---

Piotr turned to face away from the body as the woman, against his request did not wait outside. Instead she had moved upstairs and was now crying over the body. He himself was fighting his emotions, though he refused to break down here and now. He had to focus on the task at hand, someone was in trouble and needed his help. That was his priority. AS the woman stood up and composed herself Colossus tried not to look directly at her, no doubt she wouldn't want to be seen in this state and she would not want to be remembered like this. "One second Comrade."

He walked over to the body, kneeling down on front of the boy and making a cross on his chest before speaking; "Gospodi, teper' raba Tvoyego s mirom , po slovu Tvoyemu." He then lowered his head for a brief second before standing up and moving back to the woman. "I am as much a part of this as you are. I am looking for a Sarah Lester, she is a mutant in need of help." Piotr raised his arm in indication to the small makeshift temple. "Unfortunately this is not the first time I have seen something like this. They call themselves the Purifiers, though this is not important. What is important is that we find the girl and get her before anything happens." The sirens began to get closer.

"Though we should leave, if you are determined to help I will not stop you. However the police will impede our progress, though the law is important I feel that this is one case where it will not work in our favour."

---

---

Justice League Watchtower - United States - Midgard

---

---

"Just tell me where he went. Every second wasted is more time for him to get away."

Thor was many things, a deity, a prince, now an exile, a hero and a member of a team; but there was one thing that was engrained in his very being and helped to govern his every action. Thor was a warrior. A warrior was governed by rules of engagement and a sense of honour that few others would fully understand. But this action that their enemy (Thor was now certain that their intruder was a foe) had taken, coming into the Justice League's home and masquerading as their ally, this stank of cowardice and dishonour. As a warrior, Thor was obliged to teach this craven being the folly of their ways.

But equally Thor knew that his way was not the only one he needed to take into consideration. Captain America, regardless of any heroic status and sensibilities, was primarily a soldier. Thor knew the ways of soldiers and, despite Rogers' aversion to some of their less savoury characteristics, practicality was a prime focus for such people.

"One does not simply 'get the jump' on the God of Thunder." He said with finality, "The counterfeit captain went yonder." Thor gestured to the very door that Captain America had entered. "The villain was working on one of your machines."

Thor turned to Ant-Man, "Mayhap our foe be some machine thief? Be there no avenues of enquiry in Midgard for such mischief?"

A slight noise caught Thor's attention, momentarily startled he turned towards the noise, it was a humming sound resonating from where Captain America -the doppelganger of Captain America- had been sitting.

Thor felt a tingle from Mjolnir, such a sensation usually indicated the gathering of electrical energy. "But this occurs only when-" Thor's eyes widened, the computer! He spun his body so that it shielded Ant-Man. He threw his hammer towards Rogers, banking on the soldier's reflexes to come into play even before Thor's warning. "Down!"

The humming shifted into a loud pop but the burst of destructive force that Thor would expect from any such expenditure of electricity was simply not present. He chanced a glance towards the machine that sat stubbornly intact where the doppelganger had left it. A stream of smoke emanated from the tiny buttons that mortals used to control the complex machinery within. The visual screen was also different, rather than the amusing image of a cat that often stalked such machinery there was a haze of colours and lines that looked unintentional to the God of Thunder.

Thor turned back to his compatriots and gave an apologetic shrug. With a gesture, Mjolnir returned to his hand. He tied it to his belt once more before regarding the two mortals.

"Apologies my friends, in other realms such sabotage is oft more destructive."

The LexCorp Building, Metropolis

Clark Kent and Jimmy Olsen were some fifty or sixty paces from the LexCorp building before Kent pulled his colleague aside. It had been a good twenty-five minutes since they had left the Planet and Jimmy had been deathly silent the whole time. Clark had tried to convince Perry that taking Jimmy with him might not have been the best idea but White had insisted. He’d seen on Olsen’s face the moment he told him they were going to the LexCorp building that he was far from pleased. He’d hoped that on the journey over he might have come to terms with it but it was clear that hadn’t happen. Stood under the shade of the LexCorp building Clark let out a sigh as he gestured to Jimmy to take a seat on the bench beside them. They were already running late but Clark figured it was better they were late and Olsen was on side than the young photographer putting his foot in his mouth once they were with Lex.

"What’s wrong, Jimmy?"

Jimmy pouted a little as he played with the camera in his hands.

"It’s nothing."

Clark smiled sympathetically.

"Something’s bugging you. I’ve never seen you so quiet before. You’ve barely said a word the entire walk here. So either you’ve lost your voice or something is bothering you. I might not be much of a betting man but I’m pretty sure it’s the first one."

Jimmy let the camera in his hands go loose and it flopped against his chest. He leant back against the bench and let out a defeated sigh as he eyed the LexCorp building.

"This feels wrong, Clark. We’re not here to write a story or ask questions, we’re here so that Luthor can announce his latest pet project. That’s not news. That’s public relations. Maybe I’m being a little drastic here but this isn’t the kind of thing the Planet ought to be doing."

"What makes you say that?"

There was an uncharacteristic heaviness to Jimmy’s voice. Usually the photographer was cheerful to a fault. Clark had never seen someone take a shellacking from Perry and walk away before he’d met Olsen. It was clear that Jimmy’s reservations about LexCorp were deeply held, maybe even more deeply held than Clark’s were, and the grave look on the photographer’s face reflected that.

"You remember that expose by Ben Ulrich in the Bugle a few years ago? About LexCorp’s gunrunning across central Europe, in Latveria, and in the Middle East? To this day Luthor has never had to account for that. We could ask him about it, Clark. You could ask him about it. Even a “no comment” would count for something, right? It would have to."

Every fiber of Clark’s being agreed with Olsen but he knew it would get them nowhere. For the past half decade he had tried, both in the cape and out of it, to get something to stick to Lex to no avail. He’d even made some traction before Lex created the Justice League. Since then he’d not been able to lay a glove on Luthor or LexCorp.

"That’s not what we’re here for, Jimmy."

Jimmy shook his head with frustration.

"Well, it should be."

"Look, one day Lex Luthor will have to account for all of his misdeeds, I promise you that much, but if I press him on the Latverians we’ll be thrown out in under a minute. Not only that, both of us will be blacklisted before the day is out and the Planet will never get another LexCorp or Justice League scoop again."

Olsen shrugged.

"So what? We should stay quiet because of our… careers? Is that what you’re saying? We should roll over and let Luthor tickle our bellies so the Planet can get first dibs on the next Justice Leaguer?"

"I’m saying we’re only two men, Jimmy, and Lex Luthor is still Lex Luthor."

Jimmy sighed and stared off into the horizon wistfully for a few moments. His eyes glazed over a little as if he were trying to recall something from the back of his mind. He shook his head to himself slightly as he drew a blank and looked to Clark pensively as he tried to piece together the quote that was on the tip of his tongue.

"What was it that Superman said at President Kelly’s inauguration? All it takes is one good man to speak out against inj-"

Partly out of embarrassment Clark interrupted Jimmy.

"Neither of us is Superman. Are you bulletproof? Can you leap a tall building in a single bound? Because last time I checked, neither of us could do that."

"That doesn’t mean we have to do nothing."

Clark rubbed his chin a little as he thought over the implications of going after Lex in their interview. Every single way he played it out in his head it ended badly for them. It wasn’t so much himself that Clark was concerned about but Olsen. Jimmy’s career was in the ascendency after having captured that picture of Clark and Captain America together and being involved in something like this could put an end to that. Clark wasn’t sure he could have that on his conscience. Charging in without a plan, without having thought things through, would be disastrous for everyone involved. If they were going to get Lex they were going to have to play the long game. And Clark was determined to get him eventually.

He looked to Jimmy and smiled.

"We’re not going to. We’re going to bide our time, make Luthor think we’re his best friends, make sure next time he has a story he needs broken or the next event he holds we are the first name on the lists. We’re going to get close enough to him that one day, maybe months or years from now, he’s going to let the mask slip. Then and only then are we going to make our move. Not now, not some soft ball that Luthor can knock out of the park without breaking a sweat, but a haymaker that will send him to the mat so hard he never gets up again."

The disappointment on Olsen’s boyish face disappeared and in its place appeared a smile that managed to seem both shocked and impressed at the same time.

"Jesus, Clark, remind me never to get on your bad side."

Clark let out a laugh, stood up from the bench, and gestured towards the LexCorp building with a smile.

"Now what say we head on inside? We’re already running late. I can’t imagine Luthor is the kind of man that likes to be kept waiting."

The pair of Daily Planet employees climbed up the steps of the LexCorp building and were greeted by a red-haired young woman. She lead them to a special lift that bore only two buttons – “L” for Luthor and “W” for Watchtower. A red-nailed finger clicked on the “L” button and they rode to Luthor’s office in silence. The doors slid openly slowly to reveal not the army of publicists, public relations, and marketing people that Clark had expected, but Lex Luthor, dressed in a plain suit, stood before the window of his office with the setting Sun behind him. His thin lips pursed into a wry smile as he spotted them and they stepped inside.

---

---

A reality very different to our own

---

---

Behold! Doom is come.

We knew not of him, the hooded figure emerging from his magical gateway in our midst. In our naivety we assumed him to be a warlock or spectre and so our mightiest warriors flew out to meet him in battle. Such battle eluded our senses and left many widows in our flock. The Stranger fought with the elements themselves and tore our men to pieces with his power; there were not even bodies to prepare for their passing into the next life.

The Stranger, having proven his ability, was feasted by our wisest elders and given the very altar of the Gods to use as his perch. For his victory he claimed nothing more than a recounting of our history.

That is where I enter the story.

I am a mere stripling in our flock’s reckoning, born too late to be part of the great songs of the past and born too early to lend my voice to the songs of our future.
Like all our folk I am blessed with the form of the Gods themselves, two legs for standing, running and leaping and two arms for gathering, hunting and building. Unlike the Gods our heads are elongated with smooth, sharp and solid beaks jutting from where others would keep their mouths and noses. At the top of our skulls nestles plumage that often reacts to situations around us. From our backs emerge wings, the like of which few can fathom, neither soft and feathered like those of birds, nor rough and hard like those etched on our shrines.

Our wings are the epitome of movement, they allow our flock to hunt more effectively than the greatest land animal and give us the ability to reach new lands in our migrations.

I am without them.

My form is stunted, where the rest of our flock have wings I am fated to have mere extensions of bone so small that I am little more than a land animal. I cannot achieve flight like the others in my nest and, were my father not one of our elders; I would have surely been taken to a height and dropped like a foul egg. My father’s status saved my life but did not allow him to recognise the existence of a stunted child. He has not spoken, touched or so much as looked at me in all the years I have been able to remember.

I am a failure as a daughter but the Gods provide purpose to those in need. Others of my hatch year considered schooling a thing of necessity and, upon the growth of their own wings, made little attempt to continue with their study, instead learning more practical lessons in hunting, gathering and fighting. They became the young wings of the flock and were eventually given a place in one of our castes: the hunters, the gatherers or the warriors. Or they remained with the nests and reared the younger hatchlings in preparation for their own offspring.
Not even the busiest hunters would deign to allow me to tend to their hatchlings so I was put to work writing the stories of our flock and placing them into the great narrative of the Song.

The Song contains all the history of our flock, from the first hatchlings that flew from their own flock right down the ages to me and those I know. For one of our number to know the Song in its entirety is unheard of but I had no other purpose. So I would meet and learn from all the elders and singers in the flock, who would speak to the very air around me rather than acknowledge me outright; I would listen, learn and repeat their sections of the song until I had all the flock’s stories committed to memory.

To sing the entirety of the Song would take days and was known to keep the entire flock still in contemplation for longer still so was only attempted on the most important of occasions.

The Stranger’s coming was such an occasion.

I was led to the feast by an honour guard of widows on behalf of their fallen warrior mates, their wings pressing against my thin frame as they led me onwards. The Stranger had not touched the food before him and sat silently atop our most sacred of altars. The air about him was foreboding and I shivered as the widows left me alone in the centre of the feast.



I felt the Stranger’s eyes upon me even as my father, staring through me as always, gestured for me to begin.

The Song filled my body and mind as one; I basked in the feeling, allowing the words, notes and the weight of history itself to flow through me and into the ears of all around. I sang words that were older than the most ancient of our elders, about the great heroes of our flock as they fought the very heavens themselves to create a lineage that led all the way to me. All around me were misty-eyed, their understanding of everything being challenged and expanded in equal measure, they would remain in the same spot until they had contemplated all that arose in their minds from the Song I was now singing. Hours passed in real time even as years flew by in the song, every account was part of the narrative and going through the generations of each hatch year was exhausting.

All forfeited sustenance and sleep when the Song was being relayed and so the food of the feast went uneaten, the cooking fires burned out and the liquids in their containers slowly began to shimmer at the heat of the day.

I had reached a section of the Song dedicated to the eggs hatched in a given generation of the flock when a voice rang out in the silence of the gathering. It carried above my melody and held its own chords that seemed to shimmer together in the very sound it created.

”Stop.”

The effect that the Stranger’s voice had on the flock was astounding, whether they picked up on the same vocal qualities that I had recognised or were simply reacting to the unfamiliar act of someone daring to interrupt the Song I do not know; but their plumage grew almost rigid, their wings plumed in outrage and a low coo of aggression from some of the hunters began to fill the space.

My father rose and explained to the Stranger that it was our custom for the Song to go uninterrupted, the barely contained fury in his voice masked by the cordial tone he must maintain as host. The Stranger glanced up at him and, even through the immovable façade covering his features, his disdain was clear.

“I care not for your customs, your way of life is as nothing when in the path of Victor Von Doom.”

The coo of aggression had risen to a series of sharp whistles that the hunters used to signal and coordinate their attacks. The Stranger paid them no heed and fixed his gaze upon me. I was unnerved by him, the immovable features, the way his voice sounded in my ears and his clear indifference to all around him. I should have been scared, of our whole flock I was the most vulnerable, those around me could take to the skies in a crisis and evade trouble; I was reliant upon my legs, short even by land animal standards and wholly unsuitable for outrunning pursuit.

But I was not afraid. The Stranger’s eyes were cold, calculating and sharp; they were not the eyes of a mere hunter, a warrior or even those of an elder. His eyes burned with the same intelligence that I liked to imagine my own radiated and, upon the words: ”You, approach.” I made my way to stand, unafraid, before the altar.

”The words you were recounting,” the Stranger’s voice still rang in my ears in an unfamiliar way but no longer unnerved me as it had before, ”They tell of a generation without offspring.”

I nodded softly, the plumage atop my cranium quivering gently, “This is the truth.”

”What caused this?”

I swallowed, wishing for some liquid to soothe my aching throat, “The Song tells of a monstrous foe that came to consume the very heavens. Whole flocks were slain before our people fought it back.” I shrugged, “Illness oft spreads through a flock and it is easier to create a monster that stole our hatchlings than to sing of a sickness that cannot be overcome.”

If the Stranger was impressed at my logical interpretation of the Song he gave no sign of it. He merely rose from the altar and stood before the flock. ”I will be leaving now,” the sharp series of whistles that had been growing despite frantic gestures from the elders now hung in the air as the Stranger stood to his full height. The Stranger then pointed to me, ”This one will be joining me.”

I am not ashamed to confess that I was stunned; that last utterance marked the first occasion that someone had actively recognised my presence rather than addressing the air around them. This evoked a multitude of emotions that my body and mind struggled to process. The prospect of leaving the flock was a fearful one, they had been my source of sustenance, safety and companionship, unwilling as it was, for my entire lifespan. But the Stranger was clearly not from any flock and so was not bound by any traditions that would require him to not acknowledge my presence; he had recognised me as another living thing. Surely this was proof of other beings beyond our understanding, ones who placed no importance on physical appearance and ability. Beings of keen intelligence with a hunger to expand their knowledge, just like me. His eyes gleamed with that sharp sense of intelligence and, as I peered into him once more, I felt a rugged nobility emanate from his frame that I had missed before. Of course I was joining him, fate had thrown the Stranger and I together and now we would follow wherever the wind of destiny carried us.

A shriek of outrage startled me out of my thoughts. My father was beside himself with fury, his plumage was rigid and his beak was unconsciously clicking as it did when he was about to fly into a rage. The flock grew very still, feast forgotten, the malevolence in their hearts was clear to me now. Any moment now they would launch themselves bodily at the Stranger until he was swallowed into a mass of beaks, feathers and claws.
“You ask for one of our flock,” My father sputtered,before glancing at the other elders, “A stupid, stunted failure but…” He drew himself up to his full height and stared into the unmoving features of the Stranger, “A member of the flock regardless. She is ours.” The last of his words came out in a forceful squawk, more akin to the birds that our people would send their newly winged offspring to catch than to the elder of a flock.

”You are mistaken.” The words rumble from the Stranger and the force of them caused my father to step back reflexively. ”Doom does not ask.”

This final statement caused whatever restraint the hunters had to vanish. With whooping cries they launched themselves at the Stranger, many of them made contact and the mass of violence that I had predicted sent a ripple of activity through the entire flock. Hatchlings were hurried away by panicked carers and parents, gatherers hurried in all directions, some leaving the feast area taking to the sky altogether. Never before had violence broken out amidst the flock at such a peaceful occasion and this left many in the flock unclear about their course of action.

The flurry of wings, fabric, armoured limbs and enraged combatants reformed itself into a visible conflict. I gaped openly; the Stranger was withstanding the attacks of the hunters and was, using his powerful limbs, striking back at them with punishing blows. The enclosed space was keeping many of the hunters from taking to the sky and so their traditional tactics were untenable. Their lack of space was even placing them in each other’s way as they attempted to strike at the Stranger but found themselves waylaid by the bodies and wings of their fellows. The Stranger was taking advantage of this and, rather than expend the awesome powers he had used to eradicate our warriors, he was content to use his strength to beat the attackers into submission.

My father grabbed my arm and began to pull me away from the melee. I was shocked, the very act of touching me could have him exiled from the flock, but I was also outraged. I struggled from his grip and took a step away, he hissed in anger. “Come with me child, we must keep you away from this monster.”
I shook my head, “Now you notice me, when someone else wants me. I am not a trophy for you and the flock!”
My father stopped, his expression shifting into one of hurt, “You were never that, you are my daughter-”

I spun away, tears filling my eyes; I did not want to hear such things, not today when I could escape such treacherous thoughts. But I could not escape the look in his eyes, as if he was the injured party in this matter. I felt my tears and the sensation filled me with rage, after all these years how dare he make me feel guilty.

With my plumage quivering in anger I turned back towards my father, intent on saying all that I had kept in check for years, finally telling him how I had felt when he had maintained the traditions and had not even spoken to me as a daughter, had not even treated me like a person.

I turned to see my father struggling in the arms of the Stranger, hunters lay in unnatural positions all around the feast floor and I knew them to be dead, upon seeing my face my father made an effort to talk but, with a twist from the Stranger, he fell lifeless to the floor.

Silence reigned.

I studied my father’s face, set in that same hurt expression at what were now my final words to him. I found myself wondering absently if I regretted what I had said to him before realising to myself that I did not. Our interaction, fleeting as it had been, was the logical culmination of everything that had occurred up until that moment.

The Stranger studied me, his chest rose and fell slightly at what must have been a monumental physical exertion. But, when he spoke, his voice rang as clear as ever.

“You will come with me.”

I nod slightly, my eyes not moving from those of my father. “Your will, my lord.”

The Stranger took a step towards me and knelt so his face was at my eye level, I looked up at him and realised that what I had assumed was an expressionless face was a manmade facsimile, covering his true features. Whatever expression he truly held, I would never see it.

”You have no feeling towards this?” It was not a question, not truly, I just choose to remember it as such given that I answered him.

“No, their flock was not mine.”

"What is your name wingless one?"

His eyes saw right through me but not in the way that the flock’s had, where they chose to see nothing, the Stranger saw everything. I felt naked before his gaze but did not shy away.

“Vahl-eyr-iah.”

There was a momentary flicker in the Stranger’s eyes, so sudden and so brief that it was so easy to dismiss it as my own imagining. He stood and gestured away from the array of bodies, away from the flock.

“I am Doom, come Valeria, we are going to find your monster.”

Captain America’s words came as a bit of a shock to Scott. He gave an awkward chuckled and shrugged his shoulders during the Captain’s attempt at proving to Scott that he was the real deal. Honestly the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind in the slightest before Thor mentioned it in that intimidating manner of his, although now Scott truly had no doubts at all. It seemed Steve really knew his stuff on the two of them. The thought made Scott smile, who briefly thought back to the before mentioned events. To be fair, no one specifically said that he couldn’t make use of his ants at the time of the team’s poker games. As for the children’s party, Steve had scheduled a large amount of team training the week before. Plus, Cassie was a fan!

He was snapped out of his thoughts due to the perturbed look upon Thor’s face. The Norse God only made such an expression during times of danger. That was when Scott heard it too, a hum resonating from the computer from which the Captain’s imposter had been working. Scott was about to step towards it in an act of stupidity, when he found Thor thrusting his arms in front of him, in an effort to shield him from the potential blast. Scott eyes snapped shut in shock. He waited. Waiting for the impending explosion. Yet nothing came. Just a small pop and the crackling sound of electricity.

As Thor slowly shifted away, Scott laid eyes on the scene of the incident. The computer was still there, looking mildly damaged, yet still mostly intact. Scott gave a short sigh of relief.

“Well that was all overly dramatic for nothing!” He commented aloud, moving around Thor and approaching the computer system.

Upon closer inspection he found that despite his previous observations, the thing was truly broken, with the desktop’s resident cat photo replaced with that of a mass of brightly coloured lines. The computer was fried. Scott let out a small groan of annoyance. This made tracking whatever Captain America’s imposter was doing much difficult. The computer acted as an access port to the entire system, meaning that whoever it had been, could have been doing anything. What more, the broken computer also meant the erasure of Scott’s minesweeper high score. Today had truly been a dark day.

Turning back to face his teammates, Scott gave them a frown.

“Looks like we’re not going to be getting anything out of this easily.” He summarised, glancing back down at it.

Grabbing his helmet from the side where he had placed it, Scott made his way towards the door.

“I’ll head down to IT.” He continued. “See if they can send up anyone to help sort this thing out. It’ll give the poor guys down there something interesting to do for once.”



Numerous floors below those owned by the Justice League, lies LexCorp’s IT department. The place seemed unnaturally empty at first when Scott walked in. The overhead lights were switched off, leaving the room submerged in darkness, save for the occasional flashing blink from one of the main old computer servers that lined the walls. The things were merely there for aesthetical reasons of course, with the tower’s servers actually being held in a more secure location within the basement. Nevertheless, along with the messy desks and the numerous cups of coffee dotted about, they really tied the room together into a look that one could only assume was that of an IT department.

Glancing around, Scott thought he was alone until he caught sight of someone at one of the desks towards the back, their eyes fixated on the screen. Approaching, a smile formed across Scott’s face as he realized who it was. Raz Malhotra had been working at a company named Techbusters as a computer technician when Scott had met him. After being hired by a supervillain known as Egghead (yes, really.), he was soon mind controlled into helping him with his dastardly plans. That had been until Ant-Man had intervened, along with Hank Pym. After the three of them had taken down the villain, Scott got Raz at job at LexCorp in order to thank him, with the two becoming good friends ever since.

“Raz! My man!” Scott exclaimed as he approached. “How you doing?”

Raz looked up from his screen slowly, obviously sleep deprived. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of Scott, although he stayed silent. All that came out of his mouth as he opened it was a long yawn. Scott continued.

“Yeah, so we’ve got a situation upstairs. Don’t know if you’ve heard, but some guy broke in looking exactly the same as Cap’. Sabotaged the computer he was working on, so we were wondering if someone down here could pop up and…”

Raz raised his hand slightly to interrupt him.

“Yeah, I’ll go up in a minute Scott…”

His voice wavered slightly, with Raz turned back to his screen. He typed away for a second before turning it so that it was facing Scott. On the screen was the email Scott that had received the night before from Hank. The email about those weird bug robots.

“First things first though, Hank has been messaging me all morning.” Raz said, his voice filled with agitation. “There’s been a situation.”

Ivy finally broke contact with the dead boy as the metal man moved in. She gave him space as he knelt. The simple act of praying for the boy surprised her. Or rather she assumed it was a prayer from his kneeling position. Most of the time humanity was woefully predictable, but other times, times like this surprised Ivy. A simple gesture. It wasn't enough to restore her faith in mankind. But it did remind her why she sought to protect the innocent.

"Purifiers?" Ivy echoed back. It was a rhetorical question. After her brush with the law in Poland she couldn't afford to be here either when they showed. She resented the fact that she had been gone. If she hadn't she could have remained. If she hadn't Sarah would have still been home. So all the other questions she wanted to ask him; Like how did he know Sarah was a mutant, took a back seat to escaping.

Ivy excited the small room into the living room. Through the massive hole in the wall the sirens were louder. Close, if not on the scene. Ivy observed this distractedly. She cast her gaze around the room looking for the old woman. If time was of the essence Ivy was willing to confront both the woman and the police and anyone else who stood in her way. She needed to find David because David was her only lead. And that was the clincher.

The older woman was huddled by the door, eyes wide. Ivy made a beeline straight towards her. The woman muttered something under her breath. Under the circumstance and the movement of her lips, Ivy assumed she said something along the lines of 'My God'. A lot of that going around. And where was God? Nowhere.

By the time she reached the older woman Ivy's pheromones were in full bloom. The older woman's posture loosened up and she looked at Ivy with something nearing calm.

"Where's David?" Ivy pressed.

"Not here." The woman's voice was vague and Ivy made a face. She still wasn't as good with this whole mind control thing.

"Where did he go?" Ivy tried again. If the old woman said away Ivy just might loose her weird calm and do something stupid.

"Probably to his friends?" This time the woman was actually helpful.

"Who are they?" Ivy could hear the cops coming up the stairs. Metal man was probably gone, but all her attention was on keeping her pheromones at a constant level, and she couldn't afford to look.

"I don't know." The older woman blinked at Ivy. "I know you."

Ivy mentally checked the levels and adjusted them. The placid look returned to the older woman. "Tell me what you know."

"They hold meetings sometimes at..." The last part of the woman's words were cut off by the police barging in with guns raised. Ivy threw her arms around the older woman and assumed her best shell shocked expression.

"Don't shoot!" Ivy cried out in terror.

Thirty minutes later Ivy walked out of the apartment building with her arm still around the older woman. Ironically really that it was confirmed that she was David's mother. Ivy had promised the police she'd take the woman to her house. Pretending to be David's lover had it's perks. Like being able to walk off with a key witness. Morons. The lot of them. Amazing that between the group of them they could spell perpetrator. It was the metal man was slated as being the instigator. Something Ivy didn't dissuade them of. Apparently the mutant really got around on the wrong side of the law. Next time she saw him she's break his bones until he told her why he wanted Sarah. Any criminal was never coming near her almost-daughter.

LexCorp Building, Metropolis

The lift to Lex’s office shut behind Clark and Jimmy and they wandered towards the waiting billionaire with sheepish smiles. Once they were within a few feet he bounded towards them and shook their hands. Jimmy’s first, Lex’s eyes barely acknowledging him as he did it, and then Clark’s with a heightened sense of significance. Through the smile there was a glimmer of the predator that lay under the skin.

"Clark Kent and Jimmy Olsen, I presume? You’re late."

"Apologies. The traffic on the way over was a little worse than we anticipated. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Luthor. I’ve admired your work with the Justice League for many years so I was ecstatic when I heard we’d be getting a chance to sit down with you this afternoon."

There was a hint of suspicion in Lex’s eyes.

"Do I detect a hint of an accent?"

"Yes, well, I grew up i-"

Luthor pulled Clark closer to him.

"Don’t tell me. Between the broad shoulders and the “aw, shucks” mannerisms you have Southern written all over you. Am I close?"

An approving nod from Clark indicated to Luthor that his observation was on the mark. Clark had thought his accent had all but disappeared since he’d arrived in Metropolis but it seemed that Luthor was on to it. It was a wonder he hadn’t heard it in Superman’s voice too. Though perhaps he was too blinded by the fact the Man of Steel had been the only person to ever say no to him in his life to notice. Either way, Clark was thankful.

"Okla-… No, you don’t strike me as an Oklahoman."

Clark smiled playfully.

"I would hope not."

Lex’s eyes narrowed as he eyed Clark up and down for a second. The brilliant mind behind them went into overdrive as he attempted to assess every detail about the Daily Planet reporter stood before him. After a few seconds Lex nodded assuredly and spoke Clark’s state of origin without an ounce of uncertainty to his voice.

"Kansas."

Clark nodded.

"Very good. You might have a future as a PI if this whole multi-billionaire business doesn’t work out for you. I can’t imagine it pays as well."

Lex looked in Jimmy’s direction.

"What about you?"

Olsen hesitated to answer, his disdain for Lex worn recognizably on his face, but beneath the glaze of Clark’s piercing blue eyes he relented. The disdain slid away and an insincere smile appeared on Jimmy Olsen’s face. He gestured out of the window of Lex’s office towards the Daily Planet building.

"Metropolis born and raised."

Lex smiled.

"Ah, a fellow native son of the Big Apricot. Perhaps the impulse that lead me to book this interview with the Daily Planet is the same that lead you into its employ. We Metropolitans are a loyal bunch, are we not? And there is no greater an institution in all of Metropolis than the Daily Planet. Except for LexCorp, of course."

Clark reached into the inside pocket of his suit and pulled out a notepad and a pen. He was one of the few reporters left at the Daily Planet that eschewed the use of tablets and laptops in favour of the written hand. There was something about the sensation of writing with your own hand. No screen or keyboard could ever quite capture it. A pen and a notepad made him feel more engrossed in his work. He pointed towards some chairs at the centre of the room with a smile.

"What say we get started?"

Lex nodded.

"I’m ready when you are, Mr. Kent."

Luthor and Kent spoke for the best part of twenty-five minutes, touching on the Justice League, the Mutant Registration Act and Lex’s support for it, and the philanthropic work LexCorp had been engaged in across the African subcontinent. That last point in particular had elicited a few dirty looks for Clark from Jimmy but it had to be done. As he’d said to Olsen outside, he wanted to make sure he was on Lex’s good side and if that meant buttering him up, as stomach-churning as it might have been, he was going to do exactly that. It would all be worth it when Clark finally took him down.

"That brings us to the big reveal. The whole city is abuzz with news that LexCorp is on the brink of a discovery that is going to define the next century, Lex. Is there any truth to that? And if so, could you share with us what that discovery is? I know our readers would love to hear about it."

Lex’s wry smile reappeared on his face.

"I am so loathe to disappoint the people of Metropolis."

He stood up from his seat and walked towards the wall of his office. One of his hands pressed against a stone panel on the wall and a flash of light illuminated his hand as it verified his palm print. The stone panel slid away and Lex reached inside and withdrew a box no larger than a baseball from inside. The stone panel slid shut and he returned to his seat and he brandished the box in Clark and Jimmy’s direction.

"Obviously I cannot go into the specifics of what’s been going on here in the past few weeks, but I can show you this much."

Lex flicked open the box to reveal a piece of green rock. Jimmy lowered the camera for his eye and stared at the shard with an intrigued frown.

"What is it?"

"A slither of meteor rock that fell to Earth some three decades ago and has confounded every scientist that has got his hands on it since. Reed Richards, Tony Stark, Hank Pym. You name them. They’ve all tried to engineer a power source from this thing and failed. I believe I have found a way to extract clean energy from it that will put an end to climate change and help us tackle global warming."

Beside Jimmy, Clark’s face had gone pallid and his limbs numb. There was something about the rock that seemed to have weakened him, every second since the box had opened felt like a lifetime, and he could barely sit upright in his seat. He tried to steel himself a little but the nausea in the pit of his stomach made it hard for him to even think. Olsen looked over to his colleague with concern as a groan left Clark’s lips.

"Are you okay? You look a little sickly, Clark."

Through the cold sweats, Clark struggled to shake his head.

"It’s… It’s fine… I just feel a little…"

Suddenly Clark’s body was as a dead weight and he slid from his seat and onto the ground in front of him. Olsen leapt to his aid and tried to prop Clark up against the seat but struggled with his weight. Lex closed the box, cantered over and lifted the Kansan up against the seat with ease. There was a strength to Luthor that was hidden beneath that suit. Though he didn’t look the part and it wasn’t often spoken about, he had turned his body into as finely tuned a machine as his brain. He reached for a glass on the table beside them and handed it to Clark with a smile.

"Here, Kent, drink this, would you? I can’t have you vomiting on the rug. I could have bought the Metropolis Meteors with the money I spent on this thing."

With the box closed, the colour slowly started to seep back into his face. He took a gulp from the glass Lex had handed him and screwed his face up a little as he tasted its contents.

"Is this... champagne?"

Lex shrugged.

"This is a celebration of sorts, isn't it? It seems to have done its job too from the looks of it. You’re no long translucent at least."

Clark smiled queasily as he gazed over the little box that now rested on Lex’s seat. With one hand he wiped away the cold sweat that had collected on his forehead. Jimmy was staring down at Kent, his shirt drenched through with sweat and his eye still slightly blackened, and couldn’t help but feel sorry for him a little. Clark’s weak smile seemed to put his worries at ease. Luthor extended his forearm to Clark and pulled Kent up to his feet with a grin.

"Now what say we finish this thing? Thor gets a little restless if I don’t point him in the direction of an adversary to pound into the ground with that hammer of his and I do believe it’s been a good… six hours since he’s done so."

Richard Rider was dreaming. He was dreaming of Earth, a home he had not in seemingly a lifetime. He dreamed of the quiet suburbs of Long Island and of his house where he would play basketball and street hockey with his friends, he dreamed of the smell of the ocean air and the feeling of hot sand beneath his feet. He dreamed of the sweet strawberry taste of Suzan Armstrong lips in the cold winter air one January night. In his dreams Rhomann Dey never came down from the stars, in his dreams he got to leave out the story and life that he expected to have. The small house somewhere in the country, the well paying job, the loving wife and the two point five children and a dog. In his dreams he never dreaded waking up and he never missed the seemingly simple things of life like the sound of a sprinkle in the summer morning slowly rotating about or the soft chirping of birds in the early morning of spring.

The sound of the intercomm piping into his room woke him up. The voice that came through was soft and feminine but he knew it wasn't any person it was a robot cleverly disguised. A robot which over his years in the Nova Corps he had learned to hate and dread. They didn't use the intercom to wake you up unless something very important or something very terrible had happened. Considering his current luck with things Rider had figured that it was the latter. He rolled out of his small bunk and hit the floor naked as the day he was born. His small room in the Nova Corps compound was relatively small in it’s structure and was a stark white in color the floor polished to the point that he could see his own reflection looking back up at him. He stumbled towards to the side door that lead into his bathroom and looked up at the face in the mirror.

The man that now looked at him was much different than the stranger that had left Earth all those years ago as nothing more than a boy. Richard was barely in his mid thirties but looked at least a decade older from the stress and general toll of his word.His eyes had dulled over the years having lost the enthusiasm and excitement that once danced within them, replaced with a lonely determination that came through seeing some of the worst that the galaxy could throw at him. Dark circles laced beneath them currently a testament to his lack of proper sleep that the current affairs had him dealing with. Brown hair once long and free had been cut close to his head and now had shocks of white matched by an unshaved face where a solid beard was starting to form. Richard sighed as he cupped the water in his hands and splashed his face - it seemed he wouldn't have time for a shower today yet again.

Walking out of the bathroom he quickly pulled his gear out of the trunk underneath his bed pulling it out from artifacts that had taken with him from earth. A picture frame holding a picture of him and his family, an old football and a school yearbook all that was left of his life on Earth. As far as his parents knew he was a missing child having run away from home years ago. It was easier that way of course, easier for them not to know what had really happened to their son. He ran his hand over the picture frame once and gave the football an affirmative squeeze. It was still firm as he continually kept putting air into it even though he had not used the thing. The intercom sounded again and the robot even sounded half annoyed, shaking his head Richard took out his suit from the trunk and closed it with a solid thunk.

Once he was suited up Richard made his way out of his rooms and through the winding passages of the base at a slight jog. The other members of the Nova Corps nodded as he passed some of them even called out to them and he give them a friendly wave as he bobbed and waved his way through the crowd. Eventually he found his way to the center of the complex mission control as he liked to call it. It was a fitting nickname, a large circular room filled with computers and displays of all shapes and sizes as communication and tech officers monitored information from across the greater known universe. It was here that all Nova Corps operations were put together and monitored. In many ways it was one of the most important rooms in the galaxy. When he had first joined the amount of activity going on around him made his head spin. Now, he moved about it like it was a part of him as he made his way towards the center of the room.

At the center of the room was a familiar face pacing about the central display. Blonde hair, fiery and beautiful those were the words that immediately came to his mind when he thought of Lindy Nolan. She was another human like him drafted by the Worldmind, and one of the best combatants in the entire corps beside Richard of course. She turned as she heard him approach her a perfect image of despair

“Lindy? What in the world is going on? I went to sleep for an hour and then the intercom is yelling it’s head off for me to get down here.”

“It’s about Kray.” Nolan spoke her normally strong and proud voice sounding like it was in a windstorm swallowed up by the world around her. Richard’s heart sank almost immediately at the mention of the outer lying mining world. That was where they were fighting him, they had an operation planned for weeks and it seemed like it was finally going to be over that they were going to be able to stop the deaths and the destruction once and for all. But from Linda’s expression and voice Richard could already guess what happened.

“What Corpsmen Nolan is trying to say is that our forces on Kray were destroyed to the man.” A cold robotic voice sounded out from seemingly inside of Richard’s own head. It was the Worldmind of course, despite having been a member of the corps for as long as he had he still couldn't get over the shivers that went down his back when it spoke. He wanted to chastized it for being as blunt as it was that those people they had lost were men and women where their friends but he held his tongue. The Worldmind was endlessly complex and trying to argue semantics with it would only result in a headache that he couldn't deal with right now.

“He... left us a video.” Lindy spoke as she pressed a button on the main display. The picture changed from an image of Xandar floating in space to that of a frozen picture of Thanos himself standing alone in a field of corpses surronding him, he looked unscaved by the battle beside the only mark of combat being the blood that coated his fists. He looked very.... pleased with himself, pleased at the destruction that he had caused. Richard started at the image of the titan that had caused him such pain and misery over the past few months, his force of death and destruction coming seemingly out of nowhere and slowly destroying thousands of worlds like Kray, thousands of worlds they had sworn to protect. Richard grabbed the edge of the display with a tense grip hard enough for his fingers to began to dent the very metal itself.

“Play it.”

---

“I know you are watching this pitiful creatures. Shriveling in your homes and dwellings wetting yourself in fright as this is broadcast across your Galaxy. I’m the champion of death, I’m the destroyer of worlds, I’m your god. I am Thanos. I send this message out to you all as a warning. If you resist my forces and go against my will this is your fate. This is what happens to those that go against Thanos, this is the fate of your so called protectors the Nova Corps. If you go quietly I can promise you a quick and honorable death but fight me and you will perish slowly the worthless animals you are.” Thanos watched as the light on the floating camera orb in front of him turned off. He nodded to himself pleased as he surveyed the carnage and death in front of him. He was almost disappointed at how easily the battle had been one, he had expected the defenders of Kray to put up a better fight, a fight that he could relish in, a true battle. But instead they shattered too quickly, breaking rank and fleeing as they watched Titan carve through their army without breaking a sweat seemingly impervious to any damage that was thrown his way. Even the Corpsman with them with their abilities and powers were no much for him as they were easily crushed beneath his fists.

Nebula soon appeared next to him as he surveyed the carnage about him hands clasped behind him. She stayed silent not daring to interrupt his meditations.

“Speak child.”

“Our forces have finished mopping up what remained of the opposing army, the planet is as good as ours Overmaster.” Nebula spoke as she bowed despite the pain still flaring in her ribs.

“Good round up all the able bodied men and woman and get them onto the ships.We need more slaves to keep our forces running.”

“Gamora is already on the task sir.”

“Well I want it done quicker. And once that is done have our ships drop the nuclear payload from orbit. I wants this wretched world wiped off the face of the galaxy.”

“Understood.”

Lester was breathing hard as he hit the sidewalk, blood oozing past his eyes, down the bridge of his nose and into his mouth. He savoured it, for a moment, spreading it along his teeth before spitting it onto the concrete he was face-down on. He whirled around to face the black car again, where The Kingpin stared at him. Lester gave him a toothy, unhinged grin, and the sight - the newly-carved ring on his forehead dripping blood across his face, seeping into the cracks and wrinkles, and through it all burnt two fierce pin-prick eyes and a tainted smile - almost made him recoil. Instead, Wilson Fisk stared on, steely and unforgiving.

"Disgusting."

The door shut. The car drove away. Lester fished a rag from his coat pocket and pressed it to his forehead, before managing to stand and stumbling away.

-

Lester Sullivan had spent only an hour in that terrible car, trapped between the most powerful and threatening man in the city and his aide, a smartly-dressed and well-spoken man who, nonetheless, was all too eager to carve up Lester's face at Fisk's mere mention. Lester had met plenty of men like him; sociopaths who hid it well beneath a thin veneer of courtesy and wealthy taste, skilled at the seedy sides of life while walking in the penthouse light. Undoubtedly loyal, viciously sadistic, exceedingly calculated. Almost as dangerous as Fisk himself...but there was something else that The Kingpin exuded. An unknowable quality that proved Wilson Fisk undoubtedly and overwhelmingly qualified for his position in New York's underground. Many crime lords before Fisk were adept at ruining the bodies of men; few managed to ruin the businesses of men like Fisk. None managed to ruin the lives and futures of men like The Kingpin did.

Lester had made it back to a safehouse; an old loft apartment in a forgotten and condemned building that, somehow, had never been demolished; he stood in the bathroom now, a propped up sheet of mirrored glass in front of him and a liter bottle of water sat on the box beside him.

Carefully, he pulled back the rag, wetting it and wringing out as much blood as he could before he used more water to wash his face and rinse his mouth, before grabbing another rag and wetting it to wash the wound itself. Fisk had talked at length about debt, about owed payments, about setting examples. He had spoken about Lester's ill-fated attempt to extort arms from one of Fisk's dealers; how to take from his employees was to cut into the flesh of his empire. Then he had spoken of 'what goes around', and Lester had suddenly found himself pinned, the knife working into his forehead. He'd screamed, filled with pain he'd never felt before, and Kingpin had just sat across from him, his face not even making a single micro-movement. When the knife was done, Kingpin had offered him a deal: exile from his city, and a black mark across his name forever, or a chance to make reparations on his debt. Lester had chosen his shot at redemption.

And now, here he was; wounded, pride beaten, but with an assignment and a lead; a generous gift from Fisk's aide. Lester Sullivan was to find the Devil of Hell's Kitchen - the first man to cause The Kingpin to worry in ten years, and the first man Sullivan had missed - and to bring him, dead or alive, to Fisk's feet. Fisk would prefer alive. Another hour went by as Lester tended to his forehead and prepared for the coming night, a faint ring of blood seeping through the bandage as he busied himself.

-

Early before the sun fell on Hell's Kitchen and night began its descent, Lester hurried through the city to the projects: large plots of construction The Kingpin was anonymously pouring money into in a rigged investment ploy, bringing international opportunities to his empire, and massive revenue to his wallet. In the middle there was a lower building, mostly empty save for drywall and timber forming the basic layout of what would end up an office block flanking apartments. Bottom floor, dead center, was Lester's meet - with the arms dealer that he had begun this foray with. She was less than pleased to be working with him; the trained guns that kept their barrels on Lester's body at all times ensured the feeling was mutual. Regardless of any strife between the two, however, they greeted each other politely, and Lester was quickly lead deeper into the building, where the dealer's van sat, back doors wide open, and the single most beautiful array of armaments Lester Sullivan had ever laid eyes upon arranged out in front of him upon a portable wooden table.

"He said to set you up with whatever gear you needed - the job will cover the cost. Assuming you complete it." Said the dealer, and Lester ignored her, instead pausing to examine each and every article, picking each piece up deftly and admiring the artisan manufacture and graceful workmanship. Three rifles, two assault and one heavy-caliber, all made to the most cutting-edge military standard; sub-machine guns all polished, oiled, capable of delivering bullets at rates Sullivan had only dreamed of; pistols of various sizes and power, ranging from denting wood to putting holes through several sheets of metal; and then, among all the high-powered, high-caliber gear, sat the only weapon Lester cared about. A single, hand-crafted, custom-made knife, with perfect balance and a divine blade. He took it from the table, spinning it in his hand, flicking it this way and that, testing the weight, the speed, the feel of it cutting through the air. Yes, he thought, this will be my weapon to take the Devil's heart. This, and only one other thing...

Sullivan turned to the dealer. "I'm taking the knife. You can keep the rest; but I need a custom piece. And it has to be ready by tonight."
The dealer met Sullivan's gaze, and the giddy ferocity there sparked something inside her - she wasn't sure if it was admiration or fear, but she knew she couldn't ignore it.

"Sure. I'm listening."

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

“Robin.”

Miles nodded. Robin suited the kid. Whether his parents named him so because of the bird or the folk hero, it fit him well – despite his best efforts, he was a little chirpy, and he did just save an old lady from being robbed.

“I guess I’ll see you around, then, Robin,” he said, beginning to turn to follow Mayo. “Nice meeting you. Tell Chuck and Bruce I said hi.” At that, he left.

Condiment King made it to the police without any hassle. He let them escort him to their cruiser with his head hung low, his shoulders quivering as he cried.

Miles watched from a nearby roof, thinking thoughts about child ninjas laughing into the barrel of a gun, and of sad men just doing their best to get by. He thought of money. Of how it could compel people to do the unthinkable.

He thought about Spider-Man.



The next few days passed without incident. No kids from the Matrix stopping muggers in Central Park. No so-called supercriminals attacking him because of some bounty on his head. There was only class and lunch. Study and bed.

The “study group” came together on more frequent occasions, moulding into tradition. They’d come to the library every day after the last period would end, sitting at the same table they’d sat at in their first get-together. Some of the time, they’d actually study. But Miles couldn’t lie to himself – most of the time, they used the group as an excuse to hang out. To talk.

Kate Bishop continued to elude Miles. Despite having passed her physics exam, she kept coming to the group. For whatever reason, she seemed to like hanging out with them, something that Miles just couldn’t wrap his head around, because, well… Ganke, whose fifteenth birthday was just around the corner, never stopped talking about Lego, Judge was a closet hipster, and Lana was… well, Lana. And then there was Miles. The guy who for some reason was always the last to arrive and the first to leave, who couldn’t help but get on edge whenever someone mentioned superheroes or Spider-Man – who always arrived with a new cut, scrape or bruise, injuries that he tried so desperately to hide. Why Kate Bishop, a girl with all the money, popularity and normality in the world, would want to hang out with them was a complete mystery – one that Miles was okay with.

Now, he sat at the study group’s table. He’d arrived earlier than usual, the earliest he’d ever been. First. Sitting alone, he went through the motions of studying; notebook out, pencil in hand, an open but otherwise untouched textbook waiting to be read. He didn’t hear Kate when she got there, or when she sat down; when she said hi or when she asked if he was okay.

No. He only heard her when she flung her pencil at his forehead.

“Miles,” she said, if a bit exasperatedly, as he jerked up in his seat. He’d been staring into space, preoccupied with his thoughts – Wait, when did Kate get here?

“Uh, Kate – hi,” he said, scrambling to recover his composure. “I, uh, didn't hear you come in.”

“Yeah. Or when I said hi. Or when I asked if you were okay,” she half-drawled, half-stated, looking him in the eye.

Miles avoided her gaze.

“Are you okay, Miles?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded unconvincingly. Kate raised an eyebrow. “It’s just – no, nevermind.”

“What?”

Miles bit on his bottom lip, trying to get his thoughts in order. “Has anyone ever been out to get you? I mean, for no reason. They just… want to mess with you because they can.”

Kate snorted. “You have no idea.”

“Well… what did you do?”

She looked him in the eye. This time, he didn’t look away. “I found out what the problem was,” she said, “And I fixed it.”

She fixed the problem.

Roxxon.

According to the address I got online, the Brown residence is located in Chelsea, not terribly far from the Daily Bugle headquarters. With dusk fast approaching, I decide to take a swing around that way to check on my suspicions. The open air gives me time to reflect on the strange turn of events that have taken place in Peter Parker's life. In the space of a few days, I went from being totally, undeniably single to double-booking dates with Gwen Stacy and Mary Jane Watson! I'd be flattered if I didn't suspect that I was just being used as a pawn in some kind of girl-world power play. Still, I'm in no position to turn down the attention. And honestly, while dinner with MJ turned out to be a lot of fun, I'm not putting too much stock into that. Sure, there were sparks, but then again: Mary Jane Watson could have chemistry with a wooden plank! Meanwhile, I'm extremely curious how things with Gwen are going to go...

Before I know it, I've arrived at the proper neighborhood. It's unassuming enough, but this is coming from the wall-crawler who grew up in Forest Hills. Luckily, the streets are mostly clear, so I make my approach unnoticed. I swing over to the building in question, sticking effortlessly to the red brick facing. The address says that the Browns live on the fourth floor, so I start crawling in that direction. The windows loom above me, and I slowly sneak a peek inside. The apartment is pleasant if a little bare. The first thing that jumps out at me are the moving boxes piled against the wall. So, the Browns are new in town? That fits with the timeline of Spoiler's appearance, but it's hardly damning evidence. Shifting my weight, I crawl over to the adjacent window.

This one looks into a bedroom: Stephanie's bedroom, from the looks of it. There are moving boxes here, too, but the younger Brown is further along in the unpacking process. In fact, she's already started decorating. On a shelf along the far wall, Stephanie has constructed a display of her various awards. I squint hard enough to make out the little bronze gymnasts posing atop the trophies. Before I've had time to consider that fully, my Spider-Sense gives me a light buzz. I duck away from the window just as someone comes through the bedroom door. This must be our "guest of honor." I hear the door close and wait for the buzzing to stop before peering through the window once more. With her back to me, Stephanie crosses the bedroom towards the closet. She shrugs out of her hoodie, giving an audible wince as she strips down to a white tank top. As she turns to examine herself in the full-length mirror on the closet door, I spy her bandaged shoulder. Steph peels away the bandage to reveal a gnarly bruise. It's exactly the kind of injury I've grown used to lying about.

I crawl away from the window before Stephanie can catch me spying. I think I've seen everything I need to see for now. The evidence in favor of Ms. Brown being my purple-hooded crimefighter is start to mount; with the sun dropping low in the sky, I suspect it'll only take a little patience to know for sure. Luckily, I happened to bring some class reading in my web pack, so I'm all set for a stakeout. Firing a web-line across the street, I vault myself up onto the roof of the building opposite Stephanie's, perfectly overlooking her bedroom window. If Spoiler makes a move tonight, I'll know about it.

About an hour passes as I sit with one leg dangling over the ledge, trying to make sense of this paper on atomic density. The lighting conditions have started to turn on me, so I've got my phone out as an impromptu flashlight. All down the street, windows are lighting up like lights on a Christmas tree. I yawn and turn over my phone to check the time. Just as I'm about to accept that tonight might not be the night, I hear the telltale sound of a window slowly creaking open. Quickly extinguishing my phone, I lean over to see a hooded figure ducking out of Stephanie's window. "Jackpot." Spoiler bounds up the fire escape towards her roof, and I quickly gather my things. Giving the web pack a fresh spray to seal everything inside, I throw it over my shoulder and start shadowing Spoiler's movements across the rooftops opposite me. As she reaches the end of the block, she takes out her grappling hook and swings high above the intersection. I follow suit on a web-line, easily closing the distance.

"Well, this is embarrassing. Don't tell me Mrs. Davis also booked you for little Timmy's birthday party!"

Spoiler's head jerks around as I announce myself. Although the mask hides her facial expression, her tone says it all. "Spider-Man! Have you been following me?"

"You didn't leave me much choice, seeing as I didn't get your autograph the last time we met," I answer.

Spoiler growls under her breath and swings up towards a nearby rooftop, dismounting from her grappling hook with a little flip. No sooner have I landed behind her than she comes storming in my direction. She jabs a single, annoyed finger into my chest as she says, "I told you not to follow me!"

"Oooooh, that was like a 'general rule' type thing? I thought you just meant that one time."

She clenches her fists, and for a second I wonder if she's going to throw a punch. But the Spider-Sense doesn't register anything, and the punch never comes. Instead, she merely seethes beneath her hood. This time, the accusatory finger is thrust in front of my face for increased emphasis. "Why? Why do you insist on meddling with my crusade? Haven't you done enough damage already?" She throws her hands up and yells before turning to storm off.

I snort derisively. "Your 'crusade?' Wow. That is one inflated sense of self-worth coming from the girl lashing out against Daddy dearest." The way she freezes in place gives me all the confirmation I need that my theory is correct. As Spoiler turns to face me again, I continue, "Yeah, I figured out who you are and why you're doing this. That line you threw at me, down at the docks? It wasn't yours. It was your father's."

"I don't have a father!" she spits. "Not anymore."

"That's all well and good, and I don't blame you for being angry, but have you given this any thought whatsoever?" Sighing, I place my hands on my hips. "Look, whether you believe this or not, I was in your shoes once. The angsty teenage crimefighter, angry at the world and out for vengeance? Yeah. Been there, done that, have the pictures to prove it. But if you're not careful, it's a good way to get yourself killed."

"I was doing just fine before you came along," Spoiler sneers.

I shrug. "Maybe. You wanna know the truth? You're small-time. If your father's half the criminal he appears to be, you've barely made a dent in his plans." I take a step towards Spoiler. "But if you keep up on this one-track warpath, it's not gonna be long before he decides that Spoiler's more than just some nuisance that can be ignored. You really think you're ready to be in the crosshairs like that?"

Spoiler steps towards me. I think she's trying to be intimidating, but the height difference just makes it look funny. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

"There's no reason you have to do this alone. I don't want the Cluemaster getting a foothold any more than you do. I can help," I offer.

"No," Spoiler answers without hesitation. "It's gonna be me who brings him down. No one else. I don't want your help, and I definitely don't need it. I can do this on my own." With that, she wheels on her heel and steps to the rooftop's ledge. "After tonight, I better not see you again. You may have more experience, but if I find you hanging around my neighborhood or interfering with my work, I'll take you down. Believe that." Turning her head away from me, she takes aim with her grappling hook and swings off into the night.

I follow to the ledge, calling out, "Fine! Our costumes totally clash, anyway!" Jeez, some people just can't take free advice. Well, no matter. If Stephanie Brown really thinks this is the end of it, then she has another thing coming. She's got no idea what she's getting herself into, and I don't feel like having another innocent death on my conscience. If she doesn't want to work with me, then I'll just have to start my own "crusade" against the Cluemaster. Maybe I can bring him to justice before Stephanie gets in too deep.

---

"You can all sleep easy now, the Hulk will never see the light of day ever again."

Hulk continued to thrash against the shield though unbeknownst to him he was just fueling it with his own strength. The harder he hit it, the stronger it became. The more he hit it, the angrier he got. The angrier he got, the stronger he got. The stronger he got, the stronger the shield got. The craft got closer, some form of VTOL craft not dissimilar to the V-22 Osprey (Not that Hulk noticed that or particulary cared). The vessel dropped down a grapple that grabbed onto the spherical shield holding Hulk, lifting it up and revealing the shield generator to be a metalic disk at the bottom of the sphere.

Jumping up using his suits augmented mobility Speedfreek grabbed onto the cable connecting the shield to the craft as it began to lift up into the air. He offered a wave before climbing to the top of the cable and into the craft. He was about to take off his helmet when he heard a voice over his radio. "Well done Mr.Shappe, I knew you were the right candidate for the job. Upon successful delivery of the package you can be assured that you will be well compensated for the trouble of procuring such a valued specimen. You won't need to worry about money for the foreseeable future." The radio cut out before Joss Shappe A.K.A Speedfreek could even get in a response. He sighed as he pulled his helmet off.

"Blinkin' superheroes." He muttered, ever since he stole this suit to get more snap the jobs he had been getting were getting crazier and crazier. Now he kidnapped the 'Green Goliath' himself working for some kind of genius who even improved on his suits abilities. With the money he got from this job he wouldn't need to take on anything like this, at least not for a while. He could get back home and try and make amends to Kate. They could live the life they often talked about before he started killing to get a fix.

Well now he wouldn't need to kill to get a fix, he could get everything he needed.

"Hulk! Hulk stop hitting it!" Hulk shook his head. It was Puny Banners fault that he was in this mess. Puny Banner tricked him, always wanted rid of Hulk. Now Hulk was a prisoner! He continued to pound at the shield. Nothing could hold Hulk, Hulks the strongest there is!

"Hulk it isn't working, calm down. Trust me. I'll get us out of here."

"HULK ALREADY TRUSTED PUNY BANNER! Get Hulk captured! Hulk never trust Banner AGAIN!" He roared as he pounded at the shield.

"I didn't mean for this to happen Hulk, you know how bad it will be if someone makes more like us. I want to stop that, but we can't do that from in here. Please Hulk, we need to think."

"Hulk not need to think."

"HULK SMASH!"

An hour later, Scott Lang found himself piloting one of the Justice League’s javelins. At first glance you’d think that he was pretty relaxed about the situation at hand; he was sat nonchalantly in the pilot’s seat, his feet stretched out in front of him on top the dashboard, the javelin’s autopilot sequence doing all the work. Despite this casual appearance however, Scott was actually extremely puzzled, something that surprisingly didn’t happen often.

Raz had explained things in a simple enough manner for Scott to understand; last night Hank Pym, Scott’s former mentor, had been attacked. Normally such a thing wouldn’t be an issue, with Hank being a super-hero and all, yet this attack was different. His attackers had in fact been a swarm of insect sized machine. Machine’s that seemed to be able to override all of Pym’s tech, resulting in the man being powerless to stop them. Well not all his tech it would seem. During the fight, Hank had managed to make use of an old Pym Particle Disc that had been lying around from his old days as Ant-Man. This led him to believe that the insect-esque robots were only programmed to override the Professor’s newest equipment due to his old Ant-Man equipment having been created using an older system. Hence why he had sent Scott an email.

That would teach Scott not to ignore his emails.

Due to the nature of the robot’s designs, Hank had narrowed down the subject to one man; Bertram Larvan. Larvan had been a former employee at Pym Tech, working directly for Pym himself. For years he specialised in robotics, and when Hank began working on finding a way to communicate and control insect, tried to convince him that his robots was the way forward. When Hank refused, Bertram flew into a rage, quitting his job and disappearing from the face of the Earth. That was anyway, until now.

As a result of a combination of Hank’s genius and the Watchtower’s satellites, a signal found resonating from a captured robotic insect informed them that it had originated from an abandoned warehouse in Ivy Town. Scott had left the watchtower immediately, although not before informing Cap’ and Thor about his absence. As much as he would like to help deal with finding this Captain America impersonator, Larvan needed to be stopped before he could send his insects to attack anyone else!

“Ant-Man?” Raz’s voice suddenly appeared over the communicator, jumping Scott out of his thoughts.

“You called, my good man?” Scott replied calmly as he shifted him body so that he was sat up straight, tucking his feet back underneath the controls.

“Prepare for arrival.”

Scott knew exactly what he was going to say before his friend even uttered the words, event by the shift in altitude. Leaning forward, he stared intently out of the javelin’s cockpit windows, watching as the aircraft descended downwards towards the city. The industrial region definitely wasn’t as scenic as the rest of the city, yet its old rustic buildings still had some charm to them. As the craft lowered, Scott leant back flicking a brightly coloured switch above his head. At once a soft hum resonated throughout the javelin as the ship’s stealth technology activated. Content that the craft was currently undetectable from any scanners or even from anyone’s eyesight, he span around in his chair and made his way through the hull, grabbing his helmet from the side as he did so.

After squeezing on the helmet, he issued numerous commands to his miniscule co-workers, who proceeded to follow the super-hero towards the back. As he approached the backdoor, he shrunk downwards towards the floor, jumping into the air slightly as he did so. During his decent, he elegantly landed himself on the back of a winged carpenter ant, which took him down gently towards the floor. Before they landed, the a hiss echoed around them for a brief second as the javelin’s backdoor opened, although only a fraction of the way. That was more than enough for Scott and his ants however, with him riding his ant straight through the hole, followed by a whole platoon of fellow winged carpenters.

As the swarm of ants descended upon the targeted warehouse below, Scott pat his trusty steed proudly.

“Antony, welcome to Ivy Town!”

The act of breathing is an automatic, biological exercise. It’s not something anyone or any creature on Earth has to think about, at least until it’s being taken from them. In and out, the air flows into one’s lungs. The oxygen in the air fuels the blood cells, and we exhale the carbon dioxide. It’s the simplest thing for a creature on the planet to do, so none of us think about it.

Unless you meditate like the Immortal Iron Fist.

Unless you meditate like me.

While in meditation, if you’re doing it right, every breath is like the winds of a hurricane. You can feel the power of life itself in the air. The Chi of every living being breathing the same air is like electricity running through my veins.

At the height of the inhale and right before the exhale, my power is at its peak. Rolling on the balls of my feat, I spring up out of my meditative state, lashing out with a spinning roundhouse kick, flipping off the foot I land on to drive my momentum forward. Mid flip, I ball my fist and lock my wrist before driving it through the cinder blocks below me. Normally I’d use the Iron Fist to do something like that, but not in this company.

“Whoa!”

“Awesome!”

“No way!”

The kids of the Iron Dojo all stand up and cheer. They’re all from Harlem, where the dojo is located. They’re good kids, but that doesn’t mean the place around them is as good. The dojo gives them a place to come after school and keep them out of trouble. I fund tutors to help them with homework, counselors for anything happening at home, and come teach a few lessons myself every week.

I have all this money I don’t know what to do with. Might as well start giving things to the people that really need it.

“Sensei Danny! Can we do the nunchuks?” A small boy named Billy asks.

“That depends,” I raise an eyebrow, “what did you get on your math test this week?”

Billy looks down and shuffles his feet awkwardly, “Uh...I got a B-...”

“Get a B+ on the next one and we’ll do the nunchuks,” I tussle his hair. “Now, everyone meditate for fifteen minutes and then get to work on your homework.”

Some of them grumble, but most happily get into a meditative pose and get to work.

They’re good kids.



Heroes for Hire Offices

“He’s in a mood,” Jenny warns as I step through the door of Heroes for Hire. She rolls her eyes, indicating it’s probably nothing all that bad, but the warning is appreciated none the less. “And he has the file on a new job.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” I smile at her and make my way towards Luke’s office. It’s slightly odd being back here after the year abroad...dimensionally and normally. The Tournament of Immortal Weapons had taken up most of the year, fighting for the life of the Seven Cities of Heaven. Fighting for the existence of another dimension isn’t easy, I don’t care what anyone tells you. Being back here is comforting, even if I still don’t know who was behind the invasion we stopped.

Opening the door to Luke’s office, I find him peering out the window to the street below, “I hear you’re throwing a temper tantrum. Need a drink?”

“Ha-fuckin’-ha,” he turns around. “I almost got made on our last job. Misty had some friends erase the street cam footage. I told you we shouldn’t have tried to fight a gang in broad fucking daylight.”

“They were shaking people down!” I defend myself. “I wasn’t gonna let that happen.”

“Yea well you got a billion dollars to buy your way outta jail,” he shoots back. “I don’t have that luxury.”

I sigh and rub the back of my neck. As close as Luke and I have become over the past years, sometimes our differences still get in the way. He’s had to struggle for everything in this life. K’un-Lun wasn’t a cakewalk, but I still had every advantage, not even counting the money I inherited afterwards.

He isn’t wrong about being made, though. In the current climate, with the Mutant Registration Act, the feds are always looking to put a new meta behind bars as an example. He isn't a mutant, but the authorities have shown they're shit at telling the difference. There is no way I would ever let that happen though.

“Man, you know my money is your money,” I shrug and smile meekly at him.

“Yea, I know. You were at the dojo?”

“Yea. It was my night for lessons.”

“Well, we got a job while you were out,” Cage tosses the file my way. As I flip through it, he continues talking, “Police officer was killed in a drive-by, supposedly. The police have suspects in custody, brothers of some punk he put away years ago.”

“But there’s a catch, I take it?” The case from the file seems pretty cut and dry. Pictures of the crime scene show a wall and front door riddled with bullet holes, a man’s body strewn across the floor, and a family torn apart by violent crime. I don’t see where there could be any more to this story.

“The wife and their adult daughter were there when it happened. Both are in critical condition, but Claire said they should be alright,” Luke explains. Claire Temple, our nurse friend who stitches us up on the side when we need it. It’s dangerous to actually go to a hospital as a vigilante, with it being against the law and everything. “Claire says they claim the officer was killed by a single shot to the head before the hail of bullets started. They think this was an assassination masked to look like a drive-by. She told them about us, and the family wants us to look into it.”

“Ballistics?”

“They match two AKs that were found with the suspects,” Luke shrugs. “Claire tried to get a look at the body, but it’s on lockdown.”

“Well, that won’t be a problem for a kung fu master!” I smile broadly like an idiot. “You go talk to the family if you can, I’m going to inspect some corpse bullet holes...Our job is terrible, by the way.”

I honestly hate what we have to do. Not putting away bad guys that deserve it, or helping the people in need. It’s that the people are in need in the first place. Most of our jobs are because the cops either are too busy to solve a case or too corrupt to bother. These people are down on their luck, and the system would chew them up and spit them out if it wasn’t for us. We usually don’t take payments, as I have more than enough money to keep the business afloat and Luke and I fed. It’s a point of contention for Cage, as he feels like I’m giving him charity. It’s a pride thing I understand, but I can’t accept payment from these people.

"Yea, well, it was your idea,” he shoots back.

“I bet Superman doesn’t have to break into morgues to look at bullet holes,” I grumble.

“Can’t he look through walls?”

“I don’t know. I always forget to ask when we’re at Superpowered White Dude Club.”

“Jackass,” Luke holds back a laugh as we head out to start investigating.

Gotham City, United States
Blackgate Penitentiary

Ted Carson looked to the sky and caught sight of the Batwing. "He's here." The gang leader muttered. Canisters of gas fell from the back of the jet as it screeched above their heads. The vigilante's vehicle disappeared from sight as the first canister exploded, sending plumes of smoke in all directions and blinding the Firefly gang. "What's this s'pose ta do?" Marvin chuckled, wading through the dense smog in search of his partners in crime. "Keep us from seeing the Bat when he comes in and kicks our asses, I'd reckon." Jenkins answered, his voice carrying through the fog. Their banter ceased at the terrifying sounds of Sanchez's screams. Ted clenched the flamethrower tighter and moved toward the direction the screams were coming from. Jenkins and Marvin appeared a few meters behind Carson, Pulaski and SMG in hand. "Why's he still screaming?" Marvin whispered. "Dunno. Thought he'd be dead by now." Jenkins panicked response was enough to get a rise out of their leader, who turned to look at them long enough to motion for silence.

Sanchez was in a bad way when they found him. The half-Mexican Gothamite was gripping his bare face, tears streaming down his cheeks as he pulled his legs up into the fetal position. "It burns, boss." Ted grabbed Sanchez's mask off the ground next to him and shoved it into the thug's hand. "Put yer freakin' mask on! That's what they're for!" The grateful criminal nodded his head and strapped the device back onto his face. Ted and his companions rendezvoused with the other eight members of his team moments later outside the cloud of tear gas and smoke. Where's Batman?" One of them asked, impatiently stroking the barrel of his assault rifle.

As if on cue, the Batwing appeared from the sky once more. "We've got incoming!" Jenkins shouted. "Open fire!" Carson ordered. The nine members of the gang wielding guns turned their weapons on the Batwing. The vigilante responded with a hail of rubber bullets. Carson, Marvin and another Firefly dove for any reasonable cover as the crowd of armed assailants fell to the ground in a heap of pain and suffering. "That thing's fuckin' bullet proof!" Jenkins cried out, desperately attempting to shield himself from the Batman's wrath by hiding under a wooden bench. A tense few seconds passed. The plane had disappeared after the first volley and had yet to show up again.

"He's made his own entrance two floors up. I want you to take up defensive positions in the kitchen, one floor above you. There's a stairway twenty meters down the hallway to your right. Do your best to avoid the roving bands of prisoners. Their actions have been...unpredictable."

"What about the plan? Our traps?"

"No battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy. We adapt and move forward. Blow the back entrance and get moving."

---

Meanwhile, on the third floor, Deathstroke's goons were already prepared for Batman's arrival. In fact, they had made their way to the prison the moment news of the riot broke out. A squad of eight professional mercenaries armed with high tech, military-grade gear (that looked nearly identical to the equipment used by Gotham's SWAT teams) watched over four security guards they had taken hostage. "Please...don't do this. I've got kids, man." One of them pleaded. None of his captors responded;
they merely allowed his cries for mercy to go unanswered.

"Gamma team, do you copy?"

"This is Gamma team. Go ahead."

"Are you in position?"

"Yes sir."

"Excellent. The Bat will be arriving ahead of schedule; he's dodged the first two obstacles I set out for him. Prepare the bait." With that, Deathstroke broke off communications with Gamma. A mercenary approached the hostages and duck tapped their mouths firmly shut. The team dragged the bound security guards out into the hallway. "Five...six...seven. Put them here." The leader motioned toward where he'd just stepped; his men complied. They moved with quickly and efficiently, much faster than their untrained counter parts down stairs. Each of the guards was wrapped in a lead vest laced with explosives underneath their uniforms.

The plan was a simple one. The disguised mercenaries would engage Batman. He would defeat them; and when the vigilante went to rescue the guards, the bombs would detonate. By that time the Firefly gang would've already artificially weakened the floor using their two flamethrowers, allowing the explosives to demolish the ceiling. The near-dead Batman would then free fall into the kitchen below, where the waiting Firefly gang would attempt to subdue him. Deathstroke suspected that the Bat would survive, perhaps even escape. But the vigilante would be sufficiently weakened to allow the Terminator to take him down without much trouble.

"I love it when a plan comes together."

The stranger's words set my mind racing, even moreso than usual. Meeting another speedster would be enough to throw me off my game. Meeting another speedster who apparently knows about the Speed Force? That's even stranger. As far as I know, Dr. Harrison Wells and I are the only two people on Earth to know of it, and I doubt Dr. Wells spilled the beans; he's not exactly the loquacious type, if you catch my meaning. But if all there were not enough, now this guy claims to come from the future! Before I can worry what that might mean about the mental stability of this "Professor Zoom," he flashes a grin and takes off down the street at speeds I've never witnessed -- well, never witnessed from anyone except me, that is.

It takes me a moment to catch up with Professor Zoom. He's no Quicksilver; I actually need to move at full speed to close the distance. What's interesting is that he doesn't appear to be running away. Rather, his head is on a swivel, seemingly drinking in all the sights as they blur past. "Incredible!" he exclaims. "Central City was so... small in the 21st Century! There's not a single building above one hundred floors!"

I eye Professor Zoom warily, growing more concerned with the conviction behind his story. "You seriously expect me to believe that you're from the future?" I ask with a single eyebrow raised beneath my cowl. "Howdja get here? DeLorean?"

"DeLorean?" Zoom repeats as we zip through a park. "How could I travel through time in a luxury hovercar? No, I used the Cosmic Treadmill, of course!" His face scrunches as the reference sails over my head. "Wait, you haven't developed the Cosmic Treadmill by this point in the timeline? Hmmm. Well, don't worry, Barry. You'll get there."

My eyes go wide. I lean forward and kick up my speed into the next gear. Swerving in front of Professor Zoom, I reach out my hand and press it hard against his chest, jolting him to a stop. Deathly serious, I ask, "Where did you hear that name?"

Zoom gives a confused half-smile. "What? 'Barry?' I told you already, Flash: I'm from your future. After you die, there's not much point in protecting the secret identity anymore, is there? You're right, though. I should be more formal in the field. No more slips, I promise." He runs his fingers across his lips, "zipping" them shut. With a twitch of his eyebrows, he smirks and races off again. As I catch up to him this time, he continues, "Oh, and while we're on the topic, don't bother asking about your death. I don't think it's a good idea if I tell you too much about your future."

"Gee, thanks," I frown.

As we reach the outskirts of the city, Professor Zoom finally comes to a stop. He gives an airy laugh, placing his hands on his hips and breathing deep through his nose. "You know, for the longest time, I dreamed of what it must've felt like. The power, the speed. And now I know." He turns to look back at me with a genuine smile spreading across his face. "It's all I could have ever hoped for." Letting his arms relax, Zoom takes a few steps towards me, turning his attention from me towards the Central City skyline behind us. "I want to see every inch of it. The way you saw it. To know the city that birthed the Flash. Where should we begin?"

I think for a moment. Zoom may well be off his rocker, but would it really be so strange? After everything I've seen, time-travelers feel like a natural extension. Besides, crazy or not, he certainly seems to mean well. In any case, there's somewhere I do want to take him. We can begin to sort through these problems one at a time. "Follow me," I nod. I lead him back into the heart of the city, back downtown with the supposedly "small" skyscrapers looming above us. As we approach our destination, the realization dawns on Zoom, and I hear him gasp in delight. I glance back to see that he's still on my heels as we arrive.

"Mercury Labs."

Getting inside is a breeze. Dr. Wells put an RFID chip inside the emblem on my chest; it allows me to pass through Mercury Labs' security without a hitch, and Professor Zoom is fast enough to swoop in behind me. Our arrival is heralded by the familiar sound of rushing air. Hunched over his desk, Dr. Wells doesn't even look up as he greets, "Mr. Allen. I saw your ceremony the other day. A bit ostentatious for my tastes, but I suppose..." Wells goes silent as he turns and notices the presence of a third person in our midst. "Oh. You brought a guest."

"This is Eobard Thawne. Eobard, meet--"

In a smear of red, Zoom appears as Dr. Wells' side. "Harrison Wells. Of course. You're the one who helped the Flash master the Speed Force," he states matter-of-factly. Taking Dr. Wells' hand, Zoom continues, "It is truly an honor to meet such an unsung hero from Barry's early career."

As Dr. Wells glances over Zoom's shoulder to give me a strange look, I explain, "Eobard isn't exactly from around here. I was hoping you could help us... clarify a few things."



I stand behind Dr. Wells, looking over his shoulder at the readouts on his computer screen -- though, admittedly, the science is beyond me. He's been quiet for some time; not a rare occurrence, but I can tell that this time is different. This is the kind of silence that signifies that Harrison Wells is deep in thought. Daring to disturb that concentration, I ask, "So, what's the early diagnosis? Is there any chance that what Eobard claims is true?" As the words leave my mouth, I glance across the lab. Thawne is seated, sans cowl, at the epicenter of many different machines. He slowly unhooks himself from each one, hazarding a smile whenever he catches us looking his way.

Dr. Wells leans back in his chair and rubs his forehead. "You have to understand, Mr. Allen. We are dealing with something so theoretical that even I cannot presume to declare anything a certainty."

I fold my arms. "But?"

"The energy readings coming off of Mr. Thawne are consistent with yours, indicating the presence of the Speed Force," he begins, pointing to one monitor comparing Thawne's scans with some of my own. Dr. Wells' finger slides down towards the second monitor as he explains, "But this -- this -- is what intrigues me. In addition to the Speed Force, Mr. Thawne appears to be bleeding traces of tachyonic energy. Now, that doesn't prove anything by itself, but it is something we might predict to find surrounding anyone or anything that can rupture the time barrier."

"Well, I'll be damned," Professor Zoom announces. We both look up to see him standing at the far side of the lab, gazing through the viewing window into the testing room that Dr. Wells built when I first approached him about my powers. He looks back at me and points through the glass. "There she is, Barry: the Cosmic Treadmill."

"Excuse me. Cosmic Treadmill?" Dr. Wells repeats. "I think you're mistaken, Mr. Thawne. That's just a machine I built to help the Flash siphon off excess Speed Force energy before he could control it."

Zoom laughs. "I used it to get here from the 25th Century; I think I know what I'm talking about. You're using it a siphon, but in the future you'll retrofit it so that the flow can go both ways. Rather than simply taking away Speed Force energy--"

"It will augment it," Dr. Wells finishes. "The pure energy will act as an accelerant, allowing the Flash to achieve speeds that are virtually impossible on his own, even allowing..."

"Passage through the time barrier," Professor Zoom nods.

Dr. Wells sinks back in his chair. "What are you thinking?" I ask.

He looks up at me. "I'm thinking Eobard Thawne might be telling the truth. I think he might actually be from the future."

LexCorp Building, Metropolis

A smiling Lex Luthor watched from his office as he spotted Clark Kent and Jimmy Olsen snaking their way along the sidewalk. There was a quiet ding from behind him and the doors to Lex’s office opened. Through them stepped Lex’s bodyguard Mercy Graves and he turned to face her with a charmed smile. He had half-expected his interview with the Planet men to be a chore to sit through, as these things often were, but had been pleasantly surprised by the experience. It wasn’t often that something in this life surprised Lex. He commanded a team of metahumans led by the greatest soldier of all time. It was safe to say that it took a great deal to impress Alexander Luthor at this point. He took a sip of champagne and set down the glass with a contented hum.

“Well, that was certainly more eventful than I thought it would be. That Kent fellow from the Planet almost emptied the contents of his stomach on my rug halfway through the interview.”

Mercy smiled.

“How quaint.”

“Quaint? I’m not sure I would say so, Mercy, there was something about the man I couldn’t help but like. He seemed the type with… hidden depths. Do see to it that Mr. Kent finds his way to our next Justice League press junket, would you?”

A look half-intrigued, half-mocking appeared on Mercy’s face.

“You almost sound smitten, Lex.”

Luthor shot a pointed look in his bodyguard’s direction.

“Alexander Luthor does not do smitten, Miss Graves.”

The comment was doubly cutting given the more recent developments in Mercy and Lex’s relationship. It had been a momentary blip, a complication that Luthor had come to regret, and one that he was insistent not happen again. He had too many enemies outside of LexCorp’s four walls for the billionaire to chance compromising his relationship with Miss Graves. In the heat of the moment he had to be certain that she would give her life for his without hesitation, that she would follow his word without grumble or question, and that simply wasn’t compatible with a romantic relationship. That very morning LexCorp had been broken into and it had redoubled Lex’s desire to tighten the ship.

“Any news on our intruder this morning?”

Mercy shook her head.

“I’m afraid not. After reviewing the surveillance tapes it would seem whoever infiltrated the Watchtower was capable of changing their form. I spoke with Captain America briefly about it and he verified as much. It explains how they were capable of bypassing our security with such e-”

Before Graves had finishd speaking, Luthor had already compiled a comprehensive plan to apprehend the intruder and see them brought to justice. Or at least seem a form of justice that was more permanent than Captain America or Captain Marvel might have allowed visited upon them.

“I want you to compile a list of every metahuman and mutant, registered or unregistered, capable of shapeshifting and cell manipulation. Start with Raven Darkholm and work down. We have to expect the worst and presume the Brotherhood was involved.”

From within her suit jacket Mercy pulled out a small tablet and ran her fingers across its screen. A small, detailed profile of the mutant terrorist known as Mystique appeared, as well as a profile of half a dozen other shape-changers that LexCorp had on record.

“I already checked. Darkholm was last active in Coast City a little over a week ago and hasn’t been seen since.”

Lex nodded appreciatively.

“Keep up the search. For the time being what say we take a trip down to the generator? I want to see with my own eyes that our golden goose hasn’t been interfered with.”

Lex gestured Mercy towards the lift and the pair stepped inside and descended in silence. The tension was palpable but Graves resisted the temptation to speak. As they stepped out of the lift on the ground floor the LexCorp employees perked up on sight. Those with slouched shoulders suddenly became perky and those idling through the building’s corridors found haste. It was ever thus. Lex’s presence struck fear into the hearts of his employees. All but the Justice League could be removed from their positions at the drop of a hat.

As the doors to the meteor rock generator room opened, the familiar sound of Mercy’s high heels alerted the scientists to Luthor’s presence. She stepped forward, pointing the scientists towards the exit, and spoke in a quietly threatening voice.

“Everybody out. Mr. Luthor needs the room.”

The scientists filtered out of the room and past their employer without complaint. Once they were alone Graves locked the doors behind them and deactivated the CCTV cameras in the room. A satisfied Luthor grinned and swaggered towards the generator that was to change the world. He reached his right hand towards it, making sure to yank his cuff out of the way as he did so, and pressed it against the generator with a firm shove. There was a loud whir followed by several mechanical crunches as pieces of the generator began to move around. Finally the pieces moved round to reveal a cramped cell, with a small bed in the corner of it, upon which a man lay with his back facing Lex.

“John?”

The man stirred into movement. His head lifted at first, revealing a metallic frame to which but a portion of human flesh still clung to. The hair that rested atop it was a dirty-blonde, the once blue eyes now burnished with a green flame, and the wicked mouth twisted into a hateful, anguished grimace. His name was Jonathan Corben, an Iraq veteran with injuries considered irreparable through medical science, and he was the secret that powered Lex’s meteor generator. It was discovering Corben, transforming him into that which stood before him, that allowed Lex to outdo Reed Richards and Tony Stark before him.

“Luthor.”

Lex smiled.

“I do hope you are finding your chambers to your liking.”


“You promised me you’d fix me, Luthor, not keep me in this thing like some lab rat. When I get out of here I’m going to kill you. Do you understand me? There’s nowhere you’ll be able to hide from me. I’ll raze the skin from your flesh and make you beg me for death for what you’ve done to me.”

A look of faux-offense appeared on Luthor’s face.

“Come, there’s no need for talk like that. Who were you before I found you? A cripple, a drain on the state and those around you, but now you’re so much more than that. You’re going to save the world, John. What greater good is there than that? What greater legacy to leave behind?”

One of Corben’s metal fists slammed at the thick clear glass between them. Luthor had initially designed the cell that housed Corben for Superman but it had proved equally capable of housing the man that powered his generator. It withstood Corben’s angry fists, as Lex knew it would, but Mercy stepped forward to protect her employer all the same. Lex sensed her moving and extended a hand in her direction to keep her in place.

“It’s fine.”

“When I get my hands on y-”

Lex cut Corben short with a smile and tapped his finger against the glass between them.

“You are going to see your life out in this cell, Mr. Corben. The sooner you come to terms with that, the better for everyone.”

Corben roared with anger and slammed his fists against the glass. They gushed impotently with the green energy that Lex had imbued him with as Luthor stepped away from the glass and pressed his hand against the generator once more. The whirring and crunching began again as pieces of the generator slid across the glass and John Corben’s rage turned to muffled cries of pain. As they clasped shut the cries were extinguished entirely and Luthor took a glance to the expensive watch on his wrist before pacing out of the room.

Steve wasn't an idiot. But as the computer began to buzz, he really didn't think anything of it. Even when Thor began to worry, Steve just assumed it was about the impostor. After all the God had just ranted a little about his bruised ego. Anyways, Steve was more occupied with the fact that said impostor had taken the elevator just before he did. He was busy racking his brains for the memory of the man who had left the elevator.

Steve was startled out of his musings by motion out of the corner of his eye. His shield was up before he consciously registered the fact. Thor's hammer sailed harmlessly by even as Thor shouted at them to get down. Steve braced himself but nothing happened. He lowered the shield and looked at Thor inquisitively.

"Apologies my friends, in other realms such sabotage is oft more destructive."

"It's okay Thor. I'd rather have a hundred false warning than to not have the one warning that matters." Steve knew how important warning were. In the military sometimes they'd wake in the middle of the night and stand ready for an attack that never came. Steve couldn't imagine if they had disregarded a warning and instead were killed in their sleep. Steve eased his shield back onto it's holder on his back. As he did so Scott commented on the fried computer.

“Looks like we’re not going to be getting anything out of this easily. I’ll head down to IT. See if they can send up anyone to help sort this thing out. It’ll give the poor guys down there something interesting to do for once.”

"Thanks Scott." Steve told the man as he slipped into the elevator and disappeared. Steve rolled his shoulder and stepped further into the headquarters. The radio was still speaking and he could hear that the look alike hadn't been found. The only problem Steve had recalled the man who had exited the elevator before he entered it. That man hadn't looked anything like Steve.

Steve picked up the radio and spoke into it. "Be advised. The intruder can change appearance at will." Which also meant he was long gone. They hadn't locked the building down against a shape-shifter. Steve rolled his shoulders, trying to work some of the tension out of them.

"I'm going to head back down to the security office. If the IT guy shows up, well, they know what to do." Steve told Thor. With that the Super Soldier reentered the elevator. His thoughts on the trip down were about the impostor Hawkeye. Steve was now willing to believe the man really wasn't Hawkeye and that was a relief. Steve knew all about Luthor's hate of Superman. But Steve didn't quite share the sentiment. The idea that Superman might be working with a morally ambiguous individual hadn't sat right with him.

Steve absently rubbed the spot on his neck where he had been stabbed with the needle. It was very well done. They knew where to strike and when. Steve had been lulled into a false sense of security. It wouldn't happen again. He might not be a God but he wasn't the frail young man anymore. He was Captain America and people relied on him. He couldn't afford to let himself get lax.

The elevator doors dinged open. Steve stepped out and headed to the security station. What ensued was a long day. After a while Mercy, Lex's personal bodyguard, had come in and questioned Steve. She had left shortly after and had undoubtedly reported to Luthor. The pseudo lock down had also been cancelled hours ago. All that was left at this point was analyzing the security tapes for the intruder. Steve had felt weirded out watching himself arrive, got up to the HQ, go directly to his computer and work for a few hours.

When Scott arrive Steve wanted to call a warning, but knew it would be useless. When Steve arrived the intruder smoothly exited into the elevator setting him on a collision course with Steve. After he left the elevator he went straight to the exit, was thwarted and vanished around one of the blind corners. That was only six minutes in. They had no leads. For all they knew the intruder was either long gone or still around.

Steve rubbed at his temples as he left the security office. Their only lead now was his fried computer. Time to see if the IT guy Scott had fetched had more luck then he did.