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Chambers Building, Lost Haven

Polemos watched the 'White Witch,' as she called herself, work. He'd admit in a moment that he had no idea what the sorceress was up to. He only prayed to the gods that she knew what she was doing and wasn't just attempting to avoid getting shot. When she reached for the black spell book, Polemos didn't waste any time aiming his firearm at the girl. Her intentions quickly revealed themselves to be benevolent and Chike allowed her to continue without the pressure of a gun (metaphorically) pressed against her temple. Chike grew ever more impatient and confused as the woman exclaimed Eureka. The sudden appearance of the mist and the vial of an unknown substance caused the already wound-up vigilante to jump in surprise. Hate magic. Hate it, hate it and hate it some more. He thought grimly. Chike was so focused on the witch's wizardry that he hadn't noticed the arrival of the figure draped in black. That is, until he spoke: "You could have saved your breath, doll."  The voice of a man in black crackled through his voice modulator after she'd finished her incantation.  "If you're here for the same reason I am, it's right there..."

"Who the hell-" Polemos growled, his assault rifle once more trained on another new arrival. These super-types just keep coming out of the wood work, don't they?

The black salt had done its work. A small cylinder seemed to manifest into existence, attached to the side of the Chambers Building's telecommunications antennae. Chike allowed the enigmatic man the benefit of the doubt and shouldered his rifle, hoping that he wouldn't be needing it again. He jogged over toward the device. It had to be the bomb. What else could it be? The cylinder wasn't like anything the anti-hero had ever seen. It was small enough to be grasped from top to bottom with one hand. An emerald covered sphere sat in the center of the device, wired to the inside of the cylinder. A number of buttons dotted the sides of the weapon; none of them were labelled, unfortunately. Polemos had seen explosives before, but the Soviet-era landmines he'd found in Uganda were nothing like this. "Never seen anything like it." Chike muttered to his current companions. He doubted the two of them had either. 

If only they had one of those super geniuses like Iron Knight here. Or Icon; he could probably chuck the thing into space before it went off. Hell, Chike would prefer almost anyone over the motley crew that had decided to show up. They were all exceedingly human. Without a word, Polemos left the bomb and jogged over to the side of the skyscraper. Far below, he could see the flashing red and blue lights of police cruisers pulling to a stop in front of the Chambers Building. A few shapes exited the vehicles and started to make their way toward the front door. "Cops are coming. We don't have long before that thing goes off." Chike furrowed his brow in frustration. His only idea was utterly moronic, completely crazy and very dangerous. But he needed to do...something!

Chike took the AK-47 in his hands yet again. He shouldered the rifle and took aim at the street below. No civilians in sight; the police weren't moving, except for the ones already heading inside. He had to pick his shots carefully. If he misread the wind, he could wind up becoming a cop killer. Bullets rained down from the top of the monolith, slicing through the air with impunity. The lights atop the cruisers exploded, sending glass scattering across the asphalt. Calls for back up were inevitable. Chike had heard that the best way to get a cape's attention was to cause a scene. Hopefully, this would be enough.

Eric Harrison was omnipresent. Text flew across the computer monitors positioned in front of him. The television positioned on the far wall played Channel 56, Lost Haven News, at all hours of the day. Classical music echoed inside the tiny apartment, hindered only by the array of advanced technology and equipment that covered the entire room. There was barely room to stand. Eric sat at his desk in the middle of the chaos. His fingers danced across a keyboard to the beat of Bach. The internet offered a wealth of information; a constant stream of knowledge, ripe for the taking. Whenever Eric sat in this chair, he felt...complete. As if the web was an extension of his body. He and technology were one. The amount of raw data he needed to sift through was incredible. He had a number of algorithms running that presented him with only the most critical and vital statistics and facts. Yet even then, there so was much to work with.

The boy's ego told him that he was the only person in the world fast enough to be the Speedster Twins' information broker. That was likely untrue, but Harrison's pride was nearly as expansive as his intellect. He watched as Thunderbolt and Boom ran about the city at unfathomable speeds. They were searching for the bomb, and Eric was helping them. Word of the attack at the Chambers Building briefly appeared on the web and quickly faded into obscurity. Eric mulled over whether or not he should inform the speedsters of the altercation. It wasn't important in the grand scheme of things. There were reports of shots fired, but no word on deaths. On the surface, it appeared to be just another criminal looking to capitalize on the chaos. Crime had spiked since Pax Metahumana made their threat on national television. What was one more shooting?

"Hey, Boom. There's been a break in at the Chambers Building over in Sherman Square. No specifics have come in just yet, but the police are calling shots fired. I figure, since you're in the neighborhood..." Eric trailed off. He might as well tell her. If she thought it inconsequential, the speedster would ignore the altercation. She, unlike her brother, knew how to prioritize.

"Could be that someone found the bomb. The tallest structure in Lost Haven sounds like the perfect place to launch a city-wide biological attack from. I'll check it out; won't take more than a second or two." She replied.

Before Polemos could so much as turn around, a blue blur raced up the side of the Chambers Building and struck him on the jaw. Chike went flying and smashed into the side of the antennae, denting the metal legs that held it up. "W-" He tried to speak, but was silenced by a swift kick to the nose. Boom turned to attack White Witch and Vigilante, believing they were working with the shooter. "Wait!" Eric shouted into their comm link. The speedster stopped, her fist inches from the man in black's face. "I recognize him. He helped Icon and the others close the portal during D-Day." Eric paused. "The other one might be the White Witch. She's been cropping up in news reports and rumors all around Chinatown for the past few months."

"Who's their friend?" She asked, not bothering to address the two others just yet. "Uhm. Well. Let me put him through STRIKE's facial recognition-" "You have access to that?" "Not officially. I've got a match. Chike Baatul, AKA Polemos. He was a big time super villain a while back, but it says here that he dropped off the grid once Ares was defeated." Another blur of lightning came rushing out of the stair well and Thunderbolt came sliding to a halt next to the antennae. "Thought you might need some help. Hey, what's- this doesn't look like it should be here. I think we found the bomb." Harvey commented as he examined the device. "Don't touch it. Let me see if I can verify that." Eric plunged back into STRIKE's databases, looking for any word on the Pax Metahumana weapon. There was plenty of speculation, but nothing concrete. Eric found what he was looking for in the most unlikely place: the 24-hour news cycle. "..local authorities in four different cities across the United States has received an anonymous tip about the location of four other devices planted in those cities..."

Eric went straight for the internet. It wasn't long before he found a cellphone video of a device matching the appearance of the cylinder being disarmed by police. "That's the bomb." He confirmed. "Uhhhh, why is it beeping? The thing is beeping, Eric." Thunderbolt watched in abstract horror as the emerald sphere inside began to spin. "That can't be good." The speedster had no idea what to do. He wasn't versed in bomb defusal; most beat cops weren't. His costumed fingers raced across the surface of the cylinder, looking for an access port of some kind. But the tech was like nothing he had ever seen. The beeping grew faster and Thunderbolt started to panic. He was moments from just pulling out all the wires and hoping that turned it off and didn't cause to it explode. "There's no time to defuse it. You've gotta get it out of range, T! NOW!"

Thunderbolt ripped the bomb from the antennae and took off toward the ocean. Harvey broke the sound barrier on his first step. He couldn't hear the device beeping, but the flashing light was speeding up. He had to get it out of Lost Haven before it was too late. Luckily for the city, the speedster could run at Mach 600. Thudnerbolt pushed himself to his limit until he felt his feet slam down on water. Harv glanced down, and smiled in amazement: he was running on water. He'd done it once before, but he'd never get used to it. He was practically Jesus. Harvey dropped the cylinder off in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and watched on as the dome formed underneath the waves, totally harmless. The only way it'd do anything is if a submarine happened to pass by; which seemed quite unlikely. The speedster made his way back to the Chambers Building in record time.

"We have a problem. Some of the other bombs have gone off and green, transparent domes have suddenly formed around the cities of Philadelphia, Chicago, Atlanta, Dallas, Los Angeles, and Seattle."

Boom turned toward Vigilante and White Witch. "You need to come with us. More bombs have gone off across the country and we're going to need your help before the entire human race is turned into metahumans."

"Let's take them to Arthur's tower. We need to coordinate our next move with the rest of the heroes."

They were in for a long night.

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Logan was alone. He sat in the center of a non-descript metal room, staring ahead at the one-way mirror that dominated the front wall. The only things inside with Wolverine were two metal chairs and a table, all bolted to the white tile floor. The rest of the room was bare of any decoration or furniture. Logan noted the lack of a clock; a classic interrogation tactic. They wanted to make James feel as if he had been isolated for hours, when only thirty six minutes and twelve seconds had passed since he was escorted inside. He'd counted. Logan had also counted the three hours and eight minutes prior where he had been forced into a shower room to wash after his exposure to nuclear fallout, followed by another two hours of being fitted for his own personal X-Gene neutralization collar and finally five more hours of solitary confinement. He'd guessed it was around nine thirty in the morning of the following day. The only living souls Wolverine had laid eyes on during that time were dressed in Hazmat suits. They were testing his resolve. Trying to tear down his morale. But Logan wasn't some purse thief or rank amateur; he could stand spending a couple of hours by himself.

What he couldn't stand was the inhibitor collar. Or the specialized shackles keeping Logan pinned to the floor. He felt naked without his acute senses. And if it came to a fight, he'd have no healing factor or claws to rely on. 

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A cruel smile crossed Zhib-Ran's face. He watched Miss America's body slam into the floor with enough force to rip the concrete from the very ground. Hyperion took his time floating toward Chavez, intent to continue beating the girl to within an inch of her life. If only. He'd have to hold back significantly if these insects had any hope of surviving this trivial encounter. Normally, Zhib-Ran didn't worry himself about keeping his enemies alive. But this was a special case. It was not yet time to reveal his true loyalties. So for now, Hyperion pulled his punches. "I must say, Miss, I expected more from you. Perhaps the good captain overestimated your abilities." Zhib-Ran jeered. He hoped his taunting would drive the girl to her feet. If she was as brutish as Hyperion suspected, the dimension-hopper would lose her cool and attack him out of spite. Anger was a powerful asset, but few knew how to control it. "Come now. You're not down and out after that, are you?"

The doors to the training room slid open. Zhib-Ran briefly turned toward the new arrival, and was mildly surprised to see the so-called Ant-Man standing in the doorway. 

"I guess you can call me truant for this shindig."

O' gods. Hyperion internally grumbled. He makes ant puns. Kill me now. The absurdity of it all was uncanny. Zhib-Ran was an alien god. He was destined to lord over the entire Milky Way galaxy. He was only months away, perhaps weeks, from slaughtering every so called 'hero' on this backwater world and setting himself up as its sole ruler. And his primary adversary, the only people who had any sort of hope at stopping Hyperion's conquest, were these 'Avengers.'

And one of them made ant puns.

"Seriously?" Zhib-Ran muttered. This is ridiculous. Who in their right mind wou- In his moment of utter perplexity, Hyperion had neglected to mind his surrounding. He was totally unaware of Miss America's recovery and subsequent charge until she had struck him directly in the jaw. If he had been any of the six billion or so gnats that populated earth, Zhib-Ran's head would have promptly exited his shoulder at three digit speeds. But Hyperion was no fragile human. Miss America's strength, while greater than many of the mightiest warriors earth bred, was nothing compared to this particular alien. Zhib-Ran stumbled backwards a step. Surprise crossed his face for but a moment. "Ha!" He proclaimed as soon as he realized what had occurred. "Well done, my dear. You took advantage of my ineptitude. You struck when your enemy was at his weakest. Very well done indeed!" Hyperion caught Miss America's followup swing. He squeezed his larger hands around Chavez's fist, a look of pure adrenaline in his eyes. With his free hand, Hyperion launched a backhand toward the snared superhuman's cheek.

He estimated that the blow would be likely to land and turned his attention toward Pym. He fired off another pair of concussive energy beams at Ant-Man and chucked his compatriot (if she hadn't found a way to escape in that brief lapse of miliseconds, that is) at subsonic speeds right at him. "Where are the rest of you, by the way? I was told the entire team would be present. I was hoping to go a few rounds with the Norse gods and the armored one as well."

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D E A T H S T R O K E


You called me a villain. Never thought of myself as that. I'm a mercenary. A soldier for hire.


Name:
Slade Wilson

Alignment:
Lawful Evil

Affiliation:
The Highest Bidder
His Family

History:
Slade Wilson has always been a warrior. 

As a child, Slade had a reputation for fighting bullies. But he never did it to help those in need. No, Slade fought for the sake of fighting. He loved everything about it: the adrenaline, the satisfaction of a landed punch and even the pain of getting his teeth knocked out. It was a common sight to see little Slade walk into the house with a black eye and bruised ribs. Mrs. Wilson worried for the boy; he never told her where he'd gotten the scars or what he had been up to. She thought he was the target of one of the local gangs. Mr. Wilson, however, suspected his son was getting into trouble with the law. One night Slade came home, more beaten than usual. His mother was out with her friends and his father had been hitting the bottle pretty hard. Daddy decided to finally teach his boy a lesson in respect. The following brawl was less of a fight and more of a straight beating. Leaving his father half dead, Slade chose to pack his things and run from home.

Slade joined the army at the age of sixteen, having faked his enlistment forms with the help of a local forger. He soon showed talent in guerrilla warfare far superior to that of any other soldier in the army and swiftly rose up the ranks. After a while his outstanding reputation landed him under the tutelage of Adeline Kane, an instructor who became one of his superiors and whom he eventually befriended. Slade trained under his commanding officer and demonstrated he was an expert in combat and had impressive talents and skills. It wasn't long before Kane recommended Slade be transferred to SHIELD's top black ops unit, known simply as Team 7. The woman in charge took one glance at the man's record and brought him into SHIELD. His integration into the organization took some time, but once everything was ironed out Slade proved to be worth the trouble. It was during his two tours on Team 7 that prepared Slade for his eventual role as the Terminator. The team battled cartels, warlords, rebels, monsters and gods on a regular basis. They performed the impossible. Slade was known for his ruthless behavior and his unwavering willpower; whenever something unspeakable needed to be done, SHIELD called on Slade Wilson to do it.

Decades went by. Slade mastered several martial arts and combat styles, and rose to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. He began a romantic relationship with Adeline Kane and had a son with her. After Grant Wilson's birth, Slade was asked by SHIELD if he wanted to volunteer for a dangerous scientific experiment. Amanda Waller wanted to create another Super Soldier, akin to Steve Rogers AKA Captain America. Slade accepted. body reacted violently to the experiment, it made him aggressive and enraged, and he needed to remain sedated and bedridden through the birth of his second son Joseph Wilson. Only later would Slade discover that the experiment had worked and actually enhanced his strength, speed, senses, stamina, intellect and reflexes beyond that of any ordinary man. 

The Lieutenant Colonel's new found powers proved to be more of a hamper than a boon. He was forced to become a lab rat and work a desk job for nine months, all the while being told that he'd get to go back out into the field any day now. Slade's stress and anxiety built, augmented by the aggression the serum was feeding him. It all came to a head when Slade discovered that his long time friend and Team 7 colleague, William "Billy" Wintergreen, had been captured. SHIELD refused to go in after him, citing the extreme risk to local civilians and whatever agents they sent in. Slade decided to take matters into his own hands. He stole an experiment suit of Nth metal armor and a jet, and went off to rescue Wintergreen on his own. In the end he saved Wintergreen, but was discharged from SHIELD for disobeying orders. Slade decided this was for the best. Fed up with the military and its code of blind loyalty, Slade created the costumed persona of Deathstroke the Terminator, the greatest mercenary the world would ever know. He went on to travel the world and train under the greatest martial artists and strategists alive.

Supporting Cast:
Adeline Kane Wilson: Adeline was a US Army squadron leader who was tasked with training soldiers who would later join a Special Forces unit named Team-7. One of these soldiers, was Slade Wilson who after a near-death experience fell in love with Adeline and got married. In subsequent years, she became a the mother of 3 children: Grant, Jericho, and Rose Wilson. She currently is divorced and working at SHIELD.

Grant Wilson - Ravager: Grant is the eldest son of Adeline and Slade Wilson, and the first Ravager. Grant was given his powers by the organization known as HIVE, and tasked with the duty to assassinate a number of teen sidekicks who had been causing them strife. After failing to kill Robin, Grant disappeared and was presumed dead.

Joseph Wilson - Jericho: The son of Deathstroke and Adeline Kane, Joseph Wilson is able to control people's bodies through eye contact. Joseph attempted to use his powers for good as the vigilante Jericho, but through a series of unfortunate events found himself spiraling into madness. Jericho blames his father for his mental illness, and seeks revenge against Deathstroke and the rest of his family for the pain Slade has wrought.

Lilian Worth: A few years after his divorce from Adeline Kane, Slade Wilson took a search-and-rescue mission under contract. Slade met Lillian "Sweet-Lilli" Worth, an Oriental clan princess whose life fell in ruins after her kingdom was destroyed by a war in the Far East. It was Slade's mission to bring Lilli from war-torn Cambodia to Thailand, where she would have relative freedom. The mission proved to be successful; along the way, Slade and Lilian grew quite fond of each other and eventually developed a romantic relationship. Their on and off affair resulted in the birth of Rose Wilson.

Rose Wilson: Daughter of Slade Wilson and Lilian Worth. Lillian kept Rose a secret from Slade, rationalizing it was in the child's best interest to do so. Lillian eventually settled outside New York City, where she established a sex trafficking ring and lived in luxury. Despite the environment, Rose was raised with other children her age and was schooled by private tutors. She not only received a happy childhood, but was also taught how to defend herself.

How (if at all) does the New Frontier version of your character differ from the original?:

I've combined bits and pieces from his New 52 and Pre-Flashpoint origins and integrated the character into the merged universe setting. I also added the bit about his early child and abusive father, because I was feeling a bit cliche. Other than that, this is the same old Deathstroke we know and love.

Post References:
#1 Create-A-Hero RPG - Thunderbolt and Boom are ambushed
#2 Teen Titans: Divided we Fall - Sentinel gets his cape handed to him by Lobo
#3 All-Star Marvel: Audax Mundus Novus - Wolverine and Team X go up against the Incredible Hulk
#4 Create-A-Hero RPG - Ares holds a feast; Also access to every post I've made for awhile. Not all of them are finished.

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Gotham City, United States

The vigilante of Gotham City had been called many names: The Dark Knight, The Caped Crusader, World's Greatest Detective. Many still believed Batman to be a monster. A literal fusion of man and bat; a hulking creature straight from a criminal's worst nightmare. But tonight he was none of those things. Tonight, Batman was just a target.

A torrent of water fell form the overcast sky, mixing with the pool of blood at Deathstroke's feet. Bright red and blue lights illuminated the streets below. Slade quietly slid the Daito katana back into its sheathe on his hip. He stepped away from the edge of the rooftop, wanting to avoid being spotted by by the police. He looked at the dead SWAT sniper, a twinge of guilt eating away at what was left of his conscious. The officer appeared to be a former Marine, judging by the tattoo on his left bicep. Bryan Jennings was also a family man. He had two daughters and another on the way; he and his wife had been happily married for six years. The guy didn't even live in Gotham; his driver's license had him pegged as a Manhattan native. He must be here on transfer. Slade wondered what the last thing he said to his wife was. Had it been a loving goodbye after a tender embrace before he left for the most dangerous city in America? Or perhaps they had fought. One last shrill, screaming argument about Bryan's obsession with work. Maybe Mrs. Jennings had told him that, one day, his job would get him killed. There was so much you could learn from sifting through a man's wallet.

It was times like these that Deathstroke returned to a simple mantra he'd started using after his first mission with Team 7. "It's just business." He whispered to the corpse, before tossing the man's wallet next to his slit throat. When people say the killing gets easier, they're lying through their teeth. It doesn't. Not with the innocent, at least. When you take the life from a man who deserves it, his crimes overshadow the guilt. But this man? He was doing what he did best: fighting for the next paycheck so that he could feed his family. He and Slade were alike in that respect. Wilson took this job for his family. A hundred million dollars was more than enough to give Rose the life she deserved. It was also all Deathstroke needed for the search for his son. Grant was still out there. Slade could feel it in his very bones. But Ravager would have to wait.

Slade had a rodent to catch.

The Terminator leaped from the roof and landed with a quiet thud on the sidewalk below. His specialized Promethium-weave boots contained microscopic traces of Vibranium, which helped absorb sound and lessen the impact of long falls. Slade dashed across the rain-covered streets and into a nearby alleyway. He caught a glimpse of the bright neon side on the front of the building before he vanished around the corner. The Firefly Club was just another seedy nightclub in the Bowery; nothing special about it. His arrival during a police raid hadn't been happenstance, however. Slade was looking for muscle and helping the gangsters that ran the join escape Blackgate was the quickest way to any thug's heart in Gotham.

Getting inside wasn't any trouble. Deathstroke kicked the backdoor open, snapping the lock in half with relative ease. A place like this wouldn't have an alarm, so he didn't have to worry about that. Slade bent his knees in a half crouch and moved cautiously inside. The hallway he was in, as well as the neighboring rooms, were all empty. Gunshots rang out from the front of the club and the mercenary chose to pick up the pace. He instantly recognized the smell of alcohol and piss as he peeked his head around yet another corner. At the end of the hall was a man dressed in what could only be described as rags. In one hand he held two empty syringes, and in the other a half-finished bottle of whiskey. The mercenary made his way past the poor sod and finally arrived at the entrance to the main dance floor and bar. The sounds of violence hadn't stopped, but they had died down some what.

The door burst open and a pair of kunai shot forth from Slade's fingers and into the tracheae of two SWAT officers. Another four were scattered around the main room. From Deathstroke's count, over two dozen people were sat in the middle of the club. Most of them were in handcuffs but a few still had their hands free; the cops probably hadn't gotten to them yet. Slade moved with such speed and ferocity that it appeared, for a moment, that two more of the armored cops had simply exploded into a shower of blood. The Terminator was already on top of a third officer, his Katana in one hand and Wakizashi in the other as he sliced off the man's limbs and stabbed him through the heart. The final SWAT trooper began firing his weapon at random in the general direction of Slade. He risked hitting the civilians with ricocheting bullets; there was no time to be fancy about this. In one smooth move, Wilson removed one of his pistols and shot the panicked cop square in the eye. He'd practiced that move a thousand times. It was all muscle memory at this point.

The final SWAT member dropped to the floor, his body convulsing as his muscles went limp. Six. Six more innocent men made to die. You'd better be worth it, Batman.

There were another five police officers and a detective on the second floor. He could hear them moving back downstairs now. Deathstroke bent at his knees and jumped, grabbing hold of the railing of the balcony above. He swung backwards and landed on his feet, directly behind the unaware squad of do-gooders. If you could call Gotham cops do-gooders. Slade shot forward like a bullet and struck the first SWAT member with a knife hand strike to the throat. He didn't wait long enough for the man to drop before ramming a powerful knee into one of his companions. In one fluid motion, Deathstroke unleashed a perfect back kick into a third officer's chest. The two men were sent flying off their feet. By now, the detective and the other two SWAT team members had gotten turned around and were flipping their safeties off. Slade darted forward once more. He started with a quick right jab to the first officer's shoulder, shattering the bone. He followed up by stepping back and slamming the same elbow into the second's collarbone, breaking it apart like it was made of glass. The Terminator turned with the grace of a dancer and headbutted the detective right in the nose.

Some time later, Deathstroke stood before the crowd of scum and miscreants. He had allowed all truly neutral parties to leave and kept the surviving police as hostages. "How many of you want fifty million dollars?" Slade asked. The following shouts told him that most of them were fond of money. "That's what I thought. For one night, if you follow me, I can guarantee you all the payoff of a lifetime. We're going to capture the Batman. Alive. We'll split the reward fifty/fifty. Considering that I'll be doing all the work, that seems pretty generous. Now, here's how we'll do it..."

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Gotham City, United States

"Hey boss! We're here!"

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

"Uhhh. Sir, we have a problem."

"What is it?"

"There's nowhere to park."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enough philosophy. There was work to be done.

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French Quarter, Lost Haven
Home of Jack Grey

"This is the place." Edward Burns lowered the binoculars from his eyes and turned toward his comrade in the drivers seat, Nikolai Tensing. They'd gotten word from their boss in The Sharks about a three million dollar bounty on some rich asshole's head and decided to cash in. "Everybody out." Tensing ordered. The side door of the nondescript black van opened up, prompting the thugs within to push and shove their way out and onto the street. "Tommy, put yer vest on." One of the men whispered sharply, tossing a dark shape to one of his compatriots. "Come on, George," Tommy replied. "This guy ain't gunna be a problem. What do I need armor fors?" George rolled his eyes, his contempt for the younger gangster quite obvious. Tommy took note of the more experienced criminal's body language and chose to keep on his good side. "Okay, okay. Just don't see the point, ya know." These men belonged to the Rooks Gang; they were relatively new in town and were looking for a shot into the big time. What better way than taking a hit for the Shroud Syndicate?

Jack Grey's house was a two story suite located in a well-off suburban neighborhood deep in the French Quarter. The guy had deep pockets, that was plain to see. Under the concealment of darkness, the eight members of the Rooks sneaked stealthily across the street and slithered into the man's front yard. Edward approached the front door, silent as a mouse. Nikolai began to count down, his silenced sub machine gun tucked firmly in his jacket. "Three...Two...One- go!" Edward brought down his pump action shotgun down on the doorknob, knocking the lock to the ground with a crash. He smashed his shoulder into the door and pushed it open. The Rooks rushed inside, throwing all tactical movement and stealth to the wind as they rushed to see who could find Jack first.

The goons cleared the house in less than two minutes flat but found no trace of Grey or his family. "Where the shit is he?" Tommy complained. "Must'a skipped town awhile ago.  Paper's a week old." George confirmed, holding up an out of date edition of the Daily Watchmen. "No way, man." Ed growled, ripping the newspaper out of George's hand to look at it himself. "Info said there's been lights on all day. Somebody was here." George shrugged in defeat. "Your man's wrong, Eddy. Ain't nothin' here but cold, half-eaten waffles." Tommy took in a gulp of air. "Uh, boss? These's waffles are still warm-"

Before anyone so much as blinked, one of the Rooks dropped to the ground. "Whoa!" Ed shouted. "Eyes up, we've got company." Nikolai ordered, bringing his firearm to bare. "Who's out there?!" George asked. "Where are you?" A pair of hands suddenly broke through the drywall and wrapped around George's throat. He disappeared, leaving only a man-sized hole in his place. "Here." A voice, deep and threatening, seemed to reverberate throughout the entire kitchen. The rest of the Rooks crew opened fire in the general direction George disappeared. The sounds of gunfire woke up the neighbors; who, without a doubt, would be calling the police in short order. Bullets flew through picture frames, microwaves, TVs and walls nonstop for thirty seconds. The crew reloaded in unison and was moment's from  continuing to blind fire when Tommy's throat exploded in a river of crimson. A dark shape danced between the members of the Rooks gang, slicing exposed veins and stabbing straight through kevlar vests and into major organs; no one could tell what it was. Ed turned his shotgun on the shadow and fired off three shots directly to its center of mass. But the thing didn't so much as slow down, driving its blade through Ed's right eye and taking a chunk of his head off.

The remaining Rooks didn't fair much better. Their bullets didn't slow the monster down. It tore through the gangsters like they were made of paper. In a matter of seconds, Nikolai was the only living thing in the Grey house.

"WHAT ARE YOU?!" The Russian screamed. His fingers were shaking as he tried to reload his SMG. The kitchen lights flickered on and a boot slammed into Nikolai Tensing's chest. He was sent sprawling into one of the dinning room chairs, his gun falling to the floor. His attacker was visible now. And his appearance was more terrifying than any shadow.

"Y-you're just...some guy?" Tensing stuttered, the groin region of his pants growing darker. The man removed a pistol from his hip and shoved it into the Russian's gaping mouth. "Who told you to come after Mr. Grey?" The masked attacker questioned. "I-I don't-" He shoved a knife into Nikolai's leg, right through a major nerve cluster. The thug cried bloody murder, begging the man to stop. "I NEED A NAME." The guy yelled. "Dennis Evans! People call him Great White. He's the leader of the Sharks." Tears streamed down Nikolai's face; he struggled to breath with the pistol stuck in his mouth. The distant sound of police sirens seemed to annoy his interrogator. "Where can I find him?" Nikolai nodded his head fiercely. "I-I can show you. Just. Please, don't kill me." He whimpered. The pistol was out of the man's mouth only long enough to put a bullet in the Russian mobster's shoulder. "AHHHH! Okay! I-his-There's a bar in Little Sicily called Finnegan's. H-he might not be there, but some of his boys should be. That's all I know, I swear-"

"I want you to pass a message up the grape vine to the Specter. Tell him that SuperIOR is off limits, or he'll be dealing with me."

"W-who do I tell him sent it?"

"Agent Black." Nikolai felt something hard impact his skull and everything went black.

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Why are you in my secret lair?!

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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."

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Laura Smith, better known as the super fast hero Boom, was an impatient woman. Even before she got her powers, she had a habit of tapping her foot. The habit used to be benign and easily ignored; now that she could move her foot at hundreds of thousands of miles per hour, her drumming sounded more akin to a hurricane. "L- Boom. You're doing it again." Thunderbolt nudged his younger sister with his elbow, giving her a look of exasperation. "Sorry." She apologized. Not two moments later, however, her foot was at it again. "Could you not?!" He growled. "I'm just...look. I can't just stand around here waiting when I know that people are dying. I'd feel much better if we were, at the very least, doing something  to help. God, I feel useless." Laura held her arms close to her chest. Thunderbolt recognized the subtle look of anguish and guilt on his sibling's face; he knew her well. Better than she knew herself, sometimes. Harvey placed a comforting arm around the girl and offered her a consolatory smile. "Everything's going to be fine. Icon'll be here any moment-"

As if on cue, the Blue Boy Scout appeared, with a woman Harvey couldn't identify at his side. Laura stood on the tips of her toes and pulled Harvey closer to her. "That's Lady Liberty! I used to watch her cartoon when I was a kid." Laura explained. Her excitement was infectious. "Oh yeah, I remember; you used to talk about that stupid show all the time." Boom scrunched her nose up, taking mild offense to the claim that her favorite show as a child was stupid. "Whatever. I least I didn't play with dolls-" Harvey's defense was immediate and passionate. "-Action figures!" He protested. "You can call a jar of piss granny's peach tea all you like. It's still a jar of piss." Laura spat back. The two noticed that they had attracted unwanted attention with their childish arguing and quickly put a stop to it.

Boom gave Icon an awkward wave and a slight smile as he approached the rest of the group. "Stoic boy scout or badass with an attitude? Decisions, decisions." Thunderbolt muttered. Unfortunately for his rib cage, Laura heard the taunt loud and clear. "Ow!" Laura seemed a little more than peeved that her "skip the introductions" had been entirely ignored as everyone made their way around the room and mingled for what felt like an eternity. She couldn't help but sigh with relief as War-Pulse stepped up to the front of the room and introduced himself. The odd voice coming from his pocket was a bit disconcerting, but Laura got over it once she realized that this 'Warden' fellow was the real brains of the operation. 

The mercenary's knowledge was useful. Pulse's informant gave a basic rundown of the goons they were likely to encounter. The speedsters watched the holographic camera footage with interest; Harvey and Laura studied the movements of their future enemies with trained efficiency. Thunderbolt seemed particularly observant when the first assailant, the Spider-Girl hybrid, appeared. The toxins might be a problem. Laura vividly recalled her fight with the man known only as the Gray Owl, and how a mere human had managed to take Boom down with his poisons. The Shark Man wouldn't be much trouble. A single Umbraxis-killing punch to his nose would likely drop him judging by the footage playing in front of them. Effigy was the wild card among the gang. If it could take on multiple powers at once, the team was done for. But if someone without powers, such as Vigilante, engaged it, the fight would be over in short order. "White Witch should be able to handle the Silver Sorceress." Thunderbolt interjected. He was obviously confident in the relative stranger's abilities.

The rest of Warden's information caused the room to go silent and stark white. Boom had heard him loud and clear the first time; but she chose to swallow her impulsive response. There had to have been more context to that, right? The man she'd met earlier didn't seem like the type to attempt genocide. But it turned out that Laura was wrong. There wasn't missing vital information. War Pulse had tried to poison Lost Haven. This city. Her city. When Iron Knight finally spoke, his words almost stung more than Warden's confession.

"WHAT?!" Boom practically screamed. "You want to talk about terrorists? There's one right in front of you. I knew you were a shitty hero but you can't possibly be this comfortable working with a man who tried to kill us all."

"Boom! Don't-" Harvey attempted to ebb Laura's rage. He soon found her talking over him, her anger all the more apparent. "How about you use your damn brain for a second, T. He poisoned the city's water supply. If that had worked, he'd have killed everyone we ever cared about. Brook, Eric, Mom and Dad? They'd all be dead. Six feet under along with millions of other people; men, women and children, all dead all so he could make a couple of bucks. Doesn't that sound wrong to you? Doesn't that go against your precious moral code, at least a little bit?"  Laura turned on her heels and shoved an incriminating finger into Trent's face. "You are just as bad as the people we're going after. You tried to inact genocide on a bunch of civilians. And you have the nerve to come back to my city after what you tried to do? Fuck you."

Boom disappeared in a flash of blue light. "You've got to be kidding me." Thunderbolt moaned. He turned to the rest of the team and placed his hand on the back of his head. "She'll be back. I think."

Laura glided to halt at the end of the bridge, next to a sign informing drivers that they were now leaving Lost Haven. She pulled a nondescript black device from one of her costume's few pockets and put it up to her ear. "This is Boom." She said with the slightest quiver in her voice. She was greeted by the familiar accented voice of her most recent contact.

“Right. Where to bloody start. So you wouldn’t happen to know a Pub on the Docks of Little Sicily by the name of Finnegans? There, was a little incident --” As Eva talked Dickens tugged on the back of her hoodie trying to get her attention. “Stop that. I, sorry that’s part of my pro.. DON’T YOU DARE!” Dickens had been shoving a corpse over to Eva in it’s attempt to share it’s bounty with her. With an audible sigh Eva continued. ”Okay before I get interrupted again Finnegans was, destroyed. You remember that, thing the monster from earlier. I guess it has, imprinted on me or something. I don’t fucking know anymore. There’s just too much crazy going on in my life. I came here to kinda establish myself, as a hero you know. ‘Stop the Pax Metahumana’ Arthur said. Be a hero he said. Find out why my friends were killed he said. I’m a girl with a magical sword, okay. I don’t know what I’m doing let alone how to find this Pax guy.”

Boom blinked twice, surprise plastered on her face.  Okay. Not what I was expecting. She grumbled internally. Laura had been hoping that someone needed their ass kicked; but alas, the English foreigner had other, more bizarre problems. "Uhhmm." She stammered. "Yeah, I've heard of the place. Dad always told me to steer clear of that place. It was trouble. Probably a good thing its gone, honestly. Uhhh, I don't know how to help you with your...monster problem...But hey, don't get your knickers in a twist (or whatever the hell they say across the pond); I've got some 'friends' trying to track down Pax Metahumana. In fact, they're planning their assault right now. I could take you there- But.." Laura paused, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. 

"They're teaming up with a mercenary who tried to poison all of Lost Haven. The fucking fuckwad tried to fucking kill us all. Motherfucker." Boom paused once more. "Sorry. Not a good day. I'll pick you up and take you there if that's what you want."

"Uh, sure."

Before Eva knew it, she had been whisked away in a cloud of dust by a bright light. Moments later, before the poor girl could even process what was happening, she was standing in front of Arthur's Tower in the center of Sherman Square. "You alright?" Laura asked, feeling guilty that she hadn't given Eva any warning before grabbing her at mach 250. If it weren't for the ever enigmatic lightning effect, Eva would've been paste. Luckily all she'd likely be suffering from was minor nausea. "Go on ahead. the Elevator's pretty clearly marked. I'm uh, gonna stay out here. Clear my head a bit, ya know?" With that, the speedster zoomed off to the roof to sulk.

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B L U E   B E E T L E

I have energy beams, and you have no pants. Do the math.

Name:
Jaime Reyes

Alignment:
Chaotic Good

Affiliation:
Independent

History:
Before he took on the mantle of the Blue Beetle, Jaime Reyes was a normal high school student living in El Paso, Texas. His parents were immigrants from Mexico who moved to the United States when they were married. His father, Alberto, owned an auto-repair garage. His mother was a paramedic. Jaime's only sibling is Milagro, his insufferable little sister who's only goal in life seemed to annoy her older brother to death. Aside from his family, Jaime spent most of his time with Brenda Del Vecchio and Paco Testas; they were Reyes' best friends, who made Jaime's school years more or less bearable. It was a good life. A fulfilling life. But Jaime craved more. He saw what life outside of the little town of El Paso was like, and he determined that once he finished school he would leave home in pursuit of greatness.

But greatness found him.

While on his way home from the theater, Jaime discovered the beetle scarab known as Khaji Da, buried in the dirt next to a generic parking lot. Reyes took the device home and after a few minutes of internet research he discovered that it had some connection to the superhero known as the Blue Beetle. What that connection was, however, he did not know. That night, the Scarab came alive, and grafted itself to the base of Jaime's spine during his sleep, inducing strange dreams in Jaime. When he awoke, the young hero found himself deeply disturbed by the dreams; much more disturbing, the scarab was gone. It wasn't until Jaime returned home after school later that day that he noticed the thing had attached itself to his back. Utterly terrified and bemused, Jaime sneaked out of the house during the night and set out for Chicago, the place where Blue Beetle sightings were most frequent.

Upon entering the city, Jaime was confronted by a local gang of metahumans known as the Posse. One of their members, Probe, had detected Jaime's scarab. They claimed to be creating a superhero team and wanted to recruit Jaime. Reyes, believing they might know where he could find the Blue Beetle, decided to go with them. Upon entering the Posse's home 'base' (it was little more than a dilapidated old apartment building) the scarab sensed danger and activated. The Blue Beetle armor encased Jaime in its shell and assisted Reyes in fighting off the Posse, who were in reality metahuman traffickers working for a mysterious company known as Cadmus. With the help of the overtly aggressive voice in his head, Jaime defeated all but the strongest member of the Posse, Thumper. The super-strong gangster managed to match the scarab in sheer strength, even surpassing it at certain times. The all out brawl eventually led to the destruction of multiple low income apartment buildings. It was this destruction that brought Jaime Reyes to the attention of Ted Kord, the second Blue Beetle. Ted took down and escorted Jaime to his laboratory. There, Jaime explained his situation to the Chicago-based superhero. 

After a few weeks of digging, Ted discovered that the scarab had been found decades ago by Dan Garrett, the original Blue Beetle in Egypt. 

Supporting Cast:

How (if at all) does the New Frontier version of your character differ from the original?:

Post References:

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An amused smile crossed Hyperion's face as Ant-Man managed to dodge under his optic blasts. Not an impossible feat, especially considering they were low-powered non-lethal attacks. Yet common men capable of such speed and agility were few and far between. The incident brought up fond memories of a particular gladiator Zhib-Ran had done battle with on the coliseums of Arie in the Shi'ar Galaxy. The youth had coped with the eye beams for a time; that is, before Hyperion crushed the boy's skull between his fingers. Ah, the good old days. The alien reminisced momentarily. Hyperion brought his attention back to the moment at hand and responded to Ant-Man's comment with as much snark as he could muster. "What can I say? I appreciate a challenge." It was then that Hyperion made the mistake of turning his back on his enemy. This mere mortal was far more powerful than he appeared. Zhib-Ran had mistakenly assumed Miss America to be the greater threat between the two of them. That hypothesis turned out to be incorrect as a fist the size of a grown man smashed into the alien's exposed back. 

Hyperion lay sprawled across the cold training room floor for less than a moment. He sprung to his feet with an unexpected amount of acrobatic skill and agility, added by his natural ability of flight. The human's atrocious puns were teetering on infuriating, having lost their boyish charm quite awhile ago. Zhib-Ran allowed his opponents a brief moment of respite to recuperate and strategize. During that time, Zhib looked over the pair and examined their own weaknesses, putting his enhanced senses and X-ray vision to good use. The giant appeared to share many of the same weak points on a human being but were now larger and more durable. A single punch with sufficient force to the trachea and maybe a followup to the diaphragm would rob the brilliant scientist manchild of his oxygen. Chavez was a different story. Everything about her vitals were off. They were similar enough to fool most of this planet's primitive technology, but Hyperion acute vision and hearing allowed him to pick up on the subtle differences between her and other earthlings. That could be explained by her extra-dimensional origins. What Zhib-Ran was wondering was if certain nerve attacks would be more or less effective due to these biological differences.

There's only one way to find out. Milton supposed.

The hair on the back of the conqueror's neck stood on end as a loud bang and a flash of light announced a shift in the battle. There Loki, the Trickster God, stood facing away from him. If Loki were any other foe, Hyperion would've taken the opportunity to strike while his attention was averted. But a Norse God of tricks was not to be dealt with conventionally.

The final challenger approached from the training room's front entrance. Agent Parrington. The Valkyrie. She was paraded as one of SHIELD's most powerful agents. Zhib-Ran had familiarized himself with her exploits and abilities, but had yet to officially meet the woman. He had to admit, she looked taller in the video logs. The woman clothed herself in her golden Asgardian armor and gave the team a joke and a brief pep talk before leading the charge. This certainly makes things interesting.

Without any warning, Hyperion vanished from the Avengers' sight. He reappeared a milisecond later behind them, firing off a pair of supersonic beams of concussive energy from his eyes into Giant-Man's back. He followed up the attack with a speed blitz toward America; his end goal being to grab her and slam her against the far wall. Finally, Zhib-Ran placed his back against the wall and finished with a thunderclap, hoping to take out an invisible Loki. Afterwards, he would turn his attention to Valkyrie. The string of brutally efficient attacks hadn't accounted for her arrival and could be interrupted and potentially countered, should the Avengers prove to be better than Hyperion first thought.

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"Batman." Slade Wilson responded, acknowledging his opponent coldly. The mercenary's hand wrapped around the hilt of his katana, drawing the weapon out of its sheathe with a sharp pull. He charged toward the vigilante, using his enhanced speed to its peak effect. Slade feinted a slash across Batman's chest but instead used his momentum to leap over the Dark Knight. Before his feet had even hit the ground, Slade unleashed a simple two-hit combination of one fronthand and one backhand slice. The Terminator jumped backwards to avoid a counter attack from the caped crusader. "I underestimated you in our first encounter. I won't do that again." Deathstroke bitterly recalled his first battle with Batman. He had criminally underrated the vigilante's sharp intelligence and fierce fighting style. Slade had excepted nothing more than some insane fool in a cape and mask. Instead, Wilson found himself confronting a bonafide master martial artist and excellent tactician. The display had been utterly humiliating for the Terminator, whom hadn't suffered such clear defeat in hand to hand combat since his first days in Team 7.

Deathstroke wasn't a braggart. However, he was pragmatic; Slade knew that he was an exceptional fighter. Amanda Waller had expressed that Slade could very well have been among the top fifty best martial artists on earth, thanks entirely to his training with Natas, Kaine, Taskmaster and other lesser known masters. But next to Batman? Slade's skills were a joke. Without his powers to even out the playing field, the Terminator could never beat the World's Greatest Detective. Their first encounter had ingrained this fact into Deathstroke's perfect memory. He can still remember each and every lightning fast nerve strike the Bat had used to disable Slade's arms. And try as he might, Wilson could never replicate the feat; he always ended up snapping his opponent's bones in half through sheer force. It was irritating to say the least.

For the past year, Slade had spent every moment he wasn't on the field perfecting his sword fighting and hand to hand techniques. His battle with Batman had been a wake up call. Now Wilson found himself face to face with the man who had totally humiliated him, armed with the knowledge and preparation to potentially defeat him. This was not a victory Slade would allow to slip through his fingers.

Deathstroke waited for the perfect moment. He parried, blocked and dodged Batman's safer moves, only occasionally going in for a conservative stab when he knew the vigilante couldn't counter. He made use of the Renzoku waza combination attacks; a feinted fronthand into a weak backhand, finally finishing in a powerful fronthand strike capable of rending steel. That was mostly just to keep the Bat guessing. The real goal was to wait for Bats to attempt an attack that wasn't totally safe. Something has simple as a sidekick, or a punch. Deathstroke utilized his enhanced reflexes to catch Batman out in an attack that, under normal circumstances, couldn't be effectively countered. He would strike out with his Wakizashi (he would likely be in too close quarters to use his full sized blade anyway) at the Achilles tendon or radial artery, depending on what move he chose to counter. The Adamantium/Promethium alloy in the weapon would hopefully allow it to pierce the Dark Knight's notoriously tough armor.

Here's hoping he's no swordsman.

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Sherman Center, Lost Haven

The final stage of planning was complete. All that was left was for the team to actually get to West Virginia and take this Doctor Diplodoc guy down. It seemed simple enough a task. Yet, nothing was ever as easy as it seemed. Thunderbolt quickly made his way out of Sherman Center. Finding his sister, Boom, wasn't difficult. They were both intimately connected via the power of the Lightning Effect, the source of their speed. Harvey could track her down rather easily; and vice versa. He found Laura seated on the edge of Sherman center's roof, her feet dangling precariously off. Thunderbolt plopped down beside her, wondering how in the seven layers of hell he was going to convince Laura that they needed her help. Harvey recalled a fond memory of trying (unsuccessfully) to get a pissed off Laura out of the treehouse when they were kids. Dad had ordered her to stop snooping on their elderly neighbors, the Frankfurts. Laura insisted that they were both really aliens disguised as humans and was hellbent on proving it. Barred from her investigation, the Smith girl had decided to hide in her treehouse in protest. A whole day and a half had passed before dad got so fed up that he climbed up the tree and dragged his daughter inside.

"I-" Thunderbolt began, his voice tentative and unsure.

"Yes, I understand that I have a responsible to help. And yes, I believe you when you say that we'll take War-Pulse in the moment Pax is dealt with. It just pisses me off that all of Lost Haven's so called heroes set aside their morals at the first sign of trouble. Whatever happened to integrity?! Shit, you'd think Icon, of all people, would at the very least condemn him for his actions. But no! He's just like the rest. I'm starting to think he's no better than the rest of them. Of us." Boom poured out her thoughts to her brother in the span of a hundredth of a second. She'd obviously thought long and hard about this while the team busied itself strategizing. Harvey stared at her, momentarily stunned as he processed everything she'd said. He understood Laura's position. He even agreed with her to an extent. But something told Thunderbolt that they needed War-Pulse. That this deal with the devil was absolutely necessary to defeat a greater evil.

"How did you know what I was going to say?" He asked, breaking the silence.

Laura gave him a meager smile. "You're predictable."

"Does...this mean you'll help us?" Harvey questioned once more. Boom merely nodded. Thunderbolt jumped to his feet, hands on his hips. "Great!" He gave an enthusiastic shout. "Let's get going. We gotta beat the traffic, after all." Boom stood as well; however, she didn't appear quite as ecstatic about the present situation. "I have some..business..to attend to first. I'll meet you guys in West Virginia." That deflated Harv's joy in a flash. "Oh. Uhhh...Alright. See you there, I guess. Stay safe." With that, the two speedsters departed.

Pax Metahumana Facility, West Virginia

The 'trip' to West Virginia hadn't taken Thunderbolt more than thirty seconds. He had to spend an unbearable amount of time just waiting for the slowest members of the rag tag team to arrive via air. Of course, he hadn't just stood around in the airport. Ugh, no. He'd never waste time just standing. Harvey had patrolled a handful of cities, taking down petty criminals attempting to take advantage of the widespread chaos and panic. There was no shortage of conflicts to resolve either. Tensions were high and it looked as if everyone was searching for a reason to break something. Thunderbolt stopped to repair broken shop windows and clean up homes effected by the looting. He had gone so far as to assist the police in organizing the citizens into watch groups, who's sole goal was to report suspicious activity and keep their neighborhoods calm and orderly.

Once everyone had arrived, the heroes made their way to the facility itself. Chris (who had chosen to stay in Lost Haven to coordinate the two teams) gave Team One the go ahead to enter the 'secret' base; which was little more than an abandoned factory of some kind. The place was huge. Absurdly so. Thunderbolt acted as an advanced scout for the team. He would move ahead of them, checking for danger, mostly in the form of traps and dilapidated walls, floors and roofs. Chris warned the team that the enemy was nearby, so the speedster chose to move back to the group to keep a tight formation. He was greeted by the arrival of the Silver Sorceress. Her appearance betrayed the sort of power War-Pulse had warned them of. “I’m surprised it took you all this long to discover our little hideaway.  But I guess that what happens when you try to jam several different cogs and gears into a clock and expect it to work.” The woman taunted. "Pfft. What, you think you can take us on your own? You and what army?!"

With a wave of her hands, the rest of the villains appeared out of thin air. "Me and my big mouth." Harvey muttered. His eyes danced around as he took in his opponents at super speed. The match ups became obvious. Effigy took on War-Pulses powers; those two wanted a rematch to be sure. White Witch would likely take on the magicians, being the only one who had any knowledge of the dark arts. The Black Widow grabbed Sam, whom Lyger was likely to want to save. That only left the Shark for Thunderbolt. He didn't know what Radiance was planning to do, but if he was in her position, he'd help out Witch with the dynamic duo. "Lyger, save your girlfriend! Shark-face is mine."

The speedster twins had plenty of experience dealing with bricks. Concrete and El Toro, two of their more regular rogues, both fit that particular description. Concrete in a more literal fashion. Thunderbolt started with his patented speed blitz. He shot forward, reaching about half speed in three quick steps. He transferred almost all of his momentum into his hips and right fist and slugged Jaws right in the schnoz with all the force of a great typhoon. The shark man felt himself lifted off his feet and tossed backwards at hypersonic speeds. His huge body smashed through a a conveyor belt and various other industrial equipment. Harvey was on the Great White in a moment, not allowing him a second to get his barring. The speedster ran around Jaws, unleashing a hail of quick jabs to vital parts of the body. Thunderbolt's instincts, combined with his martial training and super powers, allowed him to find the perfect spots to strike for maximum effectiveness.

The bout looked to be one-sided until Jaws swung his powerful arm in a wide arc, catching Thunderbolt in the back. The quick little hero was knocked into the air, rocketing toward the ceiling. The blue blur was thrown straight through a metal walkway and collided with the unstable roof with a thud. Harv crashed back to earth, his body cracking the concrete floor when he landed. "Holy crap." Thunderbolt groaned. Every muscle in his body was overcome with a sharp, stabbing pain. His bones ached and he was pretty sure those were his broken ribs stabbing into his side. Harvey pushed the protruding bones back into place, cringing at the disgusting sound of his healing factor repairing the internal damage. Before Thunderbolt could fully recover, Jaws flew across the room, his body covered in a strange blue aura, and struck Thunderbolt on the jaw. He skidded across the ground and violently slammed into a nearby wall. Blood poured freely from his mouth and nose. Harvey adjusted his broken nose, allowing it to snap back into position. 

Jaws hit hard; harder than either Toro or Concrete, that was for sure. He might have been faster too. Thunderbolt's healing factor hadn't permanently fixed his injuries, but the major ones had been patched over until it could finish the job later. Harvey prayed a silent thank you to whoever or whatever had designed his powers so well. The hero pushed himself to his feet and dashed to the side just in time to avoid another charge from the Shark Man. "Have you ever watched Sharknado?" Thunderbolt suddenly asked between breaths. The monster didn't seem to be in the mood for conversation and attempted to hit Thunderbolt once more. Harvey stepped to the side. He led Jaws away from the wall and into the center of the room. Once he was sure he had enough room to maneuver, Thunderbolt began running circles around the brick. Wind began whipping about the enclosed space as the speedster picked up the pace. It wasn't long before a full on tornado began to form around the shark. The winds strength increased to the point where Jaws' feet left the ground and he started to float. The giant was thrown violently around the cyclone, being deprived of precious oxygen every second he spent stuck there. "Got ya now, asshole!"

As quickly as it had appeared, the tornado dissipated. Magical energy tore the speed-induced phenomenon apart, and the Silver Sorceress used her powers to launch the Shark at the speedster yet again. "Ahhh!" Thunderbolt screamed. He tried to run, but found his feet held to the ground by vines. Without any time to free himself, he threw up his arms to protect his face from the oncoming flying shark.

There was a crackling of energy. A silver and blue silhouette sped between the various conflicts and smashed into the side of the shark, knocking him away. Thunderbolt recognized his sister instantly. "Back off!" She shouted. Her voice was as demanding and stubborn as usual; an attitude he'd grown to appreciate at times like this. Thunderbolt freed himself and he joined Boom in attacking Jaws. "Where have you been?" Harvey didn't bother to hide his wry grin. "I was getting help. Speaking of which..."

A hole was blown through the factory ceiling. Three figures descended to the floor. Skyquake charged full-sail toward the two battling War-Pulses, ready to pound Effigy into the dirt with her super strength. Skull-Thrasher detached himself from his grappling hook and started taking pot shots at Black Widow with his pistols. Meanwhile, Supercell conjured up a tiny storm to launch lightning across the battlefield. "Vanguard, engage!" Skyquake yelled out triumphantly. "Engage?" Skull-Thrasher mocked his Irish leader. "Is that the best you've got?" May ignored her armored compatriot and turned her full attention toward the War-Pulses. "Oy. Name the two speed twins n' where you met them!" She impatiently questioned, floating alongside the two. While the inquiry might seem utterly random at first, her intentions were clear enough after a seconds thought: only the actual War-Pulse would know that bit of information.

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French Quarter Police Precinct, Lost Haven

"Yo, Frankie. I think he's wakin' up."

Chike Baatul felt like he had been hit by a freight train. He tried to open his eyes but found himself temporarily blinded by the overwhelming amount of light. Chike rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes until his vision cleared up. He was sitting on a concrete floor, starring at a set of metal bars. On the other side of the bars stood two uniformed police officers. Chike placed a hand against his forehead, wincing in pain. That speedster had hit him harder than anyone else had since he lost his powers. Knocked him out cold with a single punch. It was obvious he was in some kind of holding cell. The two men's uniforms made them out to be cops, not prison guards. Chike concluded that he must be in one of the LHPD's many holding areas awaiting transport. Or trial. He had to wonder what sort of due process he was allowed as a metahuman. Speaking of which.. he thought to himself. Polemos slammed a fist against the concrete and immediately regretted it; definitely no superpowers. He had been out for quite some time then. And his fist now hurt. A hell of a lot. Ow.

"Whoa, George. He crazy or somethin'?" The second cop, Frank, asked. He was young, likely straight out of high school. The kid's accent made him out to be a native of Boston. "Not crazy, Frankie. Report says the guy had super strength when we got 'im." The other gentleman appeared to be in his early forties. His dialect denoted his origin point to be somewhere in New York; maybe Brooklyn? Baatul couldn't make it out. His head still hurt like all hell. 

"Well what happened to him?" Frank inquired. He titled his head to the left, examining the prisoner with some curiosity. "No idea. Must'a lost 'em when he blacked out." 

Meanwhile, George was filling out a piece of paper attached to a clipboard. Probably some kind of incident report about the vigilante's capture. "What's that?" Frank poked his head over his partner's broad shoulder. "It's everything we've got on this guy. Forensics says he's the same guy who threw down with Icon during the riots. Calls himself 'Polemos.' Jerry down in accounting told me that meant War in Greek." George informed the ignorant youth. "His boss was Ares, God o' War, right?" George just nodded. "Yup. STRIKE's suppose ta show up later today and haul him off to some dark hole."

Now that got Chike's attention. He thought he'd get away on bail; he and Ceri were still rolling in cash after Hephaestus and Ares were defeated by Athena. They hadn't figured out what to do with the mansion or the army of automatons living underneath it. But if STRIKE was coming for him, there was nothing Chike could do to get out of this. Not legally, anyway. Baatul didn't particularly enjoy breaking the law. He'd purposefully gone out of his way not to engage the police at all until recently; and he only did that to save the city from a metahuman apocalypse. If I don't get out of here, none of that will matter. Can't let STRIKE take me. But what am I goin' to do? No powers, no weapons and no backup. Damn it. No way outta this one, is there?

"Po-lee-mos."

"Nah, I think its more of a...Pole-moss."

"Pfft. No way, that's stupid. We should ask Jer-"

"It's pronounced Paw-leh-maws." Chike corrected between gritted teeth. His knuckles were turning all shades of purple from their impact with the concrete flooring. "Ey, buddy. You need somebody to look at that?"

"That'd be nice, actu-" Chike's words were drowned out by the slamming of a nearby door. A trio of men in standard BDU camouflage marched into the holding area. The momentarily frightened police officers managed to shake off the scare and greeted the soldiers. "You boys must be STRIKE operatives," George assumed, "your man's right in here. We've been expecting you." Something buzzed nearby. A moment later the door to Chike's cage slid open, allowing the STRIKE team to step inside. The two officers kept their hands near their weapons. Chike noted that his escorts had sidearms at their hips as well; yet, the three seemed tenses for a fist fight rather than a shootout.  Can't exactly take me in alive if I'm full of bullet holes. He mused in silence. He didn't resist when one of the STRIKE agents slapped a pair of cuffs on his wrists; nor did he bother trying to fight them as he was led out of the building and into the back of a nondescript black van.

"Hello, Mr. Baatul." Chike froze where he stood. Every muscle in his body coiled, like the spring of a mouse trap. He knew that voice. That voice belonged to his most dangerous foe. The CEO of SuperIOR. Jack Grey. "I've been looking for you." The suave businessman's grin made Chike's blood to boil. He wanted to choke the life out of Grey with every fiber of his being. But without the serum, he was little more than a man. A man fueled by rage and vengeance, but a man nonetheless. "I'll kill you, you piece of shit!" Baatul roared. He struggled against the vice-like grip of his captors. Neither gave a centimeter. In fact, both only seemed to squeeze harder. Holy hell. Chike gasped internally. They're super soldiers. The man's epiphany must of shown on his face, because Jack knew exactly what he was thinking. "Surprised? You shouldn't be. You didn't really think I'd let you disappear into the ever hidden shadow of STRIKE, did you? Oh no, escaping me isn't that easy. I still have some questions for you. Besides, I think I have an offer you can't refuse."

Chike became still. No matter how much he struggled, the two men who held him down wouldn't budge. Resigned to his fate, Baatul chose to instead listen to Jack's proposition. "What could I possibly want from you?" He spat. Jack's easy-going manner didn't change as he wiped the spittle from his cheek. "Well, it's quite simple. You crave power. Every since Ares gifted you with the Polemos enhancements, your body has changed. You'd become comfortable being a god. Relied on it, even. When that was all taken away from you, you sought a way to satisfy that hunger within you. The Super Soldier Serum was your ticket to peace. Not for others, as you so passionately preach to your friends. No. You only wanted peace for yourself. Your soul is broken, Mr. Baatul. Ares shattered the man you once were. No one could help you. Not even Athena, the Goddess of Wisdom, knew what had become of you. You're such a little man, pretending to be a god. But you don't have to pretend any longer, Chike. I can give you the power you seek."

"I've never told anyone that before." Chike whispered. "How could you know-"

"Because I was a god once as well." While the two spoke, Jack had begun unbuttoning his dress shirt. Chike shifted in his seat, a feeling of dread rapidly building up in the pit his stomach. "My name is Archangel Uriel, the god of wisdom. I came to this earth thousands of years ago because I was cast from the heavens for my rebellion. My people are known by many names; a heavily embellished version of our history was recorded by humanity and still remains in circulation to this day. At least, that is what I have been lead to believe. My memory was fragmented centuries ago when I was...separated...from my armor. I am no longer whole." Chike's eyes widened at the sight of it. Jack's chest was covered in glowing alien symbols. It shouldn't have been possible, but somehow Chike recognized the language. "The Athanatoi and my people shared a similar dialect."

Chike's eyes flicked away from Jack's tattoos and at his face, confusion and fear billowing like a terrible storm in his heart. "I can read your mind. I'm a telepat-"

"Stop. Interrupting. Me." Chike growled. His anger momentarily cut through the terror and flooded to the surface of his consciousness. "I cannot tell you how insufferably annoying it is to hear you speak whatever I'm thinking. And its making my damn skin crawl." Uriel gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. "Very few talk to me in that tone and live to tell the tale. Be warned, Polemos. My patience runs thin. You may be too important to kill now, but the future is uncertain."

"Yo-you said you can give me my powers back. How? What did you mean?"

"I believe one of the Cowl's affiliates is in possession of a device called the Uzziah Tablet. My sources claim that it is inscribed with powerful magic. If my theories are correct, the tablet will lead us to the body of one of my people-"

"-Uzziah?"

"Yes. He was not one of the Fallen, as I am. So it is reasonable to assume he died with his armor on him. If we get that armor, you and I are one step closer to restoring our godhood."

"What if his body was looted? He's likely been dead for hundreds if not thousands of years.

"No power on earth can separate one of us from our armor."

"Hold on, you keep talking about 'your people.' Are you an alien?"

"We are called the God-Machine. Our existence is beyond your immediate comprehension and my knowledge of my past is limited. Without my restoration, there is little I can tell you. Will you help me?"

"On one condition. You'll leave my friends alone."

"Deal."

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Pain racked Slade Wilson's body as he forced himself to stay conscious. "Knew I should've worn the armor. I'm such a dumbass." Deathstroke groaned. Whilst preparing for the climatic battle between himself and the Bat, Slade had chosen to abandon the Nth metal armored suit in favor of his lighter, more stealth-orientated costume. He had once again underestimated the vigilante's tenacity and it had cost him a vital contract. Slade's reputation likely wouldn't suffer; every mercenary has lost to the Dark Knight at least once. But his pride was slighted again. Funny thing, that. The only human being to ever give Deathstroke pause, led alone defeat him, was a nut dressed as a flying rodent. The entire fight was a blur in the mercenary's mind. The only thing he could remember in any vivid detail after being struck in the skull was the deafening explosion that had beaten him. Bats had hit Slade with a series of moves that only served to stun Wilson before finishing him off with...what? His tank? Where the hell does a guy like that get all of his gear?

Focus. The sound of sirens pierced the fog. Boots thumped against concrete; they were getting closer with each passing second. Slade could make out maybe two dozen silhouettes through the smoke left behind by his target. Twenty four men. All armed. Looks like I'm in the middle of the court yard, which means no cover...this should be easy enough.

The first police officer stepped through the shroud of smoke and dust particles, sidearm raised and at the ready. The man took a kunai through the left eye before he could so much as blink. Deathstroke shoved off the ground and leaned against a nearby light pole. Two of his ribs were fractured and his spine hurt like all hell. Not to mention the lack of feeling in his right leg, or the blood soaking his socks. "Freeze!" Slade turned toward the voice. Two more cops, each with their weapons trained on him. Slade planted his right foot on the ground and spun, kicking the light pole with enough force to send it flying right at them. The pair went flying backwards maybe ten feet before sliding to a halt in a pool of their combined blood. Deathstroke started to limp toward what appeared to be the exit. He couldn't be too sure through all the smog. "Over here! I found Barnes. He's dead, sir." Someone shouted from behind Slade. "Tt." The mercenary whipped out one of his pistols and fired in the direction of the sound; satisfied by the splat and thump that followed.

"Shots fired from the south side of the courtyard! All units, converge!" An entourage of four more assailants appeared from the rapidly thinning mist. Without warning or command, they opened fire. Slade ducked, dodged and weaved through the barrage until he was too close to one of them for the rest to safely shoot. They're not civilians, Slade. These guys are enemy combatants. Soldiers. They signed up for this. Don't hold back. Kill 'em all. The man's head left his shoulders after a single flying spin kick to the cheek. The decapitated cranium slammed right into a female officer's face with enough force to obliterate the front portion of her skull. Only one of the remaining targets had the stomach to keep shooting, despite the carnage. Hmph. Aren't you a brave one? Slade mused as he closed the distance in an instant and shoved off the ground, pushing his knee into the cop's stomach. His rib cage would be glass, but he'd survive. In one smooth motion, Deathstroke performed a fronthand spring off the guy's shoulders and wrapped his left leg around the second's throat, snapping his neck as he stuck the landing. Now you're just showing off.

The fog cleared as Slade caught sight of the entrance. The way was barred by a large metal gate and ten more members of the Gotham City PD. The small army opened fire the moment they spotted the oncoming mercenary. "Ah, fuck." Slade willed his wounded leg to move as he rolled forward to avoid the first couple of volleys. He leapt forward perhaps fifteen feet, removing one of his blades from its scabbard in the process. He swiped through one of the closer knitted firing squads before charging toward the next and slicing all their throats in a single spin. Slade somersaulted his way at yet another grouping, jumping up off the floor and kicking an officer with enough force to send him skidding across the courtyard. Just as he landed, Deathstroke sliced a second man in half and stabbed a third and a fourth who were standing just a little too close through the heart. Slade ripped the weapon out of the pair and chucked it into another's skull. The final cop actually managed to graze a very wounded Deathstroke's shoulder with his erratic fire. Slade spun and back-fisted him in the chest, ragdolling the guy into the wall with enough power to crack the concrete.

Slade slowly made his way toward the prison's gate. He wrapped a pair of bloody hands around the bars and began to tug. However, before he could make any progress, a bullet pierced his lower abdomen. "Son of a-" Another wave of rounds flew toward the injured mercenary, causing him to dive to the floor to avoid being turned to Swiss Cheese. "I don't have time for this." Slade pulled out his pistol and put a bullet between each police officers' eyes before they realized he was even moving. The Terminator stood. He placed his feet through the concrete floor and his palms on the center of the gate. He pushed with all of his might. After a moment's struggle the fruits of his labor bared themselves, and the metal structure toppled over with a crash.

The wounded Soldier for Hire stepped out into the dark and gloomy Gotham night. He turned his eye toward the parking lot, wondering if he could hot wire one of the cars and get out of there. A light beep in his ear gave Slade pause. Very few people had access to his private communications channel; and they all knew to only use it if it was of the utmost importance. The merc tapped a specific part of his helmet. "Go." He said simply. "Your son is alive." Slade's muscles locked up in an instant. His mouth was dryer than a desert. He tried to speak, but all that came out were stammers. "We've tracked down your son's last known location to somewhere in New York. We want you to help us find him, Slade."

"Who are you?"

"We are HIVE."

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(Kind of like this? I don't really like it, but its sorta what I'm going for)

Username: FacePunch
Name: Rend

Gender: Male
Profession(s): Big Game Hunting, Assassination, Bounty Hunting

Guild: Thieves Guild
Class: Pridestalker

Notable Traits: Rend is short in stature but deceptively muscular. His long white hair is weaved into three separate braids that hang loose at his shoulders. Arguably his most striking feature is the eyepatch over his right eye. The thing is mostly made of silver, however the center is dominated by a glowing crimson gemstone. The Pridestalker is a silent killer; he rarely speaks, and only does so when it is necessary to gain a tactical advantage. He takes a liking to taunting his foes before tearing them limb from limb. Rend covers himself in the hide of the rare Ivory Lion: his greatest kill. Rend is known to take trophies off his more impressive kills.

Abilities:

Rend And Tear: The Pridestalker leaps out of the shadows and onto a single enemy  for extra damage. First attack adds a bleed effect. Increases Savagery.

Terrifying Roar: Rend replicates the sound of an enemy's greatest predator. Strikes fear into opponents, lowering general combat effectiveness.

Crippling Strike: The Assassin launches a spiked bola at the enemy target. If the weapon lands, it temporarily immobilizes the target. Adds a long lasting slow and a bleed effect. Increases Savagery.

The Great Hunt: Whenever Rend stands perfectly still (while out of sight) for a certain amount of time, The Pridestalker becomes invisible. Movement speed, attack speed and damage are all increased. Using an ability or attacking causes Rend to become visible once more.

Savage Beast: Whenever Rend's Savagery 'bar' becomes full, he enters an enraged state. All stats are increased and abilities become more effective. Savagery is gained by using certain abilities and killing enemies.

Equipment:

18 inch double sided dagger
Bladed Gauntlets
Leather Chestplate
Leather Greaves
Leather Boots + hidden blade
Eyepatch (Increases sight range)
A dozen Bolas
Grappling Hook + 35 feet of rope
Fire-making Kit
Small Survival Kit (Water cleaning tablets, herbs, bandages, ect)

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James Spinne


{"Spider-Man, Spider-Man, does whatever a spider- Wait a second. Who the hell's Spider-Man and when did he steal my gimmick?!"}
-James

| James Arachne Spinne |

| Nickname |
Most people call me Bug. Or some variant of the insult. Which is stupid, because spiders are not bugs. Bunch'a jackholes.

| Birth Date |
The world became a much better place on January 2nd, 1997.

| Age |
That'd be 19, for you people who can't do basic arithmetic.

| Classification |
Fresher than Bel Air. I-I'm a Freshman, I mean.

| Gender |
I identify as an attack helicop- Ah, I'm just kidding. I'm a dude. You can make sure, if you want. (Ladies.)

| Sexuality |
Straight as Gibraltar, babe.

| Alias |
Hear my name, and despair! For I am the terrifying Arachnid! It's not very creative, is it?

| Role |
I'm hesitant to classify myself as a villain, but you leave me little choice. I'm no good doer, but being in the same category as some of the monsters around here is...unsettling.

| Loyalty |
Myself, mostly. But if someone asks I'm obliged to say Delphina so I don't get my ass beat into next Sunday.

| In Depth Appearance |
Uhhh. Well, I'm 5'11. I weigh 170 pounds (of pure, unadulterated muscle!) I've been told I like a bit old for my age. Not super important, but I'm being in depth here. The tattoo on my left arm says "Prosochí Fang tis aráchnis," which means "Beware the spider's fang" in Greek. It was my dad's idea. It's been a tradition in the family since Great Great Uncle Jesse  first got his powers. The tattoo, I mean. We all have matching tattoos. Uhhh, I tend to stay clean shaven, although I've been known to keep stubble for weeks at a time 'cause shaving is difficult. My enhanced metabolism causes my hair to grow faster than usual. Which sucks. Because I have to work extra hard to keep this beautiful face maintained. 

| Habits | Quirks | Oddities |
Getting a bit personal, aren't we?

I tend to stammer over my words when I get nervous. Who doesn't, though?

I can't sleep without music on. It runs in the family.

Uhhh. Lemme think of another. I- hrm. I'm left handed. Does that count as an oddity? I'm going to say it does.

| Hobbies |
I collect spiders. Yeah, yeah, I know its weird. But something about it feels so right, ya know?

Whenever a break rolls around, a group of us Delphina residents like to go paintballing. With superpowers. It's extremely badass, if you ask me.

Bruh. My chess skills are just...unmatched. Okay, that isn't entirely true. But I'm pretty good.

It's less of a 'hobby' and more of an unofficial homework assignment, but one of my teachers pushed me into joining a dumb gymnastics class. Those nerds call it 'parkour,' but come on. I might as well be in tights. What are a couple of fancy flips going to do for me in a fight anyway?

| Likes |
Spiders
Pizza
Money
Hard Rock music
Guns
Myself
Being real bad
Greek Myth

| Dislikes |
Pesticides
Vegetables
Being called 'Bug'
Jerks
Goody-two-shoes types
The color yellow
Rap music

| Fears |
Pesticides
Dying Alone (NO, I don't want to talk about it.)

| Personality Traits |
The Good:
Light-hearted
Charming
Empathetic
Cautious
Genuine
Polite (Most of the time, anyway)

The Bad:
Selfish
Lazy
Dishonorable
Airy
Childish
Irrational
Untrusting

| Personality |
--Overview of Subject's Character--

James Spinne never grew up. He consistently treats everything with the same amount of care; that amount being none at all. No matter how serious the topic or situation presented, James always has a 'humorous' comment or 'witty' retort. The boy, and I do mean boy, rarely shows interest in anything beyond the trivial or superficial. James is infuriatingly laid back and casual, to the point of slothfulness. He never writes anything down, no matter how pivotal. He constantly finishes work moments before its due, late, or not at all. He's disorganized as well. I can't put into words how impossible it was to navigate his room when we first met for initial evaluation. Speaking of which, Mr. Spinne's first impressions are quite honestly horrific. He left me outside for a full five minutes (after I spotted him looking at me through the window, mind you) before finally letting me in. From what his father told me, James doesn't so much as greet someone before he can determine they're not some sort of threat.

All of that aside, James is an absolute joy to interact with. He could make the most boring and uninteresting activity feel like an adventure. His mannerisms, albeit frustrating at first, grew on me. I've met few men his age with such a pleasant disposition. James was quite polite as well. He treated me with a surprising amount of respect once he actually let me in the front door. Mr. Spinne was quite honest, as well. He knew his flaws well and wasn't afraid to admit them. He never beat around the bush with me. The boy was very direct. His genuine attitude was refreshing when every other student we scout out looks to be a compulsive liar. Most surprising was when he apologized to me after the meeting was over. Not only did he know that he was flawed, but he seemed to actually care how his flaws affected me. Astonishing, really, coming from the son of a Spinne.

I recommend accepting his application, if only to keep James out of Mayweather. That boy's life is nearing an important crossroad; he draws close to the place where he must make the most important decision of his life. Whether to follow in the footsteps of those who came before him, or abandon it all for the life of a hero. We should be the ones to influence his path. Not anyone else.

--Delphina Evaluation Officer--

| Abilities |
I can do whatever a spider can! No but seriously, I totally can. I have these crazy spinnerets on the backs of my wrists. They shoot webs out at high velocities and stick to the first thing they touch. Pretty nifty, yeah? It gets better. My webs have five times the tensile strength of steel, just like an ordinary spider. But that isn't all. I've also got these tiny hairs on my fingers that let me stick to practically any surface I want. They were pretty annoying before I learned how to control 'em. My dad had an old colleague of his whip up a pair of shoes that could do the same thing too. They're totally rad. The least interesting part of my powers is what is does to my...I dunno...Physiology, I guess? Basically, I'm better than an ordinary person in every way. I'm faster, stronger, and my brain works a bit faster too.

| Limitations |
Ugh. I'm deathly allergic to a number of different pesticides, and its the worst. A small dose'll have me sick for weeks. Too much can kill me outright. Almost any amount puts my powers on the fritz.

Okay, so I'm not better than every human. I'm enhanced, but not to the point of most Olympic athletes. I can't keep up with Usain Bolt for very long, and I can't deadlift 1180 pounds. (I totally looked that number up, by the way. You a beast Tom Magee.) But I'm better than most. Unless you spray me with pesticides. Or kick me in the nuts, I guess. But that's every man's weakness, so I'm not sure I should write that one down. But I'm going to anyway since I already did and erasing is too much work.

| Place Of Origin |
In the good ol' United States of O' Muricah. Uh, more specifically, Brooklyn.

| Family |
Ellen Spinne was my mother. She didn't have any powers; well, other than her delicious home made pizzas. Mmmm. So freakin' good, dude. Mom died a few days before I turned fourteen. Sucky present, am I right? Cancer's a bitch.

Jeffery Spinne is my father. Spider-powers have been in the family for generations. He used to keep me up all night, telling me wild stories of his daring robberies and clashes with famous heroes. The guy was a legend, at least in my eyes. I later learned that he embellished pretty much every story he ever told me; but I got over it. He's the only family I have left. Too bad he's basically become a recluse since I ran off to college. Won't even answer the phone. I t-think he's still dealing with what happened to mom. All the pain probably came back to him when I upped and left. Poor guy.

| History |
I was born in the back of a taxi cab to two loving parents. Yes, that's actually what happened. They were on the way to the hospital and apparently I couldn't wait any longer. Dad had to pay for new back seats. On the plus side, we tipped pretty well! My mother insisted I be homeschooled while I was younger. She had gone to college to be a teacher but dropped out because she wasn't up for it, I guess. So Ellie (as dad called her) thought it a wonderful idea to test all of her new found knowledge on baby me. Must not have worked out well, because as soon as I was old enough to understand that I needed to hide my powers, they shipped me off to public school. It was pretty bad at first. I was a shy kid (strange, right?) and didn't know how to make friends. I only ever hung out with my neighbors, Benny and Edwardo, because they had superpowered parents too. Ben and Ed were brothers, by the way. I didn't know how to keep my special bits a secret very well until about sixth grade. That's when I made my first normie friends. They were pretty cool; I contemplated showing them what I could really do a few times. Of course, I never went through with that. Dad always said that if we didn't want to move, I had to keep my true self a secret. I didn't get it back then, but dad was way too scary to disobey. I got lucky and never had to move. Not once.

High School was when I really started to come out of my shell. I got to show the whole world what a massive dork I was. I went through the usual motions; not doing homework, acting out in class, trying desperate to avoid the bullies. Never really worked out. I've been told I have a very punch-able face. Well, as you can imagine, there were a handful of people who thought I had a really punch-able face. I may have accidentally put one of them in the hospital. Whoops! Guess I don't know my own strength. That little ordeal almost exposed me. Luckily, Benny and Ed (still the best, by the way) stepped in and vouched for me. They managed to convince the principal to not tell my father (which is probably why I was able to graduate High School there. Thanks guys). My grades weren't the best. I was lucky to get B's. However, I always pushed myself to never fail a class. That took a lot of work, by the way. With that much missing homework, I was surprised I managed a D+ in Physics.

My dad's letter of recommendation got me into Delphina, his old college from back in the day. The place seemed pretty cool, but intimidating at the same time. I hated not knowing anyone. But it was also kind of exciting? I dunno. Emotions are weird. Anyway. Didn't have much time to settle in before it all went to hell. Apparently, somebody started a fire in the school that spread like crazy. Faculty started evacuating people as fast as they could, but all the exits from some of the higher floors were cut off. I-I watched...I watched one of the students fly up to a window and try to carry some trapped kids to the ground. Ehm. Well. He flew too close to the fire and got caught in a small explosion. Closest I'd been to a dead body. 'Course, being the idiot I am, I decided to get a closer look. When the teachers weren't looking I grappled my way into one of the compromised floors. I was moving on instinct. My feet seemed to have a mind of their own as I dragged as many students I could to safety before the floor started to collapse and I had to get out of there. Somebody told me I could've helped more. That...there was time to save someone else. But I knew I was in danger. Had to get outta dodge 'fore I got burned, ya know?

There was so much pain. You could see it in their faces. If someone wasn't balling their eyes out, they were seething with rage. But it was all pain. All...grief. I received my fair share of dirty looks from the less decent types for going back in to help. But what was I supposed to do? Stand there and listen to those people burn? Not a chance in hell. I'm a selfish asshole, not a heartless murderer.

| Extra |
Spinnes age faster than most humans due to an increased metabolism. This also means that James has to eat twice as much food to maintain his weight.
I think its pretty obvious who this is. Just look over there < and down there v

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Bio

Jessica Sterling


{"I feel like I live in a world made of cardboard. Always taking constant care not to break something. To break someone. Never allowing myself to lose control. Even for a moment, or someone could die. But you can take it, can't you big man? What we have here is a rare opportunity for me to cut loose. To show you just how powerful I really am."}
-Superman

| Full Name |
Jessica Leona Sterling

| Nickname |
Jess

| Birth Date |
5/18/95

| Age |
21

| Classification |
Junior

| Gender |
Female

| Sexuality |
Heterosexual

| Alias |
Invincible

| Role |
Hero

| Loyalty |
Mayweather

| In Depth Appearance |
Jess is on the shorter side, standing at only 5'5. She weighs approximately 139 pounds. While not skinny by any means, Jessica is surprisingly light on muscle definition for someone with her powers. She doesn't have any tattoos or piercing, seeing as how her skin is tougher than steel. She's always wanted something done though. Jess tends to keep her hair down; however, whenever she's training or doing hero work, she makes sure to keep it up in a ponytail to avoid being blinded by it. Invincible tends to wear leather jackets, hoodies and long sleeve shirts as well as pants to avoid showing off her significant scarring. Her back, arms, legs and stomach are covered in long, sharp scars that run the length of her body. They're the reason no one's ever seen the Sterling girl in short sleeves, led alone a swimsuit. Because of this, a couple of nasty rumors have been floating around for awhile that Jess cuts herself.

| Habits | Quirks | Oddities |
When Jess is angry, she has a habit of squeezing the nearest object. Which often leads to her breaking things.

Tends to daydream when bored.

She taps her fingers to the beat to any song that pops into her head.

| Hobbies |
Weight Lifting (And by 'weights' I mean anything that she has any semblance of difficulty picking up)

Playing drums (Its how she first learned to control her strength; if she ever wanted to play, Jess would need to keep from breaking the instrument)

Singing (Her mother used to tell Jess to sing whenever she started to feel angry or afraid to keep her powers under control)

| Likes |
Music
Mexican Food
Dogs
The Rain
Discipline
Training
The Cold/Winter
Success
A Healthy Lifestyle

| Dislikes |
Sushi
Cats
The Heat/Summer
Dry Spells
Chaos
Meditating (tried it, hated it)
Laziness
Minor Failure
Alcohol
Drugs
Flirts
Bullies

| Fears |
Losing Control
Major Failure
Exposing Herself to Others

| Personality Traits |
Courageous
Hard Working
Disciplined
Stiff/Rigid
Noble
Easily Angered (once you break through the stoic and disciplined exterior)
Anxious
Stoic (tries to be, anyway)
Ambitious
Closed off (doesn't share her emotions with others)
Intelligent (she's more book smart than a genius due to her studies)

| Personality |
Jessica Sterling does her best to be a hero. She's always willing to help those in need, even if they don't particularly want her to. She is always willing to put in the work necessary to succeed. In fact, she strives for perfection in everything she does. From work to school to even her social life, Jessica pushes to advance in all fields. When she isn't putting in hours in her after school job, she's working on whatever homework assignment is due next week. She's also quite organized. The girl rarely does anything unless she planned for it ahead of time. Improvisation definitely isn't her strong suite. Whenever there is danger, Jess is one of the first to step forward. She's more than willing to give her life to save others; especially the innocent. 

Invincible is as flawed as anyone else. She's human, after all. Well. Mostly human. Jess is always worried that she will mess up. Afraid that she will fail, and someone will get hurt because of it. Every second of every day, Jess is always thinking about the worst case scenario; especially when it comes to her powers. What if she can't save someone? What if she can't protect her friends from danger? What if she becomes that danger? These questions are constantly gnawing at the back of her mind, tormenting her with terrible thoughts. Sterling tries to hide her anxiety from others. She does this rather well, having years of practice hiding the truth about her powers from people. Instead of sharing her burdens with the few people she trusts, Jessica pushes everyone away and keeps all of her friends, even the closest of them, at arms length. The worst of Invincible's flaws is her anger. Years of training have allowed her to keep it mostly in check. However, if someone were to get to her just right, Jess could snap. And when Jessica Sterling gets angry, she gets angry. It doesn't take much for a pissed off Jessica to turn into a bloodthirsty animal with no regard for human life. This is her worst fear. That she will loose control and turn into a monster. This has led her to live a life of total detachment; one she hates but endures simply because she believes it necessary to protect everyone around her.

| Abilities |
Super Strength - Jessica is able to lift upwards of five tons when under duress. Her strength also increases her striking power, allowing her to hit things/people much harder than a normal human ever could. Her increased strength in her legs allows Jess to jump ten to fifteen feet upwards on a good day. Sterling has learned that her strength is tied directly to her amount of muscle mass, so if she were to ever find a way to effectively workout her muscles, she'd become much stronger.

Super Durable - Her namesake. Jess's entire body, inside and out, is much tougher than that of an ordinary person. Her skin is bulletproof, to the point where a pistol round will only leave a small bruise. She's been hit by a speeding car and was up and walking a few minutes later. While Jessica is less certain on this point, she believes that enhancing her muscle mass will also increase her body's natural durability.

Minor Healing Factor - More of a necessity than a miracle, Sterling's wounds heal over a shorter time span than normal. Internal wounds close up before any major damage can be done, while external ones take a bit longer. Also keeps her relatively immune to most diseases.

While she has been training her whole life to keep her emotions in check, Invincible has been known to lose control. When that happens, she loses all control and becomes a threat to everyone around her, even the people she cares most about.

| Limitations |
Armor piercing rounds have been known to break through Jess's skin if enough hit in the same area. While very hard to do, sufficient force can knock out Jessica or even kill her. Unbreakable skin also means that there's no way for doctors to inject her with anything or perform any kind of surgery, which is why her body requires a better healing factor.

Sterling's healing factor is crude and many of her wounds scar over. There are very few illnesses that effect Jess, but the ones that do can be fatal due to how impossible it is to treat her.

| Place Of Origin |
Chicago, Illinois

| Family |
Maria Sterling - A school teacher. She taught Jessica how to control her emotions.

Howard Sterling - A mechanic. Howard helped Sterling accept her abilities, as well as trained her in controlling her strength. 

Benjamin Sterling - Her younger brother. He's a total brat, but he's empathetic and always willing to listen whenever Jess needs to vent.

| History |
Control. From the moment she was born, Jessica Sterling has always struggled for control. In her very first breaths, she lacked the ability to control her lungs. The doctors kept her under careful watch for the first three weeks of her fragile life. For the longest time they couldn't tell what was wrong with her. She seemed completely healthy; yet she was gasping for breathe all hours of the day. It wasn't until one nurse decided to examine just how much oxygen she was intaking that they realized she wasn't having trouble bringing in air; she was bringing in too much air. Her lungs were far too strong for a girl her age. Once the issue was discovered, the doctors made a quick fix (they blocked off a small portion of her wind pipe until her body developed further) and sent the infant home with her parents.

The first manifestations of her powers went unnoticed by her normal parents. It wasn't until she was a toddler, when she broke the finger of her father by complete accident, that they noticed anything was even out of the ordinary. Luckily for the Sterling family, their attempts to contact a specialist on the subject of superpowers led them to a Mayweather and not Delphina. Mayweather sent a scientist by the name of Jat Garrick, the foremost expert on super strength, to assist them with adjusting to this new and terrifying live style. Maria and Howard spent months going to and from specialized classes on how to deal with a superpowered child while the girl spent most of her time with Garrick. She wouldn't remember much of their time together, but Jat was the foremost reason Jess ever learned how to control her strength in the first place. When the Sterling child turned seven, Garrick bid the parents farewell. 

Afterwards, life for the Sterlings became remarkably interesting. Jess spent a few years in the public education system, learning the very basics while avoiding getting too close to any of her young classmates. This brought a tremendous amount of stress to the small child as she attempted to juggle with appearing normal while also keeping away from intimate relationships. Maria noticed the physical pain it was causing their little girl and began looking for other, simpler options. Eventually they settled on hiring a private tutor; it was extraordinarily expensive, to the point where Howard had to take on a second full-time job just to keep paying the bill a week late. Jessica, now twelve, managed to convince her father to let her go to public school - she reasoned that she was old enough to keep a handle on it all and that the tutor was sucking their bank account dry.

Middle School wasn't much better than Elementary. Instead of just getting odd looks from the teachers and uninterested shrugs from her classmates as she first experienced, now Jessica found herself confronted by bullies and gossips. The constant harassment was hardest in the beginning; she couldn't count the number of times she wanted to punch someone's face in. Eventually she learned to hide her insecurities by blending into the crowd. Jess found herself a small, unassuming group of people she could call 'friends.' They didn't hang out outside of school but they made a fantastic cover against the onslaught of rumors, jokes and insults. The moment Sterling was beginning to feel as if she belonged, High School rolled around and she was drowning in a slew of other problems. On the very first day some jock decided to get touchy with a very uncomfortable Jess. Any attempt to talk him down only made the idiot more aggressive. When the boy made an attempt to physically restrain her, Jess responded by breaking both of his arms. That prompted a family move to another part of Chicago.

After graduating High School as the Valedictorian, Jessica contacted Garrick and had him write up a quick recommendation for her. She was accept and moved into Mayweather's dorm as soon as she could. Her first year at Mayweather was without a doubt the best year of her life. Now she was around people just like her. There was no need for Jessica to hide who she really was anymore. She was free. Sterling garnered a reputation among the staff and student body as a hard working, disciplined and ambitious woman. She pushed herself to be as near perfection as one could be. And things were nearly perfect for her. Her grades were spotless, she owed little tuition and best of all Jessica was popular. She was on top of the world. She felt utterly invincible. As if nothing could ever stop her; not in a thousand years.

Until her greatest fear came knocking at her door. Only a select few know what really happened that day. Rumor has it that a super villain had discovered Jess's address and attacked her in her own home. Others say she simply broke down and went mad. Others say she'd been insane her whole life. Whatever the case, all that is really known is that Invincible wrecked three square blocks and injured dozens of people. She disappeared for two weeks, nowhere to be found. Mayweather, her parents and even other super heroes worked together to try and find the girl before she got hurt; or worse, hurt anyone else. Yet not a trace of the young heroine was found. And then one day she just...appeared. Right on her family's door step. She didn't breathe a word of what happened for months. Even then, what she told the authorities was vague and inconclusive. Through some kind of legal miracle Mayweather managed to fix the situation and avoid any kind of trouble for Jessica; she was, after all, an exemplary student up to that point. She was observed very closely afterwards, however.

Jessica Sterling spent the next year in self-imposed exile. She refused to speak with anyone, even when spoken to. The teachers and her friends eventually gave up and allowed the girl to live out the rest of her Sophomore year in total silence. Again, rumors (apparently her greatest nemesis) spread. Lies abounded with no truth to hold them at bay. The lies were spread enough that eventually people took them to be the truth; and many thought Jessica to be some sort of freak monster, or something of the kind. It wasn't until Junior year began that she opened her mouth again. With the villains of Delphina now running around the campus, it won't be long before Jess is thrust back into the spotlight; the one place she doesn't want to be.

| Extra |
Jessica is part Japanese. On her mother's side.
My favorite villain is Superman. I mean, have you played Injustice? Terrifying.

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