SKY LOUNGE, NAGOYA MARRIOTT
NAKAMURA WARD, NAGOYA, JAPAN
7 DAYS AFTER THE INCIDENT
1603 LOCAL TIME

Ulysse Descombes was not much of a drinker. His objection to alcohol was not so much ethical as practical- in his line of work he may have to spring into action at any moment, with no warning. If that happened to come at a time when he had a few drinks in him, even the slightest loss in focus or reaction time could very well be fatal to him. But after the events of the last week, the man they called Silver Glove wanted nothing more than a cold beer and some peace and quiet. And so he quietly nursed a glass of Asahi Gold, lost in his thoughts.

The view from the lounge was spectacular, a panoramic view of the city from the 53rd floor of a towering skyscraper. But unfortunately for Ulysse, it also afforded a view of a noticeable hole in the skyline, where workers continued to sift through rubble. The hotel that had buried him.

He shuddered at the memory, took a too-large gulp of beer. The perfect dark, the oppressive silence, the weight of tons of steel and concrete over him. He was only buried for a few hours, but he still had nightmares about it a week later.

At least, some of the nightmares were about being buried alive. It seemed a few lately had been different. About the team not being there for him. About being left alone. About some tall, thin figure of purest black that radiated a sense of evil while glaring at him with unblinking emerald-green eyes. . .

He shook off the thoughts, the unpleasant memories of dreams. They were probably brought on by stress. Maybe he should see a therapist.

That is, if he could afford it. The team's cash flow was becoming so constricted. It was at the point that Ulysse knew he would have to buy even this beer with his own money rather than charge it to the Champions.

And of course they had lost so many members. He winced again as he thought of the funerals he had to watch on television rather than attend in person. The Hare was buried in Birmingham. They had to send what was left of Okyeame back to Accra in a box. Funerals for Buscapé in São Paulo and Mat Rempit in Kuala Lumpur. Too many good heroes dead.

Not to mention all the ones that had walked out of the group. The worst kind of betrayal, one that stung fresh in his heart as he thought about it. The Tortoise, The Celtic Sniper, Red Jack, The Chameleon, and of course his countryman Archos. The others as well. A bunch of quislings, they had walked out on the team when it needed them the most. Some of them were even staying in this same hotel, which made getting ice a little awkward.

“Mr. Descombes?” a voice asked quietly in accented English. Ulysse turned to look at the speaker. A harried-looking, balding man in a cheap suit, obviously some kind of bureaucrat. And three uniformed policemen behind him. The police were unarmed, but well-built and alert of eye. Fighters. Judo, probably. Given their build and posture they were at least black belts, probably third or fourth dan. Ulysse felt almost insulted that they had sent only three men, but oh well. C'est la vie.

“What can I do for you?” Ulysse asked, taking a cautious sip of beer.

The bureaucrat gave a slight bow. “I am Ogata. I represent the interests of the Minister of Justice. We would be most grateful if you were to accompany us to Tokyo to testify before the Cabinet and Prime Minister about the late unpleasantness.” The words were excessively formal, chosen with great care. As if that would mask their real purpose.

The man presented some papers to Descombes, who looked over them without reading. It was already clear what the Cabinet wanted. Someone to blame. Maybe not him personally, but they were hoping he would grass out some of his colleagues. Give them ammunition for the witch trials, a new Dreyfuss affair. That just wasn't fair to them. The Champions had gone in with the best of intentions, ajd they were being punished for it.

Ulysse was unprepared to rat out any of his comrades. Even if it would save his own skin, even if they asked about some of the quislings who had formed their own group. He handed back the papers he had not read, was about to tell Ogata exactly where the Cabinet could stuff them, when something caught his eye.

“Excuse me,” Descombes said to the bartender as he pointed to one of the many flat-screen televisions around the bar. “Could you turn that up, please? Thank you.”

The yellow bar at the bottom of the screen crept forwards as the voice of the CNN reporter became more audible. “. . .escaped earlier this afternoon while being transferred to a more secure facility, killing two police officers in the process. Ned Dryden had been imprisoned last year on seventy-three counts of murder committed in an effort to take over the Melbourne underworld. Better known as 'Tinhead Ned', Dryden used several sets of experimental powered armor in order to intimidate gangs and organized crime syndicates into appointing him as their leader. However, the superhero group known as the Champions dismantled his organization in one of their earliest missions.”

“Mr. Descombes-” Ogata tried to cut in, but Ulysse waved him silent, engrossed in the news report.

“Three sets of Tinhead Ned's powered armor have not yet been recovered, and are believed to have been hidden away in case of emergency. Police officials speculate that he will attempt to recover one of these hidden caches at the first opportunity. Any citizens coming into contact with Dryden are urged not to confront him but instead immediately contact the Australian Federal Police. . .”

Descombes downed the rest of his beer in one long gulp before setting down the empty glass and standing up. “Mr. Ogata, I regret that I must leave right now. I would be happy to answer questions at a later date, but I am still a Champion. And the good people of Australia need us.” He turned to leave, found no resistance from the policemen. Good. He'd hate to embarrass them.

“This isn't over, Mr. Descombes. This will not be forgotten,” Ogata called after him. Ulysse Descombes did not look back, getting on the elevator and heading for his room, where he had stashed his gear.

He touched his ever-present earpiece that kept him in contact with the other team members as he changed into his uniform in his hotel room. “Mesdames et Messieurs, this is Gant d'Argent speaking. It seems an old friend of ours has broken custody and is planning to go on another rampage. Tinhead Ned again, loose in Australia. Now, I can only speak for myself, but I have better things to do than answer questions. We are superheroes, no?” He laced his boots, and then reverently pulled on his silver gloves. “Let's go be super. Our jet is waiting at the airport.”

Jack Cochran, the hero and assassin known as Red Jack, smashed a half-empty bottle of sake into the window, spoiling the magnificent view with shattered glass. Jack cursed the television in Elvish, flipping off the talking heads on the screen. It seemed no matter what channel he tuned to, everyone was talking about Nagoya. It was all collateral damage this or excessive force that. They said the Champions should have been more careful. Despite the fact that they had worked day and night with the police, against Jack's wishes, to plan everything down to the last detail. They suggested the Champions should have known there would be supervillains. Except none of their intelligence had suggested there would be any superhumans at the meeting, intelligence supplied by police informers. They declared that the Champions were too aggressive. Ignoring the fact that the mobsters had fired the first shots. All day and all night, these armchair tacticians and know-nothing commentators dissected every little thing that the Champions had done. Every day, Jack had to look at the crater where it all went wrong. And every night he had the same nightmare. The same shadow with the same green eyes.

Every day, he saw the protesters and hecklers with signs outside on the streets far below. They placed the civilian deaths on their shoulders, even though crowd control was the province of the police. They blamed the destruction on them when it was the supervillains who kept attacking willy nilly. They bemoaned the deaths of violent murderers when it was a situation of life or death. They couldn't even leave them alone to grieve for all the friends and comrades the team had lost. Ingrates. Morons. Halfwits, the lot of them. How many criminals put behind bars? How many lives saved? All that swept away in an instant because a few civilians too slow or stupid to run had gotten caught in the crossfire. All because the Japanese government wanted to shift blame from their incompetent officers to the evil destructive foreigners. First they had loved them, singing their praises and warming their beds. Now they cursed them. Hung and burned them in effigy. All over the world, the mindless fickle stupid rabble projected all their troubles and displeasure on their betters. Well hang them all, Jack thought. He didn't need their love. He was done trying to inspire them, they should be happy he still protected them.

And hang the Champions. Arguing day in, day out about what they should have done differently. The endless debates. The arguments that went nowhere. The bitterness, the shouting, the fighting while the souls of their friends looked down from above. The empty chairs in the meeting rooms and phone calls from family that either cried or shouted too much to respond to. Well he had had enough. They could waste their lives trying to appease a world that would always turn on them when convenient. Jack had led the break-away group, the splinter team. Comrades who were sick of the Champions too. The Champions would always be friends and allies to Jack, but they couldn't do what needed to be done. Which was screw the consequences and take out the gangsters that caused this whole mess. Jack had spent his days cursing the humans, drinking terrible spirits, seducing servants, and planning his revenge. The end was coming for all of them. The Yakuza. The Mafiya. The Triads. The Kkangpae. All their days were numbered. He just wished they weren't all on the same floor of the same hotel. It was incredibly annoying to plan bloody revenge in such a setting.

A knock on the door. Jack sniffed, perked his pointed ears. He didn't recognize the scent or the heartbeats of any of those outside his door. The hotel wouldn't send more than one staffer for anything and he heard four heartbeats. The upper floor was completely blocked to press or civilians. All those things together could only mean either government stooges or assassins. Jack hoped for the latter. It had been a while since he had beaten someone to a bloody pulp. Wearing nothing but a knife behind his back, Jack looked through the eyehole and sighed. Stooges it was. Jack tossed the knife into a drawer and inched the door open, "Yes."

The stooge and his three uniformed lackeys nearly all gaped as they saw him standing there naked. Jack's expression did not change at all and he offered no apology for his appearance as the stooge recovered himself and apologized for the disturbance. Then he said something about some Ministry or other. Jack mostly tuned it out, he pretty much knew what was going on, the television had talked about some hearing or other in Tokyo to discuss the event. Instead he thought of all the myriad ways he could kill the four men where they stood. It was a nice brain game for him. He saw virtually no way three vanilla officers and a stooge could harm him, honestly it was insulting. It had been a long time since he had scratched the itch for violence, and bedding the occasional maid barely took the edge off. Jack had a faint hope that they would try to arrest him or attack him, but the excessively polite and formal tone told him that likely wasn't going to happen. Jack took the papers the man handed him, and tossed them over his shoulder without even glancing at them, and the stooge to his credit did not react to the disrespectful gesture.

Jack's ears perked up at the news still on the television, the talking heads were saying Tinhead Ned was loose in Australia. Jack smiled with his perfect white teeth at the stooge as he listened. The man looked utterly confused as he tried to continue explaining the situation while Jack completely ignored him. Then suddenly Jack slammed the door in their faces and hurriedly got dressed, slipping into his armor and strapping on his weapons with quickness and ease borne of skill and experience. Jack keyed the comm on the private channel that his little group shared, "Friends, I'm sure you all got a similar invitation to go to Tokyo and appear before some kangaroo court. Well you can go and be the victim of a witch hunt if you want. I'm taking myself and anyone who wants to join me to Australia. Our old friend Tinhead Ned is on the loose. And I'm sure we're all itching for some action. The Cochran family jet is at the airport, if you want in on this, meet me there. We leave within the hour." Jack chuckled. The jet was for him to travel in privately with whatever group of fangirls or fanboys he had attracted. Now it would let them get there without relying on the Champions. Time to have some fun.

Carter was dead.

The thought rang through her head as collapsed on the bed of the lavish hotel room. Sure they hadn't been together for just over two years, but somewhere inside she still held on to a shred of hope that somehow they could live a normal life away from all of this. It's as if all the events in her life were leading up to this. Normalcy will never be an option now. Not with Carter, not with anybody. In fact, Lydia wasn't even sure if that's what she wanted anymore.

Carter was dead.

Who was Lydia? She didn't know. Since she had started work as Shade she lost sight of everything she once knew. And now, here she was. A super-something, because hero just wasn't the right word. She wasn't here because of a need for doing good, or a innate passion for the greater good. She didn't care. Or at least she didn't use to. Now, seeing what messes these people can make... They have to be stopped. They have to have organization, common sense. They can't just get off with this... all of this.

The images of the wreckage and the victims shattered through her mind. She hadn't seen something so devastating and concentrated since she watched a documentary on the September 11th attacks. But this... this was caused by the people attempting to protect us. This was a mistake of poor planning. Of childishness. Of recklessness.

Carter was dead.

That's why she came to Nagoya in the first place. He left with those group of too-good-to-be-true-idealists and died in their darkest moment. Now there was another group of super-people surfacing. And this group she wanted to be a part of, especially if it meant giving those god-damned champions a hard time. To think that her life had led up to this. The abuse, the system, Carter, Powers, Nagoya. Now, she was something. She was something that a past version of herself would be terrified of.

Carter was -

Jacks voice rang over her new comm device. Breaking the loop of memories and constant reminders of pain.

"Well it looks like we are headed down under, old friend. " she replied and promptly got up and shoved her gear and clothing into her suitcase haphazardly. Two thoughts pierced her when she left for the airport.

Carter was dead.

Shade is very much alive.

Work it off... Just get back to work and ignore it.

That had been how Wilbur had majoritively gotten through his life. It went right back to his days as a weak, insecure teenager, picked on for where his academic skills instead of being born cool. Just find s mindless task to keep your hands busy and the bad feelings would get bored and go away. Once upon a time, it was a winning strategy for the worst of situations... But not this time.

The strategy worked for mild feelings of oppression and humiliation. Not grief.

Even now as he sat in his hotel room, underneath the mechanical mostrocity he had built, he could still hear his voice, see that stupid upbeat snail of his and hear his quips about how his bald head could reflect light... God it felt abysmal without him. Leaving an old, depressed man with only his own thoughts for company was not a good thing. He'd be lucky if his own thoughts didn't eat him from within like some horrible alien creature... Huh. A reference. How quaint, he thought...

He still remembered the scene so vividly. When the smoke rose from the fires, bodies littered the streets and rubble had piled up, amidst all of that, he'd spotted the familiar light patch of brown. He'd set his shell into overdrive, using mechanical claws to dig into at least half a buildings worth of rubble. And beneath it all, there he was. Battered, bruised, broken, breathless. No smile, no jokes, just the uncontested cold hard fact of death. It'd set his heart to stone.

He'd stormed out of the Champions without regret, alongside Red Jack and the ragtag crew that felt the same way....what a sad joke it all was. Turning their backs on the strongest members of their group to form some pathetic pocket of resistance...

Still, no regrets.

If Nagoya taught him anything, it was how dangerous they truly were. The images of that blasted dragon burning the streets or that cosmic child destroying a man where he stood. the buildings falling and the people screaming... They needed boundaries. Individuals as powerful as them needed personal responsibility, guidelines to follow and punishments when they went too far, something the champions didn't grasp... But he did. And with this splinter group, that was what he hoped to achieve.

His thoughts were broken by the news report... Did he leave the TV on? Tinhead Ned... now there was a name Wilbur despised. Wilbur was a mechanic, Ned was a crazed engineer with a sad lust for power. And if he was out there, it meant trouble. Even in the wake of this incident, his inner sense of justice tugged at his soul, urging him to get out there and start searching... and, it seemed he wasn't alone, getting Red Jacks message. Depression be damned, it was time to go to work.

He released himself from his work and set his shell on auto pilot to get it home faster. It would just fly straight to the location needed and trying to get it through customs would be harrowing. He slipped on a brown jacket and slipped a flat cap over his head before he headed down to the lobby to get a taxi. His thoughts followed his footsteps.

Maeve was people watching, a thing she liked to do very much. Watch them smile, and talk, and laugh, watch them flirt , those covert glances, those little touches, those knowing smiles. She enjoyed their anger and their pleasure.

Humans… Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.

From her comfortable arm chair in the lobby she watched the protesters and the supporters alike (though those were far and few) meandering about outside. They were so riled up. So angry at all that happened.

Maeve grinned and crossed her shapely legs, running her fingertips over the tops of her thighs tantalizingly. Of course any and every time someone was bold enough to approach her, to start on her about the whole shebang the Succubus merely smiled, reached out to take their hand comfortingly. And the problem would go away. Loving, lusty feelings pushing through her would be tormentors left them seeking out more enjoyable past times than protesting and chewing her ear out.

She could see the bar from her perch and had noticed Ulysse was drinking. But she knew better than try to console him at this point. Often times Maeve’s views were not considered helpful… As the man in the suit approached Maeve’s brows arched, bright eyes locked on the interaction.

Who were those men? Curiosity swept through the Succubus and she rose to investigate.

Timing was not on her side though as another ‘adoring fan’ blocked her path just then. By the time Maeve, or better known as Eve, as in the first woman, the fall of humanity if you believed all that, had gotten rid of her ‘guest’ the suits and Ulysse were heading for the elevator.

A voice chimed in her ear and Maeve jumped slightly. Technology still startled her these days.

Clicking the button to reply she chirped “Oui Capitaine. Que dois-je porter?” before heading to the elevators herself with a smirk. Finally! Out and about! So exciting, even if the others were still moping about. Like God Fist. Really.

What was done was done. Better not to dwell but move on to the next new thing. That was the benefit of ‘humanity’. There was always something else. Some distraction. Some titillation.

Seven days. It had been seven days since the disaster of a mission had taken place. While many of the others had been letting themselves grieve for their lost teammates and friends Patrick couldn't afford the luxury. He knew as soon as he walked away with The Red Jack that their new group would have no funds, and he took it upon himself to start remedying that. He had reached out to his old contacts telling them to put out the word that The Celtic Sniper was accepting contracts again, something he hadn't done during his entire time with the group. It only took a couple of days for two contracts to be brought to his attention. Normally he wouldn't accept more than one contract at a time however he made an exception due to the circumstances.

The first was from the wife of a businessman, or something or another. He didn't really pay attention to the who (though he gathered enough to know it was her husband she wanted dead), all he cared about was the where and when which she also provided. The second interestly enough was from the husband, who had become well aware of the fact that his wife was planning his death. The businessman even agreed to pay up front just in case he ended up dying before she was killed knowing enough about The Celtic Sniper to know he would finish the job.

Patrick spent the next couple of days finding the perfect location for his nest, he ended up deciding upon a building that had been largely abandoned in the aftermath and was just a block away from the Marriot both groups were staying at, and setting up a banking account for the splinter group which he gave control of over to The Red Jack. Neither contract was all that substantial, but it would be enough to hold them over for a bit.

He was currently settled into his nest and he took a moment to glance down at his watch. He still had a few minutes before the appointed time. The wife had been very specific, as had Patrick. He had added a stipulation to their contract, since she wanted to be present for the death of her husband she had ten seconds to transfer the funds before she found herself in the same position as her husband. Of course she didn't know that she would be joining him regardless.

With time to spare Patrick slowly moved his scope away from the window where his targets would be and instead focused on the lounge of the hotel they all were currently housed. Ulysse was the first he saw sitting at the bar, and the sight of the man caused Patrick to frown slightly beneath the dark mask. He harboured no ill will towards his former leader, in fact he highly respected the man as he was just as human as himself. He hoped Ulysse would understand why he left, he had spent his entire life in the shadows and he couldn't afford to be dragged into the light. Before he could search for any others he glanced at his watch again and realized the time was drawing closer. With one last brief glance at the lounge he swiveled his sight back on his target window, where he saw the pair in the midst of a heated arguement.

Unable to look at his watch Patrick began to count in his head while clicking the safety off. The crosshairs were focused just beneath the man's ear, and just to the side of the back of his jaw. As the countdown crept closer to zero he began to gently apply pressure to the trigger until he fired upon reaching the magic number. Thanks to the silencer Tortoise had made for him there was no sound, but he could see the result as the wall behind where the man had been standing was coated in a pink mist.

Without missing a beat his scope found itself poised over the wife, who already had her phone in her hand. Just four seconds later he heard his phone make a series of beeps, indicating the proper amount had been disposed. Just as the beeps ended he shot again, watching as another layer of blood painted the wall. While he moved his head away from the scope he thought briefly about how disappointed Tortoise would likely be if he knew what he had just used the gift the old man had made him for. He shook such thoughts away quickly, knowing that they needed to start earning money sooner rather than later and both contracts had been deposited in full into the new groups account.

Before he could rise he heard Jack's voice through his transmitter, telling them of two current tasks. His contacts had yet to send him any new contracts and knowing Ulysse he would be going after Tinhead just like Jack. If fortune smiled upon him he just might get the chance to explain himself to the fighting prodigy.

"I doubt that ya will be needin conformation on ma part Jack, but I'll meetcha at ta jet." His Irish accent still clung to him despite his years traveling, though truth be told he had no intention of ever losing it. With practiced ease he began to disassemble his rifle before making his way off of the roof with the airport his destination.

"Cypress it is important that you resist responding to negative questions in too much detail because those that ask them are fishing for a debate. They will seek to ignore the logic of........." said the Canadian Ambassador displaying the level of anxiety she was feeling by verbal repetition.

The Embassy was a safe haven located in Akasaka which translated to mean the Red Slope a beautiful area of the district of Minato Tokyo and could have lulled a less committed member of the government into pretending Nagoya never happened.

As appealing as such thoughts were she couldn't give into such emotional trickery or simply give up and run away as had other Champions. No she was better than that, she faced trouble head-on without a flinch and even though not present accepted the responsibility because she was more than that; Cypress was a Champion.

She had done over seven press conferences and three talk shows. She had been called murderer and even weathered a storm of thrown objects when one of those press conferences had turned into a riot.

She could have dispersed the mob by a simple application of her ability spread over a wide area; it's difficult to throw even a small coin when your feet lose all tracttion.

Cy had endured it so that those less durable could escape with as little trouble as possible.

Then her reverie was broken as she heard Silver Glove call out "Mesdames et Messieurs, this is Gant d'Argent speaking. It seems an old friend of ours has broken custody and is planning to go on another rampage. Tinhead Ned again, loose in Australia. Now, I can only speak for myself, but I have better things to do than answer questions. We are superheroes, no?

Let's go be super. Our jet is waiting at the airport.”

Turning to the Ambassador the Platinum blonde said

"Sorry to interrupt but the Australians have signaled a need for the Champions and I must go.

Please excuse my absence in this hour and you have my word I shall return in all haste barring any farther deployment"

The Ambassador sighed looking into Cy's eyes showing her anxiety found this event as a major loss.

Saluting the Ambassador Cypress then headed out the doors finding it difficult to refrain from skating out of the building. Then the moment her feet touched the pavement outside she leaned forward into a classic speed skater's stance and accelerated instantly to her top safe speed through the Tokyo streets as she made her way to the Airport.

The peaceful meadows of a European sacred grove was Lancelot's favorite places to rest. Or at least it was until someone had destroyed it, burning it to the ground and leaving it as a desolate, firey crater. "Bloody Hell Kilgarrah, I know I already scolded you for burning this meadow..." The knight started as he was training with a burnt stuffed dummy, landing various physical blows across its body with armored jolts of legs, elbows, and punches. In between attacking the dummy, he continued. "But if were going to be 'heroes' we need to cut back on the destruction. I thought Nagoya had taught us to be careful when we use our abilities. And you wonder why I don't let you have your freedom."

There was a silence between beating the dummy. Lancelot was holding back strength, so as to not ruin the dummy so quickly so he could focus on more so the skill and technique of his blows rather then its raw power. This was a necessary shift in play, as he needed to learn how to control his strength. The nature of his laid back attacks seemed to shift away though as he began arguing with himself. "Like were the only ones that caused trouble. Cosmic boy over there did a plenty on em to you know" With each change in stance of his argument towards himself, his method of attacking changed against the training dummy. "That isn't the point, Kilgarrah. I made a contract with you to reclaim my honor and redeem my sin, yet here I am again destroying something else as well!" A solid punch cleaved the head off of the test dummy. "You?! The correct terminology is we, fool, we are one now. And I gave you that contract so I can be FREE." His voice shook the earth beneath him at that point. "My strength has not only been diluted by merging with you, a cost I expected of course, but what I didn't expect is the oh so famous knight of betrayal have a heart. Don't you remember what you did to your "Best Friend?"" Lancelot stressed the last words as if tauntingly, shifting from utter rage into cruel mockery in a single sentence. The expression quickly changed to a different mood of anger and regret. "What I did was inexcusable, but that doesn't make me a-" His voice was cut off as he stopped his attacks against the dummy, his tail showing itself before him. "Monster..." He paused, with a defeated tone. "Were supposed to be one, we cannot be if we are on different stances."

"Kilgarrah, as much as I would love to agree with you, we are not villains, we need to control ourselves. Not just for our reputation, but for the champions."

"You humans are always so 'honorable' it amuses me. I could care less about the race entirely, let their idiocy and fake morales kill them in the end. Why don't we end it faster by burning it all?"

"You had a heart once too Kilgarrah."

"That was before your kind imprisoned me, just like how the world will imprison us for our power."

"But if you listen to me then that won't happen. Kilgarrah you are typically the smarter and more wise half but your stubborn lust for this 'freedom' you speak of is a detriment to everyone else. If I let you take control again I doubt we will be spared again."

"The only reason we lost is because you managed to hold me back."

"Your pride blinds you Kilgarrah, I only stopped you for several moments, and those moments were brief. Admittedly, your stubborn desire for destruction keeps me at bay once I let you go."

"If you worked with me, then nothing would have stopped us."

"Even if that is true, we are here to save them."

"Exactly, were doing them a favor by putting them out of there misery. Look at the world Lancelot, almost everyone is corrupt or too foolish to deserve life." At this point, there was no dummy, just a smoldering crate with stuffing remains of a broken one. "We can't betray them, nor can we betray humanity. So I'm keeping you on a leash from now on, Dragon."

Now Lancelot punched the ground with great force, sending a small tremor and a pillar of fire around him in a fit of temporary rage.
"I thought we agreed we won't be doing this." Lancelot struggled to raise his fist off the ground and lower his temper. That was when he got the call. His out-loud thoughts were broken as they were informed of a criminal in Australia. "Right away, I will be heading there soon." He contacted back the call before having his wings spread apart and take off into the sky, soaring into the air and heading south east. Next destination, Australia.

A smell of uncleanliness finally pierced Mina's senses, reminding her that she still existed. She had shut down since the event, a haze still clouding her mind where a thick fog had once settled, a subconscious defense against the chaos and destruction that tried to tunnel in through her pupils and rupture her mind. She didn't think about it much and didn't want to, but the recent memories always threatened to blast through the fog, making themselves loud and clear when her mental defenses were lowered in her attempts to sleep. But at the moment she was awake, wandering through the haze without anywhere to go. The smell of grubbiness brought her back, reminding her that she hadn't changed her clothes or washed anything since the incident.

She went to the small, dimly-lit washroom that came with her hotel room and looked into the mirror. The beige wall, punctured by a vague three-dimensional outline of a robed human, faced her back. She wasn't sure when she last saw the colour of her skin and the subtle wrinkles developing on her still-youthful face, but she guessed it was the morning of the summit. She wondered how she looked now. Haggard, she supposed. Probably with bags under drooping eyes and more pronounced lines in her face. Her appearance felt vulnerable to distress and melancholy; it wasn't all invincible and resilient like Cypress' face.

Oh, perfect Cypress. The young, gorgeous superhero with a perfect face and a body fit for a Victoria's Secret catalogue. Mina's jealousy blossomed as quickly as their friendship had when they worked together on missions in Canada. Fueled by an obsessive frustration from learning that Cypress still supported that embarrassment of an organization, the Champions, Mina had watched every one of her press conferences and talk show appearances with gritted teeth and clenched fists. Cypress probably thought she was all high and mighty, thinking she knew everything about Nagoya and speaking for the Champions even though she wasn't even there. Of course she didn't fear the abuse probably directed at her, with her beauty and strength and powers and all that.

Mina recoiled from the mirror as if she could see her comparatively ordinary face. She stripped off her uniform and tossed it into her laundry basket, seeing it revert to its green colour out of the corner of her eye. She didn't bother avoiding sight of the mirror as she walked past it into the bathtub, her skin still wearing beige camouflage. She closed the shower curtain out of habit and turned on the water, a mild lightness taking over her body, as if the dirt and sweat the warm water flushed away had been weighing her down. She squeezed an excessive amount of shampoo into her hand and lathered up her hair, undoing the braid she had forgotten to let free before the shower. She didn't put any effort into flushing the product out, simply standing under the shower with her eyes closed, focused on the feeling of the soothing droplets rolling down her skin.

By the time Mina opened the shower curtain, the mirror was completely fogged up and the air felt as damp as her skin. She dried her hair with the hairdryer on the wall and then, still without putting on clothes, she went and lay on her stomach on the bed, her head turned to the side so she could breathe. The light was flashing on the earpiece she had taken off and laid on the beside table within arm's reach. Choosing not to ignore it this time, she took it and shoved it into her ear. Red Jack's voice sounded in mid-speech. "-On the loose. And I'm sure we're all itching for some action. The Cochran family jet is at the airport. If you want in on this, meet me there. We leave within the hour."

Mina didn't even care what the situation was anymore. She was itching for some action, and maybe her new superhero group could do some good, negate some of the damage the Champions had done. She rolled off the bed, put on some clean clothes, and shoved extra clothes and some toiletries into a duffle bag. She made sure she remembered where the airport was, and then remembered her soiled uniform. Hopefully, wherever she was going, she would get the chance to wash it.

Prototype 2

---

He had laughed.

He had laughed loudly upon first hearing the news, both amused and appalled that his predictions came true. Those unsanctioned and unregulated vigilantes botched up bad leaving numerous casualties? How could anyone see that one coming? He had not expected such a thing as this Nagoya event to happen so early however; he had expected a lot more time before actually having to activate his project. While just barely out of the testing phase, he wasn't concerned. After all, a live field test under real conditions could prove valuable in furthering Project Tlamunus.



7 days was plenty of time.

Time for sightseeing, getting to know the locals, and maybe even getting in touch with the local Yakuza.

The rather seedy hotel she was staying in seemed to have more cockroaches than humans living in it; the dresser had some kind of stain on it, the sink didn't work quite right, and she was very sure the bathroom had some sort of ritual done it in not long ago. But she was not here for a vacation. She was here, to wipe out those supers once and for all. After all, she, Prototype 2, was the sole combat operative of Project Tlamunus.

Having managed to actually get into Japan undetected, she was made to stay in this hotel while he, Maxwell, gathered what information he could. There were conflicting information on what happened in that incident, and they weren't always coherent, but Maxwell did find out what their method of transport was. It was easy enough considering they weren't trying to hide anything when they came in. Unfortunately, Prototype was unable to take any sort of direct action against them right now. Key word being direct.

"We won't be targeting the heroes. Not yet. Are you ready for the operation"

She adjusted the cap and the rather loose fitting clothes she wore over her armor. The helmet remained inactive, for now. With a last check over her equipment, she slung the bag over her shoulders. "Ready."

They will move very soon. The news of the Australian villain would soon spur those 'Champions' into action. The window of opportunity won't be big, but at least it was there.

Waves crashed onto the overly populated beachhead of Perth, Australia. Children and adults alike ran along the sand, dived into the sea, cooked food and sunbathed to their hearts content. It was the height of Australia's summer, and the height of winter almost everywhere else. Atop his lifeguard outlook, Jim was sat in his chair applying sunscreen to his browned legs.

“Jim, cunt. Stop waxing yer legs and look over there,” ordered Jim’s senior lifeguard.
“Fackin ‘ell Steve, have you always gotta speak to me like that?” replied Jim.
“Shut yer fackin mouth yer blasted baby and do yer fackin job,” snapped Steve.
“Jesus,” muttered Jim as he got out of his seat and waltzed over to the fixed binoculars. He looked over onto the beach and noticed a group of people clammering out of the ocean, seemingly in terror. Jim darted his gaze to the source of the commotion, and could see a floating body.
“Bloody ‘ell steve we’ve got a floater!” Yelled Jim as he hurried down the fixed steel ladders.
“Bloody ‘ell,” echoed Steve as he too hurried behind Jim. The pair ran across the beach at speed, and reached the scene within a few minutes.
“What’s ‘appened?” Demanded Steve as he approached the now amassed crowds of terrified people. Jim dived into the ocean and swam out to the body in the hopes of retrieving it.
“We were just out swimming and we saw this body floating, we thought somebody had drowned so we went to help, but we noticed the bleedin thing didn’t have any skin on the noggin, so we scarpered,” a bewildered, middle aged fat man informed Steve.

Jim made his way back to the beach, dragging the corpse with him and laying it down on the wet sand. “Good work Jimbo lad. Now go alert the coastguard and the police would ya? I’ll keep everything under wraps here,” said Steve and Jim obliged, his young heart racing at the thought of recovering a corpse from the ocean. As Jim raced back to the lifeguards outlook, Steve began fanning people away from the scene. “Alright people, give the guy some dignity, move along. Take your kids, they don’t wanna see this, come on, move along!” As he waved, he noticed that the people were not moving, in fact, they seemed to be stood still, almost in shock or fear, “What’s wrong with you folks? Get a move on would y--” Steve was cut off as a hand gripped him by the throat from behind. Steve gasped for air and struggled to claw at the hand to win his freedom.

“Where am I? Who are these gluttoned parasites?” A bold, yet harsh voice boomed into Steve’s ear. Of course, he couldn't answer, with fingers so firmly clamped on his windpipe that he was about to faint. Steve did all he could to try and gasp an answer yet instead went limp and unconscious in the hands of his assailant.

“It’s a monster, everybody run!” came the screams of the congregation. Pandemonium ensued, families, friends and foes alike scrambled for their lives towards the carparks and promenades. The figure from the sea let loose his grip on the now deceased Steve, and left his body to flop unflatteringly to the ground. The figure watched as the people ran, showing no signs of moving.

“They run from me. My children run,” whispered the figure, “They always run.”

Suddenly, sirens could be heard in the distance, their proximity getting closer at every moment. Jim had informed the police of the goings on at the beach step by step. He was horrified to have seen his long time friend Steve killed in such a brutish manner, and hoped the Police would be able to deal with this terrible creature.

Down on the beach, groups of Police officers made their way down, guns in hand, pointed at the figure on the beach. When they were in earshot they began to scream “Freeze!” and other such phrases associated with law enforcement. As they drew nearer the men began to freeze and take caution. They noticed the exposed neck muscles, the lack of skin and the exposed skull of the figure. It became apparent the man was lacking in a penis, also alarming some of the officers due to the uncanniness. A senior officer stepped forwards, his gun pointed squarely at the figure.

“Who are you? Are you one of those meta-humans? Identify yourself!” He almost screamed it, yet the nervousness he was trying to hide was still apparent.

“Hu-man? I am not Hu-man. I am before Hu-mans. I created thee. I begot life on this planet, just like all the others before this. And I shall continue to do so,” replied the figure.

“Identify yourself!” barked the officer, sweat covering his brow and his hands shaking.

“After all these years, my children still do not know me,” said the figure, almost to himself, “I am The Womb, child. The ever living, ever present Womb. I give life that it might die. I create, so it might exist. I am the Lord of this world. I am the Adam and the Eve, the fruit and the tree. I, begat thee,” responded The Womb, his hand stretching out as he spoke.

“What in the fackin hell is this?” muttered an officer, visibly shaken by what he was witnessing.

“Gentleman, lay down your weapons! I must reclaim this world! Join me and we shall triumph,” The Womb clasped his hand tightly as he spoke, emphasising the word “triumph” as he did so.

“Put ‘im down lads!” screamed the senior officer. Within seconds shots rang out all around. .22 caliber rounds and some of slightly heavier duty slammed into The Womb’s flesh, tearing it apart. A gutshot spilled his intestines to the ground, his dark red blood staining the sand. The Womb fell to the ground and the shooting stopped. The Officers stood wiping their brows anticipating a job well done. As they looked around in relief, one of the officers noticed something strange about the corpse. The holes and wounds they’d opened up on The Womb’s body had largely vanished, and the gutshot seemed to be almost sewing itself back to normalcy, as if it hadn’t even happened at all. There was a deafening groan. The source of which was the now flailing body of The Womb. After the groan seemed to have come to a crescendo, The Womb then began to scream in what felt like a mixture of pain, anger and murderous intent.

The officers began to quickly reload their weapons, all of them in disbelief as The Womb rose to it’s feet.

“As much as I create, I too, destroy,” uttered The Womb as he suddenly smashed the ground with his fist. The impact was so hard, the ground around the group was blasted into the air by the tons. It was almost as if an explosion had gone off underneath their feet. The officers were unanimously crippled, every one either critically injured due to falling from height, or buried underneath hundreds of pounds of wet sand. The Womb stood in the center, unphased. His skin covered in dark sand, the grit covering his entire body. He began to walk towards the promenades, calmly and with purpose.

“Times have changed dear Womb. It seems you must acclimatize yourself with this wonderful new world,” he muttered to himself pensively.

While the rest of the champions remained indoors, dealing with the press and their own grief, Jackson Barnes was outside, training on the hotel's flat rooftop. Truly, there was little else for him to do. He had been out cold virtually as soon as the Nagoyan disaster had begun, and so he had virtually nothing to say to the press. He got the feeling that they weren't much interested in him anyway. They had bigger fish to fry.

That left him mostly alone. After waking up, he had done all that he could to find out about what had happened, how this unbelievable disaster had come to pass. He had seen all of the footage, from every angle, heard all of the stories and later on, the spin. In the end, the endless recountings and recriminations had just exhausted him. After almost a week of going round and round and nowhere, he needed to get his head into something else.

Others among the Champions still found their battle on the screens, he knew. Cypress had left that morning for a studio in Akasaka. He'd given her an encouraging high five on her way out, and in doing so, he had temporarily copied her abilities. Being a jack-of-all-trades who shared other peoples' powers meant that he was not a master of any of them, but he wanted to be at least familiar with some of the powers from people on his team, the ones he'd probably be sharing the most. This morning, it was Friction's turn.

Friction, it turned out, was a very tricky power. Some abilities he copied weren't subtle at all. Super strength, for example, let him hit things harder, and there wasn't much to learn with that. Friction mostly just made him fall on his face. It took a lot of skill to skate along the ground as he had seen Cypress do: it required that he shift the slipperiness of different parts of his feet back and forth with every stride. Too little, and he couldn't accelerate or steer, but too much and he would barely move at all.

The work was difficult, and at times frustrating, but he much preferred it to the fallout of the last week. Here at least, he could feel like he was making some progress. The new skills weren't easy, but with practice and dedication he could master them. Well, perhaps not master them in the hour he had, but at least he could move about some while falling on his face less often. He'd have to come back to this ability some time. It was interesting to work with, to say the least.

Having used up about three quarters of his time borrowing Cypress's abilities, Jackson turned to Inertia. This turned out to be a simpler power to work with, at least in the basics. He enjoyed himself for a few minutes, shoving crates around and controlling their motions with a snap of his fingers.

A pair of crates smacked together, and just as they did Jackson almost missed the sound of his earpiece buzzing into life. He was going home to Australia, it seemed, or at least to Melbourne. Still, even running into a bunch of magpie-loving meatheads would be worth it for being back on home soil, and hearing people speak without that ridiculous half-american accent.

He checked his watch, and saw that he still had about ten minutes before his borrowed power ran out. That should be enough to try some more... practical applications while getting himself to the airport. It was time for him to do something reckless, but potentially very cool if he was able to pull it off. Which he would, probably. Hey, he still needed to blow off some steam.

Jackson backed up against one edge of the roof, and then sprinted for the other side. He planted his feet on the low concrete wall that ran around the edge of the rooftop, and took a flying leap out into the space beyond. Just as he passed beyond the safety of the rooftop, he dialled his own inertia up to the max.

And then he was flying. Well, kind of. He couldn't steer at all, but nonetheless he soared out over the city in the direction of the airport. His inertia was so great and his friction so small that he continued to rise as he flew, almost loosed from the bounds of gravity. Not quite, of course, since he couldn't turn off the force entirely, but as things were it only bent his flight towards the ground very slowly.

His aerial arc took him over and then down through the towering buildings of Nagoya, until he finally approached the ground more than a minute later. He hit the brakes hard, releasing almost all of his inertia and dialling his friction way up. Gravity's effects returned like a load of bricks, but the high-friction air beneath him was just enough to cushion him as he landed in a roll. The momentary heat of it made his skin feel baked and itchy for a second, but as he came up to his feet and the friction drained away, he felt nothing but exhilarated.

He took off again, running down the street past startled pedestrians and drivers alike, before launching into another enhanced jump. He didn't have the skyscraper's height to start this time, but the hop still took him a hundred meters down the street, well over the heads of the other traffic. He continued bounding through the city this way until he reached the airfield, out of breath but grinning like a madman. That had been fantastic, brilliant, thrilling. He could definitely see why some other supers loved flying so much.

It was dark in the room, but he could still see the owl.

It perched at the foot of his hotel room bed. He groaned. Owls were never a good sign. It mean she was close, and he was far too hungover to deal with her today.

The owl, to it's credit, wasn't really paying him any special attention, instead surveying the room with that bug-eyed pomposity that only owls could perfect. Maybe if he just ignored it the damnable thing would just leave of it's own accord. As plans went, it was about as good as he was going to come up with today. Mind made up, he rolled onto his side and endevoured to get a few more hours sleep.

Athena, Goddess of Wisdom, knelt at his bedside. He cursed under his breath, long and obscene.

Usually upon realizing that a vision like Athena was in their bedchambers, most men would be ecstatic. After all, she was possessed of a serene, serious, somewhat aloof, and very classical beauty, one that was entirely becoming of her status as a Goddess. Unfortunately she didn't make those kind of visits, leaving that kind of thing to Aphrodite. No, she only ever came a-visiting just to chastise, like some kind of all-powerful mother-in-law.

"This room stinks." She said, aquiline nose wrinkled in distaste, her voice smooth and measured, soft as silk with just a hint of disappointment to harden it's edges. Seemed she didn't approve of just how far he'd fallen of late. Not that he cared all that much for the approval of Gods these days. That was far to fickle a commodity to try and pin down.

She turned her back on him to cross the room towards the windows, tails of her pure white chiton billowing out behind her. She drew the blinds, showering the room with daylight and earning another curse from the rooms inhabitant.

"Your manners stink. Haven't you ever heard that it's rude to come into a man's room uninvited. He could be doing anything." He grunted in return, pulling the scattered sheets of his bed tight around him. Strange, as Athena had seen him at his worst, all those centuries ago, and yet he still wasn't comfortable showing his nakedness to her. She was the virgin Goddess, after all. Even he held some things sacred.

"Show some respect, Odysseus." Her reprimand was mild, a display of her legendary level-headedness. Zeus would have started hurling lightning bolts by now. Poseidon would have tried to drown him in the toilet. She forced the window open a crack, allowing fresh air to wash away the offending stink.

"I'm a king Athena. We're a famously arrogant sort."

She turned to face him once more, her strong brow furrowed slightly while her full lips curled into a delicate frown. She had long earned a reputation for being the patron of heroes, but he was willing to bet that she regretted that title when it came with the task of having to deal with him.

"A king no longer, in case you had forgotten. Regardless of that, a wise king knows that it behooves even the mighty to show fealty to a Goddess. . . And you were supposed to be the wisest." The owl shrieked angrily at him as if to cement her point. Spineless sycophant.

"Wise no longer." He muttered to himself, though he conceded her the point with slight bow of his head. The mood he was in, it was about as much concession as she likely to get. The Goddess seemed to realize that fact and moved on.

"Olympus grows concerned, Odysseus. This 'Nagoya' incident has angered too many of the humans. They lose faith in you. They lose faith in us. Something must be done, and done soon." She fixed him with her stormcloud-gray eyes, though he couldn't make himself meet her gaze. She knew him too well, better than almost anyone in the history of the world did. Certainly better than he knew himself. Athena had a gift for stripping a man bare, laying aside all the deceits and falsehoods that he presented to the world, until nothing was left of him save his hidden, truthful core. Odysseus couldn't look her in the eyes, because he knew he'd see his reflection in those perfect gray orbs.

And he couldn't stand to see how lost he'd become. Not again.

"You hide in this room." She said, breaking the long silence that had developed between them. Simple. Stark. True.

"I'm not hiding. I'm resting! I've had a busy weak. I was part of a botched operation that collapsed a skyscraper, don't you know!" Feeble excuses, and he knew it. Lying was what he was good at though, and when a man's on the back foot it's always best to fall back on to his strengths. Unfortunately Athena could see through the most tightly woven of deceits with ease. She didn't even bother to acknowledge those particularly weak fibs. Insulting, but not entirely unexpected.

"But it's not this recent calamity that has you retreating from the world." He squirmed uncomfortably. "No. You fear a repetition of events long past. You see this schism between heroes, this division between legends, and you fear you've seen this all happen before. You look at Ulysse Descombes and you see a Hector of the twenty-first century. In Jack Cochran you think Achilles has been reborn. You see ocean waters tainted by the blood of thousands, and far off beaches littered with the tattered corpses of young men snatched before their time." Odysseus' mouth was dry while his hands shook uncontrollably. Athena's voice was hypnotic and commanding, yet she was struggling to make herself heard over the echoes of time-distant screams. God's, even now they sounded so damned close.

"You see Troy." She finished simply. He closed his eye's tight, but that just made things worse, made his memories sharper. He nodded slowly.

"It's all I see now." His voice was leeched of all emotion. At that moment he felt old. So very, very old. He realized then that in all likelihood he was probably the oldest mortal on the planet. It was not a comforting thought. "In Elysium you forget the bad times. In fact you can't even recall them if you try, not that you ever would. Here, now? It's nothing but the bad times. Troy is more than two thousand years past, lost to murky legend. The lessons we learnt there didn't survive our voyage home."

"I can't do it again Athena. No man should have to live through something like that twice."

He fell into silence again, and they sat uncomfortably for a moment. Even the owl seemed unsure of what to say. Odysseus closed his eyes again. He was so tired. Why did the Gods ever have to wake him for this.

A cool, tentative touch upon his hand stirred him from his pensiveness. He looked down and was shocked to see that it was Athena that had reached out to him. The contact had been so unsure, so shy, so self-conscious, so human, that he had thought someone else must have snuck into the room. He looked up to see that the Goddess was watching him intently. When their eyes met a small, almost bashful smile spread across her face. For the briefest of heartbeats they sat like that, man and Goddess. It was one of the most surreal moments of his two lives.

It was with some surprise that he realized it was also one of the most comfortable.

Without warning she ended the contact, withdrawing her hand as quick as if she was snatching it back from a furnace fire, her face molding back into it's usual aloofness. He was overcome with the most profound feeling of loss, and momentarily wondered what it was that he had done wrong, and how he could fix it.

She got back to her feet, rising with an inhuman grace, and crossing once more to the window. She studied the skyline outside. He wondered if she was as amazed with the accomplishments of twenty-first century man as he was, or as a Goddess had she seen it all before. Did Olympus still compare with modern day mans cities?

"I agree, Odysseus. No man should be made to live through a conflict like the one that consumed Troy twice. So I charge you with the tasks of averting this new, looming battle, healing the rift within the champions, and reclaiming the trust of the mortals. I have faith that you can accomplish them all."

She was all business again. Whatever they'd just had, if they'd even had anything, was gone.

"Well, I'm glad one of us still has faith in me." He muttered. He couldn't be sure, but he imagined he glimpsed her loose a quick smile at that one. Maybe she was more human than she let on.

"I do not give tasks to those I feel are unable to achieve them Odysseus. Good luck."

Her owl hooted noisily, and Odysseus turned to bark at it to shut-up.

"And oh, do put some clothes on. It's impolite to sit naked in front of a lady."

"Wh. . . What?" But by the time he looked back to the window she was gone.

---

Ten minutes later and he'd just gotten out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist when he received Descombes message. Just what his hangover needed, a battle with a super villain. If he didn't know that their existence depended upon the success of his mission then he would have been certain that somebody in Olympus hated him. Well to be fair he knew for a fact that Poseidon hated him, but then who didn't the God of the Seas hate? And besides, a hangover and a super-fight seemed to subtle for the old trident wielder.

There was a knock at his door just as he was belting on his leather kilt. What now? With a sigh he went shirtless to see who was calling. He hoped it was Maeve. He could use some cheering up just now, and the Succubus always knew how to brighten his mood.

To his surprise, and disappointment, it wasn't the shapely Fae who called, but instead a balding Japanese man in a tacky suit escorted by three uniformed police officers. Odysseus didn't like where this was going already. They stood in silence for several moments, until the former King of Ithaka could stand it no longer.

"Well?" he demanded imperiously. The balding man, some sort of beuarocrat if Odysseus had to guess, looked shocked at the short greeting, but quickly recovered himself.

“Mr. . . Odysseus." The little man seemed to struggle with the name. "I am Ogata. I represent the interests of the Minister of Justice. We would be most grateful if you were to accompany us to Tokyo to testify before the Cabinet and Prime Minister about the late unpleasantness.” It sounded like a rehearsed line. Odysseus wondered how many other Champion members had been visited first. How far down the list was a former king? Any position below first would be an insult. He momentarily wished for the halcyon years when a monarch could kick rude messengers into bottomless wells, and damned be the consequences.

Those were the days.

He was about to shoo the irritating little worm away when Athena's words came back to him.

Reclaim the trust of the mortals.

He groaned aloud, imaging the Goddess of Wisdom was probably feeling awfully smug right about then. She was the puppet master, and he could almost feel her tugging at the strings to make him dance.

Gant d'Argent had broadcasted his message to the entire Champions roster. He probably had a crew of heroes eager to get out of Nagoya right now, champing at the bit to get some action and recover their tarnished reputation. Did they really need him?

Probably. Almost certainly, in fact. Somebody needed to keep them all out of trouble. But he had a feeling they were more in need of someone to face this firing line in Tokyo. Someone to answer questions and deflect blame. Who better than him? No one, unfortunately.

Yes Athena, watch me as I caper. Giggle while you can though, because while you pick the tune, Odysseus will pick the dance. And it might not be one to Olympus' liking.

He rubbed at his temple before sighing deeply, theatrically. He was going to regret getting up today.

"Ok, just let me grab my sword."

Ogata's face fell. Odysseus really couldn't have cared less.

He'd long learnt that the best tool for diplomacy was a well sharpened blade.

Carolle Manor
Yorkshire, England
103 Local Time


"An hour until two, Mistress," came Aida's muffled, and ever-present reminder of the time. The Mannequin had no mouth to speak with, but somehow retained the ability to converse, though it was rarely used, present circumstance asides.

Nodding, Charlotte put down her pen and put aside the documents she was working on. She was getting sleepy, in any case, and she could afford putting off some work for later.

But before that . . .

"Aida, switch on the telly for a moment, will you please?" she said, wheeling herself to her cabinet for clothes. She actually had three large screen television sets in her room, but Aida had been with her long enough to know that she meant to turn them all on.

Dutifully, she switched them on and as several news channels came on display, she listened without looking. Back before the "incident" she had already grasped an understanding of the importance of having information, but later on realized how superficial that understanding was. She had only glanced at the news with passing interest, focusing on information that interested or pleased her.

After the death of her parents and her subsequent legal battles to reclaim her inheritance, she understood the true value of processing information. Every small detail could be used to ones advantage, every gen and insight was an asset to your benefit. Since then, she had moved almost all the televisions in her manor to her room, and permanently kept them on the news; one for local, the other two for international.

She listened without really looking, a habit she developed in order to multitask, and hopped into bed. Sleep never came to her easily anymore, so it would be awhile before-

“. . .escaped earlier this afternoon while being transferred to a more secure facility, killing two police officers in the process. Ned Dryden had been imprisoned last year on seventy-three counts of murder committed in an effort to take over the Melbourne underworld. Better known as 'Tinhead Ned', Dryden used several sets of experimental powered armor in order to intimidate gangs and organized crime syndicates into appointing him as their leader. However, the superhero group known as the Champions dismantled his organization in one of their earliest missions.”

Charlotte bolted upright and stared at one TV in particular, eyes wide.

"Red, Spade club cards from ace to ten, Cheshire, Haigha, my room." Issuing a telepathic message to her family, Charlotte shot out of bed, a silently anxious Aida immediately at her side to help her back into her wheelchair.

It took only seconds before her "children", as she called them often, arrived. The first to come was Cheshire, unsurprisingly. The cat could move faster than any of her cars could.

"You rang~?" he meowed in that drawl, sing-song tone he always defaulted to.

"Wait for the others first, Cheshire."

With a bob of his head, the stuffed cat leapt into her lap, and she accepted him easily. Stroking his fur, she waited for the others to arrive.

The next to come were Haigha and the Rats. They swarmed into the room, before assembling in front of her in an uneven line. None of the rats could stand perfectly still, always twitching and moving or scratching themselves. One was even chasing its tail around in circles. Still, all of them gave Charlotte their utmost attention . . . even if it really did not seem like it.

When they spoke, they all did so at near the same time, garbling up their sentences and becoming near unintelligible.

"Here!"
"Hullo!"
"Cookies?"
"Get yer tail off'f me mouth!"
"How 'bout you take yer paws of me foot?!"
"Wheeeeeee!"
"She called us! She called us!"
"That means we're special lads!"
"We're special! We're special!"

Haigha the Hare sighed and ignored her tiny companions. Looking up at Charlotte, and Cheshire on her lap, she tilted her head. "Yes? You called, Missy? Is something the matter? Oh!" Her nose twitched violently with excitement, a quirk of hers that Charlotte could never quite understand. "Is it a mission? I LOVE missions! So exciting, don't you think Cheshire dear?"

"Yes, quite," he drawled.

The Alice giggled, unable to help herself. Her children were so quirky and unbelievably strange that they always livened her spirits when they gathered. Their strange habits and weird attitudes clashed and blended so vividly that it was like looking at a cartoon come to life. They were the only things left in this world that could make her laugh, and she treasured each and every one of them with all her heart.

"She laughed! She laughed!"
"We is funny yes!"
"I'mstillchasingmytailWheeeeeeee!"
"NaiWa!NaiWa!"

"Calm down you louts, we're here to discuss something, not clown around, ain't that right miss?"

A new voice, high pitched, with a strange, echoing quality, came from the doorway. A large teddy bear with a floating sword to its side entered the room, parting the crowd of cat and mice. The large teddy knelt in front of Charlotte, before standing up again.

"You called, Charlotte," his voice rumbled in a smooth baritone. It was not a question, it was a statement of fact, in the same way that his coming here was a natural occurrence. She called, and he came, as natural as the sun following the moon.

"We have an opportunity to make contact," said Charlotte. The heads of everyone in the room looked up at her in surprise, excitement glimmering in their eyes. It was known that her life goal was to see the resurgence of the Champions, and heroism in general, but so far, there had been no chance to make meaningful contact with anyone who could help.

"A villain has recently escaped in Australia, and despite Nagoya, I've no doubt that there will be heroes who will respond to the crisis. In particular, I want you to observe any Champions that respond, and see if their still worthy of the name."

With a nod of understanding, Teddy got up from the ground, and Haigha began bounding around, unable to contain the energy that came with news of a new mission. That brief summary was all that they needed, and they knew the rest. Nothing else had to be said between them.

Before they left, they swarmed Charlotte, burying the solitary girl in hugs and fur, a tradition they all went through whenever they left for some place far from her touch. For her part, she embraced them as if never wanting to let them go, and only reluctantly parted with them after a long moment.

"Good luck," she whispered as they left.

---

Red hated going off on missions like these, because it meant leaving Charlotte. Now he knew she wouldn't be too lonely; Aida would never leave her side, and neither would Jabberwocky, but still, he wished that they didn't have to leave for these missions at all -- Charlotte shouldn't have to concern herself with the games of heroes and villains, and should be spending her days laughing and playing, like she used to.

Unfortunately he, more than anyone else except perhaps Aida, knew how strong Charlotte's convictions were, second only to her sense of justice, and the two were not even close to being mutually exclusive. She had set her sights on revitalizing the world of heroes, and she was not going to stop until she saw it happen, or burnt herself out in the attempt.

"So, you're leaving are you?"

A voice, deeper than humanly possible, resounded menacingly in his ears. Red and the rest of the leaving party looked to the side, where a giant stone dragon began its descent.

Jabberwocky, who was without a doubt the strongest among the Animated, lowered his head towards them. Most of the time, he was a rather arrogant fellow, but he showed respect when Red or Aida was in his presence. He valued their experience as the eldest among them, and recognized that though she never said so out loud or even in her thoughts, they were Charlotte's favorites.

"Yes, perhaps for a week. Look after her while we're gone."

"That is needless to say." Of course it was, but he would ask it anyway, and because Jabberwocky knew why, he didn't take issue with it.

With a nod of approval, Red stalked towards the family's private jet.

His thoughts wandered to the heroes they were tasked to observed. Should they commit the gravest of sins by disappointing Charlotte, then he will not hesitate to uproot their whole organization, until nothing was left of them, with no hope of resurgence. He didn't know how he could do it, or if it was even possible, but he would not stop until it became so.

Jack strolled out of the car in front of the airport. He smiled and waved at his ride, a nice young Japanese couple with red faces and disheveled clothing. It was never hard for Jack to get around anywhere. With a wide grin locked on his face, Jack swaggered his way to the private terminal that held his jet. Unfortunately it also held the Champion's team jet. Jack looked around for any sign of the other team but it looked like he had gotten there first. That was for the better, much less awkward that way. Red Jack took a moment to drink in the sight of his private jet. While both his and the Champion's jets were both modern, sleek, and fast, Jack's was a great deal more flashy. Some would say self-indulgent. The private plane was large, smooth, and pleasing to the eye. Just how he liked it. The white and red color scheme with the bloody helm of his family emblazoned on the side stood out among the other jets on the tarmac. His father and brother rarely used it. Dad liked to use Nether Gates to get around and good 'ol Danny stayed at home most of the time anyway. Jack and his sisters were the ones who liked to go on trips, and he had even brought a few of them over with him. Rosie would have killed him if he left her behind. Of course when Rosie found out, all the girls just had to go. With all their entourages. Thank Oberon that the plane was so damned large.

Luckily, they would all still be busy shopping and partying and deflowering and what not. At least someone had been having a good time while Jack had been stewing in his hotel room. It seemed the flight crew had arrived ahead of him and the plane was pretty much ready to take off, they were just waiting on him and the others. Jack, dressed in his uniform, ascended the stairway to the plane. The interior was just as lavish and lush. Basilisk leather seats, wet bar, and a whole crew of scrumptious male and female flight attendants. Very choice. The pilots, the attendants, all of them had been serving the family since Jack was a child. To a man they were half-bloods, some of them were in their fifties but they looked no older than him. All of them were white of teeth, smooth of skin, and pleasing to the senses. They greeted him warmly and Jack smiled back. He took a seat and grinned at a pale skinned and dark haired girl named Cynthia, "Keep the beer coming dear, I've had Japanese for too long and I need a taste of home." There was a pub back in Shadow Manhattan owned by an alchemist gnome everyone called Hugo. Jack doubted that was his real name but that's what they called him. Hugo was gruff but he knew his beer. Best microbrew in town. Hugo probably would have killed him if he found out that Jack kept his supply on ice though. He was old fashioned like that.

Cynthia came back with one of Hugo's miracles cracked open and Jack took a moderate sip. Ah, Heaven. Jack supposed it was only fitting an alchemist would make such liquid gold. Jack downed the rest of the bottle and Cynthia obligingly took it away and provided him another, "Are you sure you should be drinking? You're going to have a fight aren't you?" Jack nursed this one a bit more and smiled back at her, "I fight better with some alcohol in me. Hmm some music wouldn't be amiss." Jack pushed some buttons on his chair and the top of the line speaker system started playing a quiet ethereal tune. Equal parts melodic and haunting. It was a composition by Aglaope the Siren. Siren song may be dangerous but it was beautiful, and played through artificial means it did not have the same mystical effect. Jack closed his eyes and quietly hummed along, sipping his beer. Something was missing.... ah. Cynthia seemed to read his mind, "Foot rub?" Jack grinned, "If you insist." Cynthia slid off Jack's foot wraps and got to work, her smooth graceful hands massaged his feet skillfully. Red Jack sighed in contentment. A beer, music, a beautiful woman rubbing his feet, this was what he needed. All the tension and trouble didn't go away but it was put out of his mind for a moment. Bliss.

Jack soaked in the pleasure for a few more moments before a buzz from his phone alerted him. He sighed and opened his eyes, opening the notification. His eyebrow arched as he read. Jack pursed his lips and finished his beer, asking another attendant, a nice tall man called Christian to bring him another. And so Jack waited for his team to show up. They couldn't miss the plane. Jack called for grapes from the Summer Court as he waited for his comrades. As his new team came aboard one by one, Jack gave each of them a winning smile and a cheerful greeting, gesturing them all to sit and kick back. He offered drinks and refreshment to each as Cynthia finished her massage and moved to his lap, rubbing his shoulders as he made small talk. When the last person arrived, the stair was wheeled away, the door was pulled up, and the plane began to taxi down the runway.

Jack finished his third beer and the grapes and faithful Cynthia took them away before they all strapped in. Jack glanced out the window as the plane rose. He had a particularly nasty view of the crater from here. Jack turned away and thought of better times as the plane eventually leveled out. His attendants, knowing what he'd want, brought a nice assortment of platters and asked his companions for drink orders. Jack got another beer. He processed alcohol a fair bit better than humans, he'd have to drink a whole lot more for it to be a problem. Jack spoke up to the team, "Alright we have quite a bit of time until we reach Australia. We have time to relax a little, and even make some plans. Tinhead Ned isn't the only problem. There are reports of another killer on the loose. Unknown designation. But witnesses describe the assailant as a talking skeleton. He killed one civilian and severely wounded several police officers. He shows resistance against small arms fire and a possible healing factor as well as super strength. His limits are unknown, so he is not to be underestimated. Assume he is stronger than you and that nothing short of blowing him to bits can stop him. We're possibly dealing with what could be a Revenant but that is purely speculation."

Jack looked them all in the eye, motioning Cynthia back to his lap before continuing, "Now we have a choice. We can go after our old friend Ned. Or we can nip this guy in the bud. Tinhead is a known quantity, and we know almost nothing about this guy. In my opinion that makes him possibly more dangerous. Now we know that the Champions will take Ned to task, but we can't assume that they'll take care of this other guy. I say we stop his rampage before it gets worse. That way we don't trip over the other team's shoes, and we get some recognition for taking down a new powerful murderer. Thoughts? This isn't a dictatorship, I want to hear your opinions. Afterwards we take a simple majority vote about who to go after. I vote new guy." Jack traced a finger along Cynthia's back as he sat back, sipped his beer, and listened to what his team had to say. They were all colorful, strong-willed individuals. No doubt they each had their own two cents to put in. Once a consensus was reached, Jack nodded, their course set as the plane sped to Australia.

"Now, is there anything else any of you would like to discuss? If not, we have some time to ourselves. Ask my crew for anything and they'll try their best to accommodate. Drinks, food, company, anything. Just because we're all under the microscope doesn't mean we can't have fun as friends."

Wilbur's taxi pulled up at the airport, screeching to a halt on the dry tarmac. He emptied a handful of coins and a note into the driver's hand and shoved the door open, heaving himself out and dragging his battered leather suitcase behind him. He'd had the damn thing since he was in his early 30s but he refused to throw it out. The thing had too much sentimental value and besides, it was still a worthy functioning item, so why lose it? Maybe he was just overly sentimental... but not everything in his life had to be high tech even if that was his core and soul.

He bustled his way through the airport, keeping his cap over his eyes in the hopes that no-one would recognise him or stop him for the time being. It seemed unlikely... most knew him for flying around in the steel deathtrap, not for being the short bald man who flew the damn thing. Just the attitude these days, remember the flashy cars but not the drivers.

After a little bit, he was walking across the runway to the private jet he knew belonged to Red Jack. Even if he hadn't known the man personally, the signs were all there. Aesthetically worked all over, highly expensive materials and all for the sake of looking good. Definitely not Wilbur's style, functional over fashionable was always the way he'd made things... but, it was a decent enough model that he could remark upon its technical aspects. It was still a jet, at the end of the day. He hobbled his way up the stairs into the jet itself, dragging his suitcase behind him, action dictating him for the time being.

Once he was on board, he gave Jack a nod of acknowledgement before he took a seat near the window and settled in. He slipped his cap and coat off, putting his bag in the overhead and just settling in as the other members of the Splinter group arrived. Wilbur managed to offer a smile unto each of them as they passed him. He had to be grateful, after all. Even if the few who had chosen to side with them were among the weakest in the Champions to begin with, they had still chosen to abandon them and side with them... he hoped for all of their sakes, they were indeed making the right choices here. It was very comfortable... for all of Jack's flashy nature, he certainly knew comfort and good keeping of ones company. Even the music settled him somewhat, reminding him of a strange combination of Beethoven and static. When you worked with machines as long as Wilbur did, you heard electrical buzzing and static a lot.

"Tea, please. Earl grey. Some biscuits too if you can." Wilbur spoke to one of the servers when they approached, keeping his manners about him. Even now he marvelled at how curious at was, these young looking things being his age and over in some cases. He wasn't much a fan of the big party style kind of gathering... he'd long since grown out of his partying days. He had occasional alcohol, and admittedly he'd had a lot more of it since Nagoya happened, 3 whiskeys in one night. But even so, maybe he just had a simpler idea of what enjoying himself was, even as Red Jack had some pretty looking thing moving all over him like that.

"Both problems have a similar soloution." he spoke up, regarding Jack's suggestions. "A lack of information. We know nothing about where Tinhead's stocks are and we know nothing about this skeletal fellow, we can't really make an informed decision going off of just that." He cleared his throat slightly as he spoke. "I believe we should gather information first before we decide who to pursue. We can still ask about both and ask on whichever lead we can get a better grip on. There's little sense chasing after this skeleton if we can't even find out something about him."

The Womb slunk around the deserted alleyways of Perth. He had lost any pursuers, not that he had tried. It was as easy as walking away. He had come to know his surroundings as Australia. The land of Criminals and Aborigines. He had visited the place in his past, yet he did not remember it being so Babylonian in scope. Buildings tore into the sky like mighty fingers reaching. They were impressive. As impressive as the Incan pyramids or Tibetan temples. He wondered what it was they represented, if they were used for worship or some other kind of tradition. The sun had begun to touch the horizon, and the skies were turning an eerie blood red in their twilight. As he walked and pondered, he spotted a gruff looking man at the end of the alleyway. He was clad in black leather, spikes adorning the outfit. He had a hooded jacket underneath, and fingerless gloves and boots. He seemed to be meddling with a metal horse of sorts.

“Fackin motor, she’s nearly there, come one,” the man muttered to himself as he bent lower and twiddled at the insides of his vehicle. The Womb approached from behind and stood motionless behind him. After a short while, the man leant back in triumph, “there she is! Good as new. Let start ‘er up,” He stood up and turned to straddle the bike, yet as he did so he was suddenly met with The Womb’s naked form. “Jesus mate, what the fackin ‘ell are you doing? You looking to catch a beating? Where’s yer fackin clothes? Are you drunk?” The man didn’t seem to notice The Womb’s genitalia, or fleshless face; the twilight skewing his vision.

“I am not this Jesus you speak of. I believe you mean Yeshua. He was a good man. He wanted peace. But he worshiped the wrong God,” answered The Womb.

“What the fac--?” The man’s expletive was cut off as the Womb’s hand shot out and gripped the the leather clad brute by the throat. With seeming ease, the Womb gradually lifted the man from his feet, slowly choking him to death. The man kick out, but his kicks did little to nothing to Phase The Womb. Soon enough the man was limp, the only life left in him being the twitching of his nervous system. The Womb threw the body to the ground and began to rifle at its clothes.

“If I am to survive in this world, I must dress accordingly,” muttered The Womb to himself, as he eased off the man’s trousers and jackets. Soon enough, The Womb was suited and booted in the biker's outfit. It was a snug fit, but would work for now. He took the bikers full face helmet and eased it onto his head. He took the bike by the handle bars and sat aboard it’s seat. He fiddled with the controls, trying to figure out how to work the machine. After some time, he found out how to start the engine. As he continued to investigate, he pulled back on the throttle and was suddenly thrust forwards at a high speed. At a good forty miles per hour, The Womb sped out onto the streets of Perth. He swerved and nearly hit a car. Using his enhanced reflexes, he was able to right himself and keep balanced, however he did not know how to slow himself down. He drove on into oncoming traffic, cars veered out of his way as he tried fruitlessly to understand what he was doing. He came to a corner and turned himself into a skid that sent him rolling across the ground and his bike sliding in a sea of sparks further down the road.

The sounds of horns and sirens alerted The Womb. He couldn’t have lawmen approach him again. He had already created enough of a scene in his disoriented state on the beach. He ran to the bike, hoisted it up, and rode it yet again. This time he took it to the side in which others seemed to be driving and found himself in a much better position. He took little notice of road signs or lights, and zipped through the streets at high speed. Using his reflexes, he began to find it easy dodging through traffic, only having to slow at corners. The streets were more or less straight, and were wide. This made things much easier for The Womb. Soon enough he was on the outskirts of the city and felt safe once again. He slowed down outside a string of backwater stores. He leant his bike against a nearby lamppost and gazed into a shop window. Inside were many screens with moving pictures. He remembered when these were grainy, soundless spectacles. ENjoyed by the masses with piano accompaniment.

“How far have my children come? These images, they look like portals…” The Womb whispered to himself. He stared into the screens and could make out the faint sounds of speaking.

”...The Champions have been difficult to get hold of after the incident with only limited statements being released. After Nagoya many are wondering if the Champions should be arrested, or hailed as heroes for stopping a dangerous mafioso group. We have Ben Shapiro and Noam Chomsky debating the topic with us here tonight on the Hannity Show on FOX News…”

Cypress came to an instant stop startling the security who upon recovering their wits asked for her autograph an ogled her. She of course complied signing her signature quickly an then blew them a kiss as she sped towards the waiting jet.

Cy knew that people who observed her signing autographs thought she did it as an exercise of Ego and they were only partially correct. Sure she did it for the adulation but she also did it because of public relations an because experience taught her that when dealing with people who could speed up or delay her progress it was easier to sign.

Then as she slid to a stop at the foot of the waiting aircraft's stairs she laughed remembering how much of a fanboy her prime minister had been when she met him. Since that day she had been able to call him on his private line and get his help with a simple request. Also there was the individual popularity index to be considered which her publicist tracked and used to predict Cy's moves in public as a general did her troops.

So it was with such amusing thoughts that the Platinum haired blonde boarded the Champion's jet.

THE CHAMPIONS JET
OVER THE PACIFIC
1831 LOCAL TIME

Interacting with: @Sterling@DFTBA@dragonmancer@RumikoOhara

"I really cannot thank you enough, Superintendent," Gant d'Argent said into the phone, gratitude plain in his voice. The engines of the plane hummed quietly in the background. "It is truly humbling that there are still people like yourself who believe in our mission. Thank you again for the information. Yes, goodbye. My regards to your wife and children." The Frenchman hung up, sighed theatrically. "Ten gets you one that he's calling Jack right now to share the same information."

He looked over the plane. It was less luxurious and more spartan than that used by the Cochran family, but most importantly it had always got them where they were going. Gant d'Argent felt a brief pang of sadness as he looked over the many empty seats. There was the scratch The Hare had accidentally torn in the upholstery. Gant d'Argent remembered Okyeame playfully teasing him over it. They were both gone now, dead and gone and buried, never to return. So many memories of times gone by.

He forced the thoughts out of his head. There was work to be done. "Alright, team, here's the situation," he said to the group at large. He patched in the satellite-boosted comms so that Launcelot, wherever he was on this planet, could also hear the briefing. A brilliant invention. Wilbur's, to be exact. Pity. They would need his mind going forwards.

"I just got off the phone with our contact in the Australian Federal Police. He has been gracious enough to share a lead with us, though I imagine he will be give the same information to Jack and his people. It seems that a few of Tinhead Ned's old subordinates have come forward and claim one of his caches is located in Andamooka, a little nothing town in the middle of the Outback. It's the closest to Melbourne, where he escaped, so it stands to reason he might try to head there."

The Frenchman shrugged. "However, it seems that a situation is also unfolding in Perth, on the other side of the country. It. . . well, just look," he said, indicating one of the television screens in the cabin to show the skull-headed creature soaking up police bullets and then hurling aside dozens of officers with one blow.

"Now, I think we can deal with either crisis, but we must decide quickly so that the pilot and our knightly friend have time to plot a new course."

"Personally, I vote we stay with our original mission. On to Andamooka and Tinhead Ned. How do all of you feel?" He looked over the cabin, interested to see which way opinion would swing.

OFFICE OF THE PRIME MINISTER
CHIYODA WARD, TOKYO, JAPAN

Interacting with: @BlackSam3091

Everything about the trip had been rushed. From Ogata's hurried escort to the lobby to the fast drive to the airport to the SDF plane that had whisked Odysseus to Tokyo, all of it had been done with speed and efficiency. Less than three hours later, the King of Ithaka was being shown into the smart, modernist offices that housed the Prime Minister. The numerous armed guards had scowled at the sword, but certain exceptions could be made for royalty.

There had been hardly wait at all outside the meeting room, either, hardly long enough for Ogata to offer tea, before the doors opened and a staffer beckoned Odysseus in.

Walking through the double doors, Odysseus was greeted by nineteen ministers of state and the Prime Minister himself, seated at the head of a long and elegant mahogany table. A long window took up one wall, letting in the early evening sky and a beautiful view of the Diet Building. All stood and bowed softly in deference. "Your Highness," the Prime Minister said. "Thank you for accepting our invitation on such short notice. I trust your journey here was comfortable. Please, be seated."

As the Cabinet took their seats, the Prime Minister motioned for refreshments to be brought. So far, the atmosphere was relaxed. "Does Your Highness have a prepared statement?" the Prime Minister asked politely.

NAGOYA MARRIOTT
NAKAMURA WARD, NAGOYA, JAPAN

Interacting with: @Renny

"God Fist," the pleasant voice said in the darkness, as the man stepped out of the shadows. There was no indication of him entering the room- the door and windows remained shut. It was as though he had always been there but only now made himself known.

"Please, don't be frightened," he said. He was a thin man, but muscled and graceful, something like a greyhound. He was dressed in a dark but fashionable suit, and expensive designer sunglasses covered his eyes despite the darkness. His skin was almost luminescent in its paleness, and his styled hair an eye-catching coppery red.

"My name is Reynard. I apologize for startling you," he said gently, with great care and a concilatory gesture that revealed the length and curvature of his fingernails. "I understand what you are feeling. The guilt, the grief, the responsibility. It is good that you feel those things. It means that you are a good person at heart, one who feels the weight of his mistakes, one who wishes to do the right thing. The world may not understand, God Fist, but I do. And so does my employer."

Reynard smiled, and for a brief second God Fist could see the sharp points of his teeth. "Would it be wrong to say you need a friend right now? Someone who understands? My employer can be that friend. And she can show the world who you truly are- a good person who looks out for the rest of us."

Reynard extended a small card to the young man, and the white cardstock seemed to glow in the darkened room. "Visit my employer at your leisure. I understand you fly quite quickly- getting there would be no difficulty at all for you. Or, of course, you could always ride with me," Reynard said with another gentle, affectionate smile. He stood and waited patiently as God Fist deliberated.

The card read:



with contact information below. Reynard looked down at the young man with a faraway smile, awaiting a response.