W   Y O R K

“Yes, it’s Spider-Man. It’s not my fault that I have dwarfism, and..."

The boy's head jerked back, the skepticism transformed quickly into pure disbelief. What was it with Americans and pretending to be offended?

"Seriously, who’d you learn from, Chuck Norris?”

"Jean-Claude van fuck off," the child tossed back in answer, without so much at batting an eye. He'd just looked Damian in the eye and lied to him. Or, at least, Damian thought that he'd looked him in the eye and lied to him. With the mask, it made the whole eye contact thing hard to discern.

Either way, the gloves were off.

"Seriously, you're lying from behind a mask... and my attitude is the problem?" the child snapped, his posture tense as he seemed wavering between the choice to just end the conversation and walk away... or punch Spider-Boy in the face.

Currently, the jury was out on just which of those he was more inclined toward.

All this, because he'd stopped a lady from getting mugged? "Three syllable words though. Impressive, for an American." the boy offered mockingly. The anger from earlier in the day was starting to come back, giving some heat to his blood as the boy's mind began entertaining the thought of testing for himself just what this Spider-Boy was capable of.

Of which, convincing bullshit was not one of his super powers. "First of all, you're too tall for dwarfism. Second of all, your proportions are normal," Damian noted caustically, firing off the two observations one after the other."Pro Tip: Next time, just say you're eighteen with a glandular problem. That might be believable."

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

This kid had an attitude. A gigantic, big-bellied attitude that threatened to destroy Miles with venomous words, sarcasm and… facts. If Miles had to be honest… the boy intimidated the crap out of him.

“Okay, uh, look… (Man, Captain America makes this look so much easier)… Sorry for lying to you (I guess), but, I mean, you just flattened a dude three times your size, then crushed another as you were getting shot at… as easily as my powers let me do it.” Miles paused, trying to choose his words carefully. The boy already looked like he was fighting the urge to hit him, and the last thing Miles needed was to fight with a ninja-assassin ten year-old cherub from Hell. “And… it doesn’t look like you have powers… right?”

He groaned, massaging the back of his neck. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, it’s not every day you see a kid your age saving someone from muggers by being a badass. Is it too much to want some answers? Y’know, truthful ones.”

N E W   Y O R K

Want some answers?

"-tt-" the boy uttered, a half sigh and a click of his tongue as his emerald eyes flashed up at the gangly teen. "Want some answers?" the child echoed, tossing the words back at the Spider-Boy. The sense of entitlement was grating.

"You're a guy in a mask who's already admitted to lying to a child." Did the words 'stranger danger' come to mind? "You want to know what my teachers taught me, how does 'don't talk to strangers' soun..."

The boy paused, his head cocked to one side. In a flash, he pulled the ear buds from out of his ears. The faint sound of the music from his iPod trickled out as the headphones dangled down the front of his hoodie. ♪...got me lifted feelin' so gifted... sugar how you get so fly...♪

It wasn't what he heard so much as what he didn't. As the boy's eyes scanned the park interior, it occurred to him that there was a peculiar absence of by-standers. They were out in the open in broad daylight. If Damian was looking to put a hit on the Spider-Man, he couldn't have asked for a better set up.

The same was true for someone targeting him.

"Shouldn't this park be more heavily populated at this hour?" the boy asked, without glancing back up at the Spider-Boy.

He had a bad feeling about this...

Carol turned her head back towards the surface as she saw Flash take the magic-slinging witch down with relative ease. “He makes it look so easy.” She thought.

Lowering herself to the ground, she nodded in slight approval.

“You do good work, Flash.”

Not waiting for a reply from the Scarlet Speedster she ran her left hand through her hair, pushing it back as she did so. “I think we’re done here. We can have CCPD take care of clean-up and then head back to our normal routine. Unless you want to be bored in pearly white Metropolis. What do you think?”

I turn towards Carol, happy to see that she's still in possession of all her teeth. I furrow my brow and look for Thor, but he's nowhere to be seen. He must've fled, either as a result of Carol's talk or simple self-awareness on his part. Either way, it's not the first time he's had to excuse himself so soon after the heat of battle. I guess it's not easy making the adjustment from warmongering god to selfless protector. Still, he's the only one on this team who can lift that hammer, so that's gotta count for something.

"What can I say? I live to serve," I answer in response to Captain Marvel's compliment. I fold my arms after listening her subsequent proposal, relishing the opportunity to stand still for a moment. "As fun as an afternoon romp in the City of Tomorrow with you sounds, I should probably get back to the ol' day job. My boss is going to chew me out already as is." Such are the harsh realities of life with a secret identity, I suppose. Everyone I know thinks I'm a slacker, that I duck out on work and can never keep an appointment. If they only knew what Barry Allen did with all that time...

"Take care of yourself, Carol. Say hello to Steve and Zee for me if you see them," I say with a wave. And not a second later, I've already taken off towards the mountains in the distance. I race for Missouri with the same urgency as before, this time running not away from home but towards it. Before long, the great plains give way to the stocky, hard-edged skyline of Keystone. I zoom between buildings of mortar and brick, passing the blue collar workers who call Central City's sister their home. Then it's just a matter of crossing the Van Buren Bridge, and I'm back in my domain. Zigzagging through the streets, I find my way to the Central Precinct while also swapping out my costume for my civilian clothes.

Moments later, I'm stepping out onto the Crime Lab's floor. I've almost made it home free when I spot my boss, Director David Singh, hunched over a desk reviewing materials with one of our interns. As soon as he sees me, his eyes narrow. He says something to the intern and then starts marching straight towards me. Here comes the lecture. "Mister Allen. Kind of you to join us. Mind explaining where you've been for the past half hour?" he asks sharply. Director Singh doesn't much care for me. He thinks I got this job through my connections to Captain Frye -- not entirely untrue -- and I haven't given him much reason to warm to me, what with the lateness and the absences.

"Oh, I was at the--"

"Don't even say the museum groundbreaking," he interjects suddenly. "Half the department was there, and yet they all managed to find their way back promptly after it ended."

Damn. I was hoping the ceremony would've thrown off schedules enough to let my absence go unnoticed. Well, time to suck up the hit to my reputation. "Honestly, I was at the ceremony," I begin, the last truthful thing to leave my mouth. "But... once it was over, I thought I'd have time to stop by Jitters. Turns out I wasn't alone in that idea. Took me twenty minutes just to get my order."

Director Singh sneers, clearly unhappy but buying the lame excuse nonetheless. "Well, since you decided to treat yourself to a long lunch, I'm sure you won't mind making up that time at the end of your shift. By sorting through the unprocessed cold case paperwork that's been piling up."

I frown at the thought of that, but I don't have a leg to stand on in the argument. Solemnly, I nod, accepting the small price that comes with the life I lead.

Ivy frowned. It was a deep frown. So deep that some would call it a glare. And she did this frown at everyone. People parted in front of her like she was holding a gun. And for a busy city like Chicago, people getting out of someone's way was rare on busy streets. Yet that was what was happening.

And it still wasn't enough to cool the raging fire of Ivy's hate. Nor was the tiredness tugging at her bones. She had been awake now for nearly two days. Yet she couldn't rest. Not when every time she closed her eyes she saw the bruised face of Paul or the tear streaked cheeks of Danielle. Sarah's kidnapping was like another bullet through her body. Still, even being awake didn't mean she was safe from her memories of last night.

"Where's Sarah?" She could still hear the words echo in her head.

"I'm sorry." Paul's answer had been heart breaking. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Ivy had gathered the injured boy into her arms and crooned until he stopped crying. Of course that mean squishing Dani between them, but neither of them complained.

"It wasn't your fault." Ivy smoothed Paul's hair back from his face. "I promise you that. It wasn't your fault. Tell me what happened." Dread was eating at her. At the idea of what might have happened to Sarah.

"He took her." Paul sniffled. "He took her and I wasn't strong enough to stop him."

Ivy felt Dani tremble at the words. The young girl still clung to her as if it would make everything better. She made herself continue to question Paul. No matter how much she didn't want to. "Who Paul. Did you know him?"

Paul shook his head and sniffled again. "No." He reached back out for Ivy and she readily pulled him back into another hug. "But Sarah did. She called him David."

Ivy pulled herself out the memory as she turned the corner to another street. There were houses crowded all together. She took a second to look out house numbers. It had taken some work to secure a computer late at night and look up David Lester's current address. But she had succeeded. The man was a violent drunk. Ivy had known his wife, Lily, before he beat her to death. The woman never wanted to press charges or to leave David. She kept insisting that he was a good man.

Ivy forced her hands to unclench. Lily and David had lived in Seattle back then. Ivy had taken Sarah after her mother's death without a word to David. He didn't deserve the child. And she wasn't going to let Sarah be abused either. Yet somehow the man and found Sarah and had taken her back.

Ivy's footsteps faltered as she reached the building marked 2234. She was regarding the buzzer numbers when there was a loud crash followed by a man falling, screaming out of a second story window.

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

The kid was right. Central Park was usually bustling with people by now, and yet there was no one there but them. All was eerily silent, with no sound but the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze. The whine of sirens had long passed. Miles looked around, trying to spot anyone who might be hiding behind the trees or shrubbery; a quick glance at the boy saw that he was doing the same.

A bush rustled behind him, and the back of Miles’ head flared with warning. He ducked to his left in time to see red goo fly past his head, falling to the path with a squelch. He squinted his eyes, focusing on it. Wait… he thought, Is that… ketchup?

Another squirt of goo, this time yellow, flew towards him, and he flipped over it, twisting in the air to land facing where it came from. “Oh, god…” he groaned, pinching his forehead as he laid his eyes on their attacker. “It’s you.”

“Surprise, Spider-Dweeb,” said the Condiment King, “Betcha thought you’d seen the last of me.”

“Ugh. Mayo. What do you want?”

“There’s a bounty on your head,” he explained, “And I intend to collect.”

Under normal circumstances, Miles might have felt threatened. Flattered. Scared, even. But this… this was not a normal circumstance. This was idiocy. This was lunacy.

This was insanity.

“Hey, uh, ninja kid,” Miles said, trying to rub away the migraine that began throbbing in his head, “Feel free to hit that guy. He’s an idiot.”

“Hey, who’re you calling an id– ”

The Idiot [+]