---

Marie fell to the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of her. She had passed through many of Puck’s portals, but their composition was entirely different, more sophisticated in Marie’s opinion. Where the Ambassador linked places through doors opened via the Arcane Stream, Puck’s doors connected to the soul of a place, his presence infused within the very stones. No matter her method of travel, Marie was safe . . . well, relatively speaking. She glanced at her wounded party, all understandably shaken by their brush with death. Somehow, they had emerged victorious.

Holt formed next to Marie, wispy hands running over the length of her arm as a sort of rudimentary comfort. His attempts at emotion were well received.

Are you well? he spoke softly to her mind, trying not to surprise her further.

Marie’s strength had been completely sapped. The bullet’s poisoned continued to work its way through her veins, slowly draining her vitality. It was a vicious weapon the Hounds wielded. Had she not conjured that memory, had Gwyneth’s Sight not been in her hand, Marie might have fallen.

Well as can be expected, her mental response was sluggish, bearing the weight of her physical fatigue.

Marie turned up to find the Ambassador standing over her, words falling from her lips in irregular passes, fading as she struggled to fight the bullet’s poison. She saw the glint of the phone being handed to her and weakly grasped it. Had she been in a better way, Marie might have appreciated the charm on the back. As the Ambassador took her leave, Marie turned back to the others, Benjamin noticeably more damaged than she.

We have to get him help soon, Marie’s thoughts were like a whisper to Holt. I might have something useful back with the Lachance witches . . .

Worry about yourself, Holt interrupted. Your energy is all but gone, and your strength will continue to deplete until you undergo a purifying rite, one I’m sure the Lachance witches know.

But the question remained, how would they get back to the Lachance family stronghold? Marie and Benjamin were in no condition to travel, and Puck’s door required a more direct link to the target location than Marie possessed. Holt could carry Marie and Ben, but Yeong, Ji, and Kat were all rather close to him at this point; they’d throw a fit if Marie spirited him away. Fortunately, Genevieve Lachance had been a gracious host to Marie and provided her with a means of returning to their stronghold.

Marie riffled through the small bag at her side, filing through the miscellaneous witching instruments before happening upon a long, white wand. It was crudely fashioned, resembling a limb more than the intricate ceremonial implements she’d seen before. The only signs of its power were small inscriptions along each side, written in the same tongue as the magic mirror in the desert, but these words she couldn’t read, not in her current state. Despite this, she knew the wand’s purpose.

With some difficulty, Marie positioned herself closer to the group, the twins and Kat all huddled around Benjamin. She grabbed hold of his back foot, flinching at his soft whimper.

”Everyone place a hand on Benjamin,” Marie commanded with clenched teeth. She could sense their unease, understood their hesitation, but had no time to deal with any objections. Eventually, all did as asked with the exception of the Dover Twins who promised to keep in touch.

Marie turned to Holt, giving him a weak nod. He took the wand in both hands, dark tendril-like claws wrapping around branch like an enveloping black pitch. Then he snapped the wand in half, releasing a deafening crackle of energy. There was no flash of light, no wind or mist, they had simply vanished, fading from one place to the next.

---

---

All became clear once more. The sudden blur of one world fading into the next began to melt away. When at last their eyes adjusted, they were met with a strange spectacle indeed. Before them stood a tree far larger than words could describe, its bark white as snow, emanating a soft glow that was icy yet comforting. Its long branches were littered with silver leaves and crimson blossoms, all floating on an ethereal wind that gave the illusion of dancing, or perhaps they were dancing. The tree called to them with a faint hum like the chiming of bells, was it singing?

A slender figure approached from a long corridor leading into that divine arboretum, scarlet locks falling around her painted features. Genevieve Lachance, head of the Lachance witches, came to greet her weary guests. She could see it in their eyes, the source of their suffering.

“The Hounds,” she spat with disgust, kneeling down and cupping Marie’s face. “What have they done now?”

”S-ss-silver b-bullets.” Marie struggled to speak. How effective could this weapon of the Hounds be? Surely their knowledge of witchcraft wasn’t so sophisticated, nor her powers so weak, that she could be so easily bested by a simple graze from a bullet.

”Blessed silver,” Holt corrected, falling onto Genevieve’s shoulder in the form of a raven. ”The sort used by The Winter Court . . .”

“Don’t speak their name,” Genevieve warned, shuttering at the mere mention of the infamous hunters. “I know their handiwork, and worry not, my dear, I can reverse whatever ills they have inflicted.”

Marie didn’t follow Genevieve's and Holt’s conversation, but she was relieved all the same.

“That, however,” Genevieve pointed to Ben, the corners of her mouth turned down. “That is beyond my power. I can do nothing for your lycanthropic friend, nor do I fully understand why you’ve brought them here.”

Genevieve turned her back to the others, speaking quietly to Marie.

“I gave you that wand in good faith, White Witch. Your path, your deeds are known to me, theirs are not. I agreed to grant you my aid, not these creatures. The Families are weak, we cannot afford the chaos that your friends here will surely bring.”

Marie shook her head.

”I promise, they can be t-trusted. They’re helping me just as you. They w-won’t cause you any trouble.” Marie only half believed her words. So far, this group had been nothing but chaotic, but she hoped things would simmer down now that they were all out of immediate danger.

”I have a method for healing B . . . the wolf. It’s in my b-b-bags. Holt can find it.”

Holt offered a small nod to both Genevieve and Marie before flying down the corridor to locate Marie’s belongings.

Genevieve sighed.

“Very well,” she turned back to the rest of the group. “You are all safe here, but hear me when I say this place will not abide the chaos your kind brings. You will be mindful, you will be respectful, you will make yourselves scarce, or you will be forced from this place. Where exactly that lands you . . . I couldn’t say.”

She let out a soft chuckle, motioning for a few of the witches throughout the chamber to carry Marie and Ben to separate rooms to be healed, and leading Katarina, Ji, and Yeong to another room to wait.

---

Time: Evening - Two Days prior to the Satellite Attack
Location:Smithy’s Grocery Store, Las Vegas

The grocery store was a disaster. Civilian bodies and Hounds littered everywhere. Captain Dahl approached the remaining specialists she had. Each of them in turn described the witches that had used a portal to slip away. Assumingly they thought they had them trapped. Dahl had ordered to wait out the distracting tricks, to conserve their strength when the targets had exhausted themselves.

She anticipated the chaotic defenses, the wild magic, what she did not plan for was a portal. Now she was anticipating her ass to be chewed out by the General. Begrudgingly, she sent the report of failure, the details they gathered of their targets from the encounter. Dahl guessed the blue haired witch was the Faerie Mistress, the very same that had made her presence known after the attack on Pixy Stix. Backed by a massive golem construct, Fey, a pair of metas, a witch, a vampire, and werewolves. They would need to investigate further to uncover more about her allies. Dahl rubbed her temples, so many undesirables just slipped right from her grasp. All the more of a pain to deal with when together.

Her cell phone began to vibrate. The Hounds before her all shared a look then cleared away for her privacy.

“Captain Dahl,” the General greeted her, voice gruff and full of paternal displeasure.

“Forgive me for the intrusion, but there appears to be a mistake with your recent report. If I recall, and do correct me if I’m wrong, you and your men were stationed outside a grocery store in Vegas on an anonymous tip regarding a highly dangerous witch, who also happened to be in the company of: a second witch, three werewolves, a vampire, two metahumans, a magical construct, and a small army of faery creatures?”

The General let out a hefty sigh, his voice raising with each sentence until it became a thunderous roar.

“This would have been your most successful mission yet, Captain. But not only did you fail to eliminate the witch you had been sent to take down, you allowed EIGHT other abominations to waltz out of that store, lost well over half of your unit, and wasted your entire stock of blessed weapons. Is that correct?”

Captain Dahl flinched away from the receiver, cautiously bringing it back. “Sir, if I could explain. The Faerie Mistress was among them, the sorceress that declared herself over the smoking rubble of Pixy Stix. She can open portals, portals sir. We had them entirely surrounded. Before some of my men died they reported what they saw her do.” Dahl expressed her frustration, “Sir, I will hunt them down if given the chance.”

“No,” the General replied, “That won’t be necessary.”

He went quiet for several moments, audibly pacing around his quarters.

“Dahl,” he began with a sigh. “You must always be aware of the enemy and their tricks, must stay one step ahead. Your team knew this Faery Mistress was active in the area, yet you did not anticipate that she might have been involved. You had eyes on the target for several minutes before acting, yet you were so focused on the kill that you failed to account for non physical exits and escapes. Your first team was utterly destroyed, yet you sent in the second without considering the witches’ abilities, how they reportedly blinded your men with their vile tricks, took their balance, interfered with their aim . . . really did you THINK at all during this operation?”

“You are, or were, among my best, Captain Dahl, because of that little gift you possess that grants you your edge. And yet, it seems to have failed us both.”

“Sir, I still am.” She said, taking her chances to make her pitch. “A singular failure, albeit a rather large one. Allow me at the very least, a chance to redeem myself, Sir. I still maintain my gifts and…”

“Afterall isn’t it well within my humanity to rise above the filth to truly triumph? Lose the battle, win the war.” She said crushing some bone against her heel, steely expression.

The line went silent for several minutes, leaving Dahl to wonder if the General had left in a rage, or was simply deep in thought.

“Very well,” his gruff voice boomed over the line, “I suppose I’m not so heartless that I can’t let you make it up to me. I have a few assignments lined up, none of them suitable to your particular talents, however. I have a potential new informant here in Maine that may prove useful to our operation. She’s flighty and I don’t trust a word she says, but information is information.”

“I’ll call you when the time is right, Captain. In the meantime, rest. Steel yourself for what’s to come. We cannot lose another battle lest we give the enemy more ground. Understood?”

“Understood, sir. We will return to the east coast. I would like front row seats to the next leg in our plans.” She said, a wicked grin forming. “Happy hunting, General.”

---

Time: Evening - Day of the Satellite Attack
Location: Chinatown, Lost Haven

Charlie parted ways with Maddi taking the long way home. As she had promised, she was safely assuming there’d be someone watching her or trying to follow. Her mask and hood stayed firmly in place.

It worked out at least, it gave her plenty of time to think and reflect. She patted her ribs again, checking if they were still broken. The unbelievable events from the start then end of the day were almost too much. Charlie walked by small shops, big stretches of department stores, traffic at her side. Slowly a frown began to form underneath her mask. Occasionally looking over her shoulder at the traffic and anyone paying specifically to her. Her next right was down an alley. It was slowly starting to sink in just how deep she was involved in everything now. It was one thing to defend yourself against an attack but to go on the offensive was another. Willingly putting herself on their radar. A lump began to form in her chest, her palms became clammy.

Avoiding a few dumpsters she stopped in her tracks at the sight of a stray cat perched above on an fire escape platform. She squinted up at it, it’s silhouette was off. She hesitated looking behind her then back up at it. Slowly she stepped below it, the cat’s eyes never left her as she passed. The heavy eyes were still felt even as she exited the alleyway. Unease creeping up the nape of her neck. Pausing at the exit she pulled her radio free hooking it to her hip. Music began to quietly play through a bit of static. Charlie adjusted the attena a bit to clear it up.

Through the dark of the alley she couldn’t see the cat anymore, she moved on hoping to leave it behind. She began to wonder how much her Gramps knew of others in Lost Haven’s magic community. Puck referenced his work with networking with other alchemists here in the city. Had he visited The Red Devil? How would he react knowing Puck had healed her, that she met him personally?

More importantly how would her mother, Jules feel about standing off with the Witchfinder General.

“Are you insane? Do you have a death wish? What were you thinking!”

Charlie’s answer instantly popped in her mind.



Charlie smiled holding her staff close, she came to a slow stop. The lump began to loosen, helping Maddi was reason enough. She continued to walk flapping her hand in front of her face trying to cool off her cheeks. Her mind came back to the unease once again, someone or something was watching her still. She turned looking over her shoulder, there were a couple vehicles in the back alley parked but saw no movement. She turned down the radio some more then carried on back to the main street, picking up her pace.

In the relative safety of the street and surrounded by people. She checked again then carried on. Behind her a black escalade crept out of the alleyway she was in - entering traffic.

She walked to the end of the block dodging people, entering through a department store she looked hilariously out of place in her old clothing, some sales associates immediately gave her dirty looks.

“Just passing through.” She mumbled, preoccupied.

“Take your gross cat with you!” One of them hissed at her.

“My what?”

He pointed at the disfigured animal sitting patiently at the entrance, eyes on Charlie. Her breath caught. “That sure as shit isn’t my cat.” She took long quick strides away ignoring the sales associates calls for security. Some mall security cops blocked her path at the exit. She began to run and vaulted over them using her staff.

“H-Hey!” One of them shouted.

“Sorry, not sorry!” She said over her shoulder sprinting through the doors on the opposite end coming out to a new street. She sprinted away to the otherside of the block taking refuge once again in an alley, she didn’t stop moving.

“Fuck this bullshit cat and bullshit Hounds.” She said to herself, making it to the other side of the alleyway to another back alley. No vehicles and it was deserted. Slowly stepping out she decided to take another right and head down away from the street. Hoping to cross some residential backyards incase she needed to call for help or find some shelter. Above on the rooftops the very same cat stalked behind her.

The dreadful unease crept up again but the source was nowhere to be seen. Charlie began to fast walk looking in every direction for that damned cat. She quickly approached the end of the back alley, the ripe smell of a butcher’s shop shipping dock down a bit of a ramp of pavement backing into the two storey shop. She clicked on her flashlight to get a better look of the back end of it. Would doubling back throw off her creepy cat pursuer? Another click the light disappeared.

Headlights suddenly flooded behind her, casting her shadow long. She turned her heart racing, shielding her eyes to see a black escalade several feet away. It sped forward with a squeal of tires, she dashed down the ramp to the shipping dock. Nearly crashing into the door she tugged on it, naturally it was locked. It was made of steel. She tore a hole for herself to squeeze through the rings of bullets against the door sent her scrambling away. She headed straight for the walk-in freezer past plastic sheets. Gunshots followed her.

She sidled between hanging aging carcuses, the smell of meat was potent and surrounded her. Her quick breath came out in frosty puffs. She headed straight for the exit of the freezer. Meeting another locked door, she promised herself she’d return to fix them if she survived. Breaking through the hiss of warm air rushing in, putting her body weight into it scrambling to the otherside and slamming the heavy door shut sealing it behind her. Buying herself a few seconds. Charlie tried to think of a plan of some sort knowing this was nowhere to stay. She saw the security camera and the flashing red light of the motion detector now that she was shopside. Dragging the sleeve of her shirt below her nose.

Charlie dashed for the shopfront window smashing it with the butt of her staff, the alarms began to blare. She ran for the emergency exit pushing herself up the set of stairs to the roof. Trying to force herself into a unpredictable path for the Hounds, her instincts screamed for her to take the path of least resistance to run as hard as she could to safety. Making her way up a couple set of stairs she pushed onto the roof. Looking for more escape options, she peered up to the building next over, standing a storey taller than the one she was on. She locked then sealed the door behind her.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” She swore stepping up to the ledge, bending down at the knee, contemplating a ladder whether to go up or down. Basic concrete and tarmac surrounded her, enough to make a short ladder up then make another over to the otherside to really throw them off. She began scribbling against the ledge with a sharpie. Sirens weren’t coming either, chatter over her little radio was ignored. She finished her equation in a straight line a ladder shot up made of concrete eating up the materials of the building coming up to 8 feet. Steadying it as she lowered it to the building.

The Hounds began pounding at the door, she began to climb up not wasting time. About two thirds of the way up the Hounds burst through the door.

“There she is! Wound her!” They shouted.

Charlie flinched at the gunshots, panic gripping her heart sending it into overtime. She climbed at the last few rungs she launched herself over the ledge of the building slapping her hand against the makeshift ladder making it crumble before they decided to try and follow her. She rolled far away from the ledge before she stood up and ran to the opposite end about to start the ladder again. Stopping she looked over her shoulder at the cat - glaring fear and hatred. Ugly, undead, obviously the results of necromancy.

She pointed with her staff at the cat, “Abraxus. Was starting to wonder when I’d see your undead bullshit again.”

The cat sat silently, tail crooked moving back and forth. Charlie stared hard back at it. Then pushed off from the ledge swinging her staff low to launch it off the roof, the cat hissed rearing back on it’s hind legs being caught under the belly. Charlie tossed it over the ledge of the building. Completely doubtful that killed it.

She made another ladder scaling down the opposite side of the building, then found her way down back to the street. She ran for several blocks, neither the cat nor the car was in sight. She never paused. She was deep in the financial district, the downtown traffic had dwindled considerably but never truly left. She had run at full speed for a few blocks but eventually slowed to a quick paced jog. When she finally stopped she was out of breath, steadying her arms on her knees. Leaning against a lamp post.

Across the street several people had gathered outside of a newspaper stand watching a little tv. Charlie peered then wiping her brow she walked over to see what the commotion was about. The news was showing images of cellphone footage. Grainy but clear enough, light washed out the picture entirely. The person behind the cellphone fell to the ground, eventually righting themselves to focus on the utter destruction. In the corner there was a message replaying from The Hounds of Humanity with the news anchor rendered speechless. Charlie starred, eyes wide. Horrified.

This was the radar she was on now. Hollowed out she stepped away then turned her eyes up to the sky, wondering vainly what satellite now was aiming it’s sights on Lost Haven.

What bright light would take everything away.

She ran home.

---

Time: Evening - Day of the Satellite Attack
Location: 49th floor of Troon Tower, New York City, New York

"Mein gott."

Franz von Sigmaringen stared agape at the television screen before him. The Hounds of Humanity had been increasing their terror campaign against most countries in the world in response to the growing superhuman trend in society, but never had they pulled off such a spectacular coup against the countries of the world. This was the Hounds' 9/11, their apex moment. Their declaration of intent. The images from the television screen were blazed into Franz's eyes. The wholesale obliteration of an entire city, captured by one terrified survivor's camera lens - the scintillating sight of the ruby red beam coalescing into a hammer of destruction that modern scientists no doubt could only dream of inflicting with the push of a button. Franz shook his head and rubbed his chin as he took in the sheer scale of what was being shown. His own personal servant and right-hand-man, Justus, was the push of a button away, and yet Franz was stunned into inaction. He had several members of the cabal in Philadelphia... no doubt they, too, had been killed by the satellite's blast, as had hundreds of thousands of humans. They were little more than cattle, or even flies, to Franz, but still, he remembered the days of the great wars of the twentieth century, the wars that should have ended all wars. He remembered seeing first-hand the destruction of cities like Hamburg, Rotterdam, Dresden, Essen - the devastation wrought by the Allied bombing attack on the dams of the Ruhr... the stunned, soulless eyes of the survivors, victims of horrors that civilians had no business suffering, no matter the crimes and tribulations of their leaders. Was it possible... that he felt remorse? Sympathy, for these cattle? Slaughtered in the feeble attempts by madmen to stop the inexorable advance of the denizens of Earth into a new age? The casualty figures were astonishing. Hundreds of thousands feared dead. Millions perhaps homeless. A financial centre of the United States simply erased from existence in a single blast. He flicked through the channels of the television. All were reporting the same matter - the satellite's destruction of Philadelphia, and two other towns whose names Franz could barely register in his scrambled mind. Some even had the odious sounds of the Hounds of Humanity's 'spokesman' in the background - those he turned off quickly. He could scarcely afford to lose his temper.

A tell-tale patterned knock at the door brought Franz back to the present.

"Kommt hier."

Justus walked in. A thin, balding man of fifty-seven, he was no vampire - merely an American human who had sworn to serve Franz in every capacity. The descendant of German immigrants from Hamburg, he was a sorcerer of some skill and power, but it was his insight into matters that Franz valued more than anything - and his loyalty. Justus seemingly had an idea of matters even before they had fully unfolded - perhaps a small degree of foresight could be attributed to him. He looked at the television screen and nodded curtly. "A shocking attack, is it not, my lord?"

"You could call it that." Franz's voice was insipid in response.

"I have been attempting to contact our friends and allies in the Philadelphia area, my lord. I'm afraid the news is unwelcome." Of course it is, you fool - have you not seen the pictures before you? How could anything have survived that? Franz's inner thoughts dared him to respond. But it would be too harsh on Justus. He was, after all, only doing his job - and that was what Franz wanted him to do. A simple flare of the nostrils was all Franz let on externally - Justus continued, heedless of this, "So far, we have only been able to contact the Liebig Cartel. They have two survivors - Karl, and Hannelies. I'm afraid the other cabals - Burnside, Choltitz and Steff - are all feared dead in the blast."

Franz shook his head and looked out of the window at the New York cityscape. Beneath, cars and pedestrians rushed around, perhaps trying to get home as soon as they could to find out if their families or friends had survived. Police sirens blared all across the city. A nation thrown into chaos and fear - and Franz sympathised with them. Such a state would ordinarily be a chance to expand influence, to begin a new age of vampiric dominance of the underground, and yet Franz feared the intervention of the Hounds - or the federal government. This once-irritating group of pups had bared their teeth, and torn the throat out of the United States. It was only a matter of time before the US responded. Franz had seen it all before - martial law, curfews... unworkable conditions for men- businessmen such as himself. No doubt the stock markets would take a nosedive as a result of this... the ramifications of which concerned Franz even further. Justus was talking about more matters which Franz cared little for, and tuned out as he watched New York's bustle beneath him. Then, one word stood out more than anything.

Katarina.

"Hold."

Justus stopped at his master's request. Franz looked over at him, cold blue eyes gazing deep into his servant's own. "What did you just say?"

"We think there has been a sighting of the Countess, my lord."

Franz's head was in a whirl. Was it true? Had she returned after four hundred years of absence, four hundred years during which Franz had slaved away, preparing situations for her return only to see them shattered time and again by external forces? And now, at the crux of his power, his persistence had paid off, and his mistress, the Countess of Prussia, had returned? "Where?! When?!"

"In Las Vegas, my lord. Willy Groner phoned in just this morning... it seems she was travelling with a group of individuals unknown to us, during which time, a group of the Hounds of Humanity arrived and attacked. There was no sign of her afterwards, nor of the others-" Again, Justus faded into irrelevance. Had she been killed? Had these Hounds taken Katarina away from him just as fate was about to decide they would meet again? Franz's fists clenched on the the armrests they sat upon. His teeth gritted, as his muscles tensed with anger, with rage. He glared at Justus, hissing through teeth clenched tight.

"Justus. You will do two things. You will do everything in your power to find Katarina. And also... you will get me that fucking Pole!"

"My lord?"

"Zielinska! Now!"

Justus bowed and strode out of the room at once. Franz seethed atop the Tower... the Hounds would pay.

Although all of Chris’ injuries had been miraculously healed by the Egyptian themed hero, the Son of Osiris, his expert team of doctors still requested that he stay and rest. But Chris did not have the luxury of time at the moment, since the Hounds had decided to up the ante. The first time the Hounds had used the orbital satellite, the power they unleashed was only enough to destroy his mansion and its immediate surrounds. But now, they were destroying city blocks and even entire cities. For a brief moment, the thoughts of why no one had tried to take this satellite down after it had placed him in the hospital creeped into Chris’ mind, but he soon shaked them off. It was not a time for the blame game. Instead, it was a time for action.

Even though his mansion was destroyed, that did not mean Chris was powerless. He had made sure that he did not stick all of his eggs in a single basket. While he did not have an unlimited supply of Daedalos-class armors sitting around, but Chris did have a set that he rotated between so that he could allow repairs be done on them without sidelining him. Or, if one were destroyed or damaged beyond repair, as was the case, Chris would not have ot scramble to put together a new set of armor in dire circumstances.

It did not take Chris long to acquire one of his backup suits and prep it for flight. Since both his mansion and S.T.R.I.K.E. had been wiped off from the face of the Earth, Chris had only one destination left to mount his counter-strike: Sherman Center, which was the location where he ran the operation to foil Doctor Diplodoc’s scheme to grant superhuman powers indiscriminately to the entire human race. In fact, Chris had purchased that has-been building just for this type of situation.

Having a nice and shining base was the easy part. Gathering together a group of heroes for a common goal is an entirely different ball game. During the Pax Metahumana crisis, he relied on his assistant, Minerva, to get the message to the various heroes. In fact, Chris still was not sure how she gathered the heroes so quickly. He had been meaning to ask, but the thought kept slipping his mind or she kept deflecting the question whenever he did remember. Furthermore, he had made sure all of his family and his employees who worked closely with Chris were hidden away in secure locations, safe from any potential Hound attack. He could not risk Minerva’s life just to gather this country’s heroes, especially since he had a plan B in his back pocket.

Chris had long ago devised a plan for a situation such as this. Back when the team of heroes had had assembled had squashed the Pax Metahumana crisis, Chris had secretly attached nanorobots that he could use to contact these heroes again in a time of need, like the current situation. Since he knew that some of the heroes, namely Lyger, would be extremely pissed off if he had been tracking them this entire time, Chris had to think outside of the box to come up with a method to contacting them. Instead of sending back data about each individual’s location, the devices instead were programed to play a generic message that would suggest that they head to Sherman Center whenever they have received a specific radio signal broadcasted by Chris. While he expected that some of the heroes, especially Lyger, would still be fuming once they have discovered the devices, he believed it was a happy medium.

But a nagging thought that had been bothering Chris was still lingering. What did the Son of Osiris mean when he suggested to check in on Maya? What did he know about her that he did not? He had tried to contact here via her cell phone, but his calls always went to voicemail. If anything had happened to her, especially since he was unable to do anything about it due to the coma, the Hounds would soon wish that they had never dared to threaten his family and friends if they happened to be behind this.

Before he jetted off to head towards Lost Haven, Chris something in the corner of his eye. At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, especially since he just got out of a coma, but after a second quick inspection, he knew it was no mirage, even though he still did not believe it. Hiding near the hospital, the Archangel exoskeleton stood. When he took a step towards her, she shrunk back. Nevertheless, she had backed herself into a corner and therefore could not go anywhere unless he propulsion systems were still working.

“Chris—” Archangel whimpered. However, from the way her voice sounded, a chill instantly ran down his spine. This was not the old Archangel back back from the grave. This was entirely different.

“Maya?” Chris puzzledly asked, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Maya admitted to Chris as she turned away from him, obviously wishing that he did not have to see her in this damaged form. “I went to bed last night and then when I woke up, I was like this.”

“Recently, I’ve been looking into applications of remotely controlled armor and I’ve been reverse engineering Archangel’s technology,” Chris mentioned to Maya as he tried to figure at what could have went wrong. “Of the top of my head, the only thing that could have caused this would be one of the untested prototypes I’ve developed. But you would not have access to those.”

“I guess you have to go now,” Maya muttered as she turned away again.

“When the Hounds started to wipe entire towns off the face of the Earth, I’ve got to act.” Chris responded, “However, it shouldn’t take me long to get you out of that robotic shell, assuming your actual body is still in your home.”

“No, you can’t put my own well being over that of millions of people!” Maya protested to Chris’ surprise.

“Are you sure?” Chris asked back. Maya, in turn nodded. “I just feel terrible that you’re trapped in that form.”

Maya then darted forward into Chris’ arms, while she wrapped her arms around his torso. Chris heard her weeping, even though no tears left her eyes since the robotic suit did not have tear ducts. Chris knew he had to do something. She was obviously distraught.

“The Hounds must be using one of the hidden satellites that the original Archangel had secretly assembled in Earth’s orbit. It might be a long shot, but that old Archangel suit could possibly still connect to that satellite and at the very least delay any future orbital strikes. Do you want to help out?”

Maya tentatively nodded, although her mood seemed to have improved.

“Then we better get going. The others will hopefully be waiting for us.

The 5th Street Promenade had become a go to destination for tourists as well as Pacific Point residents alike. The massive outdoor shopping and entertainment complex was made up of a number of palm tree lined “streets” that were only open to pedestrian traffic. Within the Promenade one could find any number of shops which offered a wide variety of goods which served the wants and needs of just about anyone who entered the complex. There were also dozens of restaurants scattered throughout the Promenade who’s kitchens filled the air with aromas that would tempt even the ficklest of eaters.

The 5th Street Promenade was also one of Pacific Point’s main entertainment hubs. At the far western point of the property, which overlooked the waterfront as well as the city’s iconic boardwalk and pier, was the West End Gazebo, which served as a free concert venue. There were also a number of street entertainers who performed everything from street magic to juggling and balancing acts, to singers for the hordes of shoppers who descended on the Promenade on any given day or night.

“And then he said ‘See you around.’” Amanda said between sips from her giant sized soda that she had gotten when they had stopped at In ‘N Out Burger for a snack. She had regaled Izzy with the story of her first meeting with Icon at least five times, and now was Gemma’s turn. Gemma, for her part was a good sport. Though she heard the story several times she acted just as excited as she had been the first time. Amanda was one of her best friends, and she could see how much it meant to her, so Gemma continued to indulge her.

Besides, it was kind of a big deal.

As they walked past one of the Promenade’s two megaplexes, CMA Cinema 12; Amanda’s gaze was drawn to a poster featuring Marlon Wayans. The movie was called “The Bad Doctor,” and featured Wayans as Dorian Von Trapper, AKA, the Bad Doctor. From what she could tell, he was a wannabe dictator who had grand plans for world domination, yet lacked neither the means nor the skill of seeing those plans come to fruition. It was a big studio spoof of the now deceased villain The Good Doctor, who had reportedly met his hands in South America at the hands of War-Pulse, sometime after the Pax Metahumana crisis, and was advertised as being brought to us by the minds behind “Homeboys in Outer Space.”

“You know, I have no desire to see that.” Amanda said as they passed the poster. “The actual guy was a bit of a lame ass, I don’t need to see a spoof.”

They continued their trek through the crowded streets on their way to their destination, Musicall, the new music store that boasted a massive inventory of CD’s and Blu Ray of all of the latest and greatest acts in music history. Everything from Elvis to David Bowie, 2Pac to Taylor Swift, they had it all. Or at least, that was what Amanda and Gemma were determined to find out.

“You know, I could go for a pizza. Want to stop at Dough Boyz?” Amanda asked.

“What? We just had In ‘N Out. You’re still hungry?” Gemma asked astonished.
“Super fast metabolism remember?” Amanda said with a grin.

“Shit. I wish I could eat like that and keep my figure.” Gemma said with mock annoyance.

Amanda’s next words were lost when she saw the images on the massive TV screens that adorned the walls of the CBN Scene, a family restaurant that was branded after the CBN television network and was more of a cross between a sports bar and an arcade.

“Oh. My. God…”Amanda’s words trailed off as she saw live footage of a destroyed city. The buildings were in ruins and the city itself looked to be on fire. If the network hadn’t identified it as Philadelphia, she never would have recognized it. She was not the only one who stopped to take notice; soon a large crowd had gathered before the screens and was watching in a grim silence. The news reporter had reported that Philadelphia was in better condition than the two other cities that had been struck, Nautican Island and Paris, Texas, both of which had been completely destroyed.

Then they played the message from the spokesperson for the Hounds of Humanity, who had claimed responsibility for the atrocity that they were now just standing witness to.

“We warned you. We told you that compliance was non negotiable. Yet you chose not to listen.

The time for talk has past. From this moment on, you are either with us or you are against us.

We are coming, and you will either stand with us, or you will burn with them.”

Amanda stood there in silence along with the rest of the crowd as the Hounds of Humanity's message finished. There was a knot in the pit of her stomach as she processed what she had just seen. Then she was suddenly overtaken by a renewed feeling of resolve.

“I have to go.” Amanda said without looking away from the jumbo screens.

“Where are you going?” Gemma said, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to hold back tears.

“Lost Haven. I’m going to Lost Haven.” Amanda said, and with the blink of an eye, she was gone.

“Wait!” I shouted after my bus while I shuffled my feet, which were handicapped by my high heels that I wear for ‘work’. I usually would bring a change of clothes, including some tennis shoes. However, one of the girls at the Lotus accidentally grabbed my bag and took my change of clothes home. Therefore, I was stuck with a ridiculously short skirt and no coat. While the Nautican Island’s winters were far milder than any island this far north should be, the nights could still get a little chilly.

However, despite my best attempt to flag down it, the bus zoomed forward, leaving me behind in its dust. I cursed under my breath before pulling out my phone and then I cursed again when I discovered that the next bus home would not circle around again for another hour. This would be my luck. First the kidnapping, then my healing factor did not revert my body back to normal, even after two weeks had passed since Catherine had last used her powers on me. And now I was stuck looking like a stripper in the middle of the night, when all the weirdos come crawling out of the shadows. I debated whether I should just walk home, but I thought that wouldn’t be a wise move, considering my heels would making running away from any danger impossible, especially since all of my powers, except my healing factor, have been nullified.

“Hey there!” A peppy voice said behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Just a moment before, the bus stop had been deserted, or at least I thought it was, although my attention was on catching the bus and not seeing who did not hop onto the public transit. But when I turned around, I discovered a woman decked out in a purple and gray superhero costume with some goggles resting on her forehead. The purple was slightly on the red side of the color spectrum, which made it match nicely with her green skin.

“Where did you come from?”

“Oh, I’m not actually here.”

“What?”

“What you’re seeing is a psionic image projected from my mind into your your brain, where it is translated into what looks like a physical person.”

I gave the woman a blank stare in response to her explanation for how she suddenly appeared before my eyes.

“Anyways…” The woman tried to change the subject. “I’m here to help you out!”

“Unless you’re going to teleport me home, I’ll pass.”

“I don’t have the ability to do that,” The woman pondered aloud. “But I can help you become a superhero!”

“Pass,” I coldly respond, while checking my phone to see where the bus was. I rolled my eyes when I saw that I still had another 55 minutes left until the bus would arrive. “I don’t have time for that nonsense. And even if I did, my powers are negated.”

“I can fix that!” The women pulled out a small device from her pocket and mashed down one of the buttons on it. Suddenly, I heard the seams of my skirt begin to stretch and tear until I beheld a shower of confetti flutter around me. Somehow, my lower body had been reverted back to its drider form.

“What the hell? That was one of my better skirts!” I snapped back at the woman because of what she had done. I was not sure whether I was really angry about the destruction of my clothes or if this woman reactivating my powers just hit a nerve. All I knew was that I was pissed.

“Our tech geniuses found out a way to bypass the power nullifiers without big brother ever knowing!” The woman said while being totally oblivious to my reaction over my ruined skirt. However, after a few moments, when she realized that she did not get the excited reaction from me that she was hoping for, she presented another offer. “Or I could turn the nullifier back on if you’re so mad about it.:

“Don’t you dare!” I yelled at her. “I’m not wearing any pants because of you!”

“I can fix that, too!”

“Please don—" I began to say, but I was interrupted by the feeling of my clothes becoming tight on my body. Suddenly, I found myself wearing a totally different outfit. My arachnid forelegs were now covered by fishnet stockings with spiderweb patters, while the other six had plain scarlet and gray stockings. I had a dark gray bomber jacket with red trimming, which was much appreciated due to the temperature. However, the long sleeved spandex shirt underneath was less satisfactory because of the spider shaped boob window on the front of it (thank God the spider legs were printed onto it). Not quite sure how to feel about it. Finally, the mask that came with this costume left my jaw, nose, and hair exposed. Not sure what’s the point of a mask with all that skin exposed, but whatever. “Great. Now I look like a stripper trying to pull off a spider motif.”

“Now you have everything you need to be a hero!” The woman gave me a thumbs up and then slowly faded away, as if she were made of smoke.

“Wait! Are you going just leave me like—bitch,“ I cursed as I saw her mental hologram, or whatever she called it, vanish. The only thing that remained was the small device that she used to turn off my power nullifier. I guess I could count this as a consolation prize. Looks like I’m hiking my way back home, since I’m not getting on that bus in this costume.

Philadelphia was burning.

The moment that Icon saw the broadcast about the multiple Hounds attacks he dropped what he was doing and took flight. From all of the reports he went straight to the City of Brotherly Love, or at least what was left of it. He chose to go to Philly first because those reports made it clear that is where he would be able to do the most good, as much destruction as had been wrought on the city; it was in pretty good condition compared to the other two cities.

But that wasn’t saying much.

Many of the iconic landmarks that made Philly a must see for many people, Independence Hall, the Rocky Statue, Frankin Square and even Geno’s Steaks had been razed. The Liberty Bell was gone, and the US Mint was in ruins.
In his time as a hero, Icon had seen a lot. He had seen men and monsters do unspeakable things, yet he had never seen such wholesale destruction. As he did what he could to help, mostly pulling survivors, and those not so fortunate from the rubble, a persistent feeling gnawed at his gut.

Guilt.

He felt guilty that he had let things go this far. He knew that he should have gone after that satellite the moment that the Hounds of Humanity had used it to destroy Chris Arthur’s home. However, try as he might, he couldn’t find it. He didn’t know where it was, or if it had even survived its initial attack. It must have been a mobile satellite, or cloaked with some sort of stealth technology. The fact was, when he had looked for it, it didn’t seem to be there.

Then he let it go.

He never investigated it further. He never thought that the Hounds would use it in such a massive scale. He had underestimated the depths that the Hounds would sink, he underestimated the atrocities that they would commit in the name of their cause.

He underestimated the Hounds of Humanity.

He would not make that mistake again.





Lyger stood in a stunned silence as he watched the footage of the simultaneous Hounds attacks which left two cities wiped from the face of the earth and another in ruins. He had suspected that the Hounds of Humanity were planning something big, however, he never imagined that they were capable of the utter destruction that they had wrought.

“Harry, are you seeing this?” he said into the com in his mask without taking his eyes from the large video screen in the middle of Crown Square.

“Yes. It’s all over the news. I’ve never seen anything like it.” His mentor confirmed. “Kyle, this…this is bad.”

Lyger had no response. The sights on the large screen shaken him to the core and left him utterly speechless. How did they allow things to get this bad? Why didn’t they take out the satellite the moment they learned about it?

As far as Lyger was concerned, the blood of those lost in these attacks was just as much on his hands, and the hands of the other so-called heroes as it was on the Hounds. They failed to act when they should have and that was a mistake that he was determined not to repeat.

“Harry, how did we…” before he was able to finish asking just how they’d managed to screw up so badly, an electronic voice broke in over his com system.

“We are currently experiencing a crisis. Please report to Sherman Center immediately.” The robotic female voice said. Lyger did not know how Arthur had managed to send him the message, either he had integrated some sort of device into his tech or Arthur had hacked his systems.

Neither possibility was good.

“What the fu….”

One month has passed since the turn of the tide. Ever since metahumans threw their hat into the ring, it became clearer that Zepeta's days were numbered. While FARC was destroyed with ease, with right-wing militias fighting under Zepeta's banner, events had been swaying the tyrant's way for some time. However, with news of the abuse of human rights by metahuman brigands wearing the flag of Zepeta's regime, it was only natural that Colombia got international attention. With the help of the Union of South American Nations, the Loyalists and International Freedom Battalion had received lots of informal support from various member nations of USAN. It wasn't long before USAN themselves, headed by the Brazilian Military, intervened and assisted both groups in overthrowing Zepeta. Soon enough, all three groups were formed together under USANs banner, and with the help of omniglot metahumans and communication teams, clear communication was established between various groups and they were able to systematically take back ground for the Democratic Loyalists that once ruled Colombia before Zepeta's Regime.

A month of tactical and systematic elimination of strategic Regime assets left Zepeta's goons disorganized and often captured or outright routed. Fights in the forests proved dismal against USAN's chamelion-like soldiers courtesy of Brazil, and fights in the mountains made it very difficult to control against USAN metahumans that caused a variety of avalanches to bury bases and destroy outposts. The Freedom Brigades often excelled in urban warfare, using the ghost cities and abandoned industrial complexes to lay traps for Regime troops, who often didn't stand a chance against well-concealed bombs and metahumans. Zepeta's grounded Air Force was captured by the Loyalists in droves, and his tanks often landed into the hands of telekinetic squads who captured them for USAN. Zepeta's own citizens, after years of oppression and living in denial, cheer in the streets as USAN forces march from the South, heading North towards Bogota, the capital city. The Regime was nearly finished, and they had no way of turning back. With all Colombian coasts blockaded by USAN Navy Vessels and the water-controlling metahumans that remained onboard them, with air superiority established by Loyalist and USAN fighter jets, the Regime had nowhere left to run. With the Colombian Loyalists marching up from the South with USAN troops and the International Freedom Battalion storming in from the North with USAN aerial support, Zepeta was fighting a war on two fronts at this point, and many draftees of both human and metahuman varieties have surrendered to their brothers and sisters bearing the USAN banner. It wasn't long before all that remained of Zepeta's goons were the handful of humans and metahumans that lived and died by Zepeta's word, and died they did, falling at the hands of a steadily advancing military force, stopping at nothing until they see the tinpot tyrant hung in the International Criminal Courts.

The streets of Bogota were nearly sparse. Almost all civilians had evacated to either bomb shelters fashioned during the war, or had run to various civilian protection zones set up by USAN. It was high noon, and the clouds had made the city quite dim. Makeshift walls set up by various vehicles as well as some parts of buildings, blocked many of the streets, forming a defensive line towards the south, where USAN forces are expected to march. Men and women, wearing regime colors and carrying old M16s, remained behind the vehicles, wearing their red berets and red armbands to signify their undying loyalty to Zepeta, the father of Modern Colombia.

Alessandra, one of those soldiers, stood firmly with her M16 in hand behind an old APC. The APC itself belonged to the Republic that came before the regime, but was hastily repainted in Regime colors in red and green spray paint. Alessandra, standing amongst many other men and women, some metahumans, had her face colored in red and black to signify her undying loyalty to Zepeta. She remained there, rifle in hand, standing her ground, looking at the road ahead. Far ahead down the road was a tank unit, with several helicopters and many soldiers escorting it. The varely visible blue colors of the USAN flags revealed themselves as those who fought with the traitors. Under the command of a metahuman man who sat gunner position of an old tank, Alessandra turned to him for orders.

"<Stand your ground, comrades!>" The commander shouted in Spanish, looking ahead with a pair of binoculars. "<Wait upon my command to fire!>" Thanks to their scarcity of supplies robbed of them from USAN's earlier tactical operations, the Regime couldn't afford suppressive fire or long-range attacks.

Alessandra nodded and turned her attention back on the tank group. They slowly rolled closer and closer, until they were clearly visible. However, while the helicopters and tanks that made up the USAN's military might were clearly in range, they didn't fire a single shot. <What are these fools thinking?> Alessandra thought to herself before raising her rifle, drawing a bead on a distant foot soldier.

"<Brothers and sisters of Zepeta's Regime! This is Colonel Cortez of the USAN-Colombian Task Force!>" A loudspeaker shouted from the opposing force, catching the Regime soldiers off-guard. "<Zepeta's reign of terror is over! You are surrounded on all fronts and our advances have never been successfully stopped! If you value your lives, your loved ones and your nation, surrender immediately, and we will treat you humanely!>" It became clearer that it wasn't a loudspeaker exactly, but a metahuman with sonic vocal abilities. "<You are all outnumbered and outgunned! Stand down, and no harm will come to you!>"

Alessandra had second thoughts at this point. It was indeed obvious that the glorious rule of Zepeta was over, and was clearly threatened by those USAN dogs, but it was clear that they had mercy for their opponents, even at the last legs in their life. But even then, she wasn't too sure about her own loved ones, they all retreated to USAN-territory. Traitorous scum, them. She swore an oath to protect Zepeta and his nation, and protect it she will, with every last breath she took.

"<Fuck you, USAN dogs!>" The commander shouted through his megaphone. "<Long live the Supreme Commander! All units, fire all weapons! Show them no quarter!>"

Alessandra immediately fired her rifle on full-auto, sending her bullets out into the screaming yonder towards the general direction of the enemy. The soldiers around her fired their rifles, machine guns and pistols, or what was left of the armory at the moment, towards the enemy, with the APCs and Tanks firing their machine guns and cannons occasionally. A few explosions hit directly in front of the enemy force, and did a few small dents in the tanks and helicopters, and a few of the USAN foot soldiers were injured, but it seems as if their attack had no effect at all. They continued firing their guns, Alessandra crying out in a burning rage as she unloaded her magazine at USAN.

Then a BOOM was heard. A muzzle flash from one of the tanks. The tank shell came towards them faster than Alessandra could blink, and before she knew it, she was deafened and tossed against a nearby wall, a burning explosion sending shrapnel through her lightly armored uniform, her face burning slightly from the hot dust that shot everywhere. Alessandra whimpered a little in pain, and she could feel a much sharper pain cut through her stomach. A large piece of shrapnel from the old tank had dug itself into her stomach. She blinked, clearing the dust from her eyes, moaning in pain as she witnessed the carnage around her. The tank was destroyed, with some blood and gore in several places. Body parts, as well as many wounded Regime comrades, littered the scene. One of her Regime brothers tried to stand up and bring his RPG to shoulder, but he was immediately torn in half from the devastating machine gun fire that one of the USAN helicopters spat at him. Alessandra watched as her comrades attempted to fight to the last breath, bringing up their weapons towards the enemy before they were promptly gunned down by either the helicopters or mounted machine guns on the enemy armor. All Alessandra could do was watch as the enemy advanced closer and closer. Before long, the helicopters flew overhead, and the tanks pushed past the rubble and corpses that made up the remains of the roadblock she manned. Soon enough, light infantry, powered armor, small mechs, combat robots and armored vehicles followed. Alessandra groaned, blinking. She could feel herself lose energy, she was losing lots of blood already.

One of the female soldiers from USAN turned to her after she groaned, and raised her weapon, a few more turning towards her as well. "<Sister...>" The soldier called out. Even though they clearly weren't related, the USAN soldier was calling Alessandra in an attempt to make the Regime soldier snap out of whatever fervor had her fighting for a tyrant. "<... I can help you.>"

Alessandra weakly looked to her left arm, seeing that it was missing. She then turned to her right arm, which could barely move. She used her right hand to reach up a little, and with a groan, she picked up a nearby pistol weakly, and raised it towards the soldier opposite her. "<...Long... live... Zepeta...>" Alessandra weakly attempted to pull the trigger, but one of the soldiers raised his rifles at her. She felt a pain shoot into her heart, her heart painfully pumping before it stopped. Alessandra only had moments to remember her life before she faded away, her weak arm dropping the handgun. She slowly closed her eyes and faded away, her head leaning to the side, with her last thoughts being that of Zepeta and his glorious empire.

---

Marcario frantically packed his valuables. Family photos, medals, money, passports, some clothes, and some classified intelligence documents, putting it all in one suitcase. He panted a little as he took what he could from his room, hearing distant explosions and gunfire from outside his closed windows. He looked around his own suite within the Presidential Palace, knowing that this is going to be the last look he will ever take of what was his home for years. He turned to Vanessa, one of the Palace Guards that he secretly had a relationship with for a long time, and spoke to her. "<Vanessa, find Cesaro's wife and son, and bring them to me. We must escape quickly before he finds us.>"

Vanessa hesitated, taking off her red beret and holding it in between two of her gloved hands. "<Wouldn't we want to get Zepeta to safety too?>"

"<Love, Cesaro has gone mad years ago, and he will only be worse at this point. We must get to safety before the whole administration implodes with us in it.>" Marcario said, taking out a 4" .357 revolver from one of the endstands. "<USAN will arrive here in force in less than an a half an hour, we don't have a lot of time before they rush in and capture the building.>" Marcario looked around before looking back to Vanessa.

Vanessa nodded and immediately ran out the door. Marcario sighed before checking to see if there was anything else he had left behind. Before long, Vanessa returned with Damita and Antonio in tow. "<Sir, we must hurry.>" Vanessa said.

"<What is going on? Where is Cesaro?>" Damita asked, looking to Marcario.

"<I don't know, but we're running out of time.>" Marcario said quickly, taking his suitcase and holstering his handgun underneath his jacket. "<USAN will be here any minute, we must leave before we die with the others.>"

"<Well I'm not leaving without my father!>" Antonio shouted before leaving.

Marcario reached for him and grabbed Antonio by his sweater. "<Listen. Right now the only thing that's keeping you alive here is me. Your father has repeatedly asked all of his staff to act as human shields as a last-ditch effort to protect himself against the enemy, and if this keeps up, you'll be the next. Got it?"

Antonio gulped and nodded gingerly.

Damita turned to Marcario. "<Where exactly are we going?>"

"<We're taking a helicopter out, and we'll be flying to Mexico. I have contacts there that will keep us safe for the time being.>" Marcario said. "<The defenses to the North will help secure us a route.>" Marcario said, leaving the others out of his room and into the hallway. As he left, he looked around with paranoia. He saw various staff members, whether they be generals, soldiers or secretaries, running around in a panicked fright. Records were being destroyed, and everyone was trying to board up the palace for the eventual arrival of the USAN forces. Marcario continued leading the three down the hall, until he stopped dead in his tracks.

"<Leaving so soon?>" A maniacal chuckle echoed through the hallway. Standing in front of Macario was none other than the Supreme Leader himself, clad in his most glorious military uniform to date. All of his medals, all of his golden tack, his dress whites, his cap, and his insignia. He stood proudly with his hands behind his back, a young male and female soldier on either side of him, with red berets and old M16s. "<It's a shame, my dear Aquila, that you're willing to abandon me and our nation so quickly.>" All four of the escapees stood tensely. "<A very thoughful gesture, protecting my family from me. So where are you headed off to?>"

"<We're going to Mexico, Supreme Commander.>" Marcario said, standing protectively in front of his lover, as well as Zepeta's two only living relatives. "<We must leave while we have the chance. Our dream of our Colombia is dead, Cesaro, and I don't plan on dying with it.>"

Zepeta sighed. "<I see.>" He said softly. "<But you don't need to lie, my dear Aquila. We both know you're not heading to Mexico. We've intercepted your transmissions to USAN, offering intelligence in the exchange for amnesty for you and my family.>"

"<What!?>" Antonio turned to Macario in surprise.

"<There was no other options.>" Macario said. "<We would've been shot down on the way to Mexico.>"

"<That is indeed correct.>" Zepeta nodded. "<However, isn't it much more noble to remain here with what is left of our Empire? I simply would love to have one last drink with you, friend.>"

"<You've gone mad.>" Macario sneered. "<Our nation is done for. We must surrender.>"

"<Enough!>" Zepeta shouted. "<Even if we did surrender, what do you think they will do to us? They'll have me hung in an instant, tried in front of nothing but scum, and hung for saving my country. But apparently the people never liked it when I did some dirty work, so they decided to kill me and tear my work down instead. So, even then, I think staying with what's left of my... dream is a much better idea than waiting to be hung by a bunch of politicians, don't you think?>"

"<Maybe for you.>" Marcario said simply. "<But I prefer to make sure I stay alive. Even if I have to live a life behind bars, I'll do so gladly knowing that I have saved those who I cared about.>"

"<And apparently I'm not one of them?>" Zepeta asked. "<Just a second ago, I would've gladly called you my best friend. Even go as far as calling you brother.>"

"<Oh, you're one of them.>" Marcario nodded. "<But you've gone too far. You've gone crazy, started believing in your own lies and started slaughtering innocents. The lies you sold to the people are also the ones you sold to yourself. You don't know the extent of your powers, and clearly they have fucked you up. They have brought out the worst in humanity, and brought nothing to our country but misery and bloodshed!>"

"<I have brought this country into greatness! I have destroyed many evils that lurked within the darkness here! And the people are ungrateful! I've done everything I could for them, and this is how they treat me, how you treat me?!>" Zepeta shouted.

"<You're delusional.>" Marcario said softly.

"<Rather novel words coming from you, never once have you said anything like that to me. And to think that we called each other brothers.>"

"<The man that I called my brother... well... he died years ago. A man who went by the name of Supreme Commander took his place, and turned everything into a living hell.>" Marcario said.

"<Well then, if you thought that, why didn't you stop me?>"

"<I didn't know the extent of your powers. I was afraid that you were going to erase my mind and turned me into a hate-filled monster, and do the same to your family.>" Marcario said. "<I cared about you, Cesaro. I loved you. But... your powers, they made you messed up. You used to be a man, but now you're a monster. I only joined this game to kill those damned terrorists and destroy those fucking cartels, but you took it way too far, and brought the war to our own poeple. Metahumans and humans alike.>" Marcario said. "<Ever since Maria died you went off the deep end.>" Marcario sighed. "<We've talked enough, we must move before USAN storms the building.>"

Just as Marcario turned to leave and bring the other three with him, the two teenage guards on either side of Zepeta immediately took aim at them with their rifles, forcing Marcario to stop once again. Marcario drew his revolver, and Vanessa's right hand crackled with electricity, creating a standoff between the both of them. Damita clearly wanted to stay with Marcario, but Antonio looked quite conflicted about the situation. Marcario kept his handgun trained on Zepeta, while Vanessa's gloved hand continued to display bright arcs of electricity in between her fingers. They remained that way, still, for at least ten seconds.

"<Let us go.>" Marcario said. "<You can die with your dream for all I care. All that matters to me is their safety.>" Marcario said, pausing for a moment before speaking again. "<I've done enough for you already.>"

Zepeta remained quiet, and stared daggers into Marcario's eyes. They remained there for several seconds, before someone from the bottom floor shouted.

"<They're here! The USAN dogs are here! Fire! Fire!>" Loud sounds of automatic gunfire erupted from the lower floors, and glass shattered. Screams and shouts from soldiers started to fill the hall below them, with distant explosions starting to fill the cacophony of battle.

Zepeta remained still before speaking. "<Join the others in the defense.>" He said to the two guards, who then stood down and immediately ran towards the stairs. He turned to Zepeta. "<Leave. Before I shoot you myself.>"

Marcario immediately tapped Vanessa, who promptly ran with the other two towards the back entrance. As Marcario looked behind, running with the others, he shared one last look with Zepeta. Zepeta was hiding sadness and defeat in his eyes, but with a blink and a slight turn, Zepeta looked determined once again. Marcario continued running with Vanessa, Damita and Antonio, hurrying out through the various hallways that made up the Presidential Palace to the back entrance.

Running out through the back entrance, he saw a helicopter getting ready for takeoff on the helipad. Only two red berets, both teenagers, stood guard by the helipad, saluting Marcario as he ran towards them with others. Marcario looked at them sadly as he approached the helicopter. "<Stand down when they arrive, don't throw your lives away.>"

"<Sir!>" The female soldier called out, saluting Marcario.

"<At ease.>" Marcario said before the soldier promptly walked to the helicopter and opened the door for him. Marcario climbed into the helicopter, Vanessa sitting right next to him. As Antonio and Damita sat across from them, Marcario and Vanessa's hands joined and they held on tight. The door closed behind them, and as the helicopter took off, both soldiers saluted them as they departed.

"<Are they going to shoot us down?>" Damita asked, concerned.

"<No. USAN knows who we are. I'm carrying a friendly transmitter on me so their IFF won't target us.>" Marcario said, sadly looking upon the presidential palace one last time, seeing it surrounded by tanks, robots, mechs, power armor and metahumans, all laying siege to it. "<Goodbye, old friend.>"

---

Zepeta was all alone with two of his last palace guards, standing on either side of him. A man and a woman, with red berets and Tavors in hand. They stood guard with guns aimed at the door, making sure no one comes in, not even friendlies. Zepeta remained seated at a posh dining table, with paintings of himself decorating the walls, as well as statues of himself. Pouring himself some scotch, dated from 1903, Zepeta figured he'd drink the finest and most expensive alcohol in his personal collection before going down in flames. He smiled a little and took a sip.

"<Can you hear them, comrades? Can you hear the death of a dream?>" Zepeta asked rhetorically, letting his silence be filled in from the gunfire and screaming outside the door. Both of his guards remained stoic with their guns aimed at the door, not batting an eye. "<And here I thought it would outlive me. Such a shame, really.>" He said softly, taking another sip. He remained there silently, squeezing a single tear from his eye. "<How could one man handle losing everything? His family, his friend... his country...>" He drank the whole glass. "<What if Aquila is right... what if I did go to far? And I never knew.>"

Soon enough, the gunfire and screaming came to a slow halt. All that remained was some shouting and some footsteps. Some heavy footsteps approached the door, and in notime, the door had burst open, a single fist punching through the lock that kept it shut. Standing in the doorway was Manuelo Castellanos, the farmer from the North who led USAN to victory in countless of battles. The invincible man with the strength of the gods, here to bring justice to the tyrant who has ravaged his country.

Immediately, the two guards opened fire upon him. Manuelo tiredly looked at them as the rifle rounds just simply stopped and crumbled against his body, sighing as he waited until they emptied their magazines upon him. Once they did, Manuelo simply marched inside, took the rifles from the stunned guards, bent them with ease, and tossed them towards the USAN soldiers that stood beyond the door. The male guard tried to pull a gun on him, but Manuelo simply grabbed the guard and tossed him out the door. The female guard gulped and pulled a knife, and Manuelo watched as she tried to slash him. Her knife bent against Manuelo's stomach, and the guard looked upon him in awe.

"<No way...>" The woman couldn't believe it.

"<It's okay, I get that alot.>" Manuelo said casually. He simply grabbed the woman by the neck and began to choke her unconscious, holding her up in the air as the woman wiggled in his grasp. Shortly, the red beret was knocked out, and Manuelo gently placed the woman down onto the ground.

Zepeta looked upon Manuelo with a surprised grin. "<So... that's the infamous Goliath that my soldiers have been telling me about. Despite your power, how come everyone who comes across you survive their encounters with you?>"

Manuelo looked at Zepeta with cold eyes. "<Because I am not you. The men and women brainwashed by your lies are still men and women all of the same, brothers and sisters, Colombians.>" Manuelo said. "<I am a farmer, not a killer.>"

Zepeta chuckled. "<Well said.>" Zepeta grinned, pulling out a revolver of his own from his holster. This immediately drew the attention of the USAN soldiers outside the door, who aimed their weapons at him.

Manuelo shook his head. "<You know damn well that won't work on me.>"

Zepeta grinned. "<Yes yes... I know that. But it works on me.>" Zepeta turned to fire at the USAN soldiers outside, trying to shoot them. Wounding a soldier outside, the few promptly fired back at him and blood had splattered from his chest, some exiting his back. Zepeta fell immediately after being filled with lead, and after falling onto the ground on his back, he groaned softly, a pool of his own blood forming around him. "<... Goodbye... Colom....>" Zepeta couldn't finish before choking on his own blood, fading away from life within seconds.

Manuelo looked upon the corpse of the tyrant. "<Colombia won't miss you.>" Manuelo turned to the injured soldier outside. "<Are you okay, sir?>"

"<I'm fine.>" The USAN soldier groaned before standing up, brushing himself off. "<That hurt like a bitch, and people say body armor's useless.>"

"<I'm glad you're okay.>" Manuelo said before looking around. "<Colonel Cortez? Where are the others?>"

Colonel Cortez, one of the nearby USAN soldiers who happened to be passing by, stopped and saw the scene. "<Oh, shit...>" The Colonel frowned, seeing Zepeta in the bloody mess he was in. "<And I was hoping to at least arrest this prick. Who did this?>"

One of the female USAN soldiers spoke up. "<Sir, he shot at us. We had to return fire.>"

Colonel Cortez nodded. "<Fair enough.>" He sighed before turning to Manuelo. "<Are you asking for the Regime generals? They surrendered downstairs.>"

"<No no, I mean the Executive General... and the other Zepetas. Antonio and Damita.>"

"<Last I've heard, they are currently in the process of peacefully surrendering to USAN, with classified intel, in exchange for amnesty, or at least a lighter court sentence.>" The USAN soldier replied. "<I know what you're thinking, but as far as we know, they aren't responsible for any war crimes->"

"<I know, I know... I just wanted to talk with them was all.>" Manuelo said softly.

---

Manuelo lazily tugged a few-ton piece of rubble from the church, clearing it out from the building while the construction crews were in the process of trying to clear the site of rubble. Manuelo was more than happy to lend a hand in the reconstruction efforts of Colombia. After all, Zepeta's regime and the fight to wrestle Colombia from his grasp did take a huge toll on the nation's infrastructure. It's been months since the sound of gunfire, explosions and human suffering didn't fill the air, and Manuelo was much to happy to finally be rid of it. While the original democratic government of Colombia was in the process of being restored, with the exiled government coming back to do away with Zepeta's draconian way of life, Manuelo didn't feel that much of a difference with this government. While most of Colombia's flaws have been fixed by Zepeta, he had brought in new ones, which are in the process of being erased by this government. Manuelo was happy. FARC was destroyed, the right-wing militias have been disbanded, corrupt politicians before and during Zepeta were jailed, Zepeta and his regime was toppled, and all that was left to do was rebuild.

"<Hey, I recognize you!>" A passerby commented while Manuelo dragged out some rubble. "<You saved me from Zepeta's goons in San Agustin! How can I ever thank you?>"

Manuelo smirked a little. "<You can lend us a hand, if you wouldn't mind.>"

---

After the end of the Colombian War, all parties involved with USAN were more than happy to hand all regime personnel to the International Criminal Court for war crime trials. While more local offenders (such as metahumans who committed murder under Zepeta's banner, or small ringleaders in Zepeta's operations) were tried and sentenced by the democratic Colombian government, the more high-profile folks are now under the custody of the International Criminal Court and their trials are commencing. However, while the end of the Colombian conflict and the war crime trials were worthy of the news in both of the Americas (as well as Europe), the attacks from the Hounds of Humanity gained international attention after two cities were obliterated, with another severely damaged.

Watching the news unfold was none other than Marcario himself, who was sitting in a holding cell with his lover Vanessa. While both of them sat together, hands held, Marcario looked as entire cities were obliterated within a blink of an eye. This news absolutely horrified him, and he looked at the television in disbelief.

"<By God...>" Aquila said in Spanish, blinking. "<And here I thought Zepeta has brought the worst in humanity... these... these Hounds have done far worse than what Zepeta could ever achieve!>" He said in disbelief. "<I hope the restored government knows about this. I wish we could do something.>"

Vanessa looked at Aquila and frowned. "<What can we do? We're about to get locked up. Even if we were free->"

"When you are free." An English voice said from the other side of the holding cell, having opened the door to it. A middle-aged man in a suit, with glowing lines along his neck and some glowing tech in his eyes, cleared his throat. "Executive General Aquila Marcario, I presume?"

"No longer." Aquila said, speaking in fluent English, his Colombian accent revealing himself. "I stepped down from that position when the war ended, and I would rather not be called by that. I don't like to be associated with tyrants."

"I understand." The man nodded curtly.

"Who are you anyway? Are you ICC?" Vanessa asked, her accent clear as day but her diction fluent.

The man chuckled and shook his head. "No, but part of an organization far more powerful." He put on his hat, making him look like an agent from the 60s. "My name is Mr. Smith." He said. "I work for a particular group of people that doesn't like to see talent thrown away, whether it would be in impoverished places or... places like this."

"Where are you getting at?" Aquila asked.

"I can get the both of you out of the gallows, Mr. Macario..." Mr. Smith turned to Vanessa. "... Lieutenant." He stepped forward. "Due to recent events such as that, we need all of the help we can get in order to defeat folks like this. The kind of work we'll be having you doing might not be exactly pretty or honest... but it keeps innocent folk and societies themselves out of harms way. If you agree to help us, well, I can make sure the both of you are acquitted of any crimes you may be sentenced to, and make sure you're both compensated fairly."

Aquila looked at him skeptically. "What about the Zepetas?"

"We're extending the offer to them too." Mr. Smith nodded. "And don't worry, we know what happened, and why you did the things you did. We won't hold it against you." He paused. "We have enough evidence to acquit you. Should you accept the offer, we will do so and make the process as smooth as possible. What say you?"

Aquila looked to Vanessa and looked back to Mr. Smith. "I'll think about it."

Reaching for my resistance

---

Time: A Few Hours Later - Day of the Satellite Attack
Location: Sherman Square, Lost Haven

Inevitably Charlie ran out of steam, spending the majority of her way home - running. Still forcing herself to take long detours and doubling back. As much as she itched to get home she was in no way going to risk leading the Witchfinder-General to her family.

She had the radio turned up loud enough to catch all news regarding the newest attacks. Deciding she wanted to take a short cut through Sherman Square back to the east side of the city, having left through the financial district. Charlie forced herself to stop at a convenient store to grab something to drink and a small bag of chips. The clerk hardly paid any attention to her, eyes glued on the tv.

Mind blank with dread, her feet took her to the steps of the Museum of Supers. She sat on the steps leading up to the museum, it was closed hours ago. Some pigeons joined her while she people watched the scarce person walking by. The police station a few blocks away was overflowing with vehicles as off duty cops came pouring into work on-call to prepare for an attack from the Hounds of Humanity.

Charlie shuffled through her chips, chewing mechanically. Eating with one hand and changing the salty snack into various elements in the other hand. She grabbed her phone checking the time. She wanted to call Carrie, she wanted to call her mom, anyone just to hear their voice. She wrapped her arms around her legs, chin resting on her knees. And say what to them? That they were all doomed, Lost Haven was the obvious next target. Their home would be reduced to rubble and ash.

Tears started to dribble down her cheeks.

Was there really nothing she could do? She felt like she was drowning in the deep end of a pool with no hope of her toes touching bottom.

The sudden appearance of Icon caught her off guard he touched down in the middle of Sherman Square, easily recognizable. She stood up with a start, the sound of a jet engine approaching came down from the sky next as Iron Knight made his appearance as well. Charlie’s jaw dropped.

He survived!

Radiance was the next to arrive, iconically dressed in her costume. The new face, Slipstream zipped into view within the blink of an eye. Lyger arrived by motorcycle, joining them as well. Charlie felt her heart pick up at the sight of all the metahumans, gathering as she assumed with the latest attack from the Hounds. They were really doing something! She searched for White Witch, someone - anyone from the magic community standing up with the heroes.

It dawned on her then as she stood there slack jawed. There was no one there to stand up for her own, for the witches like Carrie and Maddi nor the creatures like Berry. She turned to look up at the Museum of Supers - a standing testament to their good deeds and history. She glanced back down to her staff. Lost Haven was their home as much as it was the metahumans, neither side were without their flaws. She thought of Pantheon and Terra Firma, the university.

Her family had to continue with or without her. Everything her Gramps built in Lost Haven was hanging on a thread. All of their own history too.

Charlie had a choice, she could have walked away and joined her family in packing their things to evacuate the city. But she decided then, she couldn’t live with herself if she walked away now. The Witchfinder General would be knocked out of the game if she helped pull the plug on their entire organization.

She quickly stuffed the bag of chips into her pocket, drained the last of the bottle of water she had. Swiping her sleeve under her nose she approached the group of supers, back straight and mask up. As she approached the heroes paid little attention to her, their own conversations taking precedence than a random civilian.

“H-hey.”

She cleared her throat.

“Hey!” Still no response. “For fuckssakes.”

She slammed the butt of her staff into the ground kicking up dust all around them.

Some of them coughed, others looked irritated at her instance.

Green eyes hard as stone, she began. “You don’t know me. There isn’t a single person here to represent the magic folk getting terrorized by the Hounds of Humanity the same as you guys. My name is the Alchemyst.”

She fished the chip out of back pocket, steam rolling into her next thought. “I was at the university the day it was attacked, I destroyed those towers. This is the bit of technology I fished out that they used to hurt metahumans with - a special sound frequency. Probably the same shit we’re going to run into again. If you want to dismantle that satellite you’re gonna to have to do it properly.”

“I’m the woman for the job. I have as much at stake, Lost Haven is my home. And. . .” She paused looking each hero in the eye, “I’m going to help whether you like it or not.”

In his bed Sinclaire laid gripping his right arm in particular as Gargoyle’s grasp had done its worst on his dominant hand, trembling he popped a jar of pills open and tossed a unassuming one in his mouth downing a glass of water. He knew there should be surging pain through his limbs that he should be unable to even move, but as his fingers grasped the cup he cursed. Cursed at his own powerlessness to see things done; while he had saved the day the sun still rose without him in the city and more would crime would go unanswered. “Fu#$ing shit!” Following a crash against the wall as shards rained down to the tile below and Sinclaire pushing himself off the bed as he tried to fight his own current state, a mix of anger and frustration washed over him as his legs gave way beneath him. Perhaps Sinclaire Adams’ greatest fault was his own pride his need to never let himself feel useless, a waste of space that otherwise would have been any other human being if it weren’t for powers.

Over the intercom a Nurse began to page for Doctor Winters. “Dr. Winters, your presence is required at the front desk, Dr. Winters to the front desk.” Hanging up the phone, she turned to the man. “He’ll be right with you, Mrs. Patton already informed us you might be arriving.”

With a brisk pace Dr. Winters approached, as he signed off other documents and prescribed treatments. “Yes yes, what do you need Nurse?”

“Two visitors here to see you.”

At the front desk, there stood two superhumans. The first was the bird-headed hero dubbed the Son of Osiris. A kitsune-like woman, who wore a costume far more colorful than Osiris’ Egyptian themed outfit, accompanied the man. The two heroes stuck out in the hospital like a sore thumb. The Son of Osiris was the first to approach Dr. Winters, while Firefox followed close behind.

“You two are clearly not injured, so is there anything I can help you with, I need to make my rounds soon.”

We are here to see a certain Sinclair Adams. The good people over at S.P.A.R.K. mentioned during the news conference that he was in need of medical assistance, the Son of Osiris telepathically communicated with the doctor, although he did not even consider how the man would react to telepathy for the first time.

A bit of shock grasped the Doctor as he steadied himself. “I had a colleague who worked as the Espers personal Doctor, and he’d always mention how unnerving telepathy was. But dear god, I do think he underplayed it. Fine. S.P.A.R.K., yes, um Oh yes that’s right Mrs. Patton’s new program. I’ve been dealing with patients all day so her little project hasn’t really made its way into my lexicon. I won’t take offense to you offer for medical aid if you promise not to hold what you’ll see against him. This way.” Setting his clipboard down on the desk and sliding it over to one of the nurses he lead Osiris and his female companion towards Sinclaire’s room.

Grasping the side of the bed frame Sinclaire began pulling himself off the floor as he heard a knock. “Now, it’s best I go first.”

Raising his voice he yelled at Eddie. “Fu@# do you want, I’m fine just fine. I don’t need your help!”

I thought this was the reason why you handed us your business card at the day when the Game Genie attacked the city, the Son of Osiris mentioned to the broken Hound Dog.

“Fu@#ing telepaths! I’M Always handing out my cards I.”

“We’re the premiere team on this side of the country. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Firefox interjected before the Son of Osiris could answer back. She could tell that his telepathy was not settling well with Hound Dog and thought they needed a different approach.

Stuttering for a second Hound Dog reconstructed himself. “I, I’m sorry. Taught never to raise my voice in front of a Doll. I.” Hound Dog said as he reached for his comb and with shaken nerves dropped it between his fingers. “I.. I just need a moment.”

Winters placed his hand on Osiris’s shoulder. “I’ve been his doctor ever since he came into this hospital, his condition has placed quite the toll on him. He’s normally well composed but in times like these.” He said leaning in closer. “He gets his temper from his mother, and he hates himself for it.”

His stuttering stopped he began to construct his sentences according to his persona he crafted. “I. Sorry dollface, I let myself get too frosted. Never liked being cooped up. I’d like to apologize, offer my sincerest apologies. So what are youse all here for?” Hound Dog said managing to lift himself onto the bed.

“Apology accepted,” Firefox said while biting her lip. If he were not confined to a hospital bed, she would have given him an earful for calling her dollface. “Now, let Osiris proceed with what we came here to do.”

“I don’t think I dig. What are youse all here to do exactly.” Hound Dog said, confused and with a pang of guilt for letting his act slip raising his voice and getting a rise out of his anger.

“Did Mrs. Patton not inform you yet, you didn’t watch the broadcast?”

“Nah, forgot to tune in, had Happy Days on the tube, season ten episode fifteen. Got real into it and just let that slip by. Why?”

“Mrs. Patton was seeking out aid for your more critical injures. Didn’t let on how bad, just mentioned a broken arm is all. You should look that up she started up some hero program.”

Letting that sink in, the fact that Osiris came to heal him sank his spirits more. “Geeze, and here I am being a wet rag, no even worse an ass. Look I am terribly sorry I acted that way, I don’t know how I’ll ever make that up to youse all.”

Just promise to be more careful next time, the Son of Osiris suggested. There may be a day where I am unavailable to heal such severe wounds.

The Son of Osiris then approached the medical bed and raised his ankh-topped staff above the bed-ridden Hound Dog.

Don’t worry. This won’t hurt. Soon, all of your injuries shall be a thing of the past.

“How much does that go back, could it heal all? A handy cure all, a grand panacea couldn’t exist. Right?” Hound Dog questioned.

I’m empowered by the god who holds power over life and death. It is very possible.

Hound Dog slumping back let himself think. Gods, what crazy bull have I gotten myself into. What are the chances I’d meet some crazy Clyde claiming his powers came from a god. It’s almost too impossible to imagine. Sometimes I think I’m the crazy one.

Thinking on the possibility that he could walk again, without his powers if need be, he could feel pain and the weight of his steps, and at the same time negate his dream of walking by his own scientific mind. “I don’t know how I feel about that. I’ve had a lot of time to focus on my education as a child and I worked hard so that one day I could work on a device to restore limb functions not just for myself but others. Devices based on my own powers, that would in theory jumpstart cellular regeneration. I studied electrostatics, theoretical physics and anatomy. I’m no super genius but I worked my ass off trying to create a theoretical device a breakthrough that would restore nerve connections through electrical stimulation.”

While I have no desire to crush your dreams, please consider this. With that sort of injury, if your powers were ever nullified, you would be helpless in what might be an extremely dangerous situation. I won’t go against your wishes, but at least hear me out.

“I wouldn’t actually use my powers. The whole theory I’m working on is I can replicate them with less output. As that much electricity would fry a normal human being. ” Hound Dog responded still uneasy but a part of him understands that without his powers he’d be paralyzed again, just like he was when he faced Gargoyle to an extent. If Gargoyle’s tech affected his powers directly instead of just nullifying attacks he’d be unable to even defend himself. “But I dig that if my chassis were nullified I see your point. I am worried that my powers might harm myself again.” Hound Dog said as he rolled up his sleeve and revealed the arm under his hospital gown to be charred and damaged. “You dig what I mean.”

It is your choice to make. I will not hold it against you either way.

“Other than looking like a hotdog that’s been in a broiler too long, I’m more worried that I’ll face off against more tech that Gargoyle had or those who made them. If the Hounds mass produce those even if they simply blocked attacks I’d be fucked. And I got the jets to see that possibility. So yeah. Go all the way.” He said a part of him felt guilt and another relieved that he’d at least no longer have to be worried about wheelchairs the next time something happens to his powers.

When Hound Dog had finally given him the appropriate permission, the Son of Osiris channelled his magical powers through his staff and began healing the boy’s broken body. Slowly, Hound Dog’s body slowly began to regenerate. HIs wounds all but disappeared, even his broken spine, which had plagued him since childhood. In a matter of seconds, Hound Dog was as good as new.

However, since he had used his healing powers to cure two extreme injuries within a short amount of time, the Son of Osiris’ stamina was almost drained. He stumbled backwards. His feet could barely hold him. Firefox immediately jumped forward and gave him a shoulder to rest on.

“You need to rest, Osiris,” Firefox suggested to her teammate. She then turned to Hound Dog. “And you need to make the most of this opportunity. One of our strongest assets against the Hounds is now sidelined to heal you and that Arthur guy. Don’t make his sacrifice be in vain.”

“Oh I will. I’m cruisin’ for a bruisin’ and those Hounds are a great party favor to smash up. Just need a place to go, you wouldn’t know where I can find a bunch of them do you?”

An Unwanted Eye: Prelude

One Day Before the Catastrophe

---

Halted were the wheels of the blue Honda Civic outside the Amim residence's honey colored door. From the vehicle's gut stepped a sleek young man; his hair lay against his neck and rained past his shoulders. His frame was thin, his face canvassed like a demigod. The young man had nerve thrusting through him as he made his way up the stone steps which provided advance to the carpeted front porch of the gaudy brick house. A well manicured fingernail pressed the doorbell.

Shati released her surprise audibly, each of her family member's eyes locked themselves onto their youngest member. Bibi, the matron, exercised her head-of-house privilege and ripped the silence,

"And who might that be?!" Bibi knew, of course, Shati and Bibi had already discussed the details of Shati and her new boyfriend's daytime foray. This was before Shati's elder cousin, Hassan, returned home as a costumed hero-monster-thing. Rahna furrowed an eyebrow, her slender wrist whirred the mocha in her mug. Rahna’s graduate studies had kept her away from the daily goings of her immediate family and perhaps for too long. Bibi rose and strode to the door where she opened the door and at once her forest green eyes lay on the pencil bodied boy who stood before her,

“And you must be Manuel!” Bibi glimmered, she stepped aside so Manuel could enter, a weak grin broke across his jaw, then Manuel stepped inside. Gold shone from the lightning bolt on Pantheon’s chest, and Pantheon’s eyes were shivs which stained the young man’s body with suspicion. Pantheon didn’t blink once. Rahna smelled the tension and jabbed an elbow into Pantheon’s ribs and she only brought injury to herself. Pantheon understood, and retrieved his etiquette: he kicked a chair out from beneath the table and it slid a few inches. With a sly tone Hassan spoke,

“Have a seat.” he still hadn’t blinked.
Shati groaned and rolled her eyes, “You don’t have to be such an idiot all the time, Hassan.”

Manuel was sweating.

Amused by the even the smallest--but affectionate--sufferings he could cause Shati (and because there was nothing particularly interesting to the actual Pantheon amalgum about the course of human social interaction) Hassan assumed control, and the iron stare weltered into malcontent glee. Manuel had unconsciously frozen in word and deed for several minutes, resultant of his awe and fear of the massive costumed figure a few feet away from where he stood. He had seen something like that same lightning bolt on television a while back following the attack on Lost Haven University, but he relegated it to myth. He was already fitting in with the skeptics that were the Amim clan. Shaken from his stupor by fear and reverence, he assumed his position in the seat next to Pantheon. A flash of masculinity washed over Manuel, Shati was siting across from him. He couldn't let himself seem small, not while his woman was watching!

So, Manuel did the most masculine thing he could think of. . . he gave her the flower he had picked from his father's garden thirty minutes before he got there. Bibi let out a near inaudible "aw" sweltering with approval; Rahna, reminiscence; Hassan, over-protection and respect. Shati flashed an embarassed beam of her own. Rahna split the sap in the air with inquiry,

"So, where are you two going?" Rahna put on her own matronly pitch,
"Well," Shati and Manuel said in unison,
"Three," Hassan spit,
"What?" Shati churned, Manuel's eyes widened, Rahna was taken aback. Bibi gave a slight frown.
"Don't eeeven act like you don't know what's been happening out there. Maybe they don't know yet that you're related to me, but it won't be long before they do. When they find out, y'all are all liabilities. I really am not trying to be, you know, a 'hero who has to go on revenge spree because all his family was murdered" trope. . . regardless of how cool it might be."

Rahna open palm slapped Pantheon across the face, the loud clap reverberated through the whole house. Holding his jaw, Hassan's voice seethed with a desired retaliation he knew would remain unfulfilled,

"WHAT WAS THAT FOR?" the clown of a question received no answer. Pantheon moved his attention back to the young lovers seated diagonally on either side of him. He continued,

"So, yeah, anyway, I'm coming with and I don't care if you like it or not." Pantheon smiled. Manuel posited the day's most effective question,

"How are you gonna fit in my dad's car?"

All were stumped.

"That's right! It is a small car!" Shati brightened at her unintentional trump card--big corporation cost cutting. She supposed she was free from Hassan's eye, he never did take well with her and the whole 'having a boyfriend' thing. It was something about 'knowing how boys think.' It was part of the reason Shati never told Hassan anything ever. Hassan gave the impression he was defeated. He would, of course simply fly there and watch in secret but he would never let them know of his glorious countermeasure. Shati stuck her tongue out at her cousin and then the two rose and moved toward Manuel's car. Rahna and Bibi slicked their similarly large nigh-oval shaped eyes to Pantheon, who sat calm after soaking in the apparent rebuff.

"I know what you're thinking, son. Let the girl have her fun, hm?" Bibi always read her son easily.
"She doesn't need you bre--" before Rahna could finish, there was a man-sized hole in the ceiling, Pantheon had waited until Shati and Manuel had driven far enough away before he made his advance.

"Damn it!" Rahna was exasperated, "You know, ohm when you said he had gotten 'a hard head', I didn't know you meant he was a fool."

Bibi threw her hands up, "I did the best I could with him--he gets the dumbass from his father." she chuckled to herself. Rahna peeled her keys from her pocket and headed toward her truck, it was about to be a fun afternoon.

“We warned you. We told you that compliance was non negotiable. Yet you chose not to listen.

The time for talk has past. From this moment on, you are either with us or you are against us.

We are coming, and you will either stand with us, or you will burn with them.”

A few of the lab workers cursed violently at the television set. More then a few people broke down crying, some of them desperately dialing cell phones to contact loved ones. There was a tinkling sound as something made of glass slipped from someone's grip and shattered on the ground. Mostly though, it was silent. Dead silent. So silent that even the sounds that were there seemed muted and distant.

Three cities. Thousands of people. Gone in an instant. Everyone Maddy knew was far out of harm's way, but it still felt like someone close to her had died.

Like most of the others, Maddy could only sit in a foggy stunned silence as she internalized it all, her panicked heartbeat thumping in her chest like an engine. Nautican Island. Paris. Philedelphia. Gone.

"Everyone go home."

Sabrina Durante's sharp voice pierced the quiet, if only because no one had ever heard the boss speak like that before. Pale as marble, and looking just as stiff and lifeless, she seemed determined not to meet anyone's eyes.

"But I don't have-"

"What about the-"

"I SAID GO! LEAVE, GET OUT OF HERE!" Maddy felt the breeze on her face as Durante shot past her and ran into her office, the door locking behind her with a click. A dull murmur broke out as the other students and workers began preparing to leave. Maddy wasn't one of them. Staring blankly at her shoes, her eyes burning with held-back tears, she listened to her heart pounding against her ribs and saw the images rush through her head again. Fire, ash, the burning city. The sirens...the screaming...and the voice.

You will burn with them.

Burn with them

Burn.

BURN.

"Maddy, come on, let's go!"

"Wha-?"

"We have to move fast!" Yavor said, pulling her to her feet. "My co-worker is giving us a ride out of here, we have to get off the road before the evacuations start!"

"W-wait, there's an evacuation?"

"Not yet, but I'll eat my thesis paper if everyone doesn't try to run or riot in the next hour," Yavor responded. "Come on, let's go!"

Maddy complied, letting Yavor lead her through the corridors and out into the parking lot, only ever being vaguely aware of her surroundings. Unfortunately Yavor turned out to be right, as a mob of escaping cars had begun to clog up the lot as the two of them weaved their way through the moving cars.

"Son of a bitch!" Yavor shouted, barely audible over the guttural roar of a motorcycle that tried to cut through a crosswalk to escape, nearly running them over. He was about to swear at the inconsiderate cyclist before Maddy started screaming.

"Mads, what's wrong?!?" Yavor said, wincing as she wrapped herself painfully around his neck.
"Th-they're going to kill me!" Maddy shrieked, paralyzed with utter terror.

"Mads, come on-"

"THEY'RE GOING TO KILL ME!"

"Maddy, it's okay," Yavor tried to say soothingly, nudging the pair of them forward as he realized something was wrong. "I got you, you're going to be fine."

"I d-don't want to die..."

"You're safe Mads, it's going to be okay," Yavor continued, nudging open the car door with his foot and squeezing into the back seat of the car. The driver, a brunette woman with square glasses and her hair tied back, paled slightly as she saw what was going on.

"Goddess, what's wrong with her?"

"I don't know," Yavor admitted, buckling himself in as he let Maddy lie across the backseat. "But I think it would help to get to someplace quiet. I think Maddy's house is closest." Rattling off the address, he turned back to Maddy to make sure she was okay. She stopped screaming, at least.

"I...don't want to die..." Maddy said weakly.

"It's alright, Maddy," Yavor said gently. "Me and Terra will get you home. It's going to be alright..."

"Don't...want to..."

Maddy's eyes fluttered closed as she drifted off.

---

One Hour Later

"You have some nerve showing your face here again, you know."

"I call it a victory lap, Miss Durante."

Sabrina Durante looked at Holt, flanked on both sides by his Hound compatriots, with the same expression she would give something scraped off the bottom of her shoe."You certainly have an interesting interpretation of your victory, then."

"Our victory, you mean?" Holt looked around the alleyway they were meeting at, the same alley they met in weeks ago where they set up deliveries. At least before the biker gang interrupted them. "We're all allies in the fight against the muties, after all?"

"And the million people you slaughtered today are the enemy, then?"

Holt shrugged. "They were warned about what would happen, and they continued to support mutants. They paid the price."

"What was it that Nietzsche said?" Durante spat back. "He who fights monsters...?"

"You are being naiive, Durante. It had to be done. You can't make an omelette without-"

"Don't trot out that old excuse, you insipid lackey!" Sabrina barked, her teeth bared in anger. "Don't you think I knew that people were going to get hurt when we started working together? I know we need to hurt some people to ensure the purity of our species but Holt...?"

Durante drew up so close to the Hounds grunt that he could feel her breath on his face.

"You just wiped out a million of those pure humans you claim to protect. And don't you dare say those people you murdered were traitors," she interrupted when he opened his mouth to reply. "The way I see it, the only traitors to the cause here are you and the rest of your fucking Hounds. Go shoot down more humans with your laser, I'm done with you."

There was a pregnant pause as Durante turned on her heel to leave, leaving Holt in the dust. Before she could turn the corner, a figure stepped out of the shadows, the barrel of a shotgun pointing at her navel.

"Shame," Holt commented. "That you were not as steadfast as we had hoped." Durante walked backwards towards the first three men as Holt and his cronies drew pistols.

"Another pure human you're going to murder, then?" Durante said, her lips tightening as she spoke.

"Not really," Holt replied, placing the gun barrel against her forehead. "You're not pure anymore."

"That...was an utterly abysmal one-liner!"

Holt turned around sharply at the sound of the voice, finding its owner standing on the rooftops overhead. The four Hounds and their would-be victim stared in perplexed amazement at the gas-mask wearing spiky haired doctor, his lab coat fluttering in the wind.

"I could do a better witty sendoff in my SLEEP, even without my immense genius!" the villain known to some as Dr. Amorphous said. "For instance...'stick' em up!" The doctor snapped his fingers, and an orange glob of goo exploded from one of the overhead windows, making a beeline towards one of the Hounds. Before its victim could even scream in terror, he was sucked into the blob and carried off back into the window as quickly as it came. Durante watched Holt take aim at the doctor in retribution, only to be blasted backwards by a sudden gust of wind, slamming him into the wall.

"Boss, I-" the other Hound tried to speak, but his words quickly devolved into a wet gargle as his head fell from his shoulders in a spray of blood. Some of the stain hung in midair as the cyborg ninja Typhoon reappeared underneath, wiping his blade clean.

"Payment for the arm," he said coolly. Durante turned back to the shotgun wielder, who had simply stood their for the entire curb-stomp fight, a pained expression on his face. Finally, the gun fell limply from his fingers as he dropped to his knees, clutching at his chest. There was a beeping sound from behind the man as the grinning catlike visage of MonsterK4t emerged from the shadows, clapping the shotgun wielder on the shoulder.

"High-frequency sound waves overstimulating the ventricles!" Dr. Amorphous declared as he himself descended from the rooftops. "A bit brutal for my tastes, but effective nonetheless!"

"He's giving this Hound a massive heart attack, in laymen's terms," Reisen remarked as she floated down alongside the Doctor to the ground floor. Looking over at Holt crumpled against the wall to make sure he was still there, the assembled villains all turned back to Durante, still standing there in stunned amazement.

"I suggest you leave," Reisen offered.

"I...I have information on them!" Durante said defiantly. MonsterK4t beeped rapidly in response.

"Our mewing musician is right, take that information to a hero, we have other things to do!" Dr. Amorphous declared. "I recommend that pesky Voyager, but for now, begone!" Unwilling to argue, Durante scurried off as the villains all gathered near Holt, who made an attempt to reach for his gun before giving up with a chuckle.

"Fine, ya fucking muties," he said, blood trickling from his mouth. "Kill me and get it over with."

"We are not interested in killing you," Typhoon remarked coolly, sheathing his sword with a flourish. "We intend to send you a message."

"What, the four of you?"

"Not exactly."

There was a loud rattling as the garage doors to the warehouse started to open. Holt watched in shock as Fangs lifted the doors over her head, revealing a small mob of bystanders. As they swarmed out of the warehouse, more came in from the alley and outside of doors, other mutants and minor villains, patrons of Logans, friends and family of those lost in the satellite attack, or lost in the raids launched by the Hounds. Some of them showed off their powers as they approached, while others held weapons, chains and blunt objects. As Holt looked at the mob approaching him, feeling fear for the first time, a man with a hunk of steel stepped forward, heating it with flames summoned from his hand, and pressed it against Holt's cheek as others held him down. Screaming in pain, he glared bitterly at the mob after the man stepped back, revealing the outline of a dog branded onto his cheek.

"Now the world knows who you work for," Fangs said. "You can take a message back to your bosses for us."

"And what would that be?" Holt snarled.

"War is the remedy that our enemies have chosen, and I say let us give them all they want," Reisen quoted.

"In short...we're going to fuck you up."

The bullets pounded the psionic barrier like torrential rain from all directions and in The Wanderer’s mind, he could feel each bullet hitting at their respective points in his head. He didn’t dare think about how strong the barrier was as he faced near-mental exhaustion. Every time he felt like the barrier was going to fail from the exhaustion, he shrunk the barrier smaller until it barely encompassed him in a human-sized cocoon. If the barrier faltered for even one second, it would be game over and history would repeat itself over again. Then how would he live with himself in his last dying thoughts that billions of people would die from the nuclear holocaust that would result?

While the thoughts were racing through his mind, the Hounds continued their relentless barrage, tactically timing their reloads as to not give him an opening. While the barrier is small, it was stronger than it had been when he first put it out. The mutant always looked around to see what his options were for an escape or a counter-attack, but most things came up with nothing. It was only when his options seemed to have run out that a voice came to him in his head. ”Do you think that is the limits of your own abilities in the aether?” It was then he thought back to the person who spoke those words.

---

The wasteland had been as The Wanderer remembered; desolate and void of almost all life. He remembered this memory to be 10 years after he had been put into then exile for his transformation from human into a mutant. And it was 9 years since he met him. A flash of purple shone through the barren landscape, bringing him closer to the source. As he drew closer, he saw dead vegetation near the source and decided to hide in them to see what was going on. As he pushed through the dead bushes that stood in his way to get a better view, he got a glimpse of what was going on: one of the many sparring sessions he had with the person who trained him in a lot of the psionics that he knew now. He remembered that moment in his memory that he had just gotten the hang of his beam and combat-enhancement abilities and was practising them with everything he had back then. He watched as his younger self despite the abilities he had back then get swatted aside by a mutant he called The Scholar.

“You’ve got to stop wasting your abilities so needlessly.”

He could remember the frustrations he felt that day when he got back up to try and strike the elderly mutant at least once in the sparring session, the objective of this particular session. He watched as his younger self reactivated his combat-enhancing aura and launched himself again. Now looking back in hindsight, The Wanderer thought about how foolish he was not using the advice he received to help himself back then. He knew that he had been exiled a year ago at this point, but it was no excuse for the rage-fueled assault. He could only watch as the attempted attack was simply dodged and swatted him aside, causing the younger man to crash onto the floor. The frustrations reached a boiling point at that point, ”Why can’t I hit you?!”

“You are focusing on the direct and being blind to everything that is around you.” By then, the young Wanderer sat up and looked at his teacher. “Psionics isn’t just about seeing what is in front of you and trying to find the shortest means possible to get to that point. Do you think that is the limits of your abilities in the aether? The psionic energy is all around us, no matter how strong or weak you are and you can use that to your advantage. Consider this a quick lesson: stand up and pull up your barrier just facing towards me, using everything you have.” The young man stood up and complied, pulling up a strong, directional barrier between The Wanderer and The Scholar. “All you are concentrating on is trying to breach what is in front of you, like so.” The elder mutant raised his hand and started a barrage of psionic balls against the barrier, which crashed on the surface harmlessly. “What you need to realize is that there are many paths you can take to reach the same destination. What do you see from your barrier?”

The young man looked puzzled at first, but as he let the question sink in, he noticed that the barrier had been protecting him from the direct attack and there is a lot of things that the barrier doesn’t cover. ”There’s only one direction the barrier is protecting me.”

“Correct. If you concentrate on just using psionic abilities directly, sometimes something can be overwhelming that you won’t be able to achieve it is that you want to do. If you cannot overcome what is in front of you, you always find a way around it and exploit the weakness that is front of you.” As he finished, he launched another small psionic ball that seemed to be directed at the barrier again. However, instead of it hitting the barrier, it stopped short and shot to the left of the barrier, going around it like it was nothing. The barrier disappeared to encompass him as the ball surged towards him. A moment passed as the impact of both the lessons and the attack sank in. “I’ll conclude this session early while you think about what was mentioned just now. We’ll carry in with this at the next daybreak.”

The young man bowed and simply walked in the direction to where Settlement 149 was. A few moments later, The Scholar turned to the lone bush that was nearby. “You remembering the memory of this session?”

Taken by surprise by the eyes of the elder Mutant looking at him, The Wanderer emerged from the bush and approached closer. ”You know that I’m here?”

“I know that you are not here physically as this is only just your memory, but there are a lot of things in the realms of psionics that you still need to learn.” The Scholar sat down on the barren ground as the time-traveller did. “This had been an important memory for you as you took the words to heart and improved dramatically. You know there is much you need to learn still.” He paused for a moment. “I see you are on the defensive against these… Hounds… and are stuck on trying to find a way out. Seems it to be fitting that you thought back to this lesson.”

”I’ve done everything I can to think of a way out, but I can’t seem to think of a way out. Not while I have my barrier up to protect me.”

“I see… I would say that this lesson I taught you before you got to where you are now still applies. However…” The Wanderer looked at The Scholar as the elder mutant looked into his eyes. “I can tell you something that you’ll need to learn as well, though this is more of an observation from the hours of teachings; You are a person of absolutes. You have a tendency of either throwing an absolute defence or creating an onslaught of immense attacks. Both of those are impressive to watch, even by my standards. But, you seemingly don’t transition between the two without pausing to think about what to do next. You have a lot of things you can do with psionics, you can transition from attack to defence with them and vice versa. I won’t decide what you are to do in your situation, but I can see one way of doing it that you should be more than capable of doing. Now is the time to learn about transitioning from one state to another and develop it to your already impressive abilities.”

---

The Wanderer snapped back to his reality. The bullets are still pounding on the small barrier. He looked around again, focusing with his psionic eye. The psionic lines were still flowing, more than they had done in the future. However, it then he noticed that the Hounds were completely surrounding him. However, this observation wasn’t new to him. It was what he could do in that situation that he now observed. None of them were moving from their spots at all. So, that’s what you could see eh, old man? he thought to himself. He chuckled as he began to focus once more. His body began to sprout the purple flames of the psionics that emanated from his ever-present aura. This aura engulfed the barrier in its fierce flames. He drew upon every ounce of his psionic aura left in his body. When he was ready, he said one thing that all of the armoured men could hear.

”My turn…”

For the Hounds that surrounded him, time went slowly as they witnessed what happened after those words. The Wanderer simply lashed out, roaring in anger as the built-up energy was unleashed. The barrier simply shattered as he began his assault. In its place, a wave of energy was unleashed similar to the wave that the world felt on that day. However, as it manifested on the planet, the energy had matter to push through. The pushed air sent a shockwave that stopped the bullets dead in their trajectories. The psionic energy itself manifested in the air molecules itself as heat is produced. All the common components of a high explosive detonation. The energy that produced the explosion ripped through the Hound lines as if they were nothing. Everyone in the immediate area was killed by the shockwave outright. The following explosion itself sent bodies and broken parts from the vehicles apart. The shockwaves even smashed out the windows in the area and caused distant cars to blare out their alarms. The buildings in the immediate area were damaged by the explosion to the point where they were structurally unsafe. Apart from the impact crater that the explosion formed, the rest of the road seemed to be untouched.

In the aftermath of the explosion, The Wanderer collapsed, his energy almost spent completely in the psionic explosion of his barrier. His breath was ragged and hard, sweat poured from his brow. After a few moments, sirens heard in the distance, the mutant got up from the center of the crater and staggered away, leaving little of him behind as he weaved past body parts and debris. As soon as he was clear and away from everything, he walked into an alleyway and collapsed once more behind a dumpster. It was only then that everything went black.

---

Marie and Benjamin were taken to adjacent rooms down a long and winding corridor. The walls were etched at the top and bottom with intricate vines that seemed to twist around one another in the corner of one’s eye. The decor was rustic, almost medieval, with grandiose furnishings and wall hangings, many of which sported rich banners and clothes dyed royal purples or deep greens; Faerie colors, Marie noticed.

The two of them were given as much comfort as was available; Marie was taken to a spare bedroom constructed for witches seeking asylum, one of a few that dotted the whole of the sanctuary, while Ben was carefully placed on a large bench in one of the work rooms so as not to get blood or fur on the good linens.

Genevieve came to Marie’s room first, two women in tow, one carrying a censure and a pewter bowl, the other a black book and short dagger. They positioned themselves in a triangle, Genevieve at the foot of the bed, the two witches on either side of Marie.

“It is a most insidious poison that courses through your veins,” Genevieve cautioned Marie, taking the book in her hands. “Designed to sap our kind of our strength, deplete our will and weaken the cunning flame. It is imparted on silver objects via a ‘blessing,’ though few who have felt its sting would think it so.”

She leaned down with a smile.

“Fortunately, the rite to purge your body of this curse is a simple one, if not a little time consuming. We will need to bleed you, however, just a little. The herbs in the censure should dull your senses. Close your eyes now.”

Marie did as asked, letting herself drift away, taking in the bitter scent of the burning herbs. It was familiar, traces of belladonna, mandragora, ergot, trance inducing herbs used in works of physical and spiritual flight. A wave of euphoria came over Marie. Her muscles relaxed, her mind was at ease, and slowly she fell into a deep sleep, no, something more than sleep. Her eyes fluttered open once more, but as her vision cleared, she saw herself lying in bed, the witches hard at work.

It had been too long since Marie had undergone the spirit flight, releasing her spirit from her body in the traditional way. She smiled as she watched them work, Genevieve reciting an incantation in some old French dialect, one witch wafting the smoke from the censure over Marie’s body, the other bringing the bowl and blade to her outstretched arm.

Marie’s spirit flinched as she watched herself be cut, though she could feel nothing. A stream of black bile poured from her veins into the waiting vessel, a result of the enchantment, Marie thought. The dark fluid continued to fill the pewter bowl. So much fled her body that Marie wondered if they meant to bleed her dry. After a few more moments, however, her arm began to bleed red once more, prompting the witches to cover it to stop the bleeding.

Genevieve took the filled container into both hands, incanting over it until its contents burst into flames. Marie’s spirit felt invigorated, stronger, though not at peak strength. Her body was covered and left to rest, Genevieve brushing a stray hair from Marie’s face as she whispered into her ear.

“Rest now, and do not exert yourself unnecessarily. We’re off to help the wolf. He should be fine when you wake.”

They filed into the other room where Ben lay motionless on the bench, a second pair of witches, one man and one woman, strapping his limbs to the legs of the bench in case he became violent. It seemed harsh, but Genevieve couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t rip his way through the sanctuary if given a chance. Marie followed in silence, noting Ben’s nostrils opening slightly upon her arrival. Could he sense her spirit?

Holt hopped around on a nearby table as a shadowy raven, motioning with his beak to an opened manuscript detailing the procedure the witches were to perform. Genevieve ran her finger over the page, ensuring she understand the finer details before turning to Ben.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” she spoke plainly, her voice firm with little sign of any other emotion. “Or if you can even understand me as you are. Regardless, the illness which plagues you is twofold. The silver in your system paralyzes you, as I understand, but the blessing applied to the bullets is also working against you. Now,” Genevieve spoke louder, circling around Ben to a large bowl filled with dried purple flowers.

“If the rantings of an eighteenth century Swedish alchemist are to be believed, a fumigation of dried aconite petals will stimulate the muscles and upset your system enough to cause a violent reaction similar to nausea. The common name for aconite is wolfsbane, quite deadly to your kind as I hear. Fear not, the fumes won’t kill you, though I cannot speak to any side effects you may experience after your system has been purged.”

Marie moved closer to Ben, running an invisible hand over his head. She hoped it might be enough to calm him. This was undoubtedly a highly stressful situation for him and the wolf. Had he not already been turned, he would surely have done so by now.

Genevieve placed the smoking herbs near to Ben’s face, wafting the smoke into his nostrils. At the same time, a woman knelt down and carefully cupped his snout, gently pouring a cool, bitter liquid into his mouth.

“We’ve prepared a tincture for the nausea. There are a few muscle relaxers in there as well. I’m afraid that is all we can do for now. According to Marie’s notes, you should regain feeling and mobility soon, though the nausea might make you a little rowdy. Apologies for the restraints, but I must keep the coven’s best interests in mind. Try to rest. We’ll alert your friends to signs of improvement.”

Genevieve led her witches from the room, locking the door behind her and ordering a few of them to check in regularly. She passed by the room holding Kat, Yeong, and Ji, looking them over to make sure they hadn’t gotten themselves into trouble, then turned a corner and returned to the tree at the center of the stronghold.

Some time later. . .

Marie felt the pull of her body stirring. She’d sat at the foot of her bed, glancing back to Ben’s room now and again to look for signs of movement. Her awareness faded, her senses dampening as she returned to her awakening form. As she sat up in her bed, Marie could feel the sting of the cut used in the rite, though it had healed remarkably in the time since Genevieve’s purification. She scanned the room, catching Holt pacing the room as a hare in her periphery.

Awake at last, Holt sounded satisfied, pleased even. He hopped up onto the bed and sat next to Marie. I can feel your strength returning as we speak. How do you feel?

”Better,” Marie let out in a single breath, stretching her arms above her head and yawning. ”It’s been a long day.”

Indeed, but now that we’ve had a chance to rest, will you tell me what you saw? It was a memory, wasn’t it?

Marie shook her head.

”Not now, I need a bit of fresh air. I’ll tell you outside.”

---

The moon began to wane in the sky, fading behind tall buildings in the distant city. A chill crept across the arid landscape, quickly giving way to warm currents of morning. Though the sun had yet to peek above the blazing lights of Vegas, the day was fast approaching. All this time wasted in pain and fear.

Marie stepped through the mirror in the downtrodden shed, dodging fallen boards, broken glass, and billowing tarps, slowly breathing in the crisp air. She finally felt calm. Her wounds had been healed, mostly, and Ben was on his way to recovery. This time alone to reflect was a blessing.

Marie, Holt called from behind, stalking the ground as an ethereal feline. His presence was appreciated. Marie felt that he was a part of her; to be alone with him was to be with herself.

Now that we have the time, what did you see before?

He spoke of her memory in Smithy’s, when Gwyneth’s past overcome Marie’s present. It was a painful experience, not physically, but emotionally, spiritually, the knowing that she had been persecuted so in that time long forgotten. She wanted to unload her woes and worries, but something was amiss. The air changed suddenly . . . she was no longer alone.

The air outside of the shed began to swell, swirling around the figure standing before Marie. The wind even slipped inside of the shed, picking up some of the debris laying around inside and tossed it about outside. The woman who had appeared before the young witch wore a silver-colored dress, while her dark brown hair was buffeted by the strong winds that she had summoned.

“I have waited three long months for this moment,” the woman declared as she began to inch forward towards Marie. The torrential winds followed along, as if the silver-clad woman had been the epicenter. “Revenge is always best served cold”

Marie had enough time to anticipate the sorceress’s appearance to move back, though not enough to dodge a few shards of glass that cut at her legs as they flew from their place. Immediately, Holt positioned himself between the two women, his shape a phantasmal swirl of dark shadows, black tendril-like arms, claws, and teeth.

”Wait!” Marie cried to the both of them, raising a pleading hand for both parties to halt.

Holt reluctantly did as asked, moving just enough for Marie to get a good look at the Silver Sorceress.

”Look,” she began, words heavy with fatigue, ”I . . . I know what this is, okay? I get it. I royally screwed you and Diplodoc over last time we met, but can we not do this today?”

It was an odd request to be sure, but Marie continued nonetheless.

”A lot’s changed in three months and honestly, I could give a rat’s ass about S.T.R.I.K.E., or Icon, or whoever the hell else was on that team in West Virginia. I have nothing to do with that group anymore, nor did I really ever want to in the first place. If you and Diplodoc are planning another Pax Metahumana, be my guest! I’ve got more on my plate to deal with.”

Marie extended her hand as if to offer a handshake, or some other appropriate gesture. She wasn’t so naive as to think the sorceress would stop at just that, but she hoped it’d be enough to start a conversation rather than a fight.

A smile appeared on the Silver Sorceress’ face before she mumbled a few inaudible words under her breath. Suddenly, several shadowy arms slithered out of the ground, grabbed ahold of Marie, and started to try to drag her into the ground.

“Not personal?” the Silver Sorceress taunted the young mage, “It becomes personal when you’ve been held under lock and key while being sedated for three whole months. It becomes personal when your sister had been hospitalized for that same time and you couldn’t do anything for her. This isn’t about being a hero. This is about actions having consequences.”

Marie gasped as the sorceress’s magic wrapped around her arms and waist, squeezing the life from her as they slowly retreated into the earth, the ethereal hands like ice on her skin. Holt responded, slashing at the tendrils with his own shadowy claws, his power just enough to disrupt theirs. It was a struggle, but Marie held on, speaking as she was being cut free.

”Three months, puh,” she scoffed, ”Try having your memories locked away for 500 years, then we’ll talk.”

She pulled herself up, taking in a deep breath before calling to Holt, issuing a series of mental commands. He assumed the form of a raven, circling the immediate area to create a wind to combat the sorceress’s own.

“Once we’re through here, I’ll give you a first hand experience of being put under ice,” the Silver Sorceress threatened while she watched as her opponents were attempting countermeasures against her. Nevertheless, she was quick on her feet and already initiated her next spell.

“So, you reject the title of hero, do you?” the Silver Sorceress called out to Marie, after she had mumbled a few more words. “Why don’t you tell that to all of them.”

She then pointed towards the shadowy figures rising from the ground. Suddenly, a foul spell arose, just like charred skin and hair. Although the physical features of these figures were obscured by their gaseous nature, it was clear that all their hair had been scorched off and their clothes were in tatters. Ghostly echoes resounded from their mouths, asking why she had not saved them, why they had to die. With each moment passing, more shades ascended from the ground and encircled Marie.

“These are just a few of the souls whom the Hounds had just wiped off the face of the Earth. Do you want to tell them you’re not a hero?”

Marie turned to face the mass of burning remains and ephemeral voices, their cries drowning the outside environment, even the whistling of the wind through the loose boards began to fade, replaced by the cry of illusory spirits. To Marie, however, they seemed quite real.

”I-I had nothing to do with that,” Marie stammered, backing away slightly. ”I’m not responsible for what the Hounds do. If anything, it’s you and Diplodoc’s fault they decided to surface in the first place!” Marie cried, head reeling from the cacophony of lost souls infernal pleaing.

Listen to them not! Holt’s voice tried to break through the wall of disembodied screaming, finding that Marie’s mind was nearly closed to him.

They are illusions, Marie. You know this, you have combatted such tricks before. See them for what they are, not spirits, but shadows conjured to confuse.

Marie could only just make out Holt’s voice among countless others, but this spell was insidious. It took hold of that fragment of her old self, the part that longed to be a cunning woman, the part that had, at one time, thought to help the folk of Lost Haven. She covered her ears to escape the crying voices, losing herself momentarily to their screams.

“What a selfish little bitch. She was more concerned with herself than the countless lives of those murdered by the Hounds,” the Silver Sorceress taunted Marie as the mass of shades grew by the moment. Marie’s counter that it was DIplodoc’s fault for the Hounds only fell on deaf ears. “And if Diplodoc had been successful, there would not have a reason for the Hounds to rise up. There would not be any massacres if there were not normal humans left.”

While Marie was distracted by the shades, the Silver Sorceress noticed that the winds she had summoned were slowly dying down. When she examined the sky above, she noticed a shadowy shape of a bird. She could not quite make out all the details of this creature, but she know that it was a threat, as it was flying against the summoned winds. Something like that had to be dealt with.

She was not sure how corporeal this creature was, so she began to use the winds to pick up any sort of nearby rubble and sent it up to where the creature was flying. If that did not slow the being down, she would just have to try something else. Nevertheless, the Silver Sorceress had them separated. If she could force Marie’s hand, then that shadowy bird would just be an annoying distraction.

Suddenly, the ground underneath Marie began to become soft and unstable, just as what had happened to the Raptor Pack back in Albany. Slowly, Marie began to sink into what now seemed like quicksand. Yet the shades, who did not need solid ground to stand, remained unaffected by this next trap that the SIlver Sorceress had cooked up for the White Witch.

Holt was unphased by the floating rubble and debris. They passed through his body as if it were air, but the force behind them, the shifting winds that stirred greater objects in the room, that gave Holt pause. Nevertheless, he pressed forward, the winds roused by his wings clashing with those conjured by the sorceress.

Meanwhile, Marie began to sink, unaware of her predicament. The voices raged on, Holt’s warning fading into the noise.

”I didn’t save them,” she whispered to herself in a whimper, hands clasped against her ears as the earth began to swallow her whole. ”I’m so . . . “

Selfish

The word echoed through her mind. She could hear it in her own voice, from the Silver Sorceress, from Holt, from Puck, from . . . Joseph.

”I’m selfish,” she said aloud, the sound of her own voice cutting through the crying shades. ”I am selfish. I’m a witch.” she uttered with confidence, slowly bringing her hands away from her ears.

”Witchcraft is cruel, selfish, and self serving. It’s a part of me, in my blood. I can give with the right hand and take with the left, and that’s my decision, my will. I do this for me . . .”

Marie turned to the phantasms, arms firmly at her side, the vortex of sand not quite able to move past them.

”I don’t owe you anything!” she screamed at the shadows, her voice pushing at each one, forcing them to retreat, fading back into whatever part of her mind had conjured them, if it existed any longer.

Marie pushed against the quicksand, not with her strength or any physical attribute, but with that vital spark, her powers of fascination working against the charm that kept her trapped. It was enough to free her from the enchantment, her body rolling across the ground to a level patch of sand.

“Well, if you won’t listen to those murdered by the Hounds,” the Silver Sorceress told Marie, unfazed by the White Witch’s ability to get herself out of these enchantments. “Then maybe someone a little more close to home can.”

Finally, one last shade arose from the ground. However, unlike the last mob of ghosts, this one did not look like he had been zapped by an orbital death ray. His usually scruffy brown hair was dirty and matted, bangs plastered to his forehead, which was covered in sweat. His dark eyes were rife with fear, scars and bruises appearing along his sharp features. On his neck lay two, wide holes like bite marks, the wound that killed him in his battle with the Ambassador, the bite from the Ouroboros.

”J-Joseph?” Marie whispered, pushing herself up from the ground, stumbling slightly at the sight of him. She hadn’t seen his wounds, hadn’t known the severity of his condition. He was paler than usual, and gaunt, like the life had been sucked from him. Marie’s hands shook in nervous frustration, her arms quivered. She had tried to forget, but here he was.

“I see you have become stronger, Marie, since I last saw you before I went to the Ironworks,” the shade of her dead friend acknowledged, “but at what cost? What deals have you made with the devil to gain this power?”

Marie shook her head. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes.

”What are you saying?” she responded, trying to reign in her emotions. ”I . . . I’ve done everything you would have done, everything you did. W . . . Why wait all this time to see me? Why now, why this?” Marie began to slur her words as Joseph’s presence brought back memories of their time together. All that he had taught her, all that he had done for her. It was all too much to bear.

“Do you not know with whom you make alliances?” Joseph demanded from her, “Do you not realize that you have now entered a pact with the one who sent me to the afterlife and, in doing so, spit on my memory? Are you so sure about what you are doing and what you are willing to sacrifice to achieve your goals?”

”You-You were the one who charged into a fight that we all told you would end poorly! I warned you, Puck warned you, we tried to keep you out of it! But you wanted fame,” Marie argued, tears streaming down her face.

”You were careless,” she replied almost in a whisper, not wanting to offend, ”How could you think summoning something that unstable would end well for you? Holt cautioned against it. And the Ambassador . . . s-she was just doing a job.”

Marie let out a heavy sigh,

”You told me . . . you were the one who reminded me of what we are,” Marie could barely speak, unable to finish her thought.

“You have not answered me with anything except excuses,” Joseph chided Marie, “Why did you ally with the woman who sent me to the grave? Did our friendship not mean anything to you? Do you have no respect for the dead?”

Marie! Holt called out once again, fighting for a place in Marie’s mind. You cannot speak to Joseph, you know who holds his soul. Fight this!

Meanwhile, the Silver Sorceress was amused by how well her illusion was working. She had definitely hit one of the White Witch’s heartstrings. For the entirety of this conversation with the illusion of Marie’s dead friend, the Silver Sorceress could have taken any of the opportunities presented by the situation to end the young witch. However, ending her would have been too kind of a punishment for the girl. Living with her guilt was way more satisfying to the silver-clad magic user. While the conversation was going on, the Silver Sorceress was conjuring one last spell as a parting gift. Unlike her others, this one would be timed, so that she could make her escape. Small ice crystals began forming below the White Witch’s feet and they gradually grew while she was distracted.

At this moment, the Silver Sorceress decided it was the moment for her retreat. However, before she left, she etched a warning into the ground.

If I wished it, you would be dead now. If you ever cross me again, you won’t be leaving our next confrontation in one piece.

After the message was written, the Silver Sorceress teleported away while Marie was reliving memories with Joseph. At that very moment, the ice crystals rapidly expanded into sharp icicles. While most of them missed Marie, as they were designed to by the Silver Sorceress, one grazed her leg, drawing out blood. At the same time, the shade that the Silver Sorceress had summoned slowly faded away into the breeze, revealing its true nature, since it could not remain intact when its creator was not present.

Marie fell to her knees, the cold chill from the ice creeping through her veins. Holt was instantly at her side, the sorceress’s winds subsiding with her disappearance. He tried to speak to Marie, tried to assure her that all was well, but she couldn’t hear him. Her vision began to blur, a soft breeze carrying the smell of wheat and fresh game into her nostrils.

Marie looked down to see her hands were those of a child, and the cold she felt came from the forest, beckoning her to return. A small village crept behind her, its denizens shooing her off into the wilderness, happy to be rid of the child with the loaded finger. It was a brief glimpse, but Marie knew that this was Gwyneth, her childhood, the fear and abandonment she felt being ushered from the first home she knew.

Marie, Holt’s voice finally made it through, Are you alright?

Marie grabbed her leg, applying pressure to the new cut and wincing at the sting of air brushing against it.

”I . . . I can’t keep doing this, Holt.” she muttered, rocking gently to soothe her physical and mental ache. ”I can’t keep going back to this. I mean look at me!” she shook her head in frustration.

”No, this has to change. Gwyneth wasn’t like this, I wasn’t like this. I was strong . . . I know I was . . .”

Holt perched himself on her shoulder as a raven, nestling his head against her neck as a form of comfort, though she knew he didn’t fully understand the sentiment of the gesture.

With time, you’ll regain that strength . . .”

”No,” Marie cut him off, standing quickly and moving toward the mirror at the back of the shed. Her voice was cold.

”This won’t happen again.”

The images of Philadelphia’s destruction were burned into Icon’s mind as he rocketed from the ruins of the City of Brotherly Love back to Lost Haven. He had done what he could to help with the rescue an recovery efforts, however, a surprise message from Chris Arthur had lured him back to his home city.

“We are currently experiencing a crisis. Please report to Sherman Center immediately.”

Icon had assumed that Arthur has somehow tagged his suit with some sort of device the last time they had worked together during the Pax Metahumana crisis. Though some would see this as a breach of trust, he didn’t, not completely anyhow. And in this case, he was glad that Arthur had done it. It was clear to Icon that it would take a united front to take down the Hounds.

As he flew over Lost Haven, he found it striking at how empty the streets were, though, the empty streets were not isolated to Lost Haven. It was clear that the Hounds had succeeded in instilling fear into the entire country. Icon slowed and began his descent as he approached Sherman Square. Though Arthur had indicated that the meeting would be in the high rise Sherman Center, Icon felt that it was more important to remind the people that he was still here, so he touched down in the middle of the empty street.

It seemed that others had the same idea.

A moment later Icon could hear what sounded like a jet approaching. He looked up and to the left and saw the familiar figure of the Iron Knight approaching, with Radiance right behind him. Slipstream was the next to arrive, with Lyger following suit.

“Was it as bad as they’re saying?” Radiance asked Icon as she put a hand on his arm.

“It’s worse. Paris and Nautican Island are gone. Philadelphia is completely devastated.” Icon told them.

“How did this happen?” Slipstream cut in, her tone resonated with doubt.

“What’s important is how do we stop it from happening again.” Lyger said.

As the heroes talked amongst themselves, none of them noticed that they when a tall, masked woman began to approach them, calling out to them.

“H-hey.” She had said, yet the group of heroes didn’t acknowledge her, they just continued their conversation.

Suddenly there was a banging sound, as if someone had hit something against the street, and the troupe of heroes were engulfed by dust and wind. They all looked around in surprise, and when the dust had settled they all laid eyes on a single tall, slim woman who’s face was concealed by a mask and a pair of goggles.

“You don’t know me. There isn’t a single person here to represent the magic folk getting terrorized by the Hounds of Humanity the same as you guys. My name is the Alchemyst.” She told them as they looked at her, clearly surprised by her approach.

“I was at the university the day it was attacked, I destroyed those towers. This is the bit of technology I fished out that they used to hurt metahumans with - a special sound frequency. Probably the same shit we’re going to run into again. If you want to dismantle that satellite you’re gonna to have to do it properly.”

“I’m the woman for the job. I have as much at stake, Lost Haven is my home. And. . .” She paused looking each hero in the eye, “I’m going to help whether you like it or not.”

“If you’re willing to fight, we can use all the help we can get.” Icon said to the woman. “Maybe it’s time we took this conversation inside.”

In the darkest of nights, the windy silence was broken by the air being beat into submission. Two unmarked gray UH-60 Blackhawks made their way into Mexican Airspace from Arizona, continuing through the Sonoran Desert. Two of them flew in close formation, and once they flew over the border, both helicopters went dark, all external lights shut off in order to remain almost invisible to the naked eye. The only revealer for them being the noise they made, the military helicopters flew at low altitudes and sped off into the night.

Peculiarly, both helicopters had no pilots. The cockpits were empty, and they seemed to be flying on their own. Inside the lead helicopter was a team of combat robots, a metahuman and a normal human, with a cyborg to lead them all. The leader of this team, Sergeant Cipher Hammond, pulled her combat uniform over her exposed robotic limbs, making sure that her cybernetic parts were not too obvious to anyone who looked at her. Across from her was the metahuman, Corporal Pixy Carvallo, who remained seated, wearing only a black ballcap and a skull bandana over her face. The normal human, who was clad from head to toe in black tactical gear, remained seated next to Pixy, resting with his head up against the walls of the helicopter. Occupying four of the seats with them are black-and-gray camouflage combat robots, armed with cannons and miniguns along their arms and shoulders, with one unarmed on his body, but carried a massive anti-material rifle. They remained in standby mode while the others remained silent.

The unmanned Blackhawks, often referred to as Helodrones, banked slightly towards the right, heading southwest towards their target. The lead helicopter flying slightly faster than the second.

There was nothing but the sound of rotors onboard the lead Helodrone. However, Cipher broke the silence with her West African accent, speaking aloud. "Eagle Eye, what's the ETA to our drop zone?"

A slightly pitched male digitized voice replied through a speaker within the helicopter, speaking to Cipher and letting the others inside know. "We are fifteen mikes out from the drop zone. I suggest that all combat units get ready."

Cipher nodded. "Any news on our drone?"

The same voice, belonging to Eagle Eye, spoke again through the speaker. "The drone is currently over the compound, and is performing a scan for hostiles and civilians. I will update you on the results when you arrive at the landing zone." Eagle Eye, formerly known as Advanced Combat Intelligence Mk.6 Serial 032-Delta, is a combat AI designed to keep track of information and communications from both enemies and friendlies, and is always with Cipher to assist her on any of her missions. While he often would speak through her mind within her cybernetic brain implants, communication to all friendlies on this operation was vital, so he stuck with using the speakers on the Blackhawks he was piloting.

"Copy." Cipher said before leaning back. "Excited for your first rodeo?" Cipher asked, smiling to the woman across from her.

"A little." Pixy's Colombian accent replied, a small nervous smile concealed by her skull bandana. "I was one of Zepeta's best, but we never did anything with tech at this kind of level. I fastroped from Blackhawks before, but not Blackhawks piloted by a powerful AI!"

Cipher chuckled a little. "Relax, Pixy. Just stick with our doctrine and you'll be fine." Cipher said before pointing towards her. "And please, for the love of god, do not shock me. I may look and sound like an invulnerable cyborg but, just be careful with electricity around me. It's both my life source and my weakness, so... watch where you strike, okay?"

"Oh no, don't worry. I'm very careful and mindful about where I zap." Pixy replied. "Even under pressure. You'll see."

Cipher nodded with a soft smile. "Alright. But just remember, these guys we're going up against aren't your standard guerrillas." Cipher said. "These guys mean business, so don't get too cocky. I know Eagle Eye suggests that this should be a cakewalk, but just remember that's what STRIKE thought before they got torn to shreds." Cipher grabbed an FAL from under her seat and chambered a round. "Remember to stand behind the bots, and use them for cover as you advance. I'll help soften 'em up for you. Got it?"

Pixy gulped and nodded slowly. "Wilco..." She said, rubbing her gloved hands together to make sure the conductivity of them is up to par, seeing them both spark up and generate some bright and powerful arcs of electricity. "Okay... I should be good to go."

"What about you, Warlock?" Cipher asked the only human in the helicopter.

The operative cocked his Galil 329 rifle and brought it to shoulder. "Just save some of them for me, I don't want management to think I'm useless." Warlock joked, his accent vaguely French.

Cipher smiled a little. "Don't worry, I'll fill in a good word for you. Just make sure Pixy's covered, copy?"

"Solid."

---

Those in the second Blackhawk were a little more reserved. There were fewer combat robots on this one, and there was only three men and a woman onboard. A rather particular man in a suit who went by the name of Sandman Morales, and the man across from him who simply went by the name of Mr. Smith. While Sandman preferred just wearing a suit, Mr. Smith was fully clad in tactical armor as well, with a skull and crossbones marked on his helmet. There were two other soldiers onboard who wore similar gear to Mr. Smith, but without the creative markings, a man and a woman who went by callsigns such as 'Wizard' and 'Sorceress' respectively. While the lead helicopter continued on faster ahead and dropped to a lower altitude, the second Helodone remained behind.

Sandman looked to Mr. Smith and sighed. "Eagle Eye isn't playing tricks with us, right?" Sandman asked.

Eagle Eye replied over the loudspeaker. "I can assure you, this operation will carry minimal risk to your mate. Pixy is in good hands, and I can see her becoming a formidable ally and useful operative in her service to come." Eagle Eye paused. "Personally, I'm quite glad to have you and Pixy onboard. You two seem like a fantastic team, if my simulations are worth any salt."

Mr. Smith smiled underneath his mask and mirrored goggles. "You should listen to him, you know. Eagle Eye's a good AI. Even though he kind of locked us out to prevent foreign tampering, well, so far he's been the most stalwart ally so far."

Sandman folded his arms. "I do not trust a mind that I cannot enter." Sandman said, trying to blink away painful memories of Zepeta's regime. "You'll have to forgive me, I am going to need some time to... getting used to this. It has only been a few days."

Mr. Smith shrugged. "Hey, I'm not holding anything against you. I mainly brought you two along just to see what you can do. And hopefully kill two birds with one stone by grabbing any intel we can get in the meantime too."

Sandman nodded. "Yeah... don't worry, I'll do my best. I want to make sure that damned satellite goes down in flames." Sandman said, remembering the news footage, seeing the aftermath, and what the survivors looked like afterwards. It was absolutely horrifying, and he was still trying to get over the images that he saw. "I'll do anything it takes to make sure that things like that never happen again."

"That's the spirit." Mr. Smith said, nodding. "I can see you already becoming one of us now, but just remember. Those feelings are what drive us forward, but when we're out on the field, we can't be controlled by them. The mission comes first. Comprende?"

Sandman looked back up to Mr. Smith and nodded again. "Si."

---

The lead Helodrone rocked a little, and the doors automatically opened up. One of the interior lights remained red, and once four of the combat robots activated, stood up and began jumping out from either side of the helicopter one by one, the light then turned green. "You're cleared to drop." Eagle Eye informed the passengers on the Helodrone he remotely piloted.

Cipher brought her FAL to shoulder and stood up, her heavy robotic legs making somewhat of an impact on the steel floor with every step. She arrived at the side of the helicopter, and casually dropped off from the side of it. It was a two-story fall, and Cipher landed on the ground with a somewhat noisy *THUD!*, landing in between two of the combat bots that secured the LZ with their arm-bound weapons. Cipher stood up, having landed on both of her feet without a problem. She stepped forward, and used her CyberEye to assess the environment around her. Just nothing but desert, and an armadillo not too far ahead. "Go ahead, you're clear." Cipher said into her headset, the only thing she wore on her head.

Two ropes unfurled from either side of the helicopter, and immediately, Pixy and Warlock fastroped down from the Blackhawk with them, Warlock raising his powerful Galil to shoulder after he landed. The ropes were then lifted back up into the ports.

"Alrighty Eagle Eye, feel free to land somewhere behind us. Remember QRF protocol." Cipher said, using her cybereye to help locate her objective before leading the group towards it.

Copy that, Cipher. Will keep Helodrone armed hot and on standby. Eagle Eye said over their encrypted comms, keeping everyone on the same page. Eagle Eye then brought the Helodrone back and flew out of sight while Cipher advanced forward. The four combat bots marched forward with her, creating an arrow formation of sorts with Cipher at the tip and the two squishies in the center.

"Galm team to Crow Team, we're at the LZ and are currently proceeding to the objective. How copy?" Cipher spoke into the comms while she climbed up a hill. This is Mr. Smith of Crow Team, solid copy. Good luck out there, and happy hunting. The comms replied, Cipher climbing up the hill. She soon reached the top, and immediately went prone. The combat robots remained crouched behind her and below the hilltop, out of sight. Cipher was soon joined by Pixy and Warlock, both of them pulling out a pair of binoculars.



"Alrighty Eagle Eye. How does the enemy shape up?"

So far I only count ten guarding the compound outside, with an unknown number inside the building. Two MGs in each guard tower up front, two in one technical patrolling the facility, a sniper on the roof, and five patrolling on foot. I would suggest caution for Pixy and Warlock, for one of the patrolling hostiles carries an RPG. Eagle Eye said, Cipher using Eagle Eye's scan information to mark all of the enemies he mentioned within her cyber-eye HUD.

"What kind of weapons do they have?" Cipher asked.

They are all carrying AR variants, though one has an AK. Eagle Eye replied.

"So the usual?" Cipher smirked a little. "Okay." Cipher looked around, trying to assess the situation, figuring out a battle plan. She then smirked. "Eagle Eye, get the Helodrone running but remain on standby. Use the drone to jam their audio freqencies and cameras." Cipher said. "Get Galm 4 to get into position and to take aim." Immediately, the combat bot armed with the massive sniper rifle got into position right behind the hilltop and took aim at the compound. "Everyone else get into combat positions and await my command. I'm going in."

---

"Do we really have to be stationed here?" One of the Hounds sighed, taking a drag from his cigarette. "I hate it here. They could've at least put this place on a beach or something." He lowered his cig, lazily putting his AR on his shoulder.

"Would you rather be the guys in Lost Haven?" Another Hound asked, brushing away some of her hair so she could see better. "I swear, I feel like people are going on suicide missions there. Couldn't we have used the killsat to blow that place up too?"

"Well apparently not, brass actually has plans for that place." The male sighed, taking another drag from his cigarette. "I swear, no one tells us anything. I just want to go kill some freaks, that's it."

"The pay is decent though." The female chuckled. "Get some decent gear, and you get to kill some idiots from time to time. I mean... they aren't meta but even then the world would be better off without 'em."

"I know... but we could be anywhere else but here. This place is hot as balls and no one here speaks a lick of English! It sucks!" He shook his head. "Fucking shoot me."

In a cruel twist of irony, the man's head exploded in a bloody, gory mess, with a massive hole being torn into the wall behind him. The female nearly shrieked before hearing the signature *POW!* from a sniper rifle. She looked at his body in horror, and took cover behind a wall. She shouted into the radio. "CP! CP! This is Diane! We're under attack from an enemy sniper! Possible government forces, how copy?" Diane listened intently, hearing nothing but static and the machine gun fire coming from the guard towers, with the people in them shouting Contact! She peeked up from the wall she was hiding behind before witnessing a flash, followed by a loud crack. One of the men in the towers was immediately struck down by a bolt of lightning that came from the ground! He fell off the tower, landing on the ground with a loud *THUNK!* "We have meta-" Before Diane could finish, her brain had been liquified from the sheer power of a .50 BMG bullet.

Cipher promptly raised her FAL at the man in the second tower and squeezed off a controlled two round burst, one bullet entering the man's chest with the next entering his head, causing him to fall immediately. "Okay, the guard towers are down, the rest of you are cleared to advance!" From behind the hill emerged two robots with Warlock and Pixy behind them. They marched down the hill, quickly making their way towards Cipher and the robot she was with. "By the way, nice shot on the tower there, Pixy. Didn't think you had that kind of range."

Pixy joined up with Cipher, using the combat bot for cover. "You'd be surprised at how far lightning travels." Pixy said with a proud smile.

Cipher smiled back. "Keep up the good work." She then made a hand signal. "On me." She continued ahead, bringing her FAL to shoulder. She then heard the blaring alarm from the compound. "Eagle Eye, keep an eye on that RPG. Shoot on sight." Wilco.

Cipher continued ahead, and as soon as the technical (pickup truck with machine gun mounted on it) came around, Cipher gestured for the others to stay back, in which they did. "Heh, a Toyota. Typical." Cipher said, standing still, putting one of her feet back. The Hound on the mounted gun fired at her, and Cipher stood still as bullet seemed to just either cause some dents or just go into her, but she didn't go down. Some impacts produced the metallic TINGS!, and a few others had the signature FFT! of bullets impacting body armor. Either way, Cipher didn't go down. The pickup truck went faster in an attempt to ram Cipher, but as soon as it should've made contact with her, Cipher simply jumped. She jumped straight up, and pretty high too, allowing the truck to simply just pass underneath her. Once she landed, she just turned around and fired two shots. One for the gunner and one for the driver, causing the truck to swerve off course and flip over from oversteer. Cipher smirked a little and turned to the others. "Alright, regroup on me." She said before marching towards the compound's gates.

"Jesus... are you okay? You just strugged off bullets like nothing! And that was a PKM!" Pixy objected, remaining behind her bot.

Cipher chuckled. "I'm fine, sweetheart. I got titanium bones, and enough plating on my limbs and in my vest to keep me in the fight. Just worry about shocking the Hounds, okay?"

Pixy nodded. "Copy that!"

Warlock smirked a little underneath his skull balaclava. "You'll get used to it." He said, before he was almost interrupted by automatic gunfire. "Contact 12!" He shouted as the bot shielded him from the inaccurate gunfire the Hounds produced. A few Hounds piled out from the building in front of them and tried to lay suppressing fire on them with their ARs, and a few patrols that surrounded the building were making their way around to help deal with the threat. One of them was already picked off by sniper fire, and then another, a few others dropping from lightning bolts Pixy produced. The combat bots unleashed hell upon the terrorists that tried to get into cover, a few of them falling to the few bursts of minigun fire that came from the bots. Warlock raised his Galil and shot a single round at a Hound, blasting him in the head and allowing him to fall.

Cipher simply ran into the compound and jumped up high, landing behind some of the terrorists that were in cover. Shooting two of them dead with two-burst shots, a man approached her and tried to stab her in the neck. Without looking, she simply grabbed him in the arm and twisted him a little, causing him to shout in pain. Using his arm, she got a little momentum and space before throwing him hard against the wall, almost certainly knocking him out if not killing him. She turned just in time to see a man with an RPG promptly fall to the ground after a *CRACK!* and a *POW!* made a his head explode like a watermelon.

RPG down. Eagle Eye said simply.

Cipher smiled a little. "Thanks." She whispered.

Eagle Eye interjected. Be advised, I'm sensing some more hostiles inside the building. The hostiles outside have been dealt with. Watch out for traps.

Cipher nodded. "Copy." She looked to the others. "Keep Galm 5 and 6 on watch." She whispered to Eagle Eye, in which two of the bots immediately started patrolling the combat zone. "Warlock, on Galm 7. Pixy, you're with me." She whispered before she turned to the hill. "Eagle Eye, bring the Helodrone in. Make sure no one escapes." Wilco. Cipher then turned to the door, and made a hand signal to stack up. Everyone complied, with Cipher and Pixy on one end, with Galm 7 and Warlock on the other. They waited for at least a solid minute before they heard the Helodrone pass over them, and remain ahead. Helodrone in position. Cipher then whispered "Flash and clear." and after opening up one of the doors, Warlock pulled out a flashbang grenade and tossed it into the door before taking cover.

*BANG!* A few shouts indicated enemy presence, and positive effect from the flashbang onto the enemy. Cipher and Galm 7 immediately kicked the doors in and engaged the enemy. Galm 7 used the small cannon on its other arm to engage enemies inside close quarters, blasting Hounds in the heads one by one, Cipher shooting the Hounds who hid themselves in the corners, filling them up with hot 7.62 NATO lead. Warlock and Pixy followed in, and they continued through the compound, which consisted of empty stone corridors, offices, bunk rooms, and several living spaces. After the group cleared out the rooms two at a time, they each indicated 'Clear!' once they confirmed that the rooms they were in were secured. After clearing most of the building, the final room that they moved to was the Mess Hall.

The mess hall wasn't that large, but it was large enough to host at least forty people. The last of the Hounds, at least six of them, were hiding behind several tables, flipped up and used as cover. Galm 7 was the first to enter, and a Hound carrying an RPG immediately fired at him. The nearly supersonic rocket made impact with the combat robot and exploded with a loud *BOOOM!*, creating both a larger doorway, causing serious damage to the robot and tossing it back a significant degree. Warlock was hapless enough to be standing directly behind it. While he sustained minimal damage from the rocket, the robot flying back hit him hard and nearly crushed him when it fell to the ground, pinning him there and injuring him significantly. "Gah... shit..!" Warlock called out as the dust settled.

Cipher and Pixy immediately stepped back and hid behind the walls adjacent to the hole the RPG made in the wall, keeping their distance. Cipher shot a concerned look to Warlock before turning back to Pixy, who seemed to have kept her cool. Cipher looked to Pixy and mouthed 'Flash and clear.' Pixy nodded. Cipher immediately pulled out a flashbang and tossed it inside, and after it gave its signature *BANG!*, both Cipher and Pixy rushed in, Cipher shooting enemies through the flimsy cover the Hounds hid behind, and Pixy throwing a deadly lightning bolt at two people who bothered to try to stand up and shoot at them, killing them both instantly. Only two Hounds remained, and one of them tried to stand up and fight, but was promptly grabbed by Cipher and was tossed into the adjacent kitchen, landing on a stack of pots and pans. Only one remained, and before he could bring his revolver up, Pixy stood there with a menacing look on her face, her hands crackling with electricity.

"Go ahead, try it. I dare you to be as fast as lightning itself." Pixy said, smirking underneath her skull bandana. The Hound, a middle aged man with some spiked up hair, slowly trembled and dropped his revolver, putting his hands up. Pixy then spoke into the comms. "Eagle Eye, have we tackled the last of them?"

Affirmative. Eagle Eye replied. Picture looks clear, no additional enemy forces in sight.

"All clear!" Pixy called out reflexively before forcefully shoving the man onto the ground, putting his hands behind his back and tying them up with zipties.

The man coughed. "Who... who the hell are you?"

"That my friend... is none of your concern." Pixy said with a soft smirk bringing him up and pushing him onto a chair. She then spoke to Cipher, who was in the other room. "I got one in custody. How's Warlock?" She asked.

Cipher, who was in the next room, was pulling the large disabled combat robot off of Warlock. Cipher did a check on him with her cyber eye, using her hand and vibrating it softly against him to detect any anomalies. "Hey, Warlock, you alright?" She asked after scanning him, giving the results for Eagle Eye to analyze.

"I... I think I'm okay... I'm in a whole lot of pain but I'm not dead." He coughed through his mask before removing it, revealing the white stubbled man underneath. "Fucking bot crushed my chest... I think I might have a broken rib or two. Ow..." Warlock groaned. Eagle Eye added in. He is correct, he has two broken ribs, and some minor crushing damage to his chest. I'll bring the Helodrone and the others to airlift him to safety.

"Good, thanks Eagle Eye." Cipher said, patting Warlock on the shoulder reassuringly. "Crow Team, this is Galm Team. The compound has been cleared, but we have a downed bot, a wounded friendly and one enemy in custody. You're cleared to move in."

---

"This place is an intelligence black hole. I'm getting nothing here." Wizard said with a vagely Arabic accent as he looked through the one of the computers in the office. "They're all connected on a network, but none of them have any files saved. I think they scrubbed all of their information once they were discovered." Wizard said, sighing as he sat on one of the chairs.

"Seems likely." Cipher said. "Let's see what Eagle Eye thinks." Cipher said, putting in a small USB networking card, allowing Eagle Eye to easily sneak into the computer network. "Got anything buddy?" Cipher asked.

Wizard's theory holds up, there seems to be only the bare minimum of executables to create valuable information, but there is no information. There is also an executable to scrub all data, and a task to do so on the sounding of an alarm. Eagle Eye said. Nothing else. Can I get out now? It's cramped in there.

Cipher chuckled a little before taking out the USB card, pocketing it. "Thanks, Eagle Eye." She said with a small smile before looking up, seeing Mr. Smith and Sandman. "Mr. Smith, Sandman." She nodded in respect to the both of them.

Mr. Smith, still clad in tactical gear, nodded back. "Nice work, Cipher. You, Pixy and Warlock did a really good job here. I'm assuming there's no intel here, right?"

"Yep, not even any paperwork." Cipher replied. "How's Warlock?"

"He's on his way back to a friendly facility to get treated. He should be good and ready within a few weeks." He turned to Sandman. "Well, you know what this means."

Sandman sighed and nodded. "Where's your captive?"

"Pixy has him all tied up in the storage closet. He's all yours." Cipher said nonchalantly. "Gonna tap into his memories or something?"

Sandman smirked. "Something like that." He and Mr. Smith walked to the storage closet, opening it up to reveal Pixy standing in the back, with a Hound strapped to a folding chair with duct tape in his mouth, legs tied to said chair. Sandman, not even bothering to pay attention to the man in the chair, smiled at the sight of Pixy. "Pixy~" He called out lovingly. "How was your first day at school?"

"It was okay. Scary at first, but I got it handled pretty well." Pixy then sparked her hands some more. "I haven't lost my touch."

Sandman smirked, taking a chair and sitting across from the captive Hound.

"Hey, nice work Pixy." Mr. Smith said. "Sandman and I will take things from here. Go ahead and sit down with the others. You've earned it, child."

Pixy nodded, smiling underneath her mask. "Thank you, sir." She headed out the door, closing it behind her.

"Now, we can get down to business." Mr. Smith said, leaning against the shelves. "Go ahead and do your thing."

Sandman then tore the duct tape off of the captive. The captive immediately shouted at him. "All of you are a bunch of freaks! You slaughter as you please and bring nothing but destruction wherever you go! I hope you all burn in hell!" The captive shouted.

Sandman smirked. "Very rich coming from a terrorist organization that has already murdered thousands of innocents in cold blood." Sandman chuckled. "Do you want to do this the easy way, or the hard way?"

The captive spat at him. "Fuck you, you monster." The captive then got a good look at Sandman and his eyes widened. "Oh... oh shit! I know who you are! You're that freak who was in cahoots with that Colombian monster! And they acquitted you of war crimes, didn't they? Ha! Looks like we're the only ones with spines here!"

Sandman sighed. "Okay, hard way it is then." He then waved a hand over the captive.

"You'll never-" The captive then blinked, and yawned before dozing off, snoring.

Sandman then turned to Mr. Smith. "Now watch. This process is very important as it puts me in a half-sleep state. Make sure nothing happens to me while I do this, okay?"

Mr. Smith nodded. "Of course, son. Do you thing."

Sandman then closed his eyes, and soon sank into the ocean of dreams and memories.

---

Sandman stood in a black void. He looked around and continued to walk through it. He didn't feel the normal weight of the world around him, and he didn't feel himself as much as he'd used to. From time to time, he would see himself as if he were looking through a cinematic camera. He paced around the black void and cracked his dreamscape knuckles. "Let's get to work." He said.

Sandman stepped from the void and into a forest. He wasn't himself anymore, but more of a camera again, witnessing the life events of this captive. He saw the captive walk through the forest with what seems to be the captive's wife. She guided him through what seemed to be a park, and led him to a surprise party in a rental shelter. Sandman stepped through that memory, seeing the man's job, before stepping through that memory, seeing the catastrophic events of what happened in Lost Haven some months ago on the news. Things shifted into one another, things transforming outside of Sandman's minds-eye, where the captive found an internet forum where the Hounds of Humanity was growing. It was just hypothetical rhetoric at first, but it grew into an echo chamber of epic proportions where people started posting pictures of themselves with guns and even some military grade hardware. Then the captive was inducted physically into the Hounds of Humanity, and went through some basic training in a camp located in Mexico with ARs and AKs, as well as basic strength training in order to be a proper foot soldier. Soon enough, for his first assignment, he had to go to a populated area in Nicaragua and kill as many as possible. And that the captive did, killing at least 4 children in the process. Sandman continued to step through the man's memories to where he would be posted at this compound, standing guard and doing nearly nothing in the building for at least some time. And then he saw some plans, maps of Lost Haven, as well as images of blast radii. Sandman then stepped through some more memories to find out more, but all he saw was the captive scrubbing the data after sounding the alarm, gunfire, and hiding in the mess hall. Several people took harsh lightning strikes, and others were shot in the head, and one was tossed. The captive was the lone survivor, and as the captive turned to fight, he saw Pixy standing right there, with her hands crackling with electricity.

"Go ahead, try it. I dare you to be as fast as lightning itself." Pixy said as the captive looked upon her with terror.

"That's my girl." Sandman said with a smirk, before appearing back into the void, this time with the captive.

"Woah... what the hell?" The captive stood around, staggered, realizing that he was in a strange place. "Where am I?"

"You're in my dreamscape." Sandman said with a smile. "A world that only I can craft as I please, a world I have full control over." Sandman summoned two bikini-clad copies of Pixy to sell the point to the captive, and brought them under his arms. Sandman smirked as the two copies sparked with electricity. "Now. I saw through your memories. What's going on at Lost Haven?" Sandman asked casually, tilting his head.

"Oh, so this is just a dream, huh? You can't do anything to me." The captive grinned defiantly. "It's my mind, you freak. You can't stop me!"

"Oh really now?" Sandman then let go of the two copies of his lover. "Show 'em, girls." Immediately, the two copies turned into zombified and demonic looking women, with rotting skin and to voids for eyes. The sharpest of teeth were put on display, and soon after they transformed into the most hellish bikini-clad creatures known to man, they pounced upon the captive and started biting him on his shoulders, tearing out chunks of flesh.

"AAAGHH!!" The Hound cried out as he was bit into, shaking as he felt a pain unlike any other. "Please... please stop! Please!" He whimpered.

Sandman smirked a little, walking closer to the man. He snapped his fingers, and the two women reverted back to Pixy's appearance. "Okay, I see you're willing to cooperate given the circumstances. Now, will you tell me what these plans are?"

"Listen man, I don't know, okay? It's not my job to look at them. I just only caught sight of them, but those who had them didn't tell me what they were all about!" The Hound panicked. "C'mon man, that's all I know. Please don't kill me... I beg you!"

Sandman nodded. "I see." He then turned to the man. "Does your wife know anything about this?"

"No, please don't bring her into this!" The Hound pleaded.

Sandman shook his head. "I won't... I'm just wondering what she would think about you if she found out that you murdered innocent children." Sandman turned around and snapped his fingers, and the two Pixy clones turned back into their demonic zombie forms. "You know what to do, girls." He said, walking off.

"No no no... no, please! Don't! AAGGHHH!!!" The Hound's screams were replaced by gurgles as the two demons started tearing the man apart with their teeth alone, reaching his throat among other places.

Sandman sighed and closed his eyes, surfacing to the world of reality.

---

Sandman simply blinked open from sitting up, blinking several times. The captive on the chair just stopped convulsing, and after convulsing, he slumped over, dead. His face was red, with veins visible almost everywhere, or at least in the places where the women bit. Sandman looked upon the man before looking back to Mr. Smith, who looked quite impressed.

"Wow... you actually killed him." Mr. Smith said, impressed. "This entire time, I thought you were bullshitting me." He then tilted his head. "Why did you kill him though? I know we operate in secret but we have plenty of space to hold prisoners."

Sandman frowned a little. "I went through his memories. He's murdered children." Sandman said simply. "I had to make sure he died painfully, if I let him live it would've only added to what haunts me." He said softly.

Mr. Smith nodded. "I understand." He folded his arms. "Did you get anything from him?"

Sandman nodded, standing up. "Yeah, but not much. All I got were maps of Lost Haven, and blast radii. That's it. Not even he knows what they are for."

Mr. Smith stood up. "Really?"

Sandman nodded. "Yeah."

Mr. Smith patted Sandman on the shoulder. "A vague lead is better than no lead." He then opened the door and walked out into the office. "Eagle Eye, get the Helodrones ready for takeoff. We're gonna make a pit stop to Outpost Delta before going to Lost Haven. Relay everything you heard to HQ." He turned to Sandman. "In the meantime, I want you to get a map of Lost Haven and draw the blast radii on the map. Whatever the fuck it is that they're planning, I want to make sure that we don't get caught in it."

Sandman nodded. "Wilco." He said, looking around for a map.

Cipher stood up from her chair. "We're going to Lost Haven? It's about damn time!"

"Yeah, I know." Mr. Smith said as Sandman printed off a map of Lost Haven. "We've been hands off on that place for a while because Management thought STRIKE could handle whatever is happening stateside. Most of what we've been doing was abroad for a while... but it looks like we're going back to the good ol' US of A, pals." He then saw the finished blast radius. "Whatever is happening here, we must stop. The Hounds have gone way too far for us to ignore. Whatever is happening here could even link us to the satellite if we're lucky. I'll brief you as much as I can on the place on our way there. But until then, I suggest we move quickly before anything else happens." He then saw the Helodrone outside start up. "Alright, this is where we leave. Eagle Eye will scrub this place during our trip." He brought a fist to his heart. "Quia pax!"

Everyone present, including Sandman and Pixy, put their fists on their hearts, before shouting together "Quia pax!"

Chris slowly descended with Maya in his arms once they had arrived at the Sherman Center. Since the situation was so dire, Chris made sure to hurry as fast as his armor’s engines could take him. However, before he landed on the rooftop, he noticed that Icon had just landed in the empty street in front of his renovated high rise. Chris swore he programmed the messages to meet at Sherman Center, but he guessed that meeting outside first was close enough. Therefore, he redirected his projectory and landed within the vicinity of Icon. Once they were earthbound, Chris set Maya back on the ground after carrying her the entire way.

After his arrival, Chris saw several other heroes, who helped him deal with the Pax Metahumana crisis. Besides Icon, Radiance and Lyger also showed up, while Slipstream was a newcomer, although Chris had previously team-up with her back in Pacific Point. However, he also noticed that several heroes had not shown up. With their current numbers, they would surely be undermanned for the task that they were about to undertake. He hoped that there would be some stragglers. Nevertheless, he did not place much stock in that small glimmer of hope.

“How come the only time I ever see you all is when shit hits the fan?” Chris asked everyone as they started to settle in, although Chris was not actually expecting an answer.

The other four heroes began to discuss the severity of the Hounds’ threat. However, Slipstream seemed to propose the right question: how were the Hounds causing this destruction. The heroes seemed confused and at a loss for answers to the questions. But Chris fortunately knew some answers.

“If you all remember back to the Pax crisis three months ago, a heroine named Archangel used orbital strikes surgically to destroy quite a few of the dome-generating devices hidden across the country. I believe that the Hounds have somehow stumbled upon one of these satellites and have repurposed it for mass destruction. I have no idea how this WMD had fallen into the Hound’s hands, although I can only guess that S.T.R.I.K.E. saved one as an insurance policy. But I do have a plan.”

“I’ve repurposed one of Archangel’s old chassis. Since they both should have the same technology built into them, we should be able to exploit the satellite’s programming. Maya here has graciously agreed to help us out by running the exoskeleton.”

Chris decided that it might be best to not mention that Maya was currently stuck inside the old Archangel armor. There was no need worrying the others about her condition. They needed to focus on the task at hand. Maya, on the other hand, quickly introduced herself with a shy wave.

Suddenly, a metallic clank resounded and dust began to swirl around the heroes. Since his suit filtered the air that he breathed, the dust did not affect Chris’ respiration, although he could tell that others were not so lucky. Chris immediately turned to see who had caused what seemed to him as an attack on the heroes. Even before he found the blonde-haired girl, his armor’s weapons system had already locked onto the young woman. However, she immediately made it clear that she wanted to join them, not to pick a fight. She even brought some tech that she had looted from the Hounds. While Chris mused that it would probably not be useful for taking down the orbital satellite, but it might prove insightful for whenever the heroes would turn to strike at the heart of the Hounds.

Icon immediately welcomed her with open arms into the group of heroes, although the woman, who called herself the Alchemyst, was not giving them much of a choice anyways. Icon suggested that the heroes moved inside the Sherman Center where they could discuss their plans without anyone eavesdropping on the conversation.

“I was about ready to make the same suggestion,” Chris cut in after Icon proposed their change of venue. “We need to make a plan of attack so the Hounds can’t use that satellite to murder countless people in cold blood.”

---

Yeong’s ear flickered as she allowed everyone else to speak. Silence being the best option instead of allowing the instinctive rage to take control. At least towards the open. Odette was still just another person on the girl’s mental kill list yet she had kept her word. Granted that if the woman hadn’t she too would have been slaughtered by those types of humans. Her paws shifted downwards as the adrenaline slowly wore down, allowing a tingling feeling run through her system, a clear sign that her leg had been clipped in the fight. Thank god it wasn’t what happened towards the puppy in their care. Even though every thought now flooding the werewolf’s head was the same word. The some word her father would use when doing something stupid.

Yeong knew from watching Ji that every puppy created was a babo. A fool playing the wise man in disguise. Than again what Ben did showed what she had dreaded. The vampire was a rather ironic thing honestly. Considering they were taught only a pack could be made of werewolves and vampires were nothing more than heartless murders. A stereotypical thing to cling to but this was how their world worked. Each person lingering in everlasting hatred, that could most likely solve the world’s problems. Pathetic really considering there are people out there thinking that their lives are worse than someone else’s. If this world was fair than none of this would be a true thing. None of this violence would be happening here.

”Calm yourself Yeong. There’s nothing good with losing yourself to this anger. You need to take your time with this. Words are literally everything. Go over what we know. 1. Ben is doing something that should be impossible. Forming a pack with as many different creatures as possible. 2. You can’t trust Odette. She’s the one who killed your old pack. With this in mind we also need her to save the witch. A rather tedious problem considering the situation. 3. The vampire seems all too happy right now. As if she’s never leaving Ben’s side making training that much harder to do. Lastly Ji is more experienced with dealing with the training where I’m better at making the wolf and human work together.” The young woman thought as small amounts of blood dripped to the floor. Her fur continued to cling to her limbs, making a small flashback of the first transformation.

In a way the older wolf understood what the younger one was going through. He was at war with himself. It was natural for those first turned but this boy was trying to act against it. Something that would cause more harm than good. Her eyes flickered towards Ji, as if searching for an answer to some invisible question. ”The boy is fighting against the wolf. The others seem to not quite understand our ways. They act like he's going through something curable. How do we proceed with others around us?" She asked in Korean.

The other twin just shrugged as the witch commanded them to touch Ben. As if going through a weird hole in the air wasn’t terrible enough. Once again Yeong looked at her sibling, only receiving a look of do it or else. Granted it wasn’t like they had much of a choice. They both sighed at the same time and did as they were told. As they seemed to move through another hole the young woman began to form a plan for their training. She slowly turned back into human with a snarl. The girl remarked with a shift of her right leg. Ji seemed to notice all the wounds and slowly began pulling out the collected none silver bullets. ”This month fucking sucks Ji.’