H E R M A N S C H U L T Z ’ S A P A R T M E N T

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L E B E R N A R D I N

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Richard Foley was a nice kid. Your standard everyday 15 year old who kept to his books, listened to his parents and returned to the house by 10PM. When it came down to it he was actually a bit of a stickler when it came to them. So when his parents, gone for the night for a long night meeting at STAR Labs was left a list of chores to do. He was quick to get those done before heading for bed, He had just about finished with cleaning the kitchen, which after taking hours to polish the hardwood kitchen floor, he rested himself on the nearby chair, ready to call it a night.

However, it would seem he nearly forgot one more task, as his eyes locked onto the Kitchen garbage bin. He sighed, there is always one more thing, even if your parents were not there to announce it. He lifted himself off of the bar chair in the kitchen, which he gently pushed back behind the island counter and walked toward the can pulling the trash bag out and tying it, heading outside going through the small backyard to the side of his house in order to throw out the trash. However, in the pile of garbage he was shocked to see what seemed to be an African American male, dressed in a baggy red hoodie and black jeans, wearing what seemed to be timberland boots. He wasn’t bleeding it seemed just unconscious, and swollen in multiple areas. Richard had only partially noted who he was. They went to the same school, so he was…familiar with him.

“You forgot that lunch money again Rich? Come on, you know you don’t want me to get Ebon on ya.”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

He shuddered at that word, usually the easy way was simply a 30-minute stay in a locker, and the hard way? Well it depended on The Bloods mood, either it was the swirlie or a nice beatdown. Either way It wasn’t fond memories that Richard was familiar with Virgil Hawkins. He was their newest recruit and tended to be the one who took all the action. Seeing him swollen and thrashed like this? Well, He looked pathetic and was certainly a good case of Schadenfreude. He really DIDN’T Want to help him. No really, if it was up to him he’d probably just leave him here until his parents came home and they call the cops.

But then his parents would rant to him about the importance of karma and how he should treat his fellow man with respect. However, they didn’t say he had to be nice about it, He turned toward his side to see the water hose neatly wrapped around the hostler on the side of the house, he turned the faucet on and pointed the watering hose at him, as the water suddenly shot out of the house, splashing Virgil across the face violently, forcing him out of consciousness. Richard hesitated to laugh seeing Virgil now stammer out of the pile of garbage and away from the water that he was being sprayed with. Instead settling for a more monotone and stern stare, which fit with the question he had to ask.

“So…mind me asking what’s a gangbanbing piece of shit like you doing not only in this neighborhood but here at the side of my house?”

Virgil was still shocked about the water being sprayed across his face, before even noticing the voice of Richard. He lifted himself up from the piles of bags and snarled at Richard, he wasn’t gonna take that shit from a pasty faced fag.

“Keep your fucking mouth shut before I shut it for you.”

Virgil lifted his fist, only to see it glow again in it’s purple electrical aura. He blinked noting the chang and attempted to shake his hand to try and turn it off, only for the same lid that he gathered previously, to return to his hand. Virgil for once had the same reaction at Richard who was now staring at the sight before them.

“Magnetism?”

They both said it at once, though Richard was surprised, not that he assumed that the black male was dumb by any means but to immediately point it out was something to behold. “Good, we at least both know what it is, but ignoring how goddamn cool it looks, what up with it?”

Virgil paused for a moment, seeing the electrical particles just dance around his hand. After he relaxed he say the electricity suddenly disperse and began to dissipate. “I…don’t know.” Virgil Spoke but It was Richard who began to take curiosity with it. He inched right into Virgils face and grabbed his wrist, to stare at it. “I…think I can find out, Mind staying for a while, or you don’t want to be seen with the geek?” Richard said this with Venom, Virgil knew this but at this moment it would seem that he had no other option, besides heading back to the pier with The rest of the Bloods, just didn't seem like a good idea right now.

“Honestly, that sounds relaxing at this point.”

Manhattan

When he didn’t get any answer the second time he knocked, Parker kicked the door in. Two swift kicks to the place around the knob snapped the cheap lock in half. He came in gun first through the tiny studio apartment. It took him all of thirty seconds to clear the place of any human life. He slid the piece back in its shoulder holster and did a quick inventory of the surroundings. Bare walls and cracked wallpaper greeted him. A scuffed hardwood floor was obscured by stacks of garbage and filth. The place stunk to high heaven and Parker had to hold his nose as he went into the little bathroom nook.

From the window he looked out across the city. New York's lights were ablaze in the early dusk. Movement below caught his eye and he looked down. A fat man in a ill-fitting suit was running down the fire escape for dear life. Parker yanked the window opened and gave chase, racing down the rickety, rusty stairs after him.

The fat man was off the stairs and running down the alley by the time Parker got to the bottom of them. He leapt the five feet down to the pavement and pulled his gun from its holster. The fat man was at least ten yards away when Parker drew a bead on him with the gun's iron sight. The piece jerked just once and the fat man crumpled to the ground. He kept the gun on the body as he walked up to it.

Parker kicked the fat man over and made sure he was dead. A neat little hole in the back of the guy’s neck wasn't nearly as neat when it exited just under his left eye and took out what little brains he had with it. A quick search revealed a wallet, a cellphone, and a half brick of heroin tucked in the man's suit jacket.

The wallet had a driver's license made out to one Henry Carter with matching debit and credit cards. Parker pocketed the wallet and dope into his own jacket and held on to the phone as he walked out the alley towards his car. The rental was parked down the block from the flophouse he'd just went in to. This part of town was filled with rundown apartments and no-tell motels so he knew he'd be able to leave the area at his own pace before anyone found the body.

He drove to a parking lot three blocks away and let the engine idle while he inspected Henry Carter's phone. The man didn't make many phone calls -- but who did in the age of texting? -- and most of the calls were either from contacts listed a HOME or SARAH. The texts revealed Sarah to be Carter's wife or girlfriend or something. Parker didn't remember seeing a wedding ring on Carter's pudgy hand. Most of the text were mundane stuff from Sarah and friends, but one number jumped out at Parker.

M -- number 914-202-6005 -- never called Carter nor did Carter ever call him. But they texted. Every two weeks, M would text Carter the word 'Package' and Two weeks later, Carter would text '$' The last such text was a package one from M a week ago. Parker pocketed the phone and started the car. He pulled out into the street with a few ideas on how to proceed next.

He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other on the gun Graves had given him five days ago. The piece felt good in his big mitts. He liked the weight and feel of it. It wasn't fancy but it got the job done. Parker could visualize putting the barrel right in Mal Resnick's face and pulling the trigger until it clicked.

The job that led to here was supposed to be a pretty straightforward one. The small town of Susanville, California had two banks that were merging. In the middle of the night, all the cash from one bank would cross town in an armored car with a police escort and deposit it into the other one. Parker and two other guys -- Mal and Joe Wilson -- ambushed the car at the halfway point with an honest to god rocket launcher that Joe Wilson had somehow gotten his hands on.

The front end of the armored car went up like a roman candle when the rocket hit. The blast was pure shock and awe, a good enough cover for Parker, Mal, and Joe to overtake the cop escort and the guards and crack open the back of the armored car. Fire trucks were hauling ass to the scene as Parker and company fled into the night in a SUV loaded with three quarters of a million dollars in cash. Joe Wilson drove them north to Cedarville, an even smaller town that was spitting distance to the Nevada state line.

The plan was to lay low in a small house there, split up the take three ways, and go their separate ways after a few days of hiding out. Parker made sure the house was stocked with water and sandwich supplies. Mal, apparently, had other ideas. The last night of their hideout, Mal stabbed Joe Wilson to death in his sleep and came for Parker. Lucky for Parker, or unlucky for Mal, Parker was a light sleeper and struck out when he saw Mal at the foot of his bed with a knife. Parker's gun was close by, but Mal's was in his other hand and he drew down, hitting Parker twice in the torso.

The gunshots drew the cops, who got there in time to save Parker from bleeding to death but not in time to intercept Mal or the cash as he drove off into the night. Parker woke up two days later handcuffed to a hospital bed. Cops from Susanville, California State Police, and even feds sweated him about what had happened in that little house. Parker didn't say a word and they couldn't prove he robbed the armored cars. So instead he got charged with Joe Wilson's murder while he healed from gunshot wounds. Parker was still awaiting trial for murder when he was magically released by someone. Graves, whoever the hell he was, had serious pull.

He wasted no time getting to New York after the file on Mal put him in the city. A few quick cons and paper hangings in California got enough cash in his pocket to get across the country and into a cheap motel in Jersey. From there he staged his hunt for Mal. The dossier put Mal in Manhattan, working as a wholesaler of Big H. The bastard had taken Parker and Joe Wilson's shares of the loot and paid off some big debts to the Outfit, what was left he used to set up shop as a supplier. Carter, the man Parker had just killed, was one of the people Mal supplied. Parker pulled into a parking spot on the Upper West Side and dialed M's number.

"What the f--"

"Mal," Parker said in his most panicked voice. "I-I-I-It's me!"

"We don't talk on the fucking phone, you--"

"We need to meet! Something's gone wrong, it's all gone wrong. I don't know what to do!"

"Chill the hell out," Mal said with some force behind his voice. "And stop talking over the phone about this, okay?"

"What do I do?"

"Meet me at this address --" he fired off a location in Brooklyn. "Got that?"

"Okay. I'll be there in an hour!"

---

Center City, WA

Tracy's charger cruised slowly through the posh suburbs. Hunter's Creek was just a scant thirty blocks away from downtown Center City, but it may as well have been on another planet. There was no trace of the old junkies on the corner, doing the dope fiend lean as they shot up and fried what little brains they had left. No sign of the hookers who walked the streets, selling their bodies to feed themselves and their children. No dilapidated buildings with its copper piping and electrical wiring ripped out by money hungry fiends looking for a quick payday.

He felt uneasy surrounded by these big lawns and big houses shining in the early morning light. Tracy was just white trash from the city, something that would never change. The people out here were tantamount to American royalty with their fleets of cars, jets, and boats. His destination, the Flynn mansion, loomed on the hill above it all. Guys like Tracy and his boss Hyde were called criminals for no other reason than the types of crime they committed.

Hyde peddled drugs, the guys who owned the houses out here peddled Democracy to any third world country with finite natural resources to exploit. They robbed pension plans and left retiring employees penniless. Society condemned guys like Tracy, saying they were the problem with America, all while the people out here overthrew governments to pay fifty cents on the dollar for exports. The only difference between Hyde's empire and the empires of business were that those criminal enterprises were deemed too big to fail by the government.

Tracy ended up stopped on the edge of the big manor by an armed guard. His car idled outside a big iron gate while the man gave him the stinkeye and double checked Tracy's identification. Tracy had to hand over his gun before parking his car and being led into the big house by another guard. He wasn't too impressed by the large courtyard and expansive corridors. The place was small by House of Windsor standards. The guard showed Tracy into an office somewhere on the third floor and left him alone.

He walked up to a wall that looked like a shrine to the home's owner. Three different photos of Thomas Flynn shaking hands with the last three US Presidents, one of him in New York ringing the stock exchange bell, a cover of a financial magazine with a younger looking Flynn on the cover. Photos of family accompanied the ones of achievement, but Flynn was always in the middle of whatever was going on. That didn't surprise Tracy. A man like that had to be center of attention in everything he did. For guys like Thomas Flynn, if you weren't first you might as well have been last.

"Are you the man Mr. Hyde sent?"

Tracy turned and saw Thomas Flynn enter the room. He was just a few inches shorter than Tracy, but lean and trim in a bathrobe and pajama pants, slippers covering his feet. If not for his white hair, Tracy would assume the man was closer to his age than the sixty some odd years he was supposed to be. He strode forward and shook Tracy's hand.

"Thank you so much for coming, Mr..."

"Tracy, just Tracy."

"Right," Flynn said with a nod. "Have a seat, Tracy."

Flynn took a seat behind the large mahogany office desk while Tracy took a chair from across the desk. He watched Flynn as he settled into the chair and leaned forward, both palms flat on the desk. He had a stern look on his face that read too stern. It seemed more like a put on than anything.

"They said they would call again at noon to confirm I have the five million dollars they're asking for. Details for the hand off will follow."

"Will you be able to get the money that fast?" Tracy asked. "I know that a lot of rich people don't have that kind of cash on standby."

"I have enough bonds and stocks I can liquidate quickly once trading opens up on the Asian markets. I'll have to be quick about it since it's Friday and there won't be a chance to do it for the weekend."

"Hyde wants me to also look into who may have kidnapped your daughter. Mr. Flynn, can you think of anyone who might want to do this?"

"Take your pick," Flynn said with a wave of an arm. "You don't get where I am in life without pissing people off. Rival capitalist, politicians, labor unions, even my own employees. Name a person or a group of people, and chances are I have stepped on their backs to get ahead. You don't make an omelet without breaking eggs."

"Right," said Tracy. "Anything recently?"

"Not at the moment, no. At least nothing obvious."

"Did you daughter live here? Would it be possible to look into her room?"

"As you wish," Flynn said with a nod. "I'll have a guard escort you."

Linda Flynn's room screamed trust fund brat. Expensive furniture in the big room with an ornate four-poster bed in the center. A walk-in closet held a wardrobe that cost as much as many people's homes. What Tracy thought was another closet turned out to be a whole room just to house Linda's jewelry. The guard shadowed Tracy while he searched the room. He found drugs in the dresser, a little bit of pot with a fair amount of coke and X. The CDs in her room were all electro club crap. Tracy pegged her as a club kid. All the rich kids with nothing to do but sponge off mommy and daddy hit the clubs hard.

A pink laptop on a desk was password protected. Tracy tried the usual common passwords, 1234 ABCD, but couldn't crack it. He settled for the consolation prize beside the computer. A post-it note had a phone number scribbled on it with just a single letter above it: X. If Linda Flynn was indeed a party-hard club girl, she would need her X if she wanted to party right. Tracy pocketed the number and headed out the room with his guard in tow.

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Crazy Horse Indian Casino
South Dakota

"Fuck you, Redman!"

Dash Bad Horse resisted the urge to pound the drunk's face into the casino bar. Instead, he popped his knuckles and flexed his muscles, showing off his Tribal Police uniform as a warning to the man.

"It's time for you to go, pal."

Dash grabbed the drunk by the scruff of his neck with one hand and started pushing him through the casino with the other. A few of the gamblers on the playing floor stopped to gawk at the big Indian manhandling the little white man with the big mouth.

Outside, Dash tossed the drunk across the parking lot. He banged against the pavement and slid up against a parked car. Dash brushed his hands off and looked down at the dazed drunk. "You're banned, white boy. I see you in here again and I'll beat the piss out of you along with half my tribe. Custer's Last Stand, motherfucker."

He turned away from the prostrate man and headed back towards the casino. The bright neon lights of the place lit up the prairie night for miles. he went back inside and back to work. The crowd tonight wasn't too bad, a few dozen gamblers out on the floor and giving their money to the Tribe. Most of the people at the Crazy Horse went for slots over cards and dice.

"Bad Horse report to management," the PA system announced. "Bad Horse report to management.'

Lincoln Red Crow the head of the Lakota Tribe, looked down his large Roman nose at his Dash. It was a bit amazing to Dash that Red Crow was as old as he was. His hair was still pitch black, but a shock of gray ran through the middle. His body was still muscular, but it was at the point where muscle started to become fat. He had a slight double chin that was becoming more prominent as the years passed.

"Bad Horse, have a seat."

Dash complied and sat down in one of the plush chairs facing Red Crows's desk. The older man pulled a cigar from the box on his desk and offered Dash one. He politely declined as his Red Crow lit up.

"I know you're busy, but I needed to talk to you about something before I go home."

"What's up?"

Red Crow blew smoke rings above his head. "I need you to get two guys from the PD for me. The meanest ones, just for show."

"What's going on?"

"We're having a sit-down meeting in Minneapolis with some people, Asians and various businessmen. Also your buddies from the Horde."

The Horde. Trailer trash on bikes. Dash had a scar above his left eyebrow because of a pair of brass knuckles from one of those rednecks. That attack had put the Tribe on the precipice of war with the biker gang six months ago, but Red Crow managed to negotiate a truce with their president. Now the Horde stayed away from Rez, and the Tribe stayed on their land.

"What's the play?"

"Negotiations" was all Red Crow said.

"Anything else you feel the need to clue me in on?"

"No," Red Crow said as he blew smoke rings towards Dash. "Just do as your chief says, Dash. As head of the Tribal Police Force--"

"Nominal," replied Dash. "It's an honorary title."

"I'm the reason you're on the TPF," said Red Crow. "Never forget that. You, Shunka, and a few others are gonna take a drive tomorrow morning. So get some rest."

Now when Virgil stepped into the boys room, he expected what most African americans expected from a middle class white boy’s room, posters with Albert Einstein on the wall for his geeky shit, maybe some Star Wars and Geeky ass DnD Memorabilia, and Heavy Metal bands adorning his CD Collection. What he got while not completely what he expected. Sure he say the bookcases of books, many of which included said DnD Rule books, but what surprised him more was what other things he had. Adorned on his walls were various posters of early 90’s hip hop acts, A Tribe Called Quest, Wu Tang Clan. It was actually sort of funny to see a lot of these throwbacks.

“Heh, Pops would love seeing this shit.”

Virgil wanted to slide his hands into his pockets, but he feared doing so would just cause more issues, whatever this was, he couldn’t control it and he would rather find out what can be done if anything. Richard stared at Virgil with a glare for a second and sighed.

“Uhhh, that’s not exactly an insult to me dude…”

Nigga, just take the compliment.”

Richard at that response simply assumed Virgil just wasn’t going to give him another one and walked toward a nearby empty table. Placing down a few devices, A Few Metal Bars, A CD, a Clock, and some wiring. He pulled up a seat and welcomed Virgil to it. Virgil took it sitting himself down, an looked at the stuff in front of him. “We know you have control over Magnetism, we’ve seen that with the metal trash can lid, but I am curious, what other things can you do?”

“Okay Josef, I’m not your test dummy, and you ain’t gonna sit here poking and prodding me like I am one.”

In a Panic Richard began to stammer and back away.

“Dude, Relax, I’m trying to see what this is and what limits you, you are far from my experiment, I am merely trying to help, besides. Take it as a control exercise, or do you wanna stay stuck in that seat?”

Virgil blinked as he attempted to lift himself up, only to see that he was currently stuck to the seat, the purple electrical source pinning him down to it, causing Richard to laugh hysterically at the sight. Virgil with a very angry stare but now way to retaliate, groaned.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“First off, Let’s see if you can power on this clock, we’re just gonna join positive to negative…”

He began to lace the wires into the clock, before handing the wires to Virgil. Virgil Stared at him, already knowing where he was going. He wanted to see if he could power on the alarm clock. Virgil said nothing and focused on the clock. Attempting to push whatever this was into the clock. What happened next shocked him, the lightning began to shoot through the wire and into the clock, powering it on and activating the rather loud alarm. This caused Virgil to let go and hold his ears, surprised by the sudden loud noise an action that Richard imitated, before reaching for the alarm and shutting it off.

“What the hell!”

“Ouch, Damn…at least we know it’s not just magnetic. We’ll see if you can change the magnetic polarity of certain objects. Hold this.”

He slid a Metal Pole in his hand.

“Now Do you know how magnetism work?”

Virgil stared at Richard with an angry glare as if he was shocked that Richard had asked that question. “Look, I ain’t gonna sit here and let you insult my intelligence, I know that If I am to charge this Metal pole with Electricity I…can…” He blinked realizing what the other metal bars were for, and proceeded to charge up the Metal pole. “Are you saying that…I can create my own magnetic Field….” Before Richard could even answer he heard multiple clangs of the now magnetic pole being banged together by the small metal bards that were attached to it. Virgil blinked, his mouth left agape at the sight of this Marvelous ability, only being able to mouth out...

“Nigga…”

“Oh Dude, this is so fucking cool, You’re like a Black Magneto or something…”

“NIGGA!”

That was enough to cause Virgil to stare at him in shock. Everyone knows who Magneto was, and nobody had really much of a nice thing to say about him. So Virgil being compared to a man that wish to wipe out humanity for the sake of his Mutant Master race, wasn’t exactly the best way to be described. Richard took notice of this and stammered a quick correction. “I mean your Powers dude, you essentially can Manipulate the forces of Electromagnetism, do you know how fucking awesome that is?” He yelled in mere excitement. Metahumans were not common around here, which was more so shown with him witnessing Virgil right now.

Virgil himself was himself shocked by this, the electricity cackling in his hand he gave a grin before staring at Richard. “Yeah, this is pretty cool, tell you what cuz you were fucking cool, I’ll make you’re you’re last in my conquest of white human genocide, gotta keep my black freaks together you know?” He said. This shook Richard a bit, who did not notice the sarcasm that Virgil clearly put in the comment, which was enough to cause Virgil to give him a glare.

“That was a joke bruh.”

“Ohhh…”

Awkwardness laid for a few minutes, before Virgil stared at the CD, he tilted his head to the side, letting his dreads fall down his face and lifted the CD up. “Hey I wonder…You think I can play this CD?” Richard blinked and looked at it. “Dunno, That sounds a bit of a stretch…” Richard began to speak but was interupted by the slowly spinning in Virgil's hand. He let go of it, The CD Still spinning in the air. What happened next would change the two’s lives forever.

“If Pirus and Crips all got along, They'd probably gun me down by the end of this song”

Virgil Blinked and stared at Richard.

“Seem like the whole city go against me, Every time I'm in the street, I hear—"

Then Right on cue, They both jumped rapidly right on beat, ignoring the massive amount of shaking both of their masses causes the room as a result.

“YAWK! YAWK! YAWK! YAWK!”

Who knew Richard’s love for Kendrick Lamar would actually end up helping him and his former school bully to get along.

N . Y . P . D . M I D T O W N N O R T H P R E C I N C T

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N E W Y O R K P R E S B Y T E R I A N H O S P I T A L

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The car is on fire,
and there is no driver at the wheel.
And the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides,
and a dark wind blows.

The government is corrupt,
and we are all on so many drugs,
with the radio on and the curtains drawn.

We are trapped in the belly of this horrible machine.
And the machine is bleeding to death.
-Efrim Menuck, "Dead Flag Blues"

---

Queens, Manhattan
12:44am

"Nnnnghyeeeeahhhh," grunted Officer Troy Vincent as he stretched, arching his back far enough that he felt a couple of satisfying pops and cracks. "I could kill for a smoke right now."

He had worked a long, uneventful shift that evening, handing out traffic tickets and shooing off loitering kids. Most of his evenings were like this now, long hours of patrolling the neighborhood, people giving him a wide berth as he passed, maybe a stink-eye or a sneer when they thought he wasn't looking. Even people who hadn't done anything wrong tend to get a little nervous in the presence of a cop.....maybe it was a power thing, or a race thing depending on who was on the street that day. Maybe being around someone who represented law and order made people think about the hundred little crimes they committed every day, the misdeeds they told themselves were necessary to get by....

Troy shook his head and picked up his pace. That line of thinking was what got him kicked off of Vice. Besides, his shift was over. He was off the clock and out of uniform; no point in painting everyone as a potential perp right now.

After several blocks, he pulled out his phone and sent a text to his old partner, Donnie Skaggs.

Heading to the Thirsty Turtle, he typed. If you're coming, I still owe you a shot.

Skaggs was one of the few people from Vice who would still talk to Troy after the big falling-out that saw him busted back down to working the streets. They'd been working a case involving a human trafficking ring, kids going missing and turning up on sites in the dark corners of the internet. When evidence began to point to someone in the unit being involved, Vincent had gone straight to the Captain and began raising hell. Words were exchanged, followed by fists being thrown. If Skaggs hadn't been there to calm the Captain down, Troy probably would have been canned and maybe cuffed.

Hahahahaha.........

Troy's head jerked up from his phone at the sound of laughter, the kind of cold sinister laugh you only ever heard in old movies from his grandpa's day.

Looking around, he saw the criss-crossed steel of the old Queensboro Bridge not far off, lit up like Christmas. His grandpa used to tell him about how someone saved his life on that bridge. He'd lost everything when the Stock Market crashed, and was going to jump from the bridge and end it all. But someone stepped in at the last second, gave old Henry Vincent a new lease on life, a new purpose.

Troy's phone buzzed.

39th and 11th Ave. Now.

"...the hell?" Troy wondered to himself. Who knows what Skaggs had gotten himself into?

Haaahahahahahahahahaha........

That sinister, horror-movie laughter was closer now; Troy could feel a tingle run down his spine when he heard it. Tucking the phone away, he turned towards 39th Street and broke into a dead sprint.

For what felt like hours, the only sounds Troy Vincent heard were the ruffling of his jacket, the ragged huffs and puffs of his breath, and the sharp crack of his shoes smacking wet pavement.

His eyes stung with sweat, and his muscles burned. He'd always been in good shape, but now it felt like he'd been running obstacle courses all night. His vision began to blur, and he could swear that even though there hadn't been a cloud in the sky that evening, a thick fog was now rolling out from the alleyways.

HAAAA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-HAAAAAAAAAA......

Troy felt keenly aware of the weight jostling around on the left side of his chest: the pistol he kept in a shoulder holster underneath his jacket. He vaguely wondered if his senses would be sharp enough to get off a good shot if--

"Shit!"

Troy Vincent skidded to a stop on the unusually wet pavement, nearly slipping and falling as he approached the corner of 39th and 11th.

Hanging between two street lights, one tied with a long chain to each arm so he hung in a crucifix position, was Donnie Skaggs.

"Oh shit, oh shit," Vincent cursed as fog rolled in around him. Reaching into his jacket, he went for his pistol....

.....only to find it was gone.

The clouded mind cannot see, came a dark, sneering voice that seemed to drip with malevolence. You have nothing to fear from me, Troy Vincent....unless you interfere with my work.

"Hey, fuck you!" Troy spat, mustering every bit of courage he could. "You just killed a goddamn cop, you think I'm going to let you go?"

Donald Skaggs claimed to serve the Law, the voice said. But the Law is a poor master. I serve Justice. Tell me, Troy Vincent.....what do you serve?

"Who....who the hell are you?!" Troy called out, his fists balled up in a fighting stance.

You once were a vice officer, yes? the voice asked. You thought you had seen the foulest reaches of the human soul, and that you could fight against it. But who can say they have seen the full depths of depravity, so that they may judge it? Who knows the face of absolute sin, so that they can destroy it? Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?

The fog that surrounded Troy began to dissipate, the chill in the air giving way to a warmer breeze. Troy's eyes darted back and forth in every direction, trying to find the man who had killed his old partner, but saw nothing.

Taking a few tentative steps towards Skaggs' body, he reached for his phone to call it in. When he did, however, he found something else in his pocket, something small and plastic.

Pulling it out, he saw it was a black thumb drive, with a dark red smear across it.

That same dark red smear, he saw, glistened on the pavement below the hanging body of Donnie Skaggs. Written in red across the pavement of New York, were three words that hadn't been seen in decades.....

Brooklyn, NY

Parker sat in the rental car and kept his eyes peeled on the street traffic. The meeting spot turned out to be a park. The odds of hitting Mal in the park were bad. Taking him hadn't been the plan, but Parker would not object to doing it here if an opening presented itself. Middle of the night, there wasn't much going on but Parker still watched the cars that passed and the few parked on the street with him. The piece Graves gave him rested on his lap.

Lights flashed across the windshield as an SUV turned a corner and pulled on to the street. Parker ducked down to avoid lights hitting him and watched the SUV idle for a few moments in the street. The windows on the car were dark, but Parker saw movement inside. Several figures inside the car were moving. The back passenger window rolled down slowly. Parker saw Mal Resnick, fatter than he remembered, squinting out in the dark. Mal said something to someone in the car and rolled the window back up.

The SUV's tires squealed as it sped off. Parker counted seconds. At thirty, he started the car and whipped around in the street to follow the fleeing SUV. He caught up with the car as it turned on to the highway. Parker slowed and followed from a distance as Mal's car headed into the city.

---

Center City, WA

Tracy walked through the darkened dance floor of the nightclub. Even though it was eight in the morning, a half dozen people writhed in time with the strobe lights and thumping electronic music. It was too dark for Tracy to see their faces, but he was certain they would have the pinned eyes that came with a coke high. The clubbers gave him a wide berth as he passed through them on his way to the VIP. The club was called Elysium, and one of Hyde's guys ran it.

The guy in question was sitting in the VIP section in the club's rear. Fat Ricky Fat was rail thin with spiky black hair. Elysium's clientele ran towards the college crowd, the trust fund type that blew all mommy and daddy's money on drugs and danced the night away. From what Tracy gleamed, that was the type of kid Linda Flynn was.

"Tracy Lawless," Ricky said in that thick, fake ghetto accent he liked to put on. "Sup, dawg?"

Ricky sat in a booth in the VIP section's far corner. Cash and drugs were scattered across the table, the drugs in little baggies and the cash in hundred dollar bundles. Speed, weed, X, and coke were among the varieties of shit Ricky pushed to the kids who frequented his club. Tracy saw a pair of high-heeled feet sticking out from under the table. Scumbag Ricky always liked to exchange blow for getting blown.

"What brings you here? I be paying Hyde his dues. I be paid up this month, he ain't got no cause to fuck with me."

Tracy didn't say a word until he was sitting across the table from Ricky. He pulled a photo out of his jacket, it was Linda Flynn with her parents. He slid it across the table to Ricky and let him look at it in the dim light.

"She had your number in her room. You know her?"

"I be knowing her," he said before groaning. "Damn girl, do that again... uhh..." He looked at Tracy and nodded. "Yeah, this bitch be coming into my club and dancing and coping."

"She come in last night?"

"Yeah, I saw her with a couple of bitches. They left pretty early."

"What's early?"

"Before three."

"You ever do a trade with her like you're doing now?"

"Nah, dawg. That be for the girls who be lacking funds. I wanna hit it, but that bitch always be paying, even when I offer to trade. I don't wanna stick it, I wanna lick it."

Ricky flicked his tongue at Tracy. A second later, Ricky gripped the table and shut his eyes as the girl under the table finished her work. Tracy felt his annoyance growing as Ricky rode out his climax and the girl came up out the table. He tossed the girl a baggie of coke and pointed towards the door.

"Bathroom be down the hall, bitch. Wash your mouth out."

She scampered off as Ricky zipped his fly up. He looked at Tracy and shrugged. When Tracy didn't speak or move, Ricky scowled and grew agitated.

"What the fuck? I told you what I be knowing, dawg. What you want?"

"I want you to tell me what you know," Tracy said slowly. "And I want you to speak properly. Stop the ghetto talk, Ricky. You're Asian, and from fucking Portland."

"Man, fuck you! I ain't know a goddamn th--"

Tracy came up over the table and grabbed Ricky by his thin neck with one hand while the other went into Ricky's mouth and pulled on his tongue. Ricky squealed as Tracy pulled on his tongue and shoved him hard into the table surface. His head banged hard against the table and he bit his tongue, drawing blood.

"Gahbbammit" He shouted through his injured tongue and reaching for something in his pants.

Tracy had his own gun out and pointed at Ricky before he could even get close to his own piece.

"Give, Ricky," Tracy said calmly. "Give right now or I shoot you in the heart, pull out your tongue and shove it up your own ass."

"Okay, okay!" Ricky sobbed, trying to catch the blood dripping from his mouth. Tracy noticed the ghetto accent was gone. "Look... I... there were these Russian that came to me last week. Mean son of bitches and they... they asked about that girl, okay?"

"What did they ask about?"

"They wanted to know how often she came to the club and she was with and what times she came. They gave me a number to call the next time she came in. They gave me ten thousand dollars to do it. I called them last night."

"Give me their names and the number you called right now...," Tracy said before he added. "Dawg."

---

Manhattan, NY

Parker pulled into a parking spot across the street from the high-rise apartment. He'd trailed Mal's car to the place and watched from halfway down the block while Mal and three goons got out the car and went inside the building. Parker drove around the block and scoped the area out. The building's front door was the only access point and it was guarded by a door man who probably had a panic button near by. The place was a fortress, and he needed to figure out how to break in.

A man walked down the street toward Parker's car. He watched him warily. His suspicion turned to disbelief when a street light shone on the man's face.

"No way," Parker said as the man stood beside the driver door.

"Yes way," said Agent Graves. "Sorry to interrupt the hunt. Wanna grab a cup of coffee, Parker?"

“You’re under arrest for Tresspassing and Attempted Robbery, you have the right to remain silent…anything you say, can and will be used…”

This shit again.

Hannibal White always found himself at the end of this. It was never immediate, nor did he ever correctly predict the exact events of his various arrests, but he was always at the edge of this. As the leader of the Force Syndicate, it was something that he expected. The law was something he understood at one time he was studying to be a lawyer, it was a childhood dream of his after all. However, even he could not ignore the hurdles that brought. His life since then was numerous confrontation with said law enforcers. So as his head was slammed into the cop car as he stared at the billowing fire from the now destroyed pier facility. He focused on his family and his enemies.

Here they are were, suffering from the same hands of so called justice. They were all the same weren’t they, under the eyes of the law? Gang Members, not lost children attempting to find a sense of family. Men trying to garner acceptance in a world that did not want to or wish to understand them? What even lead to the Bloods and the Force Syndicate fighting anyway? An attempt to one up another, A Misunderstanding based on a body found hanging from a high rise? It had been so long and pointless he wasn’t even sure anymore.

He was sure however that this must end.

As Hannibal was lifted off of the head of the police car, and set to be dragged into the vehicle, his eyes turned toward what seemed to be a small Dominican teenager, Could he no older than 15. He was wearing what seemed to be a dark colored vest and slacks. He was probably coming from a dance or a prom, It was hard to identify. What wasn’t hard to identify was the amount of force the officer was using. As the kid struggled under the weight. He wasn’t part of the gang attempting to rob the place, that much he knew, he didn’t wear the colors, no tattoos, no weapons, Nothing. Wrong place wrong time. Was probably just walking home from work when this happened.

This much end.

The kid was screaming for help, desperate and confused, he managed to attempt a small breakaway, getting away from the officer whist still handcuffed. He only made it a few feet before the officer Tackled him. It would seem the officer was not happy at the sudden defiant attempt to resist him, and took it out on the boy, by slamming his pavement into the concrete, He counted three times, before the officer stepped on the back of the boys head with a sickening smile before asking.

“Going to resist now, you fucking punk?”

This much end.

On the other side of the pier the few of his brothers that weren’t dead were being restrained. Marta, the Queen Bitch as she was called. Had to be restrained not with the standard handcuffs but what seemed to be new age steel full cuffs. He had only seen them used in Gotham. She was strong, and scarily so. So much that it scared him. But her struggles not to gather another arrest, shook him. He knew what she had at home and why she was with the rest of the gang that night. Her son, Malik needed diapers after all, and McDonalds only paid so much. Her attempts to resist arrest was only highlighted by the fact that she…just didn’t look the same. As big as she was, she was still a beautiful black woman, but now…her skin had seemingly changed hard as rock, along with the rest of her body. As she flailed in an attempt to resist her arrest, the Nightsticks came across and the officers in charge of surrounding her, proceeded to point the weapons onto her, only for them to bounce off.

What did they do to them?

Another one of Hannibals commands, Rolando, was also being restrained, though he was surprised he wasn’t first. Guns were…a passion for him, and his restraint was also gathered with repeated stripping of his firearms. Most of them illegally modified along with obtained. He was set to go down to, probably longer than all of them. His former Military credentials and medal of honor be damned. His signature weapon, a Tec-9 Sub Machine gun was still strapped onto him, and as the officer attempted to pull it off, he found it was impossible.

Maria was the new recruit and while they were normally not be apart of big deals like this, they needed to bolster their number, her face was drenched as she had recently attempted to escape from the water…Wait…was she drenched? No…She had somehow BECOME it, Her blond highlighted hair, petite and light skinned form was now transformed into clear translucent water. The officers attempt to arrest her failed, with nothing to restrain her in. he was forced to use his brain, and unsheathing a taser proceeded to electrocute her, her body reacting violently to the introduction of electricity in her now 100% water form.

That was the last of it.

Criminals or not, this treatment was the last straw. Hannibal backed his head up into the officer that had attempted to restrain him. Causing the officer to back up. He turned around and gave a snarl at the officer who now reached for his gun. Without question, the Officer fired at Hannibal, center mass, in an attempt to take the man down.

This did not work.

Hannibal stared at the middle of his chest in shock, the bullet just…bounced off. Nothing hurt. There wasn’t even a sense of a burning feeling from the bullet, it just didn’t faze him. The officer stared in shock. However, Hannibal grinned knowing exactly what this meant. He looked down at his handcuffs and attempted to pull them apart, which was successful causing the chains to break away. Hannibal had enough he began to slowly walk toward the officer.

“This will end…even if it has to be by my hand…”

G o t h a m C i t y

---

---

_{November 18th, 2017 – 7:15am | The Cave}

The car rumbled steadily through the hidden tunnel systems under Wayne Manor, the powerful engines roar reverberating back down the silent stone corridors. The Batman hardly heard the noise, nor did he pay undue attention to the ‘road’. He’d navigated these byways so often that at this stage he could do it in his sleep. Right at that moment he had far more important things to concern himself with.

The night had been frustratingly fruitless. Hours of digging, and all he’d managed to dig up about the victim from the park was a name, Karl – which very well may have been an assumed named – and the fact that he was homeless, which even the rankest amateur detective would have been able to gather after just one look at the body. The investigation may have been more successful if he hadn’t had to divert his attentions to the GCPD. The signal had been lit without authorisation, not an entirely uncommon occurrence, but not usual enough to ignore, either. The perpetrator had been long gone by the time he arrived, though his initial suspicion was that the lighting of the signal was merely a smokescreen, designed to distract him from some other action.

He rolled into the Cave proper, steering the car onto the round carousel that bore the rest of his active road vehicles, before popping the canopy open and clambering out. The air in the cave was cool and crisp, hardly the stuffy mugginess one would expect from a hole in the ground. That was all testament to the many air conditioning and filtration units that he’d installed. The place lacked the homeliness it had when Alfred still frequented its depths though. Gone were the days when the old man was there to welcome Bruce home with a mug of steaming coffee and good-natured ribbing. Despite continuing in his services as the Wayne Manor butler, the Englishman was just too old to be spending all night down here, and his illness …

No. Don’t think about it. If you think about it, you make it real.

He would get an hour’s work done at the computer before heading upstairs for bed. He had a few leads on who was shipping the venom derivative into Gotham he’d like to chase up before the night was over. He realised something was amiss as soon as he drew close to the monolithic workstation. There, dumped carelessly upon the keyboard, was a folded enveloped.

The Dark Knight paused, taking stock of the situation. Alfred never came down here anymore, certainly not to drop off mail, and he doubted any of the boys would ever write him a letter. If Babs wanted to get his attention, she’d merely contact him through the comms, and Cassandra would meet him face to face. It could have been Clark, of course. He had always been quaintly old fashioned like that. Something didn’t feel right about that though. His instincts said that this wasn’t a letter from anyone he would want to receive a letter from.

He took a steadying breath, picked the letter up, ripped it open, and began to read. He wasn’t through the first sentence when that feeling from earlier returned, ten times as strong. Bruce ripped the cowl off, throwing it to the floor, before collapsing into a chair. His spine tingled violently, like the feeling that you get when you’re alone at night and know, with a certainty that borders on religious fervour, that you are no longer alone in the dark. That something is hiding just out of your sight, lurking in the deepest recesses of shadow, waiting for you to drop your guard and show your vulnerabilities.

With a sick feeling of dread, he forced himself to pick up the letter once more, unwillingly stalking the words across the page. He couldn’t have read it right the first time. It couldn’t possibly have come from who he thought it had. The Cave was too well hidden for anyone to have found it, to secure to have been compromised, not without Bruce receiving some kind of alarm. Not even S.H.I.E.L.D could break in here without Batman knowing about it. He finished the letter, but it still contained the exact same nightmare.

With a dry mouth, he started reading it once more, knowning now that the contents weren’t going to change, but unable to stop himself.



He knows.

How could he possibly know?

J U M P C I T Y

---

Thunder rolled in the distance.

Above the cityscape below, the clouds were illuminated by the flashes of light that momentarily lit up the sky at dusk. There was a bright bolt of lightning, the clap of thunder like a bomb dropped in the atmosphere above, after which there was a small figure floating in the heavens.

Static crawled up and along the blue-on-red ensemble that covered the boy. The white cowl and cape flowing from off one shoulder as he hovered there a moment. As he turned his gaze below, the child found his mind already working out the points of orientation.

The message had been routed by Matrix in the Justice League Watchtower. A break-in reported at the S.T.A.R. Labs in Jump City.

Descending down through the dark clouds, the raven-haired boy found himself floating over a structure that looked like it had been hit by a bomb.

Or worse.

Someone had wanted to get into S.T.A.R. Labs rather badly, it seemed...

The sound of sirens -- police, fire, and ambulance -- could be heard in the distance. The building seemed to tremble, as though the foundation had been disturbed. Moving quickly, the boy began moving through the building looking for anyone who might still be in there.

What he found, two layers deep, was ground zero.

A strange, reddish-purple ooze seemed to coat the ceiling, walls, and floor around where some kind of containment unit had been blown apart.

And some rather large, messy footprint made clear that something -- or someone -- had walked away from this. Bringing one hand up to the communicator recessed into his ear, Billy said, "This is Captain Marvel. I'm at S.T.A.R. Labs, but this wasn't a break in... it was a break out."

As the boy went to follow the mucky trail, a decidedly squick squish immediately sent a shiver up his spine even as he took a step. Looking down, his boot was now gummed up in whatever slime or sludge had re-decorated the interior of the place.

"Ewwww..." the child-hero murmured, floating up off the group as he moved through the air on the trail.

It was strange really, they’ve only known each other for two hours and they were getting along as if they knew each other all their life.

“Hey Virg, catch!”

Virgil actually missed catching the Sprite can that was thrown at him, but a liberal use of his powers fixed that. As the can now surrounded in his electrical aura snatched right back into Virgil’s hand. Virgil mostly not wanting to hear his fathers wraith for coming home late, had decided to stay at Rich’s house, at least until morning, where they would both head to school. He figured if he was staying with a friend to study, his dad would be A LOT less angry that he wasn’t actually doing that. Bullshit? Maybe, but it was something to consider.

“Thanks Rich.”

They sat at the living room couch ready to play Rich’s Xbox, Virgil had just suffered two hours of Richs claiming that he was the best Avenue Brawler players in the Midwest. Virgil never one to miss out on playing a fighting game, had to see this for himself and then prove him wrong. So After gathering their respective drinks, they were ready to play. Richard sat himself down on the couch and was ready to play, powering on the TV which quickly launched into the local news.

“Explosion at the Paris Island pier…”

Virgils eyes perked up as he stared at the fire, but saw that Richard was set to change the TV Input. In a quick reaction Virgil snatched the remote

“DON’T Turn…”

Richard blinked in confusion. “Come on dude, what was that for?”

“That was where it happened...The pier.”

Richard blinked, but said nothing and stared at the TV screen.

Meanwhile…

Augustus Freeman IV had stepped out of his law firm, adjusting his tie. It was actually a slow day and most of his time was spent persecuting a few more hoodlums. It was becoming a constant in Dakota City, whether it was due to the close proximity to what they call Chiraq, or the overall depression of schools and the notoriously bad political spending of Dakota City’s Third Ward. He stepped into his 2014 Dodge Challenger and gave himself time to relax. He wasn’t one for creature comforts but Rocket made sure he kept himself grounded.

As he powered on the machine, he took time to relax he began to tune onto the radio, mostly to turn to the news.

Back at the scene…

“We are live at the Scene of the Paris Island pier, a huge explosion has just rocked the pier, leaving 20 Million dollars and damages and almost 40 lives lost…We are now live at the scene in which…Oh my god…What are you doing!”

“Step aside, miss!”

Wise Son after seeing the reporter had decided to take the scene. He snatched the microphone from her and then snarled at the cameraman. “And if you cut off this camera, I’ll make sure you’ll walk with a limp.” The cameraman stood in shock as Wise Son grinned staring at the carnage in front of him. “What you see in front of you, is the start of a New Legacy, no longer will we sit idly by while your…hackneyed views of justice are upheld by corrupt officers wanting to abuse their power…This will end, and the Blood Syndicate will make sure that such happens.”

“Step up or step aside.”
He pushes the camera woman out of the way, as the rest of the current crew followed them, revealing exactly what was left in their wake. Bodies, and a lot of them, whether the officers were still living or dead was hard to tell from either the blood or the massive area engulfed in flames. The reporter simply stood back in shock stammering for something to stay.

“Cut the feed, CUT THE DAMN FEED.”

Back to the boys

It would seem at least for now Virgil’s and Richard’s gaming session was cancelled for now.

“What the hell was that Virgil?”

“Wise Son, The Force Syndicate leader, but no, he couldn’t have caused that damage alone...Did he manage to convince the others to do it too?”

Richard was now worried, He took note however for the rest of the still remaining gang members, and came up with what seemed to be a stark conclusion

“Did you see how the rest of them looked, whatever did…this to you, must’ve done something similar to them.”

A Superpowered urban gang…that was…certainly not something that the city could deal with alone. Richard then looked at Virgil who realized what was going on. “He must’ve found a way for The Set’s to peace it up, I know Wise Son had that charisma but I didn’t think he was THAT Good.” He however noticed that there was one person missing, that he didn’t see in the feed.

“Ebon…Ebon wasn’t there…”

“Ebon? You mean the guy with the cornrows, Your big homie?”

Virgil nodded. Did he die in the Explosion? It was hard to tell as he recognized none of the bodies when he saw them on the newscast, it wasn’t like they stayed on long enough to give him anything to work with. Virgil’s face dropped at the realization, Ebon, dead? It couldn’t be, they’d been boys since Childhood, and after Ebon’s father died, he was essentially his brother. He couldn’t just sit there and believe he was dead.

“We have to look for him.”

Virgil lifted himself off of the couch but Richard was quick to catch him in that thought.
“Bad Idea, Virgil, especially with that newcast, That place is going to be hot, Officers going to be crowding everywhere, and you know Icon is going to be on the case?”
“Yeah, and like Icon is going to stand for us. He’s probably going to just end up the police’s superpowered dog, as usual.”

Icon.

That was something for Virgil to think about, the hero always gave him mixed feelings, a black superhero that actually brought justice, but against his own people at least most of the time. He always was more high stakes when it came to crime, the bank robberies and murders were something he kept up on, at least when it came to the nicer areas, the rest of Dakota City, especially in Paris Islands, were nothing more than a shithole he never touched. He was no hero, not to Virgil anyway.

“Look Virgil, He goes to school with us, if he's there tommorow, we know where he is...if not, we'll check the police department.”

Virgil nodded and looked back at the TV.

“Yeah…I guess we will.”

The Doctor turned to one of his lab assistants, god he hated the yellow uniforms they had to wear. "The shipment is coming in today, this will allow us to proceed to the next stage in our plan-"

"What of shield?"

"Shield doesn't matter, once the process is complete we'll be deemed national heroes by the American People and the American Government, which will allow us to move onto the next phase of our plans."

"But Sir-"

The Doctor scowled at his lab assistant. "That's enough questions, get out of here and go get me coff-" With that there was a loud crash as a shield came flying through the window, and with a woosh of air Sam Wilson landed in the middle of the room, his wings folding up and catching the shield as it bounced back into his hands.

"Nobody move, you're all under arrest."

Sam sighed as they all moved for guns, ducking down under a table he also raised his shield to block the incoming fire. Of course they moved, nobody ever listened when you told them not to move. He sighed as he shot up into the air, wings extended, bringing them in as he twisted kicking a man in the torso. Extending his wing and arm to the left he slapped someone else in the face throwing them backwards as he ducked and rolled under some nearby cover. Just then he heard shouting and more weapons firing, his team was now belaying down through the smashed window that he had entered from. Right on schedule.

He stood up, ready to move however what he saw shocked him. It wasn't his forces that had entered the fray...

12^th November, 2017
_{The United Nations Headquarters}
^{New York}

"Get moving! This could turn to shit at any time."

In the time it takes Black Canary to summon her sonic scream, Wolverine's already to the opening in the building's wall. But it hits hard. The vibration ploughs into the gunmen and knocks Logan back, left with little time to react. He takes the full force, teeth gritted. His ears were an exposed nerve and she had just dragged a fish hook through it. Superhuman senses were a real bitch.

Planting a foot down, he powers through, letting out a roar. His claws shoot past his knuckles, housed above tightly-clenched fists as he walks on. His eyes water frantically, streaming into puddles made in the creases of his mask. The only sounds available to him are his own frantic breathing and the ringing in his ears. His eyes assess the mess in front of him. For all the trouble he caused Deadpool had missed. This wasn't even close to the main meeting room. Tiles from the floor had been strewn across the opening. He tenses, before leaping through the open wound, arms extended into otherwise obscuring smoke. He lands with a short roll, his back grazing the chipped floor. He'd live. The ringing in his head turns to swooshing as he finds his bearings. His eyes dart to all points around him. He rises up, casting a final look to the battle behind before he joins the one before him. Langkowski had two men in his grasp and was beating them promptly. The blonde was carrying on as she was (Logan really ought to have a word with her after all this) and Northstar was zipping between the rest. No sign of back up for a while then.

"Terrific."

While Alpha Flight made short work of the mercenaries outside he figured he could finally make some headway. This had gone so wrong so fast. He had to figure out what he was doing. He takes a sniff and the room begins to open to him. The smoke lay thick in the air still. His lungs had a daily diet of cigars and petrol-fumes, and could heal faster than it would take for the smoke to hurt him, so that wasn't a concern. Others weren't that lucky. The meeting room he found himself in was steeped in the rising pollutant, but he could smell something else. Eau de Cologne. He could just make out a heartbeat, but no breathing. He carries on forwards, stopping at the table making its home in the centre of the room. Planting his hands on the edge, he flips it over and to the side. There, having taken refuge below it, was a man on the edge of consciousness. He wouldn't be there for much longer.

"Christ... Come on." Wolverine grunts, already to him as he raises him into a fireman's lift. "We're getting out of here."

With a sharp kick he's through the office's door, into a main hallway. The gunshots and screams were even more apparent now. He makes to run.

"Looks like you've got yourself a guardian angel, bub."

He had to take solace in the sewers.

There weren’t any other options, and the police certainly weren’t going to get him just yet. He had only just managed to get out of the situation when he heard the explosion. He had woken up minutes later down here in the sewers as was expected. It seemed that the cops themselves haven’t followed him down from here, which he was relieved by. He wasn’t going to go back to juvi yet again, and certainly not for this. He had struggled his way through the server, he saw the light and they were clearly illuminating, but…he could only see the dark, his vision was blurring with black patches and was slowly shrouding him.

He stopped and kneeled on the ground that was when he saw his hand.

Nothing but darkness.

His eyes widened in horror as he began to scream, was his losing his body, what did those cops do to him….Wait…was it the cops…No.

The supply.

It was becoming clear to him that it wasn’t mere weapons, but something more…They had set him up, everyone had set him up. Just like his mother did, just like everyone else, he wasn’t going to take this anymore.

Not like he physically could at least, as consciousness would slowly be robbed of him.

Later.

“Hey, I think he’s wakin’ up.”

His vision began to return, eyes slowly began to open as he turned to look around. Only to see freaks, and a lot of them. The first to watch his eye was a humanoid bird-like figure Yellow feathers but the clothes, the red hair Ebon noticed that voice immediately.

“Te…Teresa?!”

The cheerleader from Class 2F, she was considered at one point to be one of the “dimes.” Of the school, an amazing singer she was also the class valedictorian unless she disappeared one night never to be heard from again. However, if Ebon was anything he was blunt and he made that known the instant he stared at her. He snapped out of his shock and snapped into his snark

“Did Halloween come early this year, or did you get feathered again?”

She…did not take this well, she went for a swing on him, only for her entire hand to go through him. Not even a hint of damage. She snarled and shown her talons. If she couldn’t deal with him physically, let’s see how he reacted emotionally.
“What ‘bout you Ivan, Look like someone tarred you up real good.”

Ebon stared at her in fury as she used his actual name, but took her words in confusion, until he stared at a nearby mirror. In a panic he ran toward it, getting a clear view to see if it was actually him. Sadly, it seemed that it was definitely the case. His body was now completely purple and black, like a shadow that seemed to never end, his body had no fixed form, he could only now see his iris-less eyes and the outlines of his body and hair.
“Welcome to the freak show Ebon.”

Ebon turned around another familiar voice from school, this time one he absolutely loathed.

“Francis…The fuck are you doing here, preppy?”

“Enjoying the show, I haven’t seen coonery like that since the riots.”

That was enough to set Ebon way off. He was set to run toward the flamed haired male who was now smiling at him and grabbed his red shirt. Once he did so, Francis kept that same smug smile. Ebon nearly stepped back once Francis hair suddenly lit aflame.
“Be careful Ebon, I’m hot to the touch.”
“Can we…we stop now.?”

It was a little voice, and thus one Ebon ignored but one Teresa took full attention to. Two twins, young twins who seemed to be shaking in panic from the argument that the two on edge individuals have been participating in.

“They’re right, we need to calm down and relax, Alva is expecting you Ebon.”

Ebon stared at them all with a sneer.

“Alva? I have no time for this, I need to get out of here and find that fucking snake Leon.”

“Sir, you will have all the time in the world for that.”

A door in the sewer opened revealing a wild-haired man, large spectacles, and a ratty long white coat. He looked wired, like…straight up nutty from the sight. Which was something that set Ebon alert he backed up and frowned.

“No, Don’t. I’m here to help, you have been granted something extraordinary, something that can be used to change your life for the better.” Alva held his hands out and stared at Ebon. “Look, I can explain to you what’s going on, but it’s going to be a long explanation…Do you think you can sit through it?”

Ebon stared at him for a quick second, not saying much. One instance this merely seemed like a waste of time. However, as he looked down at his hand only to see nothing but pools of darkness. He determined to entertain him.

“Aiight, you have 10 minutes.”

The timeless image of a boy and his dog.

This particular pair was moving through the air. The peel of thunder echoing from the arctic the sonic boom generated when they had accelerated sufficiently to transcend the sound barrier.

Present speed over ground: 2,469.6444 kilometers per hour.

Calculating route to destination. At present velocity, arrival in three minutes, forty-eight seconds.

Overflight of inhabited human settlement on the neararctic plain, identified as Arctic Bay.

Just beyond the Inuit village on Canada's northern most frontier, an icebreaker had struck an uncharted undersea mound and become stuck in the arctic throes. The distress had been categorized as a Level 1 threat. The Canadian Coast Guard should be more than adequate in responding to the situation, but the mundane activity of responding to the ship in distress served the purpose of allowing Krypto exercise outside of the Fortress of Solitude.

Circling above the ship, the malleable figure shifted. Descending onto the deck, an entirely different form had replaced that of the boy. A cascade of blonde hair fell loose over the shoulders. Long, slender, shapely legs protruded from beneath a black skirt. The white cape framed the feminine figure, as the young woman arrived on deck.

An older demographic appearance would be appropriate for human interaction of this kind. Matrix had selected its present physical arrangement in order to suit.

"Supergirl..?"

An understandable mistake of identity, though their appearance was easily discerned. Kara was younger, and her hair and facial features were quite different. "My name is Matrix," the superwoman remarked. Follow on questions of note included inquiring as to the status of any injured, but the Matrix selected instead a line of questioning engineered to focus on the priority of getting the vessel re-floated again. "Are your engines functional?"

"Seems so," one of the men uttered, "Except the shafts won't turn."

One of the blades could be impacted against the surface. The shift shifted, to the port at first, but then listed and rolled sharply to the starboard. The alteration of axis did not appear to conform to the tidal flow. "This undersea mound may not be entirely stable," Matrix observed aloud.

Stepping up to the railing, the woman peered down into the dark water. "I will return momentarily," she offered, before rising up into the air and then plunging into the water below.

P R E S E N T

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G O T H A M C I T Y

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G O T H A M C I T Y

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WEST OF THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER

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Dani could see a storm broaching the horizon from across the treeline, and with November bringing short days and long nights, she had little time left to secure herself safe passage. She had found the fenced-off railway easily - the barman had not been lying after all, though she had never doubted his sincerity - and after scaling the chain-link paneling and dropping deftly down on the other side she had begun to walk beside it heading North-East. Hopefully a cargo train would pass her before the sun fell completely, but she had not heard the telltale rumble from the tracks yet, and she whipped her head around in paranoia at every rustle and chirrup and gust of wind. The man in the corner of the bar played on Dani's mind, his smirk and stare still seemingly upon her even now, somehow watching through the walls and terrain and growing darkness.

A twig snapped somewhere beyond the fence to Dani's 5'o'clock and she stopped mid-step, stanced like a runner and poised to flee or fight depending on what emerged from the bushes. A few seconds went by, the whole universe silent and still - and then a hare hopped out from a the tall grass, breaking the treeline to take a quick glance around before it darted back in and out of sight. Dani sighed as she released the breath she had been unwittingly holding and unfroze herself, giving herself a light and nervous chuckle to try and relieve some pent-up tension. The moment passed and the air seemed to pop, and Dani carried on along the railway.

She had walked maybe another half-mile, growing ever more concerned about the waning sun with each step, when a low rumble started to emanate from the old iron of the train tracks beside her, some of the more aged and worn wooden slats beginning a subtle rattling as a train approached. Dani felt a mix of relief and nervous eargerness blossom in her chest, and took a few steps to the side, turning around in order to walk backwards so she could watch what was approaching. Maybe one or two miles down the line, she saw a massive, cargo-laden locomotive, and she steeled herself to leap aboard - a young stowaway, following half-knowledge towards an optimistic redemption, and fleeing the naive, selfish choices that had damned her in the first place.

Wrapped up in her own recent history, Dani had not heard the footsteps behind her over the growing cacophony of the incoming train, and only realized she was not alone when she walked backwards into a cold and broad body. Her pursuers had caught up.

Before she could turn, or even gasp in shock or terror, there was a bag thrust over her head and the world went black - only for it to leave completely as something hard hit her forcefully on the back of her skull, and she dropped to her knees, consciousness dropping out to the sound of the passing train beside them. Klick-klack, klick-klack, klick-klack - and then there was only klick- then nothing.

-

When Dani re-surfaced to the waking world, that steady back-and-forth rattle returned with her, accompanied by the blurred whooshing of wind and rain and low murmurs from somewhere behind her. The murmurs ceased as their owners noticed Dani's movement as she tried to sit up, and then heavy footsteps came towards her, boots on reinforced wood, before the world flooded in as the bag was ripped off and then whited-out with flashing pain as the same boots came around and kicked her hard in the side. She sprawled out onto the floor and felt ribs crack in her torso, but at the same time, within her, the devil she harboured snarled and lashed back. Dani knew it was a matter of minutes, if not mere seconds, before she would lose all control, and turned her head to face her attackers.

The man from the bar. Hair as slick as ever, his eyes were a gleaming ethereal yellow, and his skin - in the bar it had been only aged and weathered with sweat and dirt - was now actively cracked and shedding from his face. Behind him were two more similarly-faced men, their own veneers failing far more rapidly than that of their ringleader's. Dani looked out at the blackened night sky through the open side of the carriage she had been hauled into, and was met by the watchful orb of the full moon through parting storm clouds before they closed up again, and the rain doubled-down in its intensity. The men - though it was long since she had suspected her aggressors of being mere men - had sealed their own fate. She could feel the heat from her hands already.

"You've got maybe a few seconds before this goes very badly for you." She spat, words dripping with a mix of anger and fear. The man just kicked her again.

"Shut up. We're not here to talk to you. Why do you think you're even still alive?" His voice sounded like writhing maggots. She spat blood, and it bubbled with heat.

"Buddy," she replied, flexing her hands as the heat reached the base of her skull, "I'm the only one here who's gonna be leaving alive."

Dani stood, and her eyes were full of fire.