New Troy, Metropolis



The campaign advert by President Kelly came to an end and Kansas Jayhawks basketball took to the screen. Sat in front of it on a couch was Clark Kent and Lois Lane. Clark looked visibly worse for wear and his right eye was black and swollen. It was a souvenir from his run-in with Hank Henshaw in the Arctic. Clark had placed the half-cyborg, half-Kryptonian in his Fortress prison and returned to Metropolis after a short discussion with his Martian friend. Clark’s appearance had distressed Lois but not halfway as much as hearing about Terri Henshaw and her struggle. They had been discussing it prior to Kelly’s face appearing on the television and now that it had passed, with Kelly’s advert observed in stony silence, Lois felt free to pour out her sympathy for Henshaw’s former wife.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like for that poor woman. All those years spent waiting for her husband to come back and when he finally does he’s something monstrous. Is she going to be okay?”

Clark let out a sigh. His eyes were trained on the Jayhawks players making their way up and down the court.

“The heat vision burned her shoulder up pretty badly but Cross thinks he’ll be able to salvage the arm. It’s still touch and go whether she’ll still have full mobility in it but he said he’d keep me updated.”

There was heaviness to Clark’s voice and dullness to his eyes that was uncharacteristic. Even in the darkest of times the Kansas farm boy was usually never short on self-assurance. It was what made Clark Clark. He knew where he stood at all times, he had no trouble discerning between right and wrong, no matter how bad things got. On this evening though something seemed amiss.

“What’s wrong?”

Clark reached for the remote and turned the basketball down.

“I can’t get the look on Henshaw’s face out of my mind. It was my face, Lois. He was looking at me through my own eyes and all I saw in them was rage. What if J’onn hadn’t sensed Henshaw coming? What if we hadn’t got there in time to meet him? He was more machine than man, more hate than man. He could have killed thousands if we weren’t there to stop him and he would have done it wearing my face.”

Lois frowned and punched her boyfriend in the arm playfully.

“Give yourself a break every once in a while, Clark. You stop a homicidal cyborg in his tracks and what do you do? Do you congratulate yourself for a job well done like a normal person? No, you’re sat here wondering what might have happened or what could have happened. Might and could don’t matter at this point. You stopped him, Clark. That’s all that matters. The world is safe for another night thanks to you, so stop over-thinking things, and try to relax for a minute.”

Clark shook his head.

“How am I supposed to relax when whoever sent Henshaw to Earth is still out there? He gave him my face, put my family’s crest on his chest, and sent him directly to the Fortress of Solitude, Lois. That means he knows who I am and where I come from. How am I meant to not over-think now that I know that?”

One of Lane’s hands reached across the couch and took hold of one of Clark’s hands. She wondered sometimes what it must be like for Clark. He carried the whole weight of the world on his shoulders. There weren’t many men better suited to carry that burden but it was a heavy burden all the same. She had observed firsthand the guilt he felt when he fell short, when lives were lost, or disasters were not averted that could have been. To have the hopes and dreams of so many on his shoulders took a toll on Clark, though it was one he bore silently, and sometimes he needed to be reminded that he wasn’t alone.

“Do you trust J’onn?”

Clark looked up at Lois with an earnest stare.

“With my life.”

“Then trust that he’s going to find out who this guy is before he can come after you again. Otherwise you’re going to drive yourself mad looking round every corner for the next threat. For all we know, Henshaw was this guy’s best shot.”

Clark shrugged his shoulders.

“Or he could be the warm-up act.”

Lois sighed exasperatedly as she searched for the right words to breathe confidence into her love. After a few moments she found them and took to admonishing Kent. Her thin fingers jabbed him in the centre of his broad chest as she spoke.

“What do you want me to say? That you should be scared of your own shadow? That you should be walking on eggshells at all times? Because I can say that if you want me to hear but I don’t think either of us want to live like that. There’s a reason you have that “S” on your chest. There’s a reason that children look up to you. You give them hope, Clark. You make them dream big. Leave the paranoia to Batman.”

Clark listened in silence, his face initially a blank canvass, but it shifted into something more resolute and determined by the time that Lois had finished speaking. The last line in particular seemed to amuse him and he looked to Lois with a charmed, playful smile that sat more naturally on Clark’s face than his previously defeated expression had.

“You know, once you get to know him a little Batman’s actually a pretty nice guy.”

Lois laughed and lent over to place her head in Clark’s chest. He hugged her to close to her, taking comfort in her warmth, and reached for the remote. He flicked the volume up on the basketball and the blue and red of the Jayhawks jersey bounced along his clear blue eyes. From his chest came a murmur.

“Have you thought about how you’re going to explain that shiner of yours at work in the morning? You look like you’ve been mugged.”

Clark smiled.

“I’ll think of something.”

An unimpressed Lois cocked her neck up to look at Clark with a frown.

“You’ll think of something? That’s it? We work alongside some of the most forensic investigative journalists on the planet and you really think you’ll be able to come up with something on the spot that’s going to fool them? Come on. You’re going to have to do better than that, Clark.”

Clark’s smiled widened a little.

“I’ve been hiding behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and a side parting for the best part of a decade and they haven’t seemed to notice, Lois. I think I can sneak a black eye past them.”

Even after all this time, Lois still couldn’t believe that she hadn’t seen it. The change Clark underwent when he put that uniform on was remarkable. She wondered sometimes whether she would have ever worked it out. She liked to think so. Heck, she was definitely in the wrong profession if she hadn’t been able to eventually. She wanted to take exception to the point or make some excuse for her own inability to deduce Superman’s identity but instead she shrugged her shoulders and buried her head in Clark’s chest again.

“Point taken.”

N E W   Y O R K

Twenty million dollars?

"Well, that would buy a PlayStation," the boy mused aloud, as though contemplating just what the Spider-Boy was worth. In all honesty, with a price that high, he was surprised that the wall-crawler hadn't attracted larger game hunters. Or even the League for that matter.

One thing didn't quite sit right with the child however.

"...wait, you and another vigilante had this guy hemmed up and you allowed him to escape alive?" the boy noted aloud, looking over at the Spider-Boy with a look that bordered between skepticism and genuine confusion. How did that work? Was it supposed to be like that fishing-not-fishing stuff, where people caught fish and then released them back alive? "Wouldn't that be a tactical error?"

The first rule of fight club was there were no rules. But the second rule was that you destroyed your enemies. Left nothing that could come back and bite you, as this loser appeared to be attempting to do.

"Your abilities seem like you should have easily been able to neutralize your target without any resistance."

Gotham City, United States

"Hey boss! We're here!"

"Perfect. Grab yer gear and get ready 'ta rock."

"Uhhh. Sir, we have a problem."

"What is it?"

"There's nowhere to park."

Ted Carson slapped the back of his driver's head. "Just stop the car, ya moron! We don't have to actually park!" Ted pushed open the passenger side door of the beat up old van and stepped onto the black asphalt below. The rain still fell like a torrent, muddling Ted's vision through his full face gas mask. "Fuckin' Gotham." He muttered. "Never thought I'd miss Star City." Ted made his way to the back of the van and pulled open the double doors, revealing the rest of the Firefly Club. One of the goons tossed Carson a pair of propane tanks strapped together and attached to a hose. Ted slid the makeshift device over his shoulder and strapped it to his chest. "I think I'm likin' that mercenary more n' more." He said while admiring the weapon. The rest of the crew filed out of the van and followed their leader toward the municipal side entrance of Blackgate Penitentiary.

Three Gotham PD officers stood next to a pair of squad cars, blocking off the road leading to the front gate. One of the cops casually approached the band of miscreants. "Rest o' Gotham Fire's on the opposite wing. This side's clear." He informed them, mistaking the gangsters for members of the Fire Department. Ted couldn't blame the guy; they'd taken the Nomex uniforms off of Engine co. 34 less than an hour ago. "Don't worry. It won't be for long." Carson raised the hose toward the cop and pulled the trigger. A burst of propane shot out of the nozzle and the moment it connected with the ignition flame, the cop was ablaze. Ted turned the weapon of the other two officers before they could so much as gape. "Aight, boys! Lez go! We have a bat to kill." The group of thugs marched past the charred corpses of Gotham's Finest, torching the cruisers as they went.

"Sanchez. I want this gate open, pronto!" Ted ordered. Sanchez approached the side gate of the correctional facility and began to cut through the automated locks with a welder. Ten minutes later, the crew was able to force open the doors and enter Blackgate without any more trouble. According to Deathstroke's intel, the guards were all either dead or captured. The police were hard at work trying to contain the convicts and seemed to be stretched thin, busy dealing with outbreaks of crime throughout Gotham. It would seem everyone was trying their damnedest to get the Bat's attention tonight. Ted pulled out a scrunched up old map out of his back pocket. He motioned for his team to surround him, and they did so. "So here's the play, for all ya's who missed it when the Big Boss went over it. Sanchez, Jenkins, Marvin n' me will be locking up all of the secondary and tertiary entrances to Blackgate. 'Stroke wants to funnel Batman through this door, so we're going to block out all of the vents, sewer grates n' laundry shoots we can. He wants zero loose ends, got it?!"

One of the criminals tentatively raised his hand upward to get Ted's attention. "What are ya, one of my student's? Spit it out. We ain't got time for this." Carson growled. He was used to that kind of bullshit working for the public school system; not from his boys during the night shift. "Sorry. Uhh, what's going to stop the Batman from coming in the front door?" Ted shook his head. "And risk gettin' caught out by the Commish? No way. The police 'ave it put for 'im too. 'Specially tonight. Any other stupid questions?" When no one spoke up, Ted gave them all a nod. "Then get to it!"

---

Slade Wilson drove his Wakizashi short sword into the back of the prisoner's throat. He tossed the man's lifeless body aside and took his position in front of the security consoles. The Firefly Club were hard at working setting up Deathstroke's trap. Meanwhile, the prison riot was in full swing, threatening to spill out into Gotham proper at any time. The vigilante would be there soon. He'd have to be. This was the largest crisis in the city, bar none. Slade briefly wondered if this was someone else's attempt to capture Batman. It made sense, tactically speaking. A non-powered human could use the sheer manpower of the prison to overwhelm the seemingly superhuman Batman. Slade needed no such army; even the Club was only there as a distraction. Deathstroke had made sure to leave no trace of his being in the prison. Even the master detective, for all of his gadgets and skill, would see that all signs pointed toward the Firefly Club. Slade couldn't be completely sure, of course. This was the Batman he was dealing with, not that white rip off over in New York. If anyone could fool the Terminator, it'd be Gotham's Dark Knight.

Deathstroke glanced at the unmoving corpse of the prisoner he had dethroned. Slade felt no pity for him. Strange, considering the whirlpool of emotions that had conflicted the mercenary when he massacred those police officers. Perhaps it was the convict's anonymity that made his death so very...pointless. Or maybe it was his conviction as a criminal. But then, were the police any better? Gotham was notorious for its deep seated corruption. He was still a human being. He probably had a family. Friends, at the very least, who would mourn his passing. Slade mulled. If I could be caught, I'd be in the same position. A convicted criminal. A felon. We are very similar, he and I. Yet I'd drag him like a lamb onto the slaughter without a feeling of guilt or remorse. Why is he any different? What makes him worth less than that cop, or myself? Slade quietly chuckled to himself. "Oh the duality of man." He muttered.

Enough philosophy. There was work to be done.

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

“...wait, you and another vigilante had this guy hemmed up and you allowed him to escape alive? Wouldn't that be a tactical error? Your abilities seem like you should have easily been able to neutralize your target without any resistance.”

“Hey, come on, who do you take me for?” Miles asked. “We left him for the police.” In all honesty, he and Static had gotten a little over-eager on Mayo. They’d gotten so caught up testing each other out on him, that their little pissing contest had ended with Mayo laying unconscious on the floor, twitching like a dying cockroach. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like he’d come away with any long-term injuries – save for the obvious brain damage. Who in their right mind could call themselves Condiment King and still expect to be taken seriously? “And what do you mean, ‘neutralize your target’? I don’t… kill people. Why would I...? No.”

Mayo had stopped crying by now. He rested on his knees, shoulders slumped in defeat. Miles turned to him, patting him reassuringly on the back. “Come on, Mayo. You okay to turn yourself in, or do you want me to come with you?”

The failed bounty hunter shook his head, getting up onto his feet in dejection. His eyes remained fixed on the ground as he began to walk in the direction of where the sirens once were. “No, thank you, Spider-Man. I’m sorry for causing such a fuss.”

Despite himself, Miles couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the man. “That’s okay, buddy. Take care of yourself in prison, alright?”

Mayo nodded. “Yeah… Okay.” And so he left.

“Now, before you say anything,” Miles said, turning back to the kid, “He’s gonna turn himself in. How can I be so sure...? I’m gonna follow him. See, I cover my bases.” As he made to leave, he paused. There was just one more question on his mind. “Hey, uh… Before I go. What’s your name? So I can remember you as anything other than ‘the lovechild of Chuck Norris and Bruce Lee’.”

Steve was in full uniform again today, sans cowl, as he walked into Lex's building. He nodded in reply to the security guards who had greeted him. He didn't stick around to make small talk even though there was ample opening for it. Instead he made his way straight to the elevator that would take him directly to the Justice League HQ. As the doors closed behind him he could barely hear one of the guards tell the other: "Must be a busy morning already. Glad that's not my job."

The doors didn't make a sound as they stopped moving. Or if they did, Steve couldn't hear it over the sound of some obnoxious pop song that started playing. Steve looked up at the speaker with a frown. His eyes flicked back to the display and saw the floor number count going up. His eyebrows scrunched together then he frowned. The Captain leaned against the wall as he waited the minute or so that it took the elevator to transverse the distance. As soon as the elevator stopped so did the music.

It was dead quiet for a split second until there was a small ping sounded as the doors opened. Steve stepped into the large space. His blue eyes looked this way and that. The sun was still not all the way over the horizon yet. But that was fine. He was always here this early. Night shift was undoubtedly waiting for him or had just left. His schedule was like clockwork. If any of the other Leaguers were still in the HQ, those that didn't have separate living spaces, they were undoubtedly still sleeping.

Steve made one circuit of the main room. All was quiet. He checked the logs and confirmed that the night shift had indeed just left. With that done the Captain picked a computer, pulled up a commandbox and typed in a string of letters and numbers. The loading screen came on and welcomed him. Steve smiled slightly and stuck a drive into the USB port. Though the sight of a hand written note on a paper pad made him pause. He looked at it then frowned.

Training. Mandatory.

It was his own hand writing. There were also other items on what was apparently a To-Do list. Steve ripped off the paper, balled it up and tossed it in the trash. He then turned back to his computer and began to work. An hour or so later Steve pulled out the drive and stood with a stretch. He checked the time. It was nearing six-forty. The Super Soldier pocketed the drive. There was a small ping on the console and he looked at it. Apparently he was no longer the only Leaguer on the premises (that was awake).

Scott Lang found himself awakening from his nap just as his train arrived in Metropolis. He made his way out of the miniature laboratory within his helmet in a rush, prompting him to temporarily ignore Pym’s follow-up email about his miniature robots until he had more time. Besides, what could be so important about a bunch of insect-esque robots? At least Pym was sticking to his all-so-important ant motif. Him finally moving away from that would be so terrible.

After leaping out of the lab’s door Scott grew back to his regular size, landing quickly in the centre of the carriage, causing numerous passengers to jump in shock. Giving a brief apologetic look, Scott grabbed his helmet and made his way towards the exit.

Before long he had arrived back at the Justice League Headquarters. It was no mansion, but the skyscraper was a gleaming tower of hope for the people of Metropolis, as well as for the world. Like some sort of watchtower of justice. Scott made his way proudly inside, shooting a set of finger guns towards the two security guards at the desk before entering the elevator. As he ascended to the League quarters above, Scott shifted drowsily from foot to foot, completely oblivious to the 90’s pop music playing around him. That was the last thing Scott remembered that evening before he collapsed out of exhaustion onto his bed.

Well, not exactly the last thing. The last thing he could remember was thinking about the last time he had seen Cassie, and the beautiful smile that she had had on her face.



Scott sadly found himself awakening during the early hours of the morning, the sound of his alarm ringing beside him. He groaned loudly, shifting himself under the covers. Mornings were honestly the worst things in the world. He wriggled some more, wrapping his body up with the sheets into some sort of cocoon. All the while the alarm continued to chime away from the bedside table, seemingly growing loudly as if it was intending to spite the bug themed superhero. As it rang, Scott tried to put together why he had even put such an alarm on. Something important had to be happening this morning, right? Otherwise, why on earth would he dare putting an end to his relaxation? That was when it hit him. Combat training. If mornings were the worst thing in the world, combat training probably came second. It was essentially a time for his teammates to throw him around like a tiny punching bag. Not fun at all.

Willing himself to climb out from beneath the covers, he slowly manoeuvred his way towards the bath, giving his nether-regions a quick scratch as he did so. After a luxurious shower and a quick shave, he returned to his room in an attempt to find his uniform. He spotted it instantly, lying in a messy heap on the floor. Picking it up, he held the spandex suit up in front of him, taking it all in. Scott was proud of his suit, with him feeling that it was a clear sign of his accomplishments; as a hero and even as a father. Scott had designed the look of the suit himself, having wished to appear different than Pym had done when he briefly carried the Ant-Man mantle. As he admired his handiwork however, Scott discovered that despite the suit’s sleek look, it was still prone to stains. Particularly that from New York hotdogs.

He groaned once more, rubbing the patch of discoloured fabric. Unfortunately he wouldn’t have time to wash it before the training began, so grudgingly he pulled the suit on, let loose the odd couple of swear words as he did so.

Once he was done, he made his way out of his room, venturing towards the headquarters’ central rooms. Here he found himself met with none other than the Earth’s most popular patriot. Scott had always been a huge fan of Captain America, with his father having gifted him several of his old Captain America comics when he had been a child. And now, they were on a team together. Scott had barely held his excitement when he had originally joined the team, with him acting fairly awkward around the Captain during their first few weeks together. Eventually he had calmed himself, with the two becoming friends.

“Morning Cap.”

Scott spoke slowly, evidence that he still hadn’t fully awoken. Suppressing the calming thoughts of tucking himself back within the covers of his bed, he made his way towards the small-scale kitchenette, taking note of the empty coffee pot. As he began to fill the granules, he turned his head towards the team’s fearless leader.

“So, who else is joining us this morning? I haven’t handed Aquaman his ass in a while!”

Justice League Watchtower - United States - Midgard

Thor had awoken rested and refreshed, in mere minutes he was washed and garbed in his customary attire. He willed Mjolnir to his hand before tying its leather strap around his waist, allowing him to walk freely. As he placed his helmet upon his head Thor regarded his window and its view of the city below. Everything was calm, peaceful and bright. His dreams had shown a much different sight, the city aflame and crying in fear and agony, Amora. Thor knew she was out there somewhere, her presence in his dream had felt too palpable to be anything but a result of her magic. That meant she was likely close.

Thor's mood darkened at the thought of her, while she had been a source of comfort and companionship at their first meeting he now knew her intent was to cause pain and suffering to all around her, he owed it to the people of Midgard to put an end to her schemes.

Thor left his room and walked the Watchtower, a gentle thud following each of his steps; he was not a quiet being and many would know of his presence before he arrived, it was simply in his nature.

Thor arrived in the main area of the Watchtower and was confronted by the sight of Ant-Man and Captain America. The Captain appeared to be studying one of the Mortals' confounded pieces of technology whereas Ant-Man was preparing a jug of coffee. Thor tended to steer clear of coffee as a general rule after what had occurred the last time.

"Behold!" Thor exclaimed, "There be a sight most fortuitous!"

His voice boomed across the room as the Thunder God himself joined Ant-Man at the small cookery and procured himself a flagon. Thor filled the cup from a large bottle of ale that stood atop the small fridge unit.

"The Son of Odin doth hate to drink alone."

Leaning against the fridge, Thor raised his flagon in salute to each of his fellow heroes.

"Your health, gentlemen!"

With that, Thor lifted the flagon to his lips and drained its contents; smacking his lips he wiped his mouth before placing the flagon into a handy sink and opened the fridge once more. Now was a good time for breakfast!

---

"You don't scare me little man."

Two extra large fists slammed into the floor of the house, shaking the entire building and casting the man off his feet. "Little man not here, Hulk is!" Hulk stood up and charged at the silver man. "Hulk want you to go now!" A smile appeared on the mans mouth, below his mask.

"He told me there'd be a little fight in you. I'm glad." The man boosted forward at superhuman speeds, blades extending out of large containers on his forearms as he barged past Hulk slashing at his skin. His skin did not cut though, there was no blood. "Well that makes things a little more interesting." He turned himself, running along the far wall and then back towards Hulk, shoulder first in a bid to move him down.

Seeing the attack Hulk braced himself for the attack to come, the man slammed into Hulk with tremendous force. Hulk barely moved, his feet digging into the wooden floor. He grabbed the man around the waist and flung him through the far wall, jumping through the roof of the building and out onto the street outside. Betty was running into her car, Hulk stopped to look at her for a second. A look of pain on his face. A window smashed in the house as the man came flying at him, shooting something out of his arm that punctured his skin.

Hulk roared throwing his hans into the air and then slamming them down onto the ground creating a small quake throughout the town. The needle fell to the ground but Hulk ignored it, all he cared about was smashing the puny man, no puny human could hurt Hulk.

Hulk is the strongest there is!

Grabbing sticking his hand through the top surface of the road he lifted out a chunk of it and threw it in the direction of the man speeding towards him, he merely dodged around the shot however and came fist first at him. His fist hit Hulk in the centre of his chest, that one caused some damage throwing Hulk down onto the ground and onto his back. Hulk didn't care about this! He didn't care about the Puny man. He could run away, Banner wouldn't control him anymore.

"Hulk..." That was Puny Banner, how could Puny Banner be here? He turned and saw him in the glass of a nearby car window. Picking up another piece of pavement he threw it at the car window smashing it.

The man in Silver didn't come around again. He turned to see Banner in another window. "Hulk he's getting away."

"Puny Banner leave Hulk alone!"

"Fine, let's make a deal Hulk. You can stay out, so long as you help Puny Banner. Can you do that Hulk."

"What Puny Banner want Hulks help with?"

"Stop the silver man."

Steve watched the elevator doors open and disgorge Ant-man. His distinctive suit gave him away. The man greeted Steve even as he made a B-line straight for the coffee maker. He continued to talk even as he worked. He was saved from replying by Thor's booming voice. The God was larger than life. He filled any room he was in. And surprisingly he was a lot like Ant-man in the morning. But instead of making a B-line to the coffee maker it was to the top shelf. Alcohol.

Steve frowned as Thor downed a good amount of whatever alcoholic beverage of choice. Then the Thunderer focused on the fridge and the food there within. Right.

"If you want to eat something before training, you've best do so now." Steve said in his best authoritarian voice. Mentally the man was working on something quite different in his brain. He looked sideways at the console as it once again chimed. He frowned at what he saw there.

"I'll meet you in the training room." Steve said clearing the screen. "There's something I have to do first." And with that Steve gave each of them a nod and stepped into the elevator.

When the doors re-opened on the ground floor a Lex-Corp worker stepped out. Or rather looked wide eyed as Captain America scowled at him and hurriedly launched himself out of the way. The worker stared at Captain America's retreating back as one of the security guards barked into his comm system.

"Hey. What's going on?" The worker asked, flashing his badge to the guard.

"Bad news. Apparently someone posed as Captain America earlier today and gained entrance into the League HQ." The radio squawked and the guard returned his attention to it. The worker didn't linger much longer making his way to the exit. He was stopped as he tried to make it through the doors.

"We're on lockdown." The guard who stopped him said.

The worker pulled out his badge and showed it. "I know you're doing your job, but I just pulled an all-nighter and I just want to go home."

The guard looked sympathetic. "Sorry. I cant."

The worker sighed. "Well, then I'm gonna find some couch somewhere and nap." He left with a few more disparaging remarks before making his way back into the building. As he turned around a corner the worker vanished only to be replaced by a guard. He flashed a badge at another one of his co-workers, pushed open a side exit and stepped out of the building. No one stopped his this time. He joined the morning crowd, guard uniform disappearing to be replaced by a suit in a sea of them.

---

Back upstairs the elevator was barely gone a minute before it returned. Steve stepped out of the doors looking more than a little upset. His blue eyes quickly latched onto Scott and Thor.

"Please tell me I haven't already been here today."

Clouds hung low in the sky, the sun a white shine through pale, tumultuous grays as it lit up the world for wakeful eyes to stumble their way through. Matthew saw nothing of white or grey or black - only the licking auburn that formed the fire of his world. He followed the bouncing rays of sound and the smell of sea air. The market had an 'out-back', a loading yard - an in and out for the sellers, the stall-runners. Matthew had gone there first, arriving at ten-to-one - but her perfume wasn't there, and neither was his swordfish. He'd picked up the trail pretty quick though, and had been following it at a leisurely pace ever since. He pressed a small button on the side of his watch. "Thirteen-oh-seven." Good. It would be better if he turned up unexpected.

Unexpected would have been the polite term. Matthew's target - the arms-sometimes-fish dealer - was alerted as he rounded a corner by a gruff, male voice, with a slight tone of incredulity and a heavier tone of a particular...thickness. Certainly not the most charming of hired goons. Matt put on his best naive smile.

"I came to meet you for my earlier purchase at the market but I think I may have been a little late?" He said, stepping forward with his stick tucked under his arm, other arm extended for a handshake. "I was advised you had already packed up. Really itching to get out of the city, huh?"
The dealer gave him a long stare, little warmth in her gaze. She had hoped to fleece the guy out of his cash - honestly, what kinda chump pays in advance - and get out to her pickup on the other side of the city. And she'd gotten word that he had lined up a special task for her. Having some blind moron with an idiotic smile come waltzing around the corner...

"I told you, I gotta get outta the city by two. You don't get the fancier fish on damn trout farms, you gotta get out on the boat if you want a good cut. I ain't got time to wait around for some chump who fancies himself some Stevie Ramsay." She gestured to one of the men that was loading up the truck, and pointed at a container; he hefted it and brought it over, setting it at Matthew's feet. Matthew smiled and thanked him, bending at the knees to squat comfortably beside it and unclip the lid.
"What, inspecting?" The dealer asked, a smug chuckle playing on her words as she nudged the man standing behind her, shaking her head slightly.
"I may be blind, but I'm not anosmic." Murdock responded, too quick to catch himself.
"What, you can smell that it's what you paid for? How about I take it away if you don't trust I'm giving you the right product?"
"My apologies. You'd be surprised how the brain compensates with the other four. It's wonderful. And here -" he retrieved his wallet from his jacket pocket, opening it up and fishing out a few more crisp notes - "a tip. Ostensibly for the cuts, but also to say sorry for the insult. I didn't mean to cast any criticism."

The dealer walked towards him, reaching out the take the money. She stared at Matthew as she stuffed the bills into her shirt pocket, feeling like they were locking gazes despite his tinted glasses, or his blindness.
"Have you nearly finished loading up?" Matthew asked, trying to dispel the tension. "You sound like you're in a hurry. Important appointment?"
The dealer frowned. "I told you. Out of the city by two. On the boat. Catching more fish. Come back here to sell it. You not believe me?"
"Not at all. Just making light conversation. You know which way you're headed? Best way out toward the coast is-"
"I know. Which damn way. I'm going. Who do you think I am? Who do you think you are?"
Matthew smiled. "I just came to get my fish."
"You got it. Now get goin'. Don't need to be tripping over your ass while my boys are loading up."
Matthew picked up the crate, hoisting it under one arm as he put his stick back in the other hand. "Pleasure doing business with you. I hope to see you again."

He left the dealer to her business - certainly not catching fish. He returned the container to the taxi he had left waiting, and then left it waiting a bit longer as he made his way back, careful to remain quiet and unseen, taking a different, slightly longer route. He quickly found himself at a different corner, hidden from view, listening to the dealer and her men load up the remaining crates. Some of them, he could tell as they were lifted, were filled with ice and fish - the others, foam, encasing weapons and tactical equipment. He memorized voice patterns, speech inflections; and when the truck was started up, shifting into gear as it slowly rumbled to life and the wheels gripped the tarmac to take it away from the docks, he memorized that too. Voices, perfume, sea-salt and a truck's engine. It was thin, he mused as he made his way back to the cab, thin as all the clean cops spread over Hell's Kitchen. But it would do for the Devil. He would find her this evening, one way or another. And he'd find out what she knew about...him.

---

"What did you do with her?!"

Apparently this lady was looking for the same person he was, so he would not try and get her to leave for now. Though he would have to be wary that the man 'David' did not take a shot at her. She seemed to be far less suited to combat than him, at least biologically speaking. Piotr looked up at the man still standing in the hole, and he could faintly hear a mobile phone ringing from one of his pockets. The man took aim at Piotr and fired a beam of energy out of his weapon. This time he was ready, braced against the blow he was still pushed back his heels digging into the road. He could feel the energy of the weapon superheating his metallic skin.

I can take a lot of this, though I don't know how much. Deciding that testing his limits in the middle of a combat situation likely wasn't the best course of action he moved over to the crushed car and yanked the door off. Not aiming with particular care he threw it towards the hole in the building where the man stood, forcing him back inside the building. He turned quickly to the lady near him. "While I appreciate that you are looking for someone, I would recommend you wait outside the building. I am rather durable." He turned and ran towards the building, he could faintly hear sirens in the distance now. He wouldn't be able to stay here much longer. At the source of two incidents within as many days... that was a good way to end up seeing Eva again and likely end up in a prison for sure.

At the door, he didn't bother to knock this time. Shoulder first he threw it off it's hinges and bounded up the stairs past the little old lady, he shouted an apology as he passed though he wasn't entirely sure how legible it was. Up at the top of the stairs he ran back into the sitting room and through the open door into what appeared to be another makeshift church. There was the unmistakable stench of blood, and then he saw the body of a young man on the altar barely recognisable. "Kakogo cherta..."

He had to find this girl, and he had to find her soon.

Manhattan, New York

A.I.M's VTOL was capable of a sustained top speed of seven hundred and fifty kilometres per hour, and could reach those speeds in the blink of an eye. By the time that Tony had dealt with the last handful of A.I.M operatives dotted around S.T.A.R labs, and J.A.R.V.I.S had contacted the NYPD to appraise them that the building was clear, the retreating jet had almost cleared the limits of the suits short ranged radar.

Almost.

He caught them up as they were winging it over Albany, course as straight as the crow flies. They'd tried to shake him through straight acceleration and it had failed. If he was a betting man, and he was, then he'd say the smart money was on them trying to shoot him out of the sky next. With a mix of smugness (at once again being right) and trepidation he watched a missile launcher fold out of the VTOL's fuselage.

“Here comes the 'fun' part.” The launcher swiveled towards him and wasted no time in offloading it's entire arsenal of four precision-guided munitions. Tony grinned. He teased an extra portion of thrust from the suit, flying straight for a collision course with the missiles. Any onlookers would have assumed the golden avenger had just developed a death-wish, and maybe he had, for there was certainly easier ways to deal with the missiles.

But none of them were quite as fun.

The missiles came shrieking onwards, screaming for Tony's blood, the man himself plotting an unerring course towards them, disaster imminent. He moved at the last possible moment, swerving in between the nigh-on imperceptible gaps between the missiles at breakneck pace in an impeccable display of aeronautical skill. Rhodey would have been proud as hell, and twice as jealous, to see it.

“A very impressive display sir, but was it quite necessary?” J.A.R.V.I.S didn't breath nor feel emotions, he was a computer program after all, but Tony could of sworn the A.I sounded like he was nervously breathy.

“Ah, but what use is life without a few risks, Jarv?”

“Mrmm,” The A.I grumbled, again something he wasn't actually designed to do. Tony made a mental note to examine the A.I.'s programming later for abnormalities in the code. “You'll be very happy to hear that we're not quite out of the woods yet then, as those particular missiles are heat-seekers”

Tony risked a glance backwards to see projectiles 180 their trajectory to resume their pursuit of everyone's favorite billionaire playboy once more. “Offff course they are.”

It was time to apply a bit of lateral thinking. He told J.A.R.V.I.S to open it up, and the suit powered onwards at tremendous pace, on the cusp of breaking the sound barrier. He flew under the body of the A.I.M craft, and as soon as he had cleared it's nose shot upwards. The pilot would have been able to glimpse him flash by the cockpit window, and would no doubt be scratching his head as to what the Iron Man was doing. The missiles followed suit, the smart-chip technology keeping them locked onto Iron-Man and ignoring the gun ship.

Tony kept at his steady vertical climb until he'd made a respectable lead upon the projectiles, and then. . .

"Jarv, it's time to see how well the new heat sinks work. Kill the boots." The jets powering his flight died suddenly, though his momentum continued to carry him upwards for a moment before gravity reasserted itself. The Golden Avenger began to fall downwards towards the earth, narrowly avoiding the missiles as they zoomed past him, their on-board computers confused by the sudden disappearance of their target.

While still in his free fall he fired a wide angled, short burst, high powered repulsor blast at the projectiles, blowing them out of the sky. That dealt with, he engaged his thrusters once more, and turned upon the fleeing A.I.M craft.

---

The rear door of the VTOL peeled apart like wet paper, revealing the slightly cramped insides. A narrow lane lead between two bays of bench seating up to a recessed cockpit, though that wasn't Tony's prime concern right now. His attention was full fixed upon the middle-aged, dark haired mustachioed man standing infront of him. The man, who Tony suddenly realized looked like an older version of himself, was unfortunate enough to have a pistol barrel shoved into his left cheek, and a rifle pushed into his back. The weapons belonged two A.I.M agents who were using the man, who Stark assumed to be Morrow, as a shield. According to J.A.R.V.I.S they were the only three life signs, other than the pilot, on board.

"Professor Morrow I presume." Tony said, stepping deeper into the craft. The man didn't nod his head, probably down to the cold metal of the gun being ground into his skull, but his eyebrows did an admirable job of jumping up in affirmation. "Don't worry Professor. I'm going to get you out of this." The two yellow-clad operatives pressed in even tighter to their captive.

"Ok guys, before this get's any messier than it has to, I want you to think about what you're doing." There was no response, though whether that was because the two operatives he was dealing with were the strong silent types, or because they were speechless in terror, well Tony couldn't say, not while they were wearing those expressionless masks. He pressed on regardless.

"And I don't mean 'think about what you're doing with your lives and change your evil ways' kinda way, I mean 'think about what you're doing this very minute and stop being stupid' kinda way. I just tore threw an entire building of you A.I.M rejects, in record time I might add, and each and everyone of those guys had hostages too. Didn't help them much, did it! I mean, I'm here now, so obviously it didn't! So what's so different about you guys, huh?"

Again, the A.I.M agents didn't have much to say, though this time they risked a quick glance at one another. Tony took this to mean he was getting through to them.

"So I'm going to give you both a choice. And you too, Amelia Earhart in the pilots seat up there, don't think I'm forgetting about you! Option A. You put down your guns, let the prof go, surrender, then go to jail. Option B is basically the same, but instead of surrendering you choose to be stupid and I have to hurt you all."

"You're all supposed to be intelligent men, so I trust you'll make the right decision."

At the conclusion of his address he raised his arms, palms outward towards the agents, and primed his repulsor cannons. He liked to think it was his compelling speech that made the A.I.M agents drop their guns, but he couldn't help but remember something his dad used to say that seemed especially apt for this situation.

The man with the biggest gun always wins the argument.

Well nobody could argue that Tony Stark didn't have the biggest guns.

All was quiet as Scott Lang fumbled around with the coffee maker. Steve was still working on his computing working away. Did the guy ever take a break? Sure he’s in charge of the League when Luthor isn’t walking around with that glistening head of his, but that didn’t stop him from having any fun once in a while. Hell, even Luthor’s up for a laugh sometimes.

His thoughts were soon interrupted by the sound of the son of Odin himself. Thor strode through the room proudly, heading straight to the kitchenette where Scott was perched. Instead of heading towards the coffee machine however, Scott watched him go straight for the booze. All he could do was stare in amazement as the guy poured himself a flask of the stuff.

Scott followed suit with the god’s solute, pulling his mug from the machine and raising it in the air.

“And to getting through this damned training with little to no injury!” Scott finished the toast proudly, followed quickly with a short laugh at his own hilarity.

Before Scott had even put his mug to his lips, Thor had already tilted his head back and gulped down the contents of his flagon. Scott blinked in bemusement, his thoughts flashing back to the first time the two of them had gone out drinking together after the formation of the team. All that could be said, was that the Norse Gods could really hold their drink!

Finally taking a sip of his drink, Scott recoiled slightly. Someone had evidently neglected to wash the last pot. Sighing, he took another gulp, merely for the boost of energy that was soon to come with it, before leaving it on the counter. As he moved away, he glanced back at where he had left it, giving a smile to the swarm of scarlet colour insects that had appeared, skittering about around the countertop. Moving his eyes slightly towards the sink, the ants moved at once; collectively lifting up the mug and shuffling it towards where it was to be cleaned.

“Good job, guys.” Scott exclaimed, pointing proudly to his workers. It’s always good to give your workforce positive feedback.

While this was taking place, Steve had taken his leave, reminding them to get something to eat now before training was to begin. Scott approached the fridge, peering in over Thor's shoulder. His eyes instantly spotted a pack of sausages, just waiting to be cooked.

"You want to get a nice sausage fest going Thor?" He asked, before realizing his mistake.

Just as he was about to correct himself, Steve returned.

Scott stared in confusion. What on earth was the guy talking about? His question was answered however when a radio message from the building’s security team reached his ear, highlighting the situation. Someone impersonating Captain America had been in the building. That someone had just been 10 feet away from him.

His jaw dropped as he gawped between the computing where he had sad, and what he could only assume was the real Captain America.

“I’m going to be honest, was so boring and stoic, that I couldn’t even tell the difference.”

Justice League Watchtower - United States - Midgard

Thor was bemused. He was not unused to unusual phenomena occurring in his vicinity; Asgard was a land of infinite possibility and Thor knew that anything from the crystal spires of Odin's keep to the mighty Rainbow Bridge that would connect his home to other realms beyond would likely number among the many things that mortals would not understand. He himself had been shown visions, trickery and magic that went beyond his own understanding. Even here on Midgard, he was vexed by the sight of his compatriot Ant-Man communing with his multiple namesakes and guiding them to tidy the kitchen surface. Using ants to clean when ants themselves are hardly unsoiled. It was a conundrum that even the habitually less than tidy Asgadian struggled to process.

However, when Captain America inquired as to whether he had already been present, that was enough to make the son of Odin turn in confusion.

"Is thy memory impaired, good Captain?" He asked in friendly concern, "Thou art advanced in years for one of thy kind, even the elderly of Asgard can lose their wits."

Thor thought back to when the Captain had sat among them not ten minutes ago. He had appeared in good spirits, as good spirited as the usually forthright Justice Leaguer ever was.

When the radio spoke unto the three teammates Thor's confusion cleared.

"A vile intruder, not less than ten feet away!" The son of Odin's voice boomed with anger, thunder gently sounding even in the enclosed space. "Nay I say, this will not stand!"

Thor pulled his hammer from his belt and pointed it at Ant-Man. "Marshall thy diminutive forces, friend Ant-Man. We must make haste to end this menace."

Thor then swung his hammer to point at the figure of Captain America at the door, Ant-Man's words had rang true, there had been no difference in the Captain that they had just seen and it was possible that their enemy might attempt to fool them once again.

"Beginning with thee, art thou the real Captain America or the very cause of this mischief?" Thor's tone brooked no question of his intentions should the Captain fail to prove himself.

The Daily Planet, Metropolis

Clark Kent smiled sheepishly at Perry White as the Daily Planet’s Editor-in-Chief eyed his face with suspicion. In White’s hands was a folder that his eyes scanned over for a few seconds, stopping every now and then to look at the bruised, blemished eye socket behind Kent’s glasses, before returning to the folder’s pages for a deeper look. There had been a time that being called into Perry White’s office struck fear into the hearts of even the most battle-hardened reporters but White seemed to have mellowed with age. The editor had once been renown in the newspaper industry for his temper but at the insistence of his doctors had calmed down some. Now White struck a more paternal figure and the atmosphere of the Planet’s newsroom was much improved for it. After a few more seconds scanning over the folder’s contents he looked up at Kent and gestured towards his eye. There seemed a genuine concern in the motion.

“What happened to your eye, Kent?”

Clark scratched the back of his neck and he searched for an explanation.

“I… uh… slipped getting out of the shower this morning.”

For a moment White responded with a disbelieving look but it passed and a knowing smile appeared on his face. Clark’s reputation for clumsiness preceded him. On his first day at the Planet he had spilled two cups of coffee on White and ruined the editor’s favourite tie. In moments like these, Clark was thankful for his clumsiness. It made his excuses all the more believable.

“You know, sometimes I worry about you. It’s dangerous for a man your size to be so goddamned uncoordinated. You’re like one of those dancing bears the Russians used to have. Except if they forced them to drink a forty-ounce before they went on stage. You’re lucky you have Lane around to look out for you."

Clark’s cheeks turned rosy red with embarrassment. He opened his mouth to rebut the accusation but White waved a dismissive hand in his direction.

“Don’t bother denying it, Kent. I might be old but I’m not stupid. I noticed the two of you sneaking around months ago. You really think anything goes on out in that newsroom that I don’t know about?”

A nervous titter left the Man of Steel’s lips as he shook his head.

“We were going to tell you. It’s just… with everything that’s been going on around here, we thought maybe it was better that we kept things a little quiet for a while so as not to ruffle any feathers.”

“Consider my feathers well and truly unruffled. I couldn’t care less who you’re shacked up with so long as your work is up to scratch, kid. Just don’t go breaking the poor girl’s heart or I’ll have you writing obits until you’re older and balder than I am. You hear me?”

Clark nodded in acceptance.

“I hear you, Chief.”

White reached for the mug of coffee on his desk, took a hearty mouthful of it, and let out a contented sigh. He set the mug back down and then smiled at Clark as if to reassure him that he wasn’t being reprimanded.


“Don’t worry, I’m going to give Lane the same lecture when she comes into my office next. This place needs you, Kent, it needs the both of you. You’re what keeps this place ticking over and I can’t afford to lose that because one of you got a wandering eye. Without the pair of you, there is no Daily Planet.”

The sincerity in the editor’s words hung in the air for a few moments and Clark smiled earnestly at the praise. White’s compliments came few and far between, especially compliments as gushing as that one had been, and Kent seemed to understand the importance of the moment. White’s quiet, steady guidance had been present throughout Clark’s professional career and he had come to see Perry White as a father figure of sorts. As peculiar as it might have sounded, White’s influence dwarfed even that of Kent’s biological father – but for Jonathan Kent, White was the nearest thing Clark had to a role model.

“Well, I… I don’t know what to say, Chief, I’m touched that you think that.”

In a heartbeat White’s paternal glow disappeared and the tough, taskmaster of an Editor-in-Chief reappeared again. There was a self-aware smile on White’s face.

“You ever repeat that and you’ll have two black eyes, Kent.”

Clark nodded appreciatively and White reached for the folder on his desk and flicked through it again.

“Now that we’re done gossiping I have a lead on a piece that has your name written all over it. You interested?”

Clark smiled.

“When am I not?”

White tossed the folder towards Clark. Kent attempted to catch it, fumbled it, and blushed in embarrassment as it tumbled to the ground. White let out a tut as Clark reached down to reassemble the folder and its contents.

“Luthor’s working on something in that building of his that’s going to change the world and it seems he’s ready to tell the world about it. His publicist got in contact this morning and asked for a sit-down interview with the Planet. I want you to take Olsen with you and find out what the hell our billionaire playboy is working on.”

A wince left Clark’s lips as he recalled the conversation Jimmy and he had conducted on the way to lunch the day Avalanche had attacked. Other than Superman, there was no more vocal a critic of Lex Luthor than Jimmy Olsen. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge but Clark wondered whether Jimmy would be able to bite his tongue in the man’s presence. It took everything Clark had to hold his own.

“Are you sure taking Jimmy with me is a good idea, Chief? He’s not exactly Luthor’s biggest fan.”

White shrugged.

“Then I’m relying on you to keep him in line, Kent. This is a big opportunity for you. Don’t screw it up, kid.”

Clark stood up, Perry’s folder in hand, and smiled reassuringly in his editor’s direction. Clark and Lex’s paths had crossed before, though Clark had been in uniform at the time, and America was no stranger to the fact that Superman was no friend to the billionaire. Lex’s support for the Mutant Registration Act and his fawning appreciation of Clark’s powers turned to spite after Clark had turned down membership of his Justice League were the tip of the iceberg. There was more to Lex than met the eye. Barney Barton’s murder, the arms dealing with the Latverians, and God knows what else. Despite it all, Superman had been completely incapable of landing a glove on Lex.

Perhaps Clark Kent would be more successful.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Lex and I will get on famously.”

N E W   Y O R K

Leaving an enemy alive was a tactical error.

It allowed them to strike from behind, as this Mayo had demonstrated. That the man was incompetent was immaterial. He obviously represented a threat to the Spider-Boy. So why allow the margin of risk to remain? The wall-crawler seemed quite distressed by the implication that he ought to kill the Condiment King. But what was the use or purpose in allowing him to live?

To further complicate matters, the Spider-Boy asked his name.

Pausing, the boy thought for a moment. He hadn't been prepared for that question. Normally, his handlers prepared him with a false identity in advance of an operation, in case something like this came up. Except, he didn't have that in this case which left him unprepared to do anything aside from make it up as he went.

He should keep it simple. The more complex the lie, the harder it was the remember later. And it needed to be a name that was believable, but without any frame of reference to his own. Perhaps literature held the answer? Arthur? As in, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? Perhaps something drawn from the plays of Charles Dickens, Victor Hugo, or Anthony Munday?

"Robin," the boy uttered, fearing he'd been silent for too long. It was a moment before he made the connection himself. Robin Hood, the protagonist in a pair of plays Anthony Munday authored based on the oldest surviving ballads of Robyne the Hood.

He'd kind of pulled that out of his ass, but it was as good a name as any.

Ivy's eyes were completely focused on David. The way he stood with his gun screamed hesitant. Which probably made it her fault the metal man got shot. She felt her plant latch onto David. The man jerked the gun from Ivy's direction and fired at the other man. Ivy couldn't help but stare at the man as the smoke cleared. He reached over to the demolished car, ripped off a door and lobbed it at David.

No.

Ivy felt David lurch back. For it ripped her plant out of it's soil and all connection was lost. She forced life back into the plant and tried to guide it back to it's pot. But the trauma was too much for it to handle. It flickered out of her consciousness. Another mark against David. She might have cried aloud or not, she wasn't sure. But never the less she headed for the door. David was out of sight and she couldn't loose him.

"While I appreciate that you are looking for someone, I would recommend you wait outside the building. I am rather durable."

Ivy turned her head to just in time to see the metal man rush past her and into the building. She cursed under her breath and followed him. She wasn't sure what his deal was, and she really didn't care. All she needed was Sarah. And if that was expedited by letting this metal man think she couldn't handle herself, then so be it.

Ivy followed in the man's wake. It was like following a tornado. She slowed to a walk as she took a moment to look at the door ripped clear off it's hinges. Then she was back running up the stairs and through the apartment. She ignored the older woman, recognition danced on the edge of awareness, she wasn't important. She forced herself past the man as he finally stopped in what looked like a bedroom converted into a chapel.

Ivy faltered at the sight of the dead body. Sarah. She could hear the man whisper something that sounded like a prayer. Or what could pass for it in another language. Still all her attention was on the body. Mutilated. With a shaking hand she reached out and brushed it's forehead. Cold. It only reaffirmed her fears. Dead. A small chocked sob escaped her lips as she wrapped the dead boy in a hug.

Ivy buried her face in the body and didn't stop the tears that came. She was perversely relieved that it wasn't Sarah like she had feared. Instead a young boy. She couldn't even tell if the boy had been David's. The extent of the damage done made any familial markers unrecognizable. But that didn't assuage any of her guilt. Ivy knew David was an abusive monster. She had saved Sarah all those years ago. She was sure Lily had had only the one child. But what if she was wrong? What if she left another soul in the hands of that monster?

Rage and sorrow combated until only an unnerving calm remained. She found herself pulling away from the body. "I'm sorry." She told the dead boy. "I'll find him and make him pay." Though she didn't let go of him completely. She left a hand on his shoulder as if somehow she could impart the dead soul comfort.

As if in an out of body experience she turned to the metal man. She could see herself deliver the words. Hair slightly askew from her mad dash up the stairs, eyes red rimmed from crying, cheeks tear stained and exhaustion making her pale. She was a sight to behold. "Are you apart of this?" Her voice was flat, but there was an edge to it.

---

Hulk grinned, and bounded into the air where the man in grey was mid jump. Grabbing his legs the man yelped as he his trajectory was abruptly changed, being cast towards the ground. Hulk went to follow through with a punch but felt something holding him back, his fist instead went straight into the concrete cracking it. The man rolled to the side, knocking his head back and then flipping himself up. His fist catching Hulk in his right eye. Hulk roared as he was temporarily blinded in one eye as he thrashed around trying to grab the man again.

Turning himself around he saw the man looking back at him, the needle in his hand speeding away. Puny man thinks he's fast... Hulk took off on his powerful legs, occasionally throwing in a bound. The ground shook whenever he landed, and sirens could now be heard as emergency services were beginning to respond to the situation. Hulk shouted out at the man but despite his best efforts he was beginning to pull away from him. Then he just stood waiting in a crossroads. Puny man thinks he can fight... Running at full speed now the entire ground shook.

Till he hit something, and hit it hard. He turned to run out but found himself blocked in that direction too. He screamed at the top of his lungs, a sound that could no doubt he heard from miles around. Turning to punch the silver man his fist just came into contact with the whatever force was containing him, the force of the punch sending a shockwave all the way up his arm. "PUNY MAN LET HULK GO! OR HULK SMASH THROUGH AND THEN SMASH PUNY MAN!" He began pounding on the invisible force field as police cars rolled up, skidding to a halt the officers jumped out and raised their weapons at Hulk and the silver man.

_{"Put your hands in the air!"} The man must have had some way to enhance his hearing,a s the officers could barely be heard over the sound of Hulk pounding at the shield.

"No need to get hostile. The names Speedfreek, monster hunter. This ones pissed off the wrong people, and now we've got him." In the distance there was the faint sound of an aircraft. "You can all sleep easy now, the Hulk will never see the light of day ever again."

Steve's heart was pounding as if he had run up all the flights of stairs instead of taken the elevator to the top to Lex Corp's building. When he had awoken on the floor of his apartment, he prepared himself for the worst. He could still hear the villain's voice in his mind.

Sorry Captain America. But you're going to have to sit this one out.

Still he hoped against hope that his friends and fellow league members would just look at him as if he was crazy and everything would turn out to be a big misunderstanding. And for a honest moment when Thor spoke Steve truely thought that maybe he was just being paranoid.

"Is thy memory impaired, good Captain? Thou art advanced in years for one of thy kind, even the elderly of Asgard can lose their wits."

Of course in any other situation Steve would have said that Thor was, what was the word again? It wasn't pulling his leg. That was an old idiom. It was... something about bridges. Ah yes. Trolling. Under any other circumstances Thor could have been trolling Steve. But he trusted the God to know when to play and when to be serious. And this situation called for seriousness.

Before Steve could open his mouth and elaborate on the situation the local radio began to speak. Scott was the first one to answer in the ensuing silence, shattering any hope that Steve was experiencing a paranoid delusion.

"I’m going to be honest, was so boring and stoic, that I couldn’t even tell the difference."

Steve once again opened his mouth only to be derailed by Thor's booming voice. Even louder than usually because of his excitement or disgust at the news. It was sometimes hard to tell. Loud was loud.

"A vile intruder, not less than ten feet away! Nay I say, this will not stand! Marshall thy diminutive forces, friend Ant-Man. We must make haste to end this menace. Beginning with thee, art thou the real Captain America or the very cause of this mischief?"

Perhaps any other individual would have started with protests of their innocence. Wasting valuable time. He eyed the hammer, hands itching to grab his shield but he didn't move except to lift his hands in the universal 'I surrender' gesture.

"The real one." Steve said and without giving them any more chances to speak, he continued on. "Thor, remember when I gave you a series of lessons on Midguard history? It was in exchange for you explaining the Norse Pantheon since I only knew the Catholic religion. It was going great until we hit the World War Two. Then we tried to find another Leaguer to catch us up on the last seventy years. I'm sure you remember how they all pretty much laughed at first then apologized when they realized I was serious?"

Steve didn't wait for Thor's confirmation before turningd his attention to Scott. "I once caught you cheating at poker with your ants. And I still believe you invited me to your daughter's birthday only to get back at me through swarms of little children." Despite the seriousness of the situation Steve couldn't help the smile that forced it's way onto his face at the memory though it didn't last long. He lowered his hands confident that the matter was cleared up. "I don't know who this guy is, but I know he can look like anyone. That's how he got the jump on me. Just tell me where he went. Every second wasted is more time for him to get away."