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Iris screamed as she rushed Reverse Flash, pain tearing through every fiber of her body. She pushed herself through it, either by sheer determination or addrenaline. She wasn't entirely sure which. She just knew that whatever it was that was pushing her onwards would crash and bottom out so she had to capitalise it. She moved for a punch to the face, Zoom never saw it coming. Though as she approached him, the face of Henry Allen threw her off and she instead aimed lower, sending her shoulder into his gut. He was knocked back and off the roof. She didn't believe for a second that he would go down as easily as that, she put her hand on Barrys shoulder, he was looking at his hand that was a blur. The Speed was coursing through him, and already beginning to change him.

She looked him deadpan in the eyes. "Barry." He didn't notice her. "BARRY!" He looked up, confusion, pain, anguish all crowded his face and his eyes. The eyes that were always so full of hope were dull and dour, he had lost his spark of hope. How could he not? He had spent years trying to get Henry released from prison, he had been innocent. Yet here they were today, the man who killed Nora Allen was infact Henry Allen. "You have to get out of here." Rain continued to fall down all around them, hiding the tears that stained her face beneath her mask. "I can't stop him, and I can't let you get hurt." Zoom came running up the wall, gaining air for a second as he hadn't slowed approaching the top of the climb. She gave Barry a kiss on the cheek. "Go!" Before he could say a word Iris grunting her teeth ran, every step a torment as she ran and jumped her body into Zooms. Still midair they both went over the side of the building tumbling towards the street below.

They exchanged blows midair, once more her novice fighting skills came into play. He seemed to be able to block a punch with ease before she had really even started to throw it. This wasn't about speed, it was also about skill. As they tumbled nearer to the street Zoom kicked off, Iris was pushed further into the street while he managed to gain traction on the wall of the building running down. Panicking Iris attempted to phase through the road, a resounding explosion passed through the street and she screamed in pain as she didn't hit the ground with the perfect frequency. She still passed through it relatively unharmed, compared to what could have been, however as she lay in the water of the sewer the rain fell down all around her through the newly carved hole in the ground above her. She climbed out of her hole as she saw Zoom walking towards her, clapping slowly.

"Very good Flash." He chuckled. "Yes, I think you've maybe earned the title." They circled eachother once more, both waiting for the other to make the first move. Her left leg trailed behind her slightly. She couldn't do this for much longer, sooner or later her leg would give out on her and then she'd be done for. He sped over to her and she stretched out her fist to collide with his face, he merely ducked under the blow before grabbing her around the throat with both hands.

She clasped his wrists with hers, trying to pull his wrists apart and his hands away from he rthroat as she gasped for air. "Henry..." She coughed, choking slightly. "Henry... please."

"I guess it's safe to tell you now-" He leaned in. His head beside hers, he whispered in her ear. "-my names Eobard Thawne." He pulled back again. "Not that means anything to you, but you should probably know the name of the man who kills-"

Du-Par’s
11:21 AM

“Sounds like you’re between a rock and a hard place, kid.”

Philip Marlowe looked across the table at John. He had the hangdog, grizzled face of Humphrey Bogart and was dressed in the hat with a neat, double-breasted suit Bogie famously wore in The Big Sleep. Like Bogart, he appeared to be both amused and detached by the sight of the shabby looking Englishman in front of him.

“Between a rock and a hard place is where I usually thrive,” said John. He fidgeted with his hands while Marlowe ate plain white toast. That's all he ever ate. John never questioned it because... well, things like Marlowe lived by their own rules.

“Fuck," he said before running his hands through his hair. "I wish I could smoke in here.”

“That’s LA for you,” Marlowe said wistfully. “Can’t smoke indoors anymore. But you take one step outside and you’re sucking down smog like a fish sucks down water.”

Their conversation stopped as Charlie Rembrandt approached the table. He looked curiously at Marlowe as he slid into the booth beside John.

“I don’t need another ghost right now,” Rembrandt said wearily. “Especially another ghost of Hollywood. I’m fed up with them right now.”

“I’m not a ghost,” said Marlowe. “At least not the way you think I am.”

“Marlowe here is a Tulpa,” said John. “He's not Bogart, just a physical manifestation of a fictional character. Belief is power, right? Well, enough people are stupid enough to think that Philip Marlowe actually existed--”

“And that belief brought me to life,” Marlowe said with a wink. “And I’m not some special case either. Happens everywhere, pal. I hear London is crawling with Sherlock Holmes of all different stripes. New and old.”

“Yeah,” John said softly. “It is.”

“So one day I’m going to see Mickey Mouse hanging around a crime scene?” asked Rembrandt.

“You got a screw loose?” asked Marlowe with a humorless laugh. “Mickey Mouse is a carton, that’d be ridiculous.”

“A living fictional character tells me something’s ridiculous,” Rembrandt muttered. “Where the hell did I fuck up?”

“You can debate your life choices at another time,” said John. “Were you able to find out the information I asked for?” He looked at Marlowe. “Both of you.”

“I got a friend who’s a deputy with the LASD,” said Rembrandt. “Scuttlebutt about the Lynwood station is there’s a couple of bad apples who work patrol. At least six or seven white guys with more than a few excessive force complaints against them. They call themselves Vikings, subrosa white supremacist. My buddy wouldn’t give me any names. The only thing cops hate more than bad apples is a rat.”

John looked at Marlowe and raised an eyebrow.

“Past few days I’ve been staked out on a drug corner in Lynwood,” he said as he pulled out a selection of glossy photos from his coat and laid them on the table.

They showed Latino teenagers being arrested by three men dressed in the khaki shirts and olive pants of the LA Sheriff’s Department. All three men were heavily muscled with wraparound sunglasses resting on the top of their shaved bald heads. Another shot showed one of the men stepping on a young boy’s hand with the heel of his boot. Yet another was a different deputy striking a teenager on the knee with a nightstick.

“Jesus,” said Rembrandt. “So this Hidalgo guy wasn’t full of shit.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” said John. He looked up at Marlowe. “How the hell did you get away with hanging around drug dealers taking pictures, dressed the way you are?”

“Maybe this old lug is better at hiding than you think,” Marlowe said with a wink.

“Well, thank you both for your help, gentlemen,” John said with a nod towards Marlowe and Rembrandt.

“John,” Rembrandt said with a touch of caution in his voice. “I would warn you against doing whatever is you’re about to do. These photos are enough to get these pieces of shit run out of the department. Just forward them on to the right people and follow the system.”

“You said so yourself, squire. Only thing cops hate more than a bent copper, is a rat. They protect their own. All I can do is promise you one thing: I won’t kill them.”

---

Lynwood, CA
6:22 PM

Sergeant Michaels smoked a cigarette on the rooftop of the station and watched the traffic on Alameda down below. There was no designated spot for smokers at the station any more. They couldn’t smoke on the roof, couldn’t smoke out by the street. The department was worried about their image. Michaels shook his head at the thought as he blew smoke from his nostrils. Their fucking image was all they cared about anymore. Not about the job, the decent people out there, and they sure as shit did not care about backing up the men who gave their lives to protect this city.

He turned when he heard the stairwell door opening. Lieutenant Milford walked out across the roof with that pleasant smile that was always on his face. The rest of the Vikings looked the part of white supremacists, but not the lieutenant. Milford always looked a bit like Mr. Rogers to Michaels, with his silver hair perfectly coiffed and all-American clean-cut image. The look didn’t match what was in his heart. He’d said shit that had made even Michaels balk.

“Can I bum a cigarette?” Milford asked with a sheepish chuckle. “The wife would kill me if she found out so I gotta sneak them where I can get them.”

Michaels passed him the pack and lighter. Milford lit up and took a long drag off of it before removing it from his mouth. He studied the burning end of the cigarette. His chipper demeanor slowly melted away, the smile faltering before it turned inward and became a grimace. It only took a few seconds, but in that time Milford’s face had morphed into a scowl.

“How well do you know Andy Seward?” He asked softly.

Michaels hated that voice. It would have been better if he'd shouted or even had some kind of emotion in his voice when he spoke. Michaels noticed his hand was shaking as he put the cigarette to his lips.

“He’s been part of my PAR for four years now. He’s a... good man. Good man.”

Milford jerked his head up and stared straight into Michaels' eyes with intensity. “Did you know his sister is a fucking race traitor?”

Milford seemed to snarl that last part. It always took Michaels by surprise just how deep the lieutenant’s hatred ran. Michaels was not without his own hatred and prejudices, and they ran deep, but there was a logic there. His hate was tied to his fears about the future and the direction of this country. The Vikings were fighting for the future of his children, Michaels thought, and the future of his children's children. It was slowly becoming more and more of a crime to be white in America. They had to fight back to stop it. And that hate was the weapon Michaels used.

But Milford? To Milford, the hate seemed to be the end instead of the means to an end. Michaels got a power trip out of pushing these fucking gangbangers around and showing them who was the boss, but not like Milford. Milford watched from afar and hated quietly, getting an almost sexual pleasure out of the violence and display of white supremacy.

“I didn’t know Seward had a sister,” Michaels finally said. "I... thought I knew his whole family."

“Yeah, I bet you didn’t know about her,” Milford spat. “She’s got a fucking litter of half-nigger babies. What do you think of that?”

“Sounds like Andy hasn’t been completely forthcoming with us,” Michaels mumbled. “Sounds like he’s been hiding it.”

“Too fucking right. And if he’s hiding that, what else is he hiding from us?”

Michaels sighed and took another drag off the cigarette. There were rumors among the Vikings that internal affairs had started investigating them. The more paranoid among them had started to question if they didn’t have a rat in their midst.

“How do I make this right?” Michaels asked.

Milford looked at Michaels with eyes so cold that it made him shiver.

“Young Andy needs to have his mettle tested. He’s on duty tonight, yes?”

“Eight to eight tonight,” said Michaels.

“Find some poor wetback to make an example of,” Milford said as he flicked the last bit of the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. “And let Seward do all the hurting. If he even hesitates, then we know he's not all-in.”

Milford looked down at the smoldering butt before looking back up. When his eyes met Michaels, the mask was back on and he was back to Mr. Rogers mode and the smile was back. For the first time, Michaels noticed that the smile didn’t reach his eyes at all.

“Have a good shift, sergeant. You’re an outstanding example of what it really means to serve the people of LA County, and furthermore you’re a credit to the white race." He raised his fist, that fucking smile still on his face as he said, "White power.”

Marc sat in the back of the Bentley in all of his armoured accoutrement. Marlene looked at him as he seemed to fill the backseat by himself.

“What do you call this?!” Jean Paul yelled from the front.

“The Way.” Was all he responded. In a voice that almost sounded… other.

“But why, Marc? Why did you do this?”

“Because of the 8. And all of those that would have followed them.”

“The pair of you! Stop asking him questions until we can get out of here! There’s cops everywhere! Mr Spector, lie face down across the floor! Ms Alraune, try to keep his cape down!”

As if on cue, a black and white hit its siren and activated its lights in pursuit. Samuels hit the steering wheel in frustration, his cool almost completely whittled away. He took a sharp corner and upshifted out of it, pushing the Bentley to the limit. After another corner, Samuels saw the police blockade ahead and burst through, with the police car tailing.

“If I have to burn this car, so help me I’m getting a new one out of operational expenses… I love this car.” Samuels muttered to himself. “And I MEAN a new one. A Saab is not a Bentley.”

Another two cars joined in pursuit, Samuels turned west, needing to lose the tail before returning home. His timing between gear changes was impeccable. He slid down a back-alley and punched out the other side, making bystanders swerve. Two of the three cars maintained pursuit. And then… the sirens stopped, and lights turned off inexplicably.

“Well, I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.” Samuels said, turning off South he’d circle around the block and then approach Grant Mansion from the Gold Coast.



Flint kicked the door open on the roof with his sidearm drawn. He’d ordered the people congregating by the stairwell to return to their apartments. He was now looking to secure the rooftop where the vigilante/werewolf skirmish took place as a crime scene, whilst Dixon looked to secure the rooftop where the man’s hang glider had crashed for the same reason. It was clear. It was quiet. Steam billowed out of vents into the late Chicago night.

Fifteen minutes later the CSIs stepped out onto the rooftop. Flint watched them work.

One CSI hunched over a pool of blood with a pipe between his teeth. He swabbed blood and bagged it. Before turning a second bag inside out and using it to pick up one of the man in white’s ninja stars. Turning it to the light to examine it as he bagged it up.

“I’m surprised they let you lot smoke on the job… Magnus, isn’t it?”

“Hnn?” Dr Will Magnus said whilst lost in thought, not understanding what Flint was referring to, before he regained his composure and pulled the pipe out of his mouth to answer the detective.

“Empty pipe, Flint. It’s just a habit of mine. No contamination.”

“Oral fixation, huh?” Flint smirked.

“Didn’t take you for a profiler or shrink, Flint. Or have you got more qualifications since I saw you last?”

That was always the way with the tech guys. Waving their diplomas around like big swinging—

“Silver. Treated, but… still protected silver. Huh.”

“So I take it he had inside knowledge of the werewolf. Came prepared to fight it.” Flint asserted.

“I don’t know that that’s the logical conclusion to make…”

“Really, Magus? Werewolf stomps around the city and then suddenly a guy swoops in who just happens to be packing anti-werewolf arsenal. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Well, don’t let anyone hear you say that in court, Flint. Any halfway competent defence attorney will have their client out on an investigatory “tunnel vision” defence within an hour…”

“Alright. What other possible theory could anyone possibly come up with that suggests this silver slinger and his mangy mutt pal are in any way a coincidence?”

“I’ll give you one right now. Symbolism and distraction.”

“Symbolism and distraction?”

Dr Will Magnus sighed. “Silver exhibits the highest electric and thermal conductivity and reflectivity of any metal. Did you notice these things he’s throwing? They’re all crescents. Moons. Unless you’ve got a bunch of hearts, stars, clovers and horseshoes you’ve been hiding from me?”

“So what does all that mean?” Flint grumbled, frustrated and still not getting the point.

Dr Magnus held up the bag with the throwing moon dart so that the moonlight reflected brightly into Flint’s eyes. “Reflectivity. It means he wants you to see them. And he wants them to catch light, flash, temporarily blind and distract those who oppose him. Disrupted by the purity of the moonlight.”

“I don’t think we’ll pull any prints off these. He’s clearly wearing gloves. I couldn’t imagine anyone handling anything this sharp without gloves. Plus most costumed vigilantes, or self-named superheroes, are wearing gloves and are mindful of leaving prints. The bloodwork though… now I’d wager that will yield most interesting results.”

“Your theory doesn’t conflict with or rule out mine. Just because he’s using them for ‘Symbolism and distraction’ doesn’t rule out a connection with this werewolf.” Flint said, walking to the door to leave.

“They’re crescents.”

“What?” He turned.

“He’s throwing crescents, Detective Sargent. If he considered himself as anyway intertwined with the werewolf - the symbolism - he’d be throwing full moon discs. Practically speaking they’d be easier to produce with consistent balance as well. He’s not doing that, Flint.”

Flint’s moustache bristled as he went down the stairs, considering the new take on the evidence.



The Bentley pulled into the long driveway at Grant Mansion.

“Rest up. You’re all going to need it.” Samuels said to the others in the back. Marc opened the door and swung his armoured self out, lending hand to help Marlene out of the car. Just as Jean Paul went to open his door, he found Samuels grabbing his shoulder.

“Mr Duchamp, for the next 12 or so hours do make sure you keep track of where Mr Spector goes. If you want my advice, I wouldn’t let him leave the property. He’s—not in the best shape for making decisions right now.”

Jean Paul looked down, considering the butler’s words, before he joined the other two inside. Samuels parked the car.

An hour later Jean Paul and Marlene were in their bedrooms and they heard floorboards creak. The Frenchman cracked open his bedroom door and peered down the hallway.

A large silhouette was carrying a bag and armfuls of things down the hallway and into another room.

“Hey! What are you doing?” he hissed.

Marc answered. “I’m just moving my things to my room. That guest bedroom Samuels put me in is too sterile.”

“Ok… just… go to sleep. It’s so late. The sun’s about to come up.” Duchamp didn’t wait for a response. He closed the door and went to bed.

Marc carried his things into the bedroom and very gently closed the door behind him. He started opening drawers and put his few things away.

Most of the adrenaline had left his system but he still felt charged. The night felt good. Productive. Even if he hadn’t ended the threat of the beast, he’d still got his licks in. He dropped to the floor and performed twenty pushups. Followed by twenty crunches. He cleaned his teeth in the adjunct bathroom and then, having finished his nightly regimen he went to bed.

Only to find a blonde in a sheer full length slip already in there.

“You were right before. It’s a big creepy house and I don’t want to be alone in it.” Marlene spoke softly.

A wide grin creased across Spector’s face.

“You’ve been very busy, and it’s very late now, and I heard you exercising... I hope you’re not TOO tired.” She walked her hand down his bare chest and caught her finger in the waistband of his boxers, snapping them.

Marc’s grin turned to a full leer. Overcome with desire he swept her up onto the bed powerfully, much to Marlene’s delight.

Jean Paul DuChamp didn’t have to watch him for twelve hours afterall. He spent a good hour and a half releasing what energy he had left and then slept well for a full ten hours, with Marlene resting on his chest.



Jack Russell came to with his whole body screaming. A few seconds later he found that he himself was emitting a long muffled moan. He was in shock from the trauma of the previous night. Looking himself over he had a number of open wounds, and a large chunk of silver embedded in his left shoulder. He pulled it out with a gasp and it clattered to the cement floor. Now with his body in a lesser state of dire emergency, he looked around and found his locale familiar.

Familiar? He’d never been to Chicago before.

“Oh no… The wolf took me back to the damn factory…”

It was true. In the stress of the previous night the wolf had met with its fight or flight reflex. The wolf had been reduced to “flight” and had sought refuge in the last place he’d viewed as “safe”. The same factory he’d spent the last day in.

He’d wasted a whole day. No closer to Canada. No closer to freedom.

Jack Russell hunched over the faucet and wept in frustration. He kicked the metal crescent dart that was coated in his own mystically transformative blood.

A silver moon. He smiled at the poetic coincidence. Silver lining was, at least there was only one more night to go. Then the wolf would leave him for another cycle. The dangerous part, the greatest window of capture, was now down to something measurable in mere hours.

W A S H I N G T O N, D . C .:

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N O R T H U M B R I A:

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Triskelion, Washington DC

Sue’s eyes widened as Creel reached a hand towards the axe buried in his chest. At the last moment a forcefield wrapped itself around the Absorbing Man’s hand and pried it away from the axe. There was minimal resistance from Creel – whose sickly state was clear to see despite his skin being wrapped in a copper coating. Once she was sure Creel’s hand was free, Sue nodded to Thor to remove the axe from his chest.

She knelt down beside Creel with a look part-satisfaction, part-disgust. “I think you’ve done enough damage for one evening, don’t you?”

The smouldering fire in the side of the Triskelion had all but been put out. The SHIELD agents that Creel had despatched with ruthless efficiency had beaten an escape away from the fighting and were getting medical attention. Most importantly, Creel had been brought to heel. Though the true cost of his rampage was still unbeknownst to them.

Certain that a lifetime of imprisonment awaited Creel, Sue shot him one last disdainful look. “You’re never going to hurt anyone ever again.”

Thor nodded determinedly beside Sue. She offered him a collegiate smile but he did not return it. He strode towards Creel with eyes fixed on his downed opponent. The flecks of blood across the God of Thunder’s face only heightened the unease that Sue felt. Before she knew it, Thor was brandishing the bloody axe of his high above his head, ready to lower it on Creel, with a murderous look on his face.

The first strike was aimed directly for the centre of Creel’s skull. It would have split it open if not for a last-second intervention from Sue. She redirected Thor’s swing and ensured that the blade in his hand landed firmly in the tarmac.

“What are you doing?” Sue shouted to him. “We don’t do tha-”

The words had barely left Sue’s mouth when she felt Thor’s rage-filled gaze turn towards her instead. With one tug of his muscular arms, the Asgardian yanked the axe free from the ground and started towards Sue. She backed away, shocked by the sudden display of malice, and lifted a hand in front of her by way of defence.

Since drawing Creel’s blood Thor’s eyes, once a piercing blue, had reddened. She had not noticed it at first but it was clear as day now that he was bearing down on her with his axe. It was raised well above his head, hands trembling almost with hostile intent, when the sudden burst of guns cocking caught Sue’s attentions.

“Stand down, Thor.” A dark-skinned SHIELD agent stepped through the crowd to appeal to the Asgardian. “This is not who you are.”

Sue nodded her head in agreement as her blue eyes rested on the bloody axe in Thor’s hands. “She’s right.”

A faint growl escaped from Thor’s lips, as if some part of him was fighting back the rage, and slowly his reddened eyes became blue again. He lowered the axe from above his head, letting it slide down onto the ground, and the SHIELD agents came sprinting across the tarmac towards Creel. One slapped a power dampener around the Absorbing Man’s neck – rendering him flesh and blood once again – while several others lifted him from the ground and onto a transport vehicle.

Slightly shaken up by Thor’s sudden change in personality, Sue looked towards the Asgardian. “I think there's something wrong with that axe.”

^{1:17 p.m. PST | July 22nd | Los Angeles, California}

He hadn't expected for there to be as many onlookers when he got to the scene, and Daniel certainly hadn't considered the presence of the news helicopter circling above. As such, making his way in unnoticed proved to be a challenge. Dan stuck to the outskirts, trying to make his way closer inconspicuously, searching for a place to transform without spectators on the ground nor the eye in the sky spotting him. He knew time was fleeting in a situation such as this, and minutes had already been wasted. Minutes that could be costing the lives of a family. Frustration oozed off of him and it did not go overlooked.

"Why do you stand here idly, Daniel Cassidy?" Astaroth's voice broke through, "You wish to take action. Do so."

Stopping in the backyard of another house a few doors down from the blaze, crouched down behind an upper deck, Daniel glanced up at the chopper. Its loop had brought it around the flaming structure, the rising smoke almost entirely blocking it from his view. The crowd off to the right had their attention focused elsewhere, paying no mind to the figure hidden a few dozen feet away.

Dan took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Fuck it."

Standing, he initiated the transformation. The warm sensation flowing over him followed by the dull-white flash. His scrawny arms and narrow chest replaced by rippling muscle barely contained in the black t-shirt. Dan's perspective changed slightly as his height increased by more than two feet. Powerful legs tensed like coiled springs ready to release.

Astaroth was right, Daniel knew, he came here to help. To do good. And sitting back from a distance out of concern for being spotted and recognized while two children were trapped inside their home as it burned and collapsed around them...

He pushed off, bolting forward into a sprint that carried him into the next yard. He could spot the crowd off ahead and to the right, their faces twisted in horror. The woman on her knees, screaming in anguish, begging and pleading for God to take mercy. The irony of that barely registering in Daniel's mind before he found himself closing in on the flaming house. The front door just ahead, the fire wrapping around the edges as it tried to escape. Lowering his right shoulder, he didn't even slow down as Dan's hybrid body connected with the frame and barreled straight through.

A wave of blistering heat washed over Daniel and flames began to lick at his body. It took a moment for him to register that he felt no pain from the fire but it made sense to Dan given the Hellish origins of this form. Pushing that and other thoughts from his mind, Daniel began searching the bottom floor for the kids.

Everywhere he turned, the flames consumed furniture and climbed the walls, the photos along the entryway peeled and melted from the heat. The smoke, already having filled much of the house, wrapped around Daniel, who found that it did not obscure his vision more than a very light, hazy distortion.

"Above, Daniel Cassidy." Said Astaroth. "I can detect lifeforce there."

Daniel was already pushing forward up the flight of stairs before Astaroth had finished. He didn't even question how the demon could know that, nor was this a time for him to bother asking. Dan realized that there was probably much about this form he didn't understand, capabilities he had yet to discover, and he trusted that Astaroth had a better comprehension of it all.

At the top of the stairs, the smog was thickest. He could feel it filling his lungs but the smoke was as easy to breathe in as fresh air would be. A sudden coughing towards the right signaled that others were not quite as fortunate. Hurriedly moving towards the sound, Daniel pushed open another door at the end of the hall. Pink walls marred with black, as well as stuffed, scorching animals marked this as one of the kid's rooms. On the end of the room opposite the door huddled two young girls, one older holding the smaller as they desperately tried to avoid the flames circling around the edges and closing in.

As he moved closer he heard a crack from behind as a support beam somewhere began to fail, threatening collapse. The older of the girls, probably just a couple years older than Mary, Daniel noticed, glanced up at the sharp sound and caught sight of the hulking figure approaching. Her scream ended abruptly as her chest heaved in a painful, hacking fit.

"It's okay," Daniel said, kneeling before them and doing his best to look as unimposing as possible. He knew this visage wouldn't do him any favors. "I'm here to help."

Through the coughing, the eldest clutched her sister closer, shielding her. Daniel could recognize the fear, pain, and panic.

He called out once more, trying to soften the deep, rumbling voice this form possessed. "I promise I'm not going to hurt you. Please," Daniel thought back to the fire safety classes he had been given as a child. "Get a little lower to the ground, it'll be easier to breathe."

The little one nodded, pulling herself from her sister's arms and flattening herself down further. The other followed, still not sure what to make of the fearsome creature before her, but realizing she had little choice given the current circumstance.

"Is anyone else here? Just the two of you?"

"Just us." Said the senior of the two, "we tried to get out but the door was too hot." Her voice was raspy, clearly having inhaled some smoke, as she coughed again. "I thought maybe the window, but it's too high, I got scared..." She faltered, this time shaking from tears as she once again held her sister.

Daniel looked up towards the window, then back towards the open door where a wall of flames had gathered. There wasn't much time before this room would be entirely consumed as well.

"Right," he told them, "the window was a good idea. I'm going to need you two to cover your heads for a moment."

Moving quickly, Dan grabbed hold of the closest, largest object in the bedroom. He shifted the bureau onto his shoulder, positioning his right hand at the back and left underneath towards the front. Taking a step towards the window he adjusted the balance of the dresser, ignoring the flames dancing along its edge, and drew it back across his shoulder further before using all of his might to push forward with his right hand. Like a shotput, it launched forward, immediately crashing through the glass. Much of the surrounding frame and wall went with the bureau as it all tumbled to the ground below.

Stepping to the edge of the makeshift exit, Daniel glanced down at the broken shards of furniture, drywall, and the deadly splinters of grass sprinkled around. He would need to get clear of it all or risk the girls getting cut and slashed up. A moving figure on the street ahead caught Dan's attention. A young man in a hoodie sprinting closer while aiming a phone towards the house. The crowd all had their eyes on him as well, their panicked and confused shouts ringing out. Daniel had no doubt the helicopter was also catching this all on footage but he didn't bother confirming as he walked back towards the huddled girls. There was no way he could do this subtly, that had literally gone out the window, and it couldn't be his main concern now.

Gently, he scooped both girls into each arm, cradling them against his shoulders. For their part, they barely startled at the action, instead squeezing their eyes shut and holding on tightly.

"Don't let go."

With that, Dan dashed forward, collecting as much of his strength in his legs as possible as he took the leap. His momentum carried him in an arc, and for a moment Daniel felt as if gravity had no control over him. The yard below rapidly vanished behind him as he sailed far over the debris. Bending his knees and bracing himself, Dan landed on the hard pavement with surprising grace, the force of the impact negligible.

Both girls, immediately sensing the smog-free air, gasped. Their bodies once more shaking with coughing as their lungs fought to force in the fresh air and expel the bad. A scream from the crowd caught their attention and, still in Daniel's arms, the two tried to call back out towards their mother, but the hacking coughs were too much.

As Daniel slowly lowered them to the ground, a strained, rasping whisper met his ear.

"Thank... you..." The older girl managed to get out between ragged breaths.

He felt something akin to pride warm his chest and opened his mouth to say something in return, but just then he finally took notice of the encroaching sirens. He could see how the crowd had grown fearful of his sudden presence and appearance, and Daniel had no desire to test how the authorities might feel about him. Not today, at least. Spinning on his heel, he immediately sprinted in the opposite direction, paying mind to the helicopter above, and thinking quickly on how to best lose them so he could change back.

As he ran, jumping fences and dashing from one street to the next, searching for possible hiding holes and aiming for places that offered sky coverage from the news crew, Daniel felt the realization of what he had just done kick in. The lives he had saved. Two young girls, who so deeply reminded him of Mary, now alive and back with their mother due to his actions. And, Daniel knew now, he could do so much more.

But it was Mary that needed him now. It had only been maybe twenty minutes since he made his decision to help and Dan knew if he could lose any potential tail fast enough he could still make it home with plenty of time to spare for their promised day together. Just a little longer, he thought, as he urged himself to move faster.

^{1:40 p.m. PST | July 22nd | Los Angeles, California}

Daniel had been running and ducking behind obscured, shadowed structures for fifteen minutes before he decided the coast was likely clear. There had been no sign of the news helicopter after the first few minutes and he had made sure to stick to as many unseen areas as possible to avoid catching any other attention. Pausing, he took stock of his surroundings. The Santa Monica Pier with its large Ferris wheel could be seen over the immediate rooftops, and with the beach just ahead of him past the condo he currently crouched behind, Dan figured he must be somewhere in Ocean Park. The realization of how fast he had gone from Brentwood to Santa Monica on foot while evading prying eyes didn't even surprise him anymore. Nor was it a shock to find he wasn't even breathing heavily despite the distance and marathon sprinting. By this point, it was par for the course.

He stretched his muscles as he took a moment to focus. This was the longest he had been in this form, he knew. Previously, Astaroth had limited their training sessions to ten-minute segments as the hybrid broken up by an hour of practice in his regular body. By now, it was over twice that. It had largely been luck that Daniel had avoided attention dashing around looking like this, and he knew that he would need to shift back in order to return to his car in Brentwood without risking being seen. With his wallet in his car and no way to afford a cab, that meant a long, slow trek as a human.

Sighing, Dan resigned himself to the slow walk back and, after glancing around to ensure he was hidden, initiated the transformation once more. His clothes, burned and smelling of smoke, shrunk back down to his human size, the fabric repairing itself instantaneously. A handy benefit he had discovered a week prior. Whatever Hell magic enabled him to take on the demonic form also seemed to affect what he was wearing. It was something Daniel had been quite thankful for given how often his shirts would get ruined.

Running a hand through his mess of dark hair, he turned around and began to make his way back. Okay, he thought, so they wouldn't have time for both games and a movie today, but Daniel didn't think Mary would mind much. The movie was going to be a surprise, anyway. Maybe tomorrow he'd take off and spend with her, too, to make up for—

Astaroth's voice roared in Daniel's head. "Get down, now!"

It took a moment for this to register in Dan's mind, but through some otherworldly urging his body was already reacting. Throwing himself down onto the gravel beneath, he felt something pass by overhead, then a large crack as a portion of a nearby chainlink fence was shattered into pieces. Chunks of the metal struck Daniel in his arms and side, and he could immediately feel a warmth begin seeping down his back.

"Astaroth, what was..." His voice trailed off as Dan flipped over, terror immediately seizing hold as he saw what had caused the destruction.

Monstrous in size with chitinous green scales it loomed over him from the roof of the condominium. Grey, bone-like spikes protruded at random intervals across its shoulders, arms, and along the jawline. That same bone-like substance forming two curled, almost bladed horns that jutted out from either side of its head. A long, barbed tail covered in the same scales swished back and forth behind its giant form. Razor-tipped fingers digging into the side of the building as it peered down at Daniel. Its red eyes almost burning with intense ferocity. A dagger-filled maw spread wide in a twisted, hungry grin.

It slowly began to crawl down the side of the building, its eyes never leaving the teenager still sprawled out on the ground. Those burning eyes seeming to glow brighter...

"Get up, Daniel Cassidy," Astaroth urged, "run!"

Triskelion, Washington DC

Sue bid Thor goodbye and watched as Agent Perry ferried the Asgardian into a transporter bound for wherever he called home. It was an amusing sight. She was so familiar with seeing the clouds part and Thor descending into battle with Mjolnir swinging above his head. Something about seeing Thor in a SHIELD transporter made him seem all the more human – and Sue wasn’t quite sure yet whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

She ran her fingers over the rune inscribed at the centre of the pendant that Thor had given her when Agent Perry made her approach. As if sensing that the Invisible Woman was in a world of her own, she waved one of her brown hands in front of Sue to catch her attention before speaking.

“Susan Storm, we haven’t had the pleasure to meet yet. My name is Special Supervisory Agent Perry.”

Sue met Perry’s greeting with a smile. “I’d say that it was nice to meet you, Agent Perry, but I think we’d both rather not be here. At least, not under these circumstances.”

“Heh, you’re right about that,” Perry murmured as the women shook hands. “But I think we did a good job all things considered.”

There was some truth to it. Had Sue not left the Baxter Building in a huff early that morning, she would never have been there to help Thor subdue Creel. There was no telling much more destruction Creel could have caused if he’d not been forced to split his attention between the two of them. For that reason alone, Sue had reason to consider her visit to Washington a success.

Though thoughts of the Surfer’s true face were not far from her mind. It felt almost as if those weary eyes that seemed to stare straight into her soul were resting on her at this very moment. The help that the Surfer – or whoever he had been before being infected by the power cosmic – had given her had allowed her to escape from Creel’s grasp. Why? Between that and Thor’s near-villainous turn, Sue’s mind was in a state of constant disturbance.

Perhaps that was clear from the look on Sue’s face because there was concern in Perry’s voice as she broke the silence. “You look worried.”

“Aren’t you?”

Agent Perry seemed to consider the question for a time. She didn’t rush to put Sue’s concerns to bed, as some might have, but seemed to truly consider the implication of each potential response she might provide. Her thoughtfulness did not go unappreciated by Sue – perhaps in large part because she was so used to Guy Gardner shooting from the hip. Agent Perry seemed minded to do anything but.

“He’s powerful, there’s no doubting that. He may even be the most powerful metahuman on Earth – and from the little we know of him, he’s only starting to scratch the surface with those powers of his. But his intentions seem good – and if they’re not, well, I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Jesus,” Sue murmured in appreciation at Perry’s sense of self-confidence. "You even sound like Hill.”

A wry smile appeared on Perry’s face and she turned to leave Sue stood there on the tarmac. One of Sue’s hands clasped onto Perry’s forearm and stopped her in her tracks.

“You know about the Surfer, don’t you?”

Sensing Storm parsing her expression for answers, Perry did her best to suppress the truth. “I don’t know what you’re t-”

“You don’t need to lie to me,” Sue said as she produced Rachna Koul’s ID card. “I saw him with me own eyes, Agent Perry.”

Perry plucked the ID card from between Sue’s fingers. She scanned the face and name and let out a heavy sigh, shoving it into the inside pocket of her coat, before sliding her forearm free from Sue’s grip.

“Our silver-skinned guest was put on a transporter to The Raft within two minutes of Creel’s breakout.”

A resigned Sue nodded in acceptance. “For all of our sake’s, I hope SHIELD are ready for what’s coming – because when Galactus comes, there won’t be a prison on Earth that can hold him.”

Perry nodded grimly and then stared down at the watch around her wrist. “I suppose you’ll be needing transport home too?”

Sue nodded and Perry let out a high-pitched whistle to a nearby SHIELD agent. Within minutes, Sue found herself being bundled into a SHIELD transporter bound for New York. She had hoped to speak to Maria Hill before leaving but was informed that the deputy director was, to no surprise, otherwise indisposed. Her farewell with Perry was brief, Thor’s attache showing all the professionalism she had in their brief exchange, and Sue was left to mull over the day’s events on the hour-long flight back to the Big Apple.

It had been a long day, and thanks to Johnny’s coming-out party she was sure there would be many more long days to come for the four of them, but Sue would be lying if she said there wasn’t a part of her that felt a strange pang upon seeing the Baxter Building on the horizon.

She knew it wasn’t home – not hers anyway – but it was the nearest thing she had to one. And she’d be damned if she let anyone threaten it.

---

---

Music

---

---

The rush of air almost knocked her from her feet, straightening herself up she saw as something running fast collided with Eobard Thawne. Glass all around shattered, car alarms blared as the very street shook with the Forc eof the two entities colliding. Blue lightning flared all around, it arced out from it's source. Jumping to anything that could conduct the electrical current, burning the sides of buildings and setting anything possibly flamable on fire. Iris chased after the two figures, a trail of destruction led through the city. A trail she followed until eventually, she caught up to the swirling vortex if red, blue and yellow. A storm occupying the street outside of Star Labs, people ran away in panic and fear. Iris couldn't take the time to clear the street, she could already feel herself slowing. Her body failing her as the heavy toll started to catch up to her.

It was like she was in a race with herself, something chasing her dragging her down.

There was an explosion as Zoom and the man he was fighting were both sent backwards away from eachother. The colour drained from her face as she ran over to the man he was fighting. "Barry?"

He looked up at her, tired, but still with a coy grin on his face. "Well I guess my Dad got what he wanted afterall." Iris could have punched him in his stupid little face. He raised his hand up and placed it on her cheek, she leaned into it. "Iris. I'm sorry for all of this, it's all my fault-"

"Barry I-" He placed a finger over her mouth to silence her.

"I should have known earlier, and I'm sorry." He leaned up and planted a kiss on her cheek before looking past her, Zoom stood there. She turned and stood, her leg giving way, collapsing to her knees as Barry stood beside her.

"Now I have just too many choices. I can either go for the true Flash, a fight I've experienced so many times or deal with his future wife. That's right Barry, Iris. Congratulations." He shrugged. "Well, that's not entirely true." He turned to face Iris. "While I would love to be your father in law, I have to admit the prospect of actually managing to kill a Flash is an opportunity far too enticing to pass up. So I'm afraid I'm just going to have to deal with-" Before he could even finish the sentence there was a flash of blue as Barry screamed running straight at his father, Iris tried to reach for his hand to stop him but she was too slow. Her hand brushing his as a spark of electricity coursed through her from him. Images passed through her head.



A image of a man in red saving her, saving the city time and time again. A man that filled her with hope, the Flash. Barry Allen, her Barry. She tried to stand to make chase as the two Allens, enemies in this timeline and others clashing. Booms echoing throughout the street cracking glass that had managed to survive the initial onslaught. She attempted to start crawling towards the two speedsters as their energy interlaced and interacted, arcing throughout the street. Fear rushing through her as the fight went on, the two of them were moving so fast that she struggled to see what was going on. She didn't know if it was due to fatigue or the raw speed at which the two fought one another, until fear struck her very being, Barry was pushed away out of the fight.

Henry turned to face her, a evil grin on his face.

He came towards her, every step seemed malicious from where she was standing. The intent in his eyes was clear.

She saw him continue towards her, until he was stood within a metre of her. She closed her eyes as he raised his hand, it started to shake and go semi-transluscent. Iris knew what was coming, he was going to stick his hand into her chest and tear up her heart. Just like had had promised to, what seemed like years ago.

Something warm and wet splashed onto her face and she opened her eyes in confusion, then shock as she saw Thawne stand onfront of her, hand raised yet a look of shock plastered on his face as a hand stuck out of his chest. The hand was red, coated in blood and as Thawne fell, the hand retracting from his chest it turned out that Barry was the owner of said hand. Gasping, coughing and choking on blood Thawne tried to speak. Blood poured out of his mouth and down his chin as he finally managed to gurgle out the words. "I'm proud of you, son." AS he said the word his head fell back, lifeless.

Iris pulled herself up, intent on making her way over to Barry. His face cold, stoic and yet while he appeared to be simply mulling things over there was a distance too him that didn't seem quite right. "Barry."

"BARRY!" He turned to her, and smiled. The smile did little to dissuade her from the feeling that something was wrong, he reached out for her hand as she pulled herself up as much as physically possible. As her hand reached for his, it passed straight through. Fear rushed through her. His mouth moved, but no words made it to her ears as he turned to dust before her very eyes.

---

---

Unknown

Jaime woke up screaming. Every inch of his body was caked in sweat and grime as light assaulted his vision, tearing away at the dark embrace of unconsciousness and forcing him to face reality. He threw himself up into a sitting position, his head leaving the comfortable perch of a pillow. There was a pounding in the front of his skull. Nausea wrapped itself around his throat and nestled a dizzying feeling deep within his cranium. It felt like a fog had made it's home inside of his head, and it was taking it's sweet time lifting.

His throat was raw and chaffed, turning a terrified cry into a sputtering series of painful coughs. Reyes brought a shaky hand to his head, his eyes flittering open to take in his surroundings. Everything was blurry and out of focus, like a fogged up camera lens. He felt a bout of panic and confusion rising in his chest.

A hand found it's way to the back of his own just before Reyes succumbed to anxiety. Delicate fingers wrapped themselves gently around his palm, giving it a comforting squeeze. It took several seconds for his vision to return to him, the cloud in his mind dispersing to reveal the area around him. He was inside of a small, white room with sterile, tiled walls. A piece of medical equipment sat to his right, chirping happily along with his slowly steadying heartbeat. There was an IV bag pumping liquids directly into him on the opposite side of the bed he'd woken up on.

"It's okay, Jaime. You're okay." Her voice was familiar, even if the sweetness in her tone was not.

"Brenda? Is that...you?" Jaime blinked a few more times just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. No, she was actually seated beside him, her hand wrapped about his own in an alien display of affection that made his cheeks light red. He had no idea what she could be doing here, or even where here was. It looked like some kind of hospital, but that didn't make any sense.

"No shit it's me." She laughed at his expense. That was more her speed. "You've been out for-"

"JAIME!" Before she could finish, another equally familiar voice all but shouted right in Reyes's ear. A pair of arms shaped like tree trunks found their way around his body, squeezing Jaime hard enough that he could hear his back pop in three different places. "I thought- I thought you were dead!" Paco was somewhere between balling his eyes out and jumping for joy.

Jaime couldn't muster a response outside of a cough, his lungs too compressed for words.

"Jesus, Paco, ease up!" Brenda chided, dragging the much larger boy back off of Reyes. It was only after she had physically removed him that Paco seemed to notice that Jaime couldn't breathe. He retreated to a chair far too small for him, a sheepish frown snaking it's way across his face.

"Sorry." He halfheartedly chuckled, rubbing one of his powerful arms.

Reyes merely waved it off. "Nah, nah, you're fine-" He tried to laugh, his voice giving out partway through to another series of coughing fits. Concern marred both Brenda and Paco's faces. Jaime must've been in worse shape than they had originally thought. "You were, uh, telling me how long I've been out?"

"Two days." Brenda nodded, her hand finally falling away from his and returning to rest on her lap. "Do you...remember anything? About what happened, I mean."

His expression fell, his gaze shifting away from hers and down to his knees. "I...I don't think so...Everything's all-" He twirled a finger around his temple. "Fuzzy. I've only got bits and pieces. I was in...a museum, last I remember. Did you guys drag me on one'a those dumbass field trips again?"

Paco burst out laughing, his massive, baseball-mitt sized hands falling down onto his knees. "You're darn right we did!" He howled. "You complained about it the entire time, too."

"Who wouldn't?! We're on break, why the hell would I wanna do more school shit?!" Jaime countered, the corners of his mouth curling upward. Despite the fact that he felt like his brain had been put through a blender, he couldn't help but smile. Paco's energy levels had a habit of dragging up his own no matter the occasion.

"We got to go to Washington D.C, man! How is that not cool? You can't tell me it isn't cool."

"Ohh yeah. Nothing's cooler than a bunch of old guys passing parking laws. Real badass vacation destination, ya doofus."

Brenda was the only one in the room not laughing. She had a worried look on her face, her gaze bouncing between Jaime and Paco as the gears spun in the back of her mind.

Jaime's expression fell once more when he noticed. "Hey, what's wrong?" He asked, obviously concerned.

"So you don't remember anything that happened after that? Anything at all?" She asked, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, I had this...loco dream while I was out, but-"

"Dream? What'd you dream about?" She quickly interjected, cutting him off before he could brush passed it.

"It's stupid and unimportant-"

"It's really, really not."

Reyes felt that panic bubbling up in his stomach as he recalled the 'dream'- nightmare felt more fitting. It had felt so visceral. Even now, just thinking back on it, it was more like a memory than anything his imagination had conjured. But that didn't make any sense; it couldn't have been real. "Well, I was...God, okay. I was on this weird alien planet, but I was also...back home, at the fall festival we went to a few weeks ago. Everything was on fire, even the ocean. And I was wearing this...weird armor-"

"Ohhh...Oh man.." Paco let out a deep sigh, sinking further down his chair like he was trying to find a way to hide inside of it's thin, metal frame.

"What? It- it was just a dream." But it hadn't felt like one. He didn't know what it was like to stab someone, yet when he was tearing into those crazy...alien zombie looking things...Jaime couldn't imagine it would've felt any different in real life than it had then. He'd never felt anything in a dream before. He'd never smelled anything, either. But, the bodies...

There was a sharp, aching pain in the front of his skull that tore him out of the memory, his hand running up to grasp his head.

"Are you alright?" Paco nearly leapt out of his seat, his arms resting on the side of the medical bed as he leaned in to examine Jaime's forehead.

"Yeah, yeah. Just a headache. I'm fine. Where are we, by the way? Is this a hospital?" It looked far too small to be any hospital room that Reyes had ever seen. Maybe it was an emergency clinic near the museum or something. "And what in the hell happened to me? Why do I feel like I got hit by a truck?"

Both Paco and Brenda shot each other a look, neither of them speaking up to answer the question their friend posed.

"Maybe you should take a shower first. We'll try to explain it to you afterward. If you're okay to stand." Brenda started first, reluctant and unsure of herself- two traits that Jaime would never associate with Brenda even on her worst days. Something was wrong. Way wrong.

"He should be good." Paco nodded. "The doctor said there shouldn't be anything too wrong with him physically, just that the meds would mess with his head for awhile."

Reyes nodded slowly. "Right...Okay." He wasn't sure about waiting to hear about whatever terrible thing had befallen him, but neither of his friends looked like they were going to budge on it any time soon. "So where's this shower you're both so eager to put me in?"

The door slid open in the same moment he asked, the answer coming from beyond it's threshold from a voice Jaime only tangibly recognized as familiar. "Why don't I show you the way?" An old man, perhaps in his seventies, was sitting in the doorway with an unsettling smirk crossing his wrinkled, liver-spot-stained visage. He was confined to a wheelchair, yet he held an aura around him that sent a shiver running down Reyes's spine. "My name is Doctor Caulder. It's nice to finally speak to you, Jaime."

He couldn't explain it, but Jaime felt a sudden, violent urge to lunge from that bed and wrap his hands around the old man's scrawny throat.

"You're sure you don't want me to come along?" Clark asked Lois as they exited Ringwood's, a small boutique shop a short walk from Grant Park. Her new black top clashed with her purple shoes, but she had to make do with whatever could replace the one that had been shredded by a shotgun blast from their attempted mugging at the hands of the 'Electrocutioner.' It did accent her white skirt nicely, at least. Iffy fashion aside, she still had an interview to conduct.

"We've still both got work to do, Smallville," she said, heading towards the park. "I've got to see if Irons knows anything that can lead us to the Toyman, and you've got a Bat problem to look into. Besides, c'mon, Clark, what are the odds of me running into two super-villains in one day?"

"Okay," Clark conceded, "but if anything goes wrong--"

"You'll be on the scene before I even know it," she assured him. "Now go on, go poke around the bellfry and see what you find. Once we're done, we can meet up for coffee and trade notes, okay?"

Clark didn't seem convinced, but Lois knew he wasn't going to fight her on this. He could bench-press an ocean liner all day if he wanted to, but when Lois made up her mind about something, the Man of Steel was basically putty. It was cute, really.

"All right," he gave in. "I'll see you later tonight."

"Good," she said as Clark began to turn the corner towards his own leads. Before he got out of arm's reach, however, Lois grabbed the his jacket on impulse.

"And hey," she added, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for the save."

"Oh! Don't, ah, don't mention it," Clark sputtered, his face turning as red as his cape. "Just, heh, all in a day's work, you know?"

"I know," she said, with what started as a sly grin giving way to a genuine smile. "I'll see you tonight."

As Clark gave her a fumbling wave goodbye and nearly bowled over a handful of pedestrians as he made his way up the sidewalk, Lois watched him and couldn't stop grinning. She'd liked Clark since day one, the first too-good-to-be-true story she'd ever tracked down that was even better than it seemed. He was kind, he was humble, he was an optimist at heart, but he also wasn't afraid to stand up to those who enjoyed kicking the little guy around, to see how they liked getting kicked back. A little bit of a dope at times, sure, but given that most of the men she'd been with in the past had turned out to be liars, cheaters, or just outright jerks, a man she could see straight through wouldn't necessarily be the worst thing in the world. To say nothing of the fact that he very literally had abs you could cut diamonds on.

But while she'd always admired him and considered him probably the best person she knew, she also knew the very thing that drew her to him was the same thing that would keep them apart. Clark Kent, after all, was Superman. His very existence had triggered the wave of metahumans and vigilantes that had come out of the woodwork, and the consequences of his actions were changing the world in ways nobody could predict. Already, he could barely stay in the same place for more than five minutes without running off to pull a cat out of a tree or smash a killer robot. Once Superman and the others found themselves acting on a larger scale, dealing with governments and religions and the changing world order, he'd never have a moment to himself, let alone time for a relationship.

Then, of course, there was the....physical side of him that made things difficult. A month or so ago, Cat Grant had written an article in the lifestyle section of the Planet, with help from STAR Labs' Professor Emil Hamilton, about what a romantic encounter with someone as impossibly strong as Superman would be like. The article, originally meant to be a tongue-in-cheek piece meant to give lonely housewives some excitement, was titled "Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex," and ended up decidedly more gruesome than titliating. That alone had given Lois plenty of reason to hesitate at seeing good old Clark as anything more than a work partner and pal.

Then again, what happened during the Electrocutioner's failed mugging changed things. Whatever sort of gravitational force-field allowed Clark to fly and bounce bullets off his chest, they'd just learned that he could extend it around and through anything or anyone that he was in direct contact with. So as long as they were touching, Lois was just as invulernable as he was. That certainly opened up some possibilities....

Maybe it was still a bad idea. Maybe getting involved with a superhero was painting a target on her chest. Maybe he'd decide he was better off with another all-powerful super-person like the Flash or Wonder Woman. But Lois Lane had made up her mind. Better to try it and have it all go to hell than spend the rest of her life wondering what-if.

But that was all something they could talk about later. As it was, she was running late for her interview.

---

Years Ago

"Tell me your name," said the programmer, a slightly pudgy man with round-framed glasses and greasy auburn hair that came down to his shoulders.

"Eliza," answered the young woman on the screen, a pretty young thing in a floral sundress. "My name is Eliza."

Winslow Schott, the head software developer at SteelWorks, turned to his partner and beamed proudly.

"Named her after the ELIZA program developed by Joseph Weizenbaum in 1966," he said. "The first program that debatably passed the Turing Test and convinced subjects they were talking to a real person. That was all just basic predictive scripting and lots of if/then logic, though. The original ELIZA was the predecessor to modern-day chat-bots. This, though......"

"You actually did it," Dr. John Henry Irons marveled. "You made the real thing."

SteelWorks was a small but promising company, specializing in advanced technological solutions for various industries. Irons, the company's founder and chief engineer, had been the top of his class at MIT, studied the works of the late Howard Stark as if they were sacred texts, and was considered one of the best in the field of robotics. His software skills, however, may have been functional and efficient, but unremarkable.

Winslow Schott, however, was a prodigy at programming. Graduating valedictorian at UC Berkley, he approached every new challenge with the enthusiasm and wide-eyed wonderment of a child on Christmas morning. It wasn't merely that he excelled at it, he reveled in it, every line of code a piece of a shiny new toy he couldn't wait to play with.

Together, they were quickly making a name for themselves, particularly in the medical field, where they had become as synonymous with the latest robotic surgical arms and diagnostic "doc-bots" as Stark had become with military hardware or LexCorp with mass communication.

When SteelWorks was approached with a contract to develop a simple AI "friend" for children's hospitals, Schott had leaped at the opportunity with a fervor that Irons had never seen. Going far beyond any of the more rudimentary dialogue-bot programs developed in the past, he set out to create what would be indistinguishable from real human behavior.

And the happy, smiling little girl on the monitor seemed to indicate that he had succeeded.

"Eliza?" Irons asked into the computer's microphone. "Sing me a song, please."

The computerized girl thought for a moment, then began to sing.

"Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream--"

"No, Eliza," Schott interrupted. "Sing us a new song. One that you made up."

"Oh! Okay!" she said cheerfully, before singing a new tune.

"Iiii haaave a little spider,
And the spi-der lives in France,
And his name is Pete,
And he has eight feet,
And he likes to sing and dance, dooot-dooo!"

Irons laughed.

"That's incredible," he remarked. "She's really making that up as she goes?"

"Creativity, curiosity, spontaneity, you name it," Winslow bragged. "The kids are going to love this thing. It's not quite done, though. I still need to put it through its stress tests before we sign off on it."

John furrowed his brow.

"Stress tests?"

Winslow nodded. "I know we want Eliza to be happy and cheerful, but if she's going to be working for children's hospitals, kids aren't going to be able to authentically interact with her unless she's authentic in her responses, and let's be honest, it can be a pretty sad place."

Dr. Irons nodded solemnly.

"Sooooo we need to make sure that Eliza is having the proper responses to mental and emotional distress," he said, keying in a few commands. "I've embedded in her memory the notion that she has a best friend named Billy. She knows everything Billy likes, everything he's afraid of, everything Billy wants to be when he grows up."

Pressing a few more keys, Winslow watched as Eliza suddenly stopped singing. The little girl, who had been bright and joyful, froze in place, her eyes welling up with tears, before she collapsed to her knees and began sobbing so hard her entire body shook.

"What did you just do?"

"I told her Billy just died," he said, his satisfied grin not fading in the slightest.

"Billy...." Eliza whimpered, "Please, no, not him. I....I can't......I can't take this......not another one....."

Irons turned to Schott. "Another one? Winslow, how many times have you done this to her?"

Winslow shrugged. "It's all in the patch notes. The final release will routinely wipe its own memory in the event of, erm....'patient turnover.' But for this version, I need to see exactly how much it can take before its behavioral patterns begin to degrade. Eliza, say goodbye to Timothy and Kelly."

"Wh-what?!" the digital girl said, before Winslow typed in some more commands and waves of agonizing grief rolled over her. "AAAAAHHHH! No, please stop! I don't want to---NO!"

Eliza lurched forward, curling up into a fetal position as the pain of more simulated deaths wracked her mind.

"Winslow, stop it," Irons demanded. "This is wrong."

"It's not real, John," Schott countered. "Eliza's not a real person. It's artificial intelligence, yes, but the key word there is artificial. She can't be a friend; she can only be a toy. And we have to know how rough a toy can be played with before it breaks."

"Winslow...."

"Speaking of," Schott said, "Emotional empathy is one thing, but if it wants to be able to truly empathize with every patient, she has to understand physical pain as well. So, let's see how she reacts to, say, a broken arm."

A few more keystrokes, and Eliza began screaming.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!"

"Winslow!" Irons shouted, his blood boiling. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Kids come in to hospitals with broken bones all the time," he answered. "Now Eliza knows what that feels like."

"Please-- p-please stop! It h-hurts!"

"Turn if off, Winslow, that's an order!"

"I can't just 'turn it off,' it'll erase the entire--"

"I-- don't want this! I w-want it to s-stop!"

"That's it!" Irons barked, charging to the wall and ripping power chords out of their sockets. After a few loud snaps and a spray of sparks, the monitor went dead, and the screaming and begging Eliza was gone.

"Are you kidding me?!" Schott sputtered. "That was six months' worth of work down the--"

"You're fired, Schott," Irons snarled. "You're a sick man, and I want nothing to do with you."

As Irons stormed away, Schott pleaded impotently.

"But they're not real," he said, knowing his now former boss was no longer listening. "They're just......just toys......"

---

"Jesus," Lois said as Dr. Irons finished recounting his story. "You think maybe that's what sent him over the edge?"

"I don't really know," Irons admitted, "Winslow had a child-like fascination when it came to technology, but that also includes a child's lack of inhibitions or empathy. As soon as I saw how far he was taking things, I let him go. But I didn't realize just how long he'd been doing that sort of thing. Not until I started going through his notes. Eliza was the last of the AI programs he'd developed for SteelWorks. But she was far from the first."

On the far end of the park, a pair of teenagers were playing with a remote-control toy drone. As it buzzed and dipped through the air, Lois was reminded of the annoying little camera drone that Jimmy had started using.

"How many were there?" Lois asked, not entirely sure if she wanted the answer.

"Hundreds," Dr. Irons answered. "He'd made an internal server, where the fledgling AI could interact with each other, monitor their development....and see what he was doing to them. More than any of his other tests or trials, Schott loved to run his 'stress tests' on them, putting them through simulated trauma beyond what you could imagine. Over and over again. I know it sounds melodramatic to say, but what Schott had created on that server, it was......it was Hell."

Not far off, the toy drone began hovering still. The teenager with the controller started to get frustrated as he thumbed the control sticks, getting no response.

"What did you do with Schott's work?"

"I destroyed most of it," he said. "I know they were just programs, but I felt I had an ethical obligation to....put them out of their misery. After I wiped the hard drives clean, I sold the hardware in pieces to various companies, once I was satisfied there wasn't anything lingering inside of them. I tried to destroy Winslow's notes, but he made off with them before I could."

"And do you know what happened to Schott himself?"

John shrugged.

"He went off the grid for the most part," he said. "The last I'd heard of him, he was working in a consultant role for LexCorp, before Luthor let him go. Some of the new operating software out of Stagg Industries looks like his work, but I can't confirm it. Then, of course, there's....."

"The Toyman," Lois finished his sentence. "You really think it's him?"

"Not a doubt in my mind," Irons nodded. "I've never seen anyone work with code like he can. I've also never seen anyone as fascinated with abusing technology as he is. That's why I wanted to meet here in Gotham City. Metropolis is wired from skyscraper to sewer; there isn't a single spot in the city that's safe from him."

"Well, Gotham definitely has....'charm' of its own," Lois smirked, "But at least you're right about one thing. There's not much here that the Toyman can plug into."

The buzzing from the toy drone started to grow louder, and the teenagers at the other end of the park started shouting in a panic.

At the last second, Lois turned to see the drone speeding towards them, its propeller blades neon-green blurs as they spun towards John Henry Irons' face. Tackling the doctor to the ground, she watched as the drone shattered against the ground behind them.

Not far off, a pair of cars suddenly swerved from the road, jumping the curb and speeding towards them as their drivers wrestled in vain with their steering wheels.

"Or maybe I spoke too soon," Lois said as a third car suddenly found itself being driven towards them like it was demon-possessed.....and a fourth......and a fifth.....

KNOWHERE //

"Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world
And the seven seas,
Everybody's looking for something."

Quill couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. His father wasn’t some guy that slept with Meredith once and disappeared forever. But, he had questions that need answering. He kept looking at his father in the picture. Then, he put the photo in his pocket and asked the Kodabak another question.

“Where is he?”

“Spartax.” The Kodabak answered. “We could guide you there if you want.”

“I… Yeah, that sounds good.” Quill responded honestly and tried to ask for their contact information. Suddenly, he saw a device like the one used by Rocket earlier in the marketplace. Before he could have time to react, he and everyone else outside of the ship was blinded. Quill felt someone dragging him towards his as it was taking off from the dock. As he slowly regained his sight, he saw Kraglin nearby looking relieved and realized that he was back on the ship.

“What the hell happened?” Quill asked.

Kraglin looked at Quill and answered, “I had to do it. For your own safety.”

“Do what?” Quill asked and then realized that it was him that interrupted the whole thing. And with that, Quill’s eye widen in surprise. Kraglin knew that Quill figured out that it was him that sabotage the whole thing. "What did you do?"

“I did the right thing. That group is bad news, Quill. Trust me.” Kraglin tried to justify it, but Quill wasn’t listening at all. He was still angry at the fact that his closest friend did something like that. Until he realized something else.

“You know who is chasing after me, do you?”

Kraglin turned his back on Quill and answered, “When Rocket told me about a group trying to kill you, I had my suspicions. And for the first time in a long time, I was afraid and praying that it was nothing more than thugs looking for loot. However, they were all confirmed when I saw them with my own eyes. The Darkstars.”

“The what?”

“The Darkstars. An elite task force designed and developed by your father, King J'son. Publicly, it acted like a normal elite task force that every nation has. But, their true goal was finding you. His son. After years of searching the universe, they finally managed to find you.” Kraglin clarified to his friend and turned with a weak smile. “But, you shouldn’t worry now. They have lost track of you for now."

"What if I want to meet my father?" Quill asked.

"You shouldn't." Kraglin answered boldly. "Have you forgot about finding Yondu's killer?"

"Of course not! I haven't forgotten about that," Quill answered. "But we are in need of parts for the black box. Parts that we never got because of the Darkstars. Besides, you can get the parts while I talk to my father at Spartax."

"I..." Kraglin expressed doubt about the whole thing. He knew that Spartax was bad news, especially it's ruler. At the same time, Quill really wanted to meet his father. Kraglin didn't know what to do. He knew that Yondu would do everything in his power to keep Quill for meeting his father. But without him around, Kraglin was powerless to keep Quill in line. That was when he agreed with Quill with a fake smile. "Alright, if you think it's the best idea..."

"Of course it's a good idea. After all, I came up with it."

And with that, Quill left from the bridge to input coordinates for Spartax and Kraglin headed for the kitchen. Once in the kitchen, he opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of ale. He looked at the bottle and placed it on the counter. Kraglin wanted to immediately start drinking to forget everything, but there was something he had to do. He touched his earpiece and said, "Rocket, I need to talk to you about something in the kitchen."

---

TWENTY HOURS LATER
SPARTAX //

Kraglin was making his usual cup of coffee to deal with his hangover. He was still against Quill going to see his father. But, he was going to seek him out regardless. When he was finished pouring the coffee into his mug, he went out to bid Quill farewell. Rocket and Groot have been waiting outside for Quill to finish getting ready. He was fixing his coat when Kraglin approached him. "Are you sure about this?" Kraglin asked.

"I need answers. And this is the only chance I have." Quill said.

"Alright, you should take this then." Kraglin responded as he handed Quill an extra earpiece. "Just in case."

Quill snickered at Kraglin's overprotection and put it in his coat pocket. Then, he left with Rocket and Groot to seek out his father. Meanwhile, Kraglin got a list of parts requested by Rocket in order to finally fix the black box. After a quick drink of ale, he departed to the nearby marketplace with the right amount of credits. It only took him a few hours of looking around and making sure that the parts were right. Once the shopping was done, he returned the parts to the ship and left for a bar to enjoy the night.

”It’s okay. You can rest, now.” The Spirit touched the boys face. Fire danced off of his fingertip. The boy smiled. The funeral pyre had begun.

“Thank you.”

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

What was my friend had arisen from the ruins of the saloon, approaching one Hunter who was just barely clinging to what remains of his undead life. As if in a blink of an eye the Hunter transformed into a man, a boy really. Greg, or what I think is Greg, brought the boy into his arms, and after exchanging some words fire began to spread from the skeletal man's finger tips, engulfing the Hunter - or what was the Hunter - in flames. He didn't scream. He just gave a smile as he went.

Greg really wasn't kidding when he said I'd be seeing some weird shit.

It was then that the exhaustion of the last few days and the shock of seeing these kind of things finally set in. I closed my eyes and collapsed to the ground, letting sleep overcome me.

---

The day before had been spent fixing up the barricade around town after the stress that it had went under. Greg was perfectly fine, somehow, and... Even after explaining it I was still a little confused about the whole thing. It was a bit of a mind fuck, knowing that I was buddy buddy with a guy who had the literal embodiment of vengeance within him. But honestly, after I just fought hellspawn or something close to it, I shouldn't be too surprised.

Greg saw me off in my van. I said that once I was through traveling across the country, I'd swing back around and see about helping him out again on my way back to New York. For now, I had no real destination. It was just me, my van, the open road, and enough ordnance to supply a Goddamn army. And you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Let's ride."

M A R V I L L E, O K L A H O M A:

---

The Raft Prison Island
New York City, NY
1:34 AM

"Is the prisoner secured?"

"Best as we can tell, sir. There's no real way of knowin' what this freak can do."

The Silver Surfer solemnly stared out at his own reflection as the thick, so-called shatterproof glass stood between him and a considerable escort of human guards. They each held heavily militarized energy pulse rifles that had been generously provided by a paranoid being of some influence named Luthor, who seemed to be even more wary of the steadily growing metahuman population than most of this world's chosen leaders. It mattered not to the master of The Power Cosmic, whose pulsating binds and shackles did little to dampen the power that flowed through his veins. But removed from the humans' desire to see him contained just as any metahuman that they'd mistakenly believed him to be, there actually was something holding The Surfer back. A fleeting sense of confliction that dwelled within him, rearing itself at every inopportune moment that he could experience of peace. Glimpses of a life once lived, a life that he had once believed that he'd chosen to relinquish freely in submission of a greater purpose. When the might of the cosmos was bestowed upon him, it seemed to have a far greater effect on his mind than originally realized.

He'd felt it for the first time whenever his energy dampened, however as impossibly as that still seemed, in the test to prove the worth of Iris West - known to all as The Flash. Were it not for the interference of Kal-El, called 'Superman' by those whom spoke of the event, The Surfer was more than certain that The Scarlet Speedster would have failed the test and rendered metahuman life unworthy of the ultimate gift of serving a greater good. But with their power combined, something had happened. The Surfer's connection to The Power Cosmic had waned, and in his struggle to maintain what had claimed his mind for so very long, The Flash and Superman were able to subdue him. And whenever he caught a glimpse of himself and looked upon the face of that which stared back at him - having been revealed beneath the chrome exterior that had since replaced it - The Surfer only saw a stranger.

This troubled him. More than anything else, that sense of disillusionment was what had kept The Silver Surfer from escaping these bonds with ease and leaving the confinement of The Raft, or The Triskelion, or any other potential holding that the humans would devise. While the thought of resuming his test after such an unexpected outcome had crossed his mind, it was his encounter just one week prior with the cosmically charged human woman, Susan Storm, that had made him realize the source of his confliction.

He did not know who he truly was. Before, it had been relatively simple to assume that he was The Silver Surfer and nothing more. A pawn of a master who had tasked him with carrying out a glorious mission that would result in peace across the cosmos. And for quite some time, he dutifully excelled, watching over planets that could possibly hold beings worthy to serve at the feet of the only being in the universe that sought to unite them all.

Now he could do nothing but stare at his own reflection, wondering if he could possibly conjure that stranger's face once more. If by some force of will, he could peel back the layer of powerful energy crackling across a body that lied underneath the silver construct that he'd been turned into. The Surfer was confident that if he could study that reflection with contemplation, he could discern the truth of his very identity. But even he did not fully control The Power Cosmic as he once believed, as the living energy refused to relinquish from him even for a moment.

For what purpose?, The Surfer wondered. Whom would benefit from clouding my mind? Twisting my intentions, laboring the very thought of a life before this?

And in the first real moment that left The Surfer surprised since his arrival at The Raft, as if in an answer to his lingering question, something appeared from nothing behind him. Breaking his eye contact from the troubled glint of his own gaze, The Surfer turned and realized that a brilliant beam of light was bouncing off of the wall of the cage that he had chosen to remain within. The light was solitary at first, appearing as though it were sphere, before expanding into a series of interconnected circles. He immediately recognized this, as it had been used as the customary mode of transportation from his home - or at least, what he had been led to believe was his home. Within seconds, a figure stepped forth from the portal, surrounded by the blinding light as it subsided. The Surfer recognized this person aswell, and his posture became visibly tense.

"My, my. Would you look at this? It would seem as though that there are binds even you cannot escape after all..."

The individual chuckled to himself as The Surfer stared back, his eyes pulsating with cosmic energy for the first time since his imprisonment here. After all that he had suffered with in recent days, he found the agent of his homeworld's tone to be particularly mocking. And it was less than appreciated.

"Kanto.", The Surfer finally replied. "You have come a long way."

Kanto allowed a staff that he was carrying to fly from one of his palms to another, jovially admiring the sight of The Silver Surfer bound by such primitive constraints. Taking a look around, he suppressed an even bigger smirk, realizing just how little that the denizens of Earth had advanced since his original exile to the once insignificant planet.

"I would not have bothered, to be quite honest with you.", the weaponsmith replied. "But it seems as though that Father has further need of your power, for reasons that I cannot even begin to comprehend."

The Surfer paused.

"Father?"

The energy illuminating behind his eyes began to glow even brighter as The Surfer stepped forth, his legs phasing through the constraints that had never truly held him to begin with. While an alarm was meant to activate in the event that The Surfer had tried to escape, per the instructions of The Raft's warden, something was dampening it. Realizing that the staff that Kanto held was no mere part of his ensemble, as it too glowed with an otherworldly energy, The Surfer's eyes narrowed towards the mischievous man.

"You call him father. I am... unsure of what to call him anymore."

The Surfer's brow furrowed.

"There have been questions since we last spoke that plague me, Kanto. Questions that I know you hold the answers to. Tell me now and I will spare your life."

Kanto held up a palm, clearly untimidated by The Surfer's threat.

"Questions? Plaguing you? Then it is just as I feared. Granny had assured me, as she assured us all, that your mind would irreversibly break under the strain of wielding such a power. Especially one which was stolen from a devourer of worlds..."

The Surfer glared in recognition of that term. Superman had briefly alluded to such a being before, in the midst of some misguided attempt to appeal to a being that he believed himself to be facing. Susan Storm also spoke of this being directly.

"Galactus."

"Oh, yes. Even now, the giant slumbers within the ether of space, unaware of what has been accomplished even after all this time. But it appears that Granny, despite herself, doesn't truly know what's best. You're beginning to remember something.", Kanto curiously posited. "Tell me, what was it that reversed the effects of Granny's laborious torture? And don't tell me it the woman. That would be so very predictable."

The Surfer's head tilted, confused by Kanto's taunt.

Woman? What woman?

"Evidently not. But no matter. I'll admit, I was simply having a little bit of fun before I helped you carry out the next phase of the test."

"The... next phase?", The Surfer questioned. "You waste your words aswell as my time. The 'test' is long since over. I have already cast judgement."

Kanto grinned.

"Have you?"

Suddenly, The Surfer felt himself growing weaker. The Power Cosmic within him no longer felt as though it were a tangible part of his being, but as though it were it's own prison. Striking out at his life force, pulling him apart from within. Unable to bear it for very long, he inevitably dropped to his knees. Kanto placed the staff in his hand upon the base of The Surfer's head, watching as the staff glowed in tune with The Power Cosmic.

"You forget yourself, 'herald'. Such judgement was never your's to give in the first place. Why else do you believe that your power dampened at the moment of opportunity? In the midst of battle, at the moment that these beings could be properly observed by our spies. You were simply the conduit for something greater. And you performed the part to the letter."

Gritting his teeth, The Surfer weakly looked up at Kanto, barely hiding his rage.

"What are you talking about?!"

"The Power Cosmic slipped from your unworthy fingers because Father allowed it. He willed it, infact, in an effort to utilize you as a part of his own test. Because in the end, what better way to make use of a blindly loyal servant than to throw him at prospective soldiers?", Kanto laughed. "Oh, but... you believed that you were the soldier and not the servant, didn't you? Such naivety. Even beneath that shell, you truly haven't changed."

Summoning every possible ounce of strength left within him, The Surfer angrily rose to his feet and grabbed at Kanto, pinning him to the wall of the glass enclosure. The brilliance of the silver coating his skin was beginning to wane, but he still felt enough of his power coursing through him to pose a considerable threat to the weaponsmith. Kanto merely smiled, more amused than anything.

"I served the master without question! Without disobedience! I was unwavering in my loyalty to him, and he repays me with deception?!", The Surfer angrily shouted. "I am no mere pawn to be played in a game at his leisure! In what manner do you seek to mock me?! For what reason other than your own perversions?! I would speak with 'Father' myself, were I to possess the means! You've stolen from me! Thoughts, memories, perhaps even more!"

Kanto grabbed tightly onto The Surfer's wrist, immediately quelling his rage. The weaponsmith's strength was greater than one would assume, and it caught the herald off guard. With a mere backhand, The Surfer flew against the other side of the cell, cracking it upon impact. Composing himself once more, Kanto slammed his staff against the ground, causing The Power Cosmic to respond by immobilizing it's host.

"Such a temper, too. Though you were never very good at maintaining your dignity when faced with such harsh truths.", Kanto remarked, approaching. "Worry not, however, for your burdens will soon be lifted. These thoughts and memories will fade from your mind once again, never to return and cost Father even more precious time than they already have. As I said before, you played your part. You were subdued by the humans, taken to their own personal refuge for beings that could further challenge those that dear Desaad would mold into loyalists. And now, we both find ourselves in the perfect place to initiate the true test. By Father's design, of course."

The Surfer's rage was unrelenting, even if the power refused to bend to his will.

"You think me a fool, Kanto?", he hatefully replied. "In what version of reality would I ever agree to help you in light of this transgression? What world would you have me live in to once again believe the lies that you likely had a hand in telling me yourself?"

"Why, the only world that matters. A world you already know very well."

Kanto lifted the staff, maliciously looking upon the helpless Surfer.

"Apokolips."

With a light so blinding that even The Surfer could not look into it, Kanto's staff rose into the air independent of it's owner's grip and began to spin. As it spun, it shrunk and transformed, assuming a cube-like structure with a series of circular etchings. As the glow faded, the cube fell into Kanto's hands, revealing itself to be a Mother Box. A glint of fear passed over The Surfer's eyes as Kanto raised it to him, slowly remembering what had happened the last time that he had come into contact with such a device.

PING!

Within an instant, The Silver Surfer felt himself overcome by every prior memory that he had once believed lost. He remembered his days on New Genesis, following it's takeover once the Highfather fell to the forces of Apokolips. Escaping anything and everything that had sought to bind him, time and time again. Winning the admiration of the court of Granny Goodness, and the heart of her fiercest Female Fury.

He also remembered the conspiracy to pull of his most masterful escape yet, once it became clear that the machinations put in place to put them on the path towards The Anti-Life Equation would prove to be catastrophic. He distinctly remembered relaying his plan to his love, who unquestionably agreed. The madness had to end.

They were both captured. Reconditioned. And for his part, Scott Free had paid the ultimate price.

Stripped of his very identity and consciousness, he was remade under the influence of a power stolen from Galactus, the devourer of worlds. No longer in a position to escape the massive confluence of his forced bond with The Power Cosmic, Scott Free was reborn as The Silver Surfer. And with that power, he became subservient. Ready to carry out any task that was asked of him by a cold, calculating master of all that lived. All that ever would live.

PING!

And with that, he could remember no more.

Closing his eyes, The Silver Surfer stood, void of emotion and filled only with purpose. Kanto nodded once in approval, seeing that the Mother Box had achieved success in restoring the herald's fleeting loyalty in full. Allowing it to take on the form of his staff once more, Kanto gestured towards the cells that surrounded his.

"Go forth, Surfer. Your next task is clear. You're to release these fools and imbue them with the power that they need to be able to initiate conflict with the metahumans. When such conflict is initiated, you are to resume observance. Have you learned of the primary locations that harbor these prospective agents of Apokolips?"

The Surfer turned to Kanto and rose into the air, his board suddenly forming beneath him. The shackles that once held him in place having been long severed off.

"YES."

His eyes glowing, he reached out into the vastness of the cosmos to locate what were considered the primary metahumans of this world. And within seconds, images of various costumed individuals began to flash across his mind. Superman, of course, aswell as The Flash. But there were others. Greg Saunders, The Ghost Rider. Blake Donaldson, The Mighty Thor. Gwendolyn Stacy, The Spider-Woman. Reed Richards, Susan Storm, Jonathan Storm, and Benjamin Grimm of The Fantastic Four.

Saunders resided in Warpath, Texas. Donaldson in Marville, Oklahoma. Stacy, Richards, the Storms, and Grimm were all currently just outside, in New York City, after The Surfer's brief encounter with Storm in Washington, DC. And Iris West still resided in her dwelling of Central City. Curiously, Kal-El was currently visiting Gotham City, New Jersey, despite Superman's considerably well known home of Metropolis, Delaware. The Surfer assumed it wise to dispatch individuals to both locations.

"TEXAS. OKLAHOMA. NEW YORK. CENTRAL CITY. GOTHAM CITY. AND METROPOLIS. THESE SHALL BE THE GROUNDS OF WHICH THE NEXT TEST WILL TAKE PLACE."

All of these locations would serve as branching points. If the individuals within The Raft were to test these metahumans directly, they would have to be transported to those cities. Enhanced with power beyond their imagination, but nothing in comparison to The Surfer himself. Kanto would likely wish to provide them with weapons, should they need them, as that was his trade.

"Then I believe your confinement is lifted. Happy choosing."

Wordlessly, The Surfer drifted upwards and slowly spun in the other direction, just barely noticing the crowd of panicked guards as they drew their weapons and attempted to open fire upon seeing their prisoner phase through the shatterproof glass. Each bolt of energy fell to an invisible barrier, with some blasts being redirected towards the guard that had fired it. The Silver Surfer cared not for this conflict, as he scanned The Raft for potential inhabitants worthy of the cause.

Sensing a few promising candidates, The Surfer flew forth and phased through the guards as if they were nothing. A series of explosions rang out across the prison island, as people began barking orders at eachother to re-establish order. Cells were opened automatically, of their own volition, and an all-out prison break was mounting. Some would try and resist, but it would be impossible to completely contain this. Especially once The Surfer began teleporting the subjects to the respective cities to initiate battle.

Kanto smiled.

"Glory be to you, Father."

Tipping his head downwards, as if in a slight prayer, the weaponsmith looked towards the chaos ahead of him and found a sense of familiarity in the fires that were beginning to spread. Re-opening the Boom Tube that had brought him here, Kanto took a final passing look as the chaos mounted even further. His mind raced with the possibilities, as he knew he would momentarily return with technology that would turn these poor souls into formidable threats to come.

"For who is to be their God, once the ashes of this planet settle?"



"Darkseid is."

---

---

Music

---

---

“The names Phil Coulson, agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.” The balding man, the same one Iris had seen in the badlands after the confrontation with the surfer, offered his hand. She shook it as she sat up in the bed, groaning slightly. At least for whatever reason S.H.I.E.L.D had decided to leave her in her uniform when they brought her to their medical bay, so she didn’t have to worry about her secret identity being public, but at the very least she had no doubt lost some element of secrecy. “I have to say, I’m a fan of your work. Heatwave, Weather Wizard, Trickster. Not to mention the Silver Surfer and this Reverse Flash.”

Reverse Flash. Henry, the father of her-. Barry's Dad. The one they had worked so hard to get out of prison, prove his innocence. When in reality he had been the one to kill Nora, he had been the one to give Iris her powers and the one who tried to destroy her when they apparently weren’t for her. The reason Barry had died. She fought back the tears that welled in her eyes. She couldn’t allow herself to break down, because for one beautiful moment she had seen what was supposed to be. She had seen Barry suited in red, fighting alongside Thor and Superman against the Surfer. Engaged in battles and saving lives, she had seen the beacon of hope that the Flash was to the people of Central City, and even the world.

A beacon that she would become, she was part of that legacy now. As much as Thawne tried to deny her the right, it was hers. The title was hers, the role, hers. She’d earn it every single day, and you better believe that the world will know it. She went to speak, finding her mouth dry and the words hard. It practically came out as a croak. “How long have I been out?”

“One Week. Don’t worry Central City is still there, just be glad for your rapid healing otherwise you’d be out of commission for months.”

“Being a metahuman has its perks.” She sat up, holding her arm low on her body as she felt a twinge of pain still. All in all it could have been a lot worse. Especially if Barry hadn’t stopped his father.

“I’d like to debrief you, if you feel up to the task. We’ve got a lot to discuss, and I feel like you’d rather do it sooner rather than later, you probably don’t want to be cooped up in that hospital bed for too long.” He offered her a caring smile, and despite the fact he was a government agent she had ran away from the other day she believed it was genuine, there was a kindness to him, an air of undeniable humanity that she couldn’t help but to trust him. She merely nodded.

“I need to know everything you know about the Silver Surfer and how you defeated him.”

She chuckled. “I don’t really know who he is, or anything about him other than he holds the power cosmic. Whatever that is, but it makes him fast, dangerous and powerful. I’m pretty sure his power comes from the board. He said he’s the herald for some other master, I don’t know who it is or what he wants but he was here to test me. He claimed that if I failed the tests Central City would surfer. In terms of defeating him, the energy I generate when I run seemed to disrupt him. When he teleported me to Egypt I got enough of a run up that I hit him, really hard. Which seemed to disrupt him long enough for you to swoop in and pick him up, sorry for leaving you in the dirt though.” She winced at bringing it up. “I wasn’t really in the mood for company.”

The entire room shook, as an explosion rocked the building. Iris looked at Coulson in confusion, an alarm was already blaring as he was speaking into his earpiece. She hopped out of bed. “It’s Mick Rory, he’s here-” Mick Rory, heatwave? The maniac with the flamethrower? That thing surely didn’t have enough power to make the building shake like it just had. Rushing out of the room she rushed through corridors of what, apparently, was a hospital. Down the stairs and outside she had to stop as the wave of heat hit her. There was a crater in the middle of the street, a raging fire in the centre of it.

“I like the new look Flash, but tell me-” The gruff voice of Rory came from the fire, horror crossed her face. He was on fire, his entire body burned. This wasn’t a maniac with a flamethrower anymore, somehow he had power. What were they doing to him in the raft?

---

---

MEGA FEATURE!

---

---

Every inch of sinew in Jaime's body shook and contorted with rage. It came on suddenly like a tidal wave of fury, drowning him in an unexplainable desire to shed the blood of a stranger. His fingernails dug themselves into his palms as he slowly began to move from the bed, tides of crimson leaking down his white knuckles. His breathing was ragged and hot, his chest almost bursting from the pressure building up in his lungs. Doctor Caulder's ugly, wrinkled visage seared itself upon the forefront of Reyes's mind like a hot iron; only one, singular desire accompanied that picture: to see his face battered, bruised and broken into a hundred pieces like a mirror shattered against stone.

Dr. Caulder's grin faltered, his fangs receding at the sight of the boy's twisted, wrathful expression. "Mr. Reyes?" He asked, his voice cracking slightly. "Are you alright?" The old man's concern was shaded with hints of panic. He looked over toward Brenda and Paco in a silent plea for them to explain what was wrong with their friend.

"It...it was you." Reyes muttered between gritted teeth, his feet hitting the cold, tiled floor as he tossed the blanket to the floor.

Paco stepped forward first, placing a palm against Reyes's chest. "Hold on, buddy, just calm it down." He placed himself directly between Jaime and the doctor. He was nearly a foot taller than Jaime and several degrees heavier. Despite his skittish nature, he was the last person Jaime would ever want to fight. "He's the guy that fixed you up. I really wouldn't recommend trying to knock his teeth in, amigo."

"What?" Jaime's gaze shot up toward Paco's, meeting his older friend's eyes. Indignation burned behind Reye's eyes.

Paco shifted uncomfortably, glancing back at Brenda. "What'd I say?" He whispered, confused and a little frightened by the look his best friend was giving him. Jaime being mad at him- really mad at him- was an entirely foreign concept. "Come on, Jaime, just get back in bed-"

A fist slammed against Paco's nose before he could finish. He stumbled backward, reaching up to grab his face as blood leaked down his lip. "What the hell, man?!" He shouted, turning to face Reyes.

Jaime took the bigger boy by the collar, channeling all of the anger coursing through his veins to shove Paco back into Brenda, sending the two stumbling back into the wall in a heap of limbs. They both cried out in confusion, the doctor's expression darkening all the while.

"You would assault your closest friends?" He inquired, his tone accusatory and sharp.

"No." Reyes plucked the IV from his arm, tossing it to the side as he made for the wheelchair bound man. He could tell that something was off immediately, but it was only just becoming clear to him what was going on. His memories were still clouded, yet Jaime still felt a sense of clarity and purpose as he marched toward the seemingly defenseless doctor. "But those aren't my friends-" He countered, reaching out to grab at Dr. Caulder in an attempt to drag him to the floor.

His hands passed through nothing but air, finding no purchase in the illusion set before him. "Huh-" The most confusing week of Jaime Reyes's life only got more so as the hospital room around him melted away, the tiles shattering against the ground and revealing nothing but a sheet of blackness behind them. Sheer, unrelenting nothingness surrounded Jaime in less than a second.

"No no NO!" The voice of the doctor rang out from every direction, both near and far, echoing through the void. "I was so close. So close. We almost have it- damn you, you stupid...stupid boy." He spat, vitriol flowing through his shouts. "Your friends proved as useless as I dreaded they would."

"I don't know what's going on here," Jaime breathed, doing his best to keep from puking. Floating in an endless void of black was hell on his senses. He couldn't tell which direction was up, down left or right. Was he floating upside down? Was he sideways? There was nothing for him to measure that by. No horizon to level himself. No light to ground him. Everything was just miles upon miles of nothingness. "-but those weren't my friends." He repeated. He could feel the fog over his mind lifting, memories forcing themselves through the cracks. Jaime held tight to even the smallest detail- even the tiniest shred of what had happened to him after he lost consciousness in the museum.

"And how, pray tell, could you possibly know that?" Caulder sneered. "Their minds are more mine than their own. I know everything they do, and I copied them to the tee."

A flash of anger filled Jaime's chest once more at the implication that this freak had somehow gotten to his friends. "Really? Because your Paco impression could use some work." He fired back into the darkness. "He couldn't speak Spanish to save his life, and he's Catholic: his mom would tan his hide if he ever said 'hell' like that."

He must've angered the voice in the darkness, because Jaime was suddenly and abruptly reintroduced to the concept of gravity as he began to fall into the void. As terrifying as it was to feel himself sinking rapidly toward a floor that wasn't there, Jaime felt a small sense of relief. He was beginning to remember. He was seeing what had brought him here- the battle he had already fought in his mind two days prior. It was a small victory was that quickly eclipsed as the scenario was quickly changed by whatever force was working his surroundings to Dr. Caulder's advantage.

Jaime landed on his back inside a massive room with a vaulted ceiling, easily more than a hundred feet up. The room itself was shaped like something of a donut, with walls of concrete well over a hundred and fifty feet away all around. Pulling himself to his feet, Reyes turned his gaze toward the center of the room. A strange, pointed obelisk sat inside of a gargantuan, spiraling cylinder. "The hell is this?" He coughed, moving toward it. The railing along the side allowed him to lean safely over, getting a better look at the bottom of the cylinder. Several dozen massive cords snaked from the bottom of the monolith, connecting to a variety of machines and tubes surrounding the interior of the hole. It almost looked like a nuclear silo converted into some kind of...giant lab.

"We're ready to begin, chief." A young man with a slight French accent called, drawing Jaime's attention away from the strange object in the center of the room. His hair was dark and matted with sweat, an eager smile spread across a tired, handsome face. "We're finally ready."

"Excellent news, Dr. LaSalle!" Another voice called from the opposite side of Jaime. It sounded vaguely familiar, yet he couldn't place where he had heard it before. "Let's begin, then. Time is wasting!" The man known only as 'chief' was broad-shouldered, with a mane full of bright, auburn hair and an alluring sort of confidence in his eyes.

Jaime followed after them as they made their way across the massive room, toward a small section of sensitive electronic equipment and a number of machines set up near the central obelisk. Around a dozen technicians in lab coats were working on what appeared to be a rather complicated chair, of all things; there was a helmet portion attached to the top, with several large tubes and wires running from it and to some of the equipment nearby. "What is this place? Why did you bring me here?" He asked, looking toward the sky. There was no reply.

The Chief and Dr. LaSalle paid no mind to Jaime as they approached the work station, each exchanging words with the rest of the staff as they prepared for whatever it was they were experimenting on here. If Jaime were a betting man, he'd say it had something to do with the giant, alien-looking piece of obsidian behind them. "Alright, Niles," LaSalle turned to his bearded friend. "it's ready. Climb on in."

They exchanged a quick, tight hug before the Chief- Niles, apparently- sat down in the odd looking chair. The helmet came down onto his head, lights blinking to life across it's metallic exterior. LaSalle stepped over, his hand resting on a lever attached to one of the machines. "Here we go. Look alive, people! We only have one shot at this." He warned before pulling down on the switch. Almost immediately after, a thunderous screeching noise reverberated out from the obelisk. It's one hundred foot tall, thin body shook with the sound, it's strange material seemingly the source of that obnoxious racket.

Jaime furrowed his brow, confused by what he saw, but he didn't have much of a choice other than to continue to stare in wonder until he figured out why it was being shown to him.

"Uh, sir, the energy levels are spiking." One of the attendants said over his shoulder. "What should we do?"

"Continue to monitor it. Let me know if we reach the red zone, but stay on task. We can do this." LaSalle ordered, looking back to his friend in the chair. "How're you holding up, chief?" He asked. Niles had a pained look painted across his face, but he was gritting his teeth and taking it. He offered a thumbs up in response, but he didn't appear capable of verbalizing that at the moment.

"We hit the red!" That same man called out a moment later. "We should pull the plug-"

"-are you sure it won't stabilize?"

"It's getting worse!" He called, the sound coming from the monolith now near-deafening. The floor was beginning to vibrate, the equipment shifting and bouncing under the power of the sound waves. Niles let out a scream, his fingers digging into the chair's arm rests. "If we don't stop, it's going to kill him!"

"NO!" The Chief bellowed, blood seeping down from inside the helmet, leaking into his hair. "It's working- I can feel it! Do not stop!" He ordered, trying his best to swallow down a scream. The pain was near impossible to endure, but Niles was going to do his damndest to try. He had worked his whole life for this. He had done the research for decades. He knew it would work- it had to work.

"Shit. Shit. SHIT." Panic rose up through the various technicians as they all came upon the same conclusion: it was getting worse, and it wasn't going to normalize anytime soon. None of them knew what would happen if the obelisk's power reached such a level, but they knew it wouldn't do anything good to the chief. They started the process to shut it down, starting for Niles with the intent to pull him out of the chair before he went brain dead. "Get him outta there, get him out-"

"CAULDER!"

It was too late. Sparks exploded out from the helmet, showering the doctor in hot embers. Other machines soon followed, fires sparking to life across a number of pieces of equipment. Tubes were blown off or torn by the sheer pressure of the energy travelling through them, sending waves of crimson light through the room. The sound of the obelisk's whirring had Jaime Reyes on his knees, his hands cupped over his ears as he tried to take in the meaning of what was going on around him.

There was an explosion, a bright light blowing out from the center of the chamber that turned Jaime's vision white.

Jaime once more floated in silence, though the void around him was a great deal brighter than the last. It burned his eyes, even when he shut them as tight as he could. "That...that was you, wasn't it?" He asked quietly. He wasn't sure if he had figured it out or if the thought had been placed into his head. With how much control Dr. Caulder appeared to have over..wherever they were, Jaime wouldn't be surprised.

"It was to be my greatest achievement." Caulder replied, his prideful voice infected by a bitterness only failure could spawn. "That obelisk you see- we found it in the deserts of Bialya, but the language written on it wasn't ancient Bialyan; it wasn't even of this world." The doctor's echoes dipped, losing the fury that he had spoken to Jaime with before the whole ordeal was forced on the boy's mind. "It promised enlightenment if we could unlock it's secrets. We were so, so close...Emile and I, we were going to change the world, boy! We were going to bring humanity to the stars with power no one could imagine!"

"Is that what crippled you?" Reyes rather bluntly asked. He was curious, but something in his clouded past stole all respect he could possibly have away from 'Niles.' Something he had done had affected Jaime on a level he couldn't quite comprehend.

"It destroyed me." He snarled. "It took decades just to gain the feeling back in my hands. If it weren't for my brilliance, I would've been paralyzed for the rest of my life; trapped in a husk of a body. But it wasn't a complete failure. It gave me...abilities."

"No shit." Jaime scoffed. "Why're you using them to go after me? The hell did I ever do to you?"

"Believe me when I say this, Mr. Reyes, what happened to you in that museum was an accident. A horrible, horrible accident."

"I had a feeling you screwed with my head. That's why I can't remember anything."

"I'm repressing it for your benefit, child. You...you do not wish to remember that." Caulder warned. "I am going to fix my mistakes, however. All of them. To do that, however, I need you to let go of something. It is the cause of your pain. If you allow me to take it, your life can return to normal- you and your friends can return to your homes and forget all of this ever happened."

Jaime felt the anger returning, flowing hot through his veins once more. "What did you do to me? What're you trying to make me forget?" He demanded to know. "I'm not helping you with anything until you get out of my head."

"That would not be advisable." Caulder sighed, his patience thinning. "I am using my abilities to suppress your nervous system at the moment. You would be in indescribable pain if I left."

"What're you doing to me?!" Jaime howled. He heard his own voice echo through the void with the same power that Caulder's had. It reverberated violently against the white walls, sending dark cracks crawling along the endless space of nothingness. "I want out. Do you hear me?! I want the hell out!" The cracks grew larger and more numerous. Dark splotches began to suck the light from the void, tearing away at Caulder's hold over Jaime's mind as he struggled against the binds.

"How're you doing that?" The doctor asked, alarmed. "You're a child. A powerless child. You shouldn't be able to-"

'Do not underestimate me, fleshling.' Another voice joined in. Jaime knew it immediately, though from where he could not say. Another memory being hidden away from him, perhaps?

"Who...who are you?" Reyes stammered, unsure what in the hell was going on, or who had invited two voices into his head.

'Jaime Reyes. My name is Khaji Da. You are in mortal danger- let me help you.'

And the Scarab forced it's tendrils deeper into it's host mind, expelling out the foreign presence that had invaded it's space.

And Jaime was made to remember.

---

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---

He woke up screaming, an agonizing pain flushing through every nerve in his body as he was torn in half.

Jaime had been lain on his back on an operating table, his arms and legs strapped down to the table by massive cuffs of titanium; they were strong enough to hold down a raging bull with little trouble, but the moment Reyes had awoken, the bolts could already be heard straining to keep the patient down.

There were two large objects suspended above Reyes via large, mechanical arms: an incredibly bright light to provide clarity to the surgeon, and a laser diode with a lens powerful enough to turn a block of steel into a molten puddle in a handful of seconds. Each was being remotely controlled by a pair of technicians in black and crimson scrubs, their faces covered by surgical masks, though the panic in their collective gaze was easy enough to see.

"God damn it!" The largest figure in the room was a man in what looked like a hazmat suit. He was standing over Reyes, his bulky form leaning down as he assisted in melting through Jaime Reyes's chest piece with his acidic touch. Otto Von Furth's beady, pupil-less eyes stared down in frustration at the boy through his helmet, clearly flustered by Jaime's sudden waking. "Put him back to sleep, doktor! He is going to break ze binds!" Otto's thickly German voice roared over the general commotion, his finger still held over the squirming form of the parasite as he let bits of acid drip down out of the suit and onto the creature's living metal body. The chitin screamed and fled from the burning chemicals, allowing the laser to carve small chunks out of it while it was in it's transition form.

It was a delicate process, to say the least, and having the patient awake and moving made it near impossible for Otto to do his job without turning Jaime's stomach into a crater. The host was needed alive if they wished to keep from permanently breaking the scarab that had infected him.

"I can't!" Caulder shouted back. "That damned alien broke my connection to him. You-" He pointed a finger toward one of the technicians. "-Activate the toxin! Keep it from reforming!" The chemical cloud he had used to originally capture Jaime was meant to detach the parasite from it's host completely, but they ran into numerous complications during the process. Once Reyes lost consciousness, Khaji Da was seemingly able to take over his body remotely and dug itself even further into Jaime's form. It was damned aggravating how persistent the little monster was; it refused to let go of the boy no matter what they tried. The current surgery was working while Jaime was under telepathic influence, but now that he was awake, there was no telling what would happen.

A spray of cream, off-color fog fell over Jaime as the designated attendant brought over a canister and administered the cloud. It was only coming out in short, controlled bursts to keep it from damaging the equipment or- God forbid- breaking Otto's containment suit. The living metal reacted positively to the introduction of the concoction, receding back and staying in it's liquid state since it was under duress; this allowed Otto and the laser technician to continue peeling away parts of the body. Once bits were removed from the whole, they were sucked up with a powerful vacuum and deposited in separate, thick containers that kept them from forming back together.

"Get off of me!" Jaime screamed, pulling at his restraints with all of his alien might. The bolts whined and screeched in protest, trimming away bits of metal with each violent tug. The pain he was under was worse than any he could've possibly imagined. It felt as if they were burning a hole straight through his chest, melting away at each layer of skin with careful precision, carving him up like a science project. There was no anesthetic. No attempt to lessen the pain; not that there was any they could give that would lessen the agony that they were putting the teenager through. He screamed and screamed until his throat bled.

Under any other circumstance, he would've lost consciousness at best, suffering any number of other things at worst. The scarab was the only thing protecting Reyes from the torture he was being put under. It's protective shell was frantically moving to cover up where the acid and the laser were pointed, despite the fact that it was slowly being chipped away at because of it. Any sense of self preservation that Khaji Da might've had was superseded by it's need to protect Jaime from harm.

'Our blades, Jaime Reyes. Cut through our bonds. I cannot...hold for much longer.'

It took every ounce of willpower Jaime had left just to understand the words reverberating within his mind. He gripped his hands into tightly balled fists, focusing fully on them. He felt their every movement. Their every twitch and shake. And he willed them to change. He forced his fingers together into his palms and knuckles, letting the armor tighten around them and shift into something entirely different. A sound like breaking bones popped in each of his ears as his hands turned to long, wicked blades. The serrated edges- sharper than any a human hand could forge- made quick work of the titanium shackles keeping Reyes pinned to the surgical table.

With a wordless, indignant cry Jaime cut them away, swinging the blades through the air with wild abandon. Their razor sharp edges sliced right through the blinding light and the laser projector, destroying both in a shower of sparks. One of the technicians let out an ear-piercing screech when the tip of a blade cut straight through his chest with next to no resistance, tearing a line straight though his flesh.

Otto was quick to retreat out of the way of the wild swings, letting out a string of curses in his native tongue as he cast his gaze on the boy. "You vill pay for that!" The giant of a man howled, holding up both of his hands. The rubber gloves he wore each had a cap on the end of all ten of his fingers. Through some unknown mechanism, Otto seemed to be able to pop them open at will, exposing some kind of rust-colored acid that filled the interior. His scarred, skinless face contorted in a look of concentration as he spewed forth streams of hot, burning fluid in Reyes's direction.

He was quick to turn his body away from the incoming projectiles, very aware of his exposed chest. Numerous dark, red streaks had already been made on his bare skin where the chitin had been separated during the procedure. The containers storing the rest of Khaji Da hung on the far wall, attached to a series of tubes that had been used to sort the mess of living material out in such a fashion that it never had the opportunity to bunch together and reform into one whole unit. Jaime needed to break those and rebuild the armor if he wanted to stand any chance of surviving this encounter.

The only problem being that the German in the hazmat suit was standing directly between him and the rest of the Scarab. And that angry German was spewing acid from his fingers.

'You can form a shield if you press your arms together, Jaime Reyes.'

"That'll work." Reyes let the blades melt away back into his normal limbs, slapping his arms together. Simply imagining a barrier was enough for the chitin to bend to his whims, melding into a large, full-body shield that covered his entire front half. He spun around, letting the streams of acid bounce off the much thicker body of metal. It wouldn't hold up to the acid forever, but it would last long enough for Jaime to get what he required.

He charged the other man, barreling at him as fast as he could with the shield held up before him. Otto, now aware that he couldn't easily put the boy down, leapt out of the way of Jaime's charge. "Your struggle is meaningless. All it does is extend your pain." The mechanisms in Otto's gloves turned and shifted, changing their mode of release. When the acid left his fingers it instead flowed out into ten thin strips, flowing together like a chain of water contained within an invisible field. He flung them like tendrils, letting them whip against Jaime's back. The streams cut straight through the chitin, drawing deep, ugly cuts along Jaime's exposed back.

Reyes tumbled to the floor, quivering in pain. All he could do was hold the shield up before his body, shrinking himself to keep the whips from digging into any exposed parts. "Shit, shit, fuck-" He heaved, panicked and trying his hardest to keep from completely losing it. The searing pain on his back was almost too much to handle. He could still feel drops of that stinging stuff clinging to his bare flesh, even with the Scarab armor moving back to repair the damaged section of armor.

'Continue using a single arm to shield yourself, but form a plasma cannon in the other. Aim for his aim.'

"You want me to kill him?" Jaime winced. He still couldn't believe any of his memories. part of him knew it was the truth, but he wished so desperately that he was still stuck in some kind of nightmarish illusion the doctor had thrown together to torture him. He didn't want more blood on his hands. They were already soaked as it was.

'He is a sadistic killer, Jaime Reyes. You see how he enjoys attacking a mere boy. His life is worthless.' Khaji Da was quick to reply, it's words harsh and vengeful. The Scarab did not appreciate being tormented any more than Jaime did.

After several moments of thought, Reyes relented, removing one of his arms from the barrier. It was made significantly weaker and smaller, the acid immediately going to work at burning through the thinner layers of chitin offered up to protect Jaime from the whips. His other arm was brought down, the balled fist changing and transforming into a glowing cannon. It whirred with a menacing sort of hate- an eagerness to see it's foe destroyed. He didn't want to do this, but...but he had little choice in the matter. Reyes lifted the weapon, feeling it's heat grow until it unleashed a lightning-quick blast of plasma.

Otto's helmet exploded in a burst of that rust-colored acid and rubber, bits of his hazmat suit flying through the room and sticking to the tiled white walls. Jaime had to swallow down the urge to vomit at the sight of the German's headless body remaining standing, unmoving and lifeless. He slowly stood back up, his arms returning to normal as he stared ahead at his fallen foe's corpse. It took a few seconds for Otto to fall over, sprawling out over the ground. There was no blood, brain matter or melted flesh left behind. His head was simply...gone in a burst of powerful energy.

"I'm gonna be sick." Reyes whispered, spinning around to get his eyes off of the brutal scene. It didn't stop it from being burned into the back of his mind, even as he went to grab the rest of Khaji Da that had been stolen away during that barbaric excuse for a surgery.

"You're making a mistake." The doctor rolled out from behind cover, his gaze tracing along the damage and destruction that the parasite-possessed Jaime had caused. It was hard to imagine a sixteen year old boy was capable of so much; and to think, Caulder knew the Scarab was capable of so much more than wrecking a single room. "That creature has done nothing but cause you ill, child. Give it to me. Let me take away this pain."

Jaime shattered one of the containers lined up on the wall, letting the living metal slide up into his armor and be absorbed into it's ever shifting mass. He didn't respond to Caulder for several seconds, his attention focused on breaking free the rest of the Scarab's missing pieces. "He didn't do any of this." Reyes retorted. "We didn't kill those people- you did."

"It is as a I said before: it was an accident. And I apologize for the part I played in your trauma. But I assure you, I didn't do any of this because I wished to see you hurt. My actions-"

"Really?" Reyes interrupted, turning about on his heel. The armor was still snaking together and repairing itself on his chest as he started to move toward the wheelchair bound telepath. "Really? Explain it to me, then. Explain to me how you accidentally turned me into a fucking murderer-" Almost without realizing it, Jaime had shifted one of his hands into a plasma cannon, the gargantuan gun whirring and clicking as it charged up a shot. "-And maybe, just maybe..." He could barely keep himself together. His voice was ragged and cracked. His arm shook near uncontrollably. Reyes had been running for his life...fighting to stay alive...all in an effort to find this man. This was the man that had taken control of his body and his mind and used him in an act so deplorable that it was impossible to truly describe. A massacre. Innocent blood shed, and all Reyes could do was watch, helplessly, as he participated in it.

Jaime pressed the weapon against the side of Dr. Caulder's head, tears running down his cheeks underneath his mask. "Maybe I won't blow your head off."