Waves crashed against the speedboat's prow as it darted towards the Moroccan coast. Steve Rogers sat in the passenger seat, adjusting his fingerless gloves and tightening his harness. While he was on his way to Spain to take this little ride across the Mediterranean, Director Hill did more digging. She discovered a suspicious irregularity in the Tangier port manifests: a small shipping vessel, the Diamondback, set sail from Naples with a reported two hundred and seventy-eight shipping containers in tow and arrived in Tangier with two hundred and seventy-nine. Later that night, surveillance cameras captured the image of Brock Rumlow. Hill, much like her predecessor, didn't believe in coincidences.

After a moment, Tangier appeared on the horizon, a smattering of white buildings dotting the gentle hills along the coast. In the heat of summer, the harbor might've been choked with boats, both commercial and recreational; as it was, there were few enough ships to allow Steve to scope out the port through his binoculars. Scanning the shipping yard with its cranes and containers, he sought out the Diamondback. He found it docked, its cargo already unloaded. He signaled the SHIELD agent piloting the speedboat, and they banked hard in that direction and made their approach. As they drew near enough to make out moving shapes along the yard, Steve said, “Alright, stop here.”

The agent raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure, sir? I can take you in closer,” he suggested.

Rogers lowered his helmet onto his head and buckled the chin strap. “Any closer, and they might see us,” he reasoned. He stood, sliding his shield behind his shoulders and into place in its magnetic harness. As the boat slowed to a stop, he stepped one foot onto the edge and took a breath. Launching off, he put his hands above his head and knifed into the water. The Mediterranean was cold this close to the Atlantic -- dark, too. Still, Captain America had yet to find a current that he couldn't conquer. Propelling himself forward with a dolphin kick, he surged beneath the waves towards the faraway dock. With endurance far surpassing any freestyle diver, the Captain reached the underside of the Diamondback in a single breath.

When the Captain came up for air, his breathing was slow and calm. Finding the hand holds along the Diamondback’s hull, he climbed up the side of the ship facing the harbor. He reached the top and pulled himself over, landing as quiet as a whisper. Not twenty feet to his right was one of Crossbones’ mercenaries, leaning over the railing and having a smoke. The man barely had time to turn his head before he caught a shield toss above the eyes. The force of the impact threatened to throw him overboard; in a single dash, Captain America closed the distance and caught him by the shirt collar. He pulled the unconscious merc back from the edge and set his body on the deck.

The Diamondback was manned by a skeleton crew. Spread out across the deck as they were, it was all too easy for Captain America to pick them off, leaving no one to sound an alarm. Finally reaching the ship's port side, the Captain peered over the railing at the shipping yard below; there, he saw more mercenaries ambling around with black crates. Even from up here, the white SHIELD eagle emblazoned on the side of each crate was clearly visible. The mercenaries were stacking the crates by an armored vehicle of some kind, while yet more of them set to the task of loading the truck's open bay. And there, at the center of it all, was Crossbones, wearing the same skull mask from the security footage in Rome.

“Strap it all down,” Crossbones barked, “Buyer isn't gonna pay us for damaged goods.”

Suddenly, the merc standing in the back of the truck caught a shield to the chest. He fell backwards, dropping the end of the crate he was holding. The shield nearly took the head off the man at the other end as it ricocheted back towards the Diamondback. Crossbones and his crew looked up to see a figure in a blue bodysuit mid-swan dive. Captain America held out a hand to catch the returning shield before contorting himself around for a three-point landing on the pier; the edge of his shield slammed against the concrete, letting out a reverberating metallic echo. From beneath the half-mask of his helmet, the Captain looked up to glare menacingly at the thieves.



The mercenaries fumbled with the carbines slung around their necks. Taking a step forward, Crossbones put a hand on the chest of the nearest man and shot him a glare. “Finish loading the truck. I'll handle this,” he growled; he lifted the merc's M4 by the sling and claimed it for himself. Striding towards the Captain, Crossbones pressed the rifle's release and visually inspected the magazine. Slamming it back into place, the mercenary leader pulled back the charging handle with a resounding click. He leaned into the carbine's extendable stock and began rattling off quick bursts. Captain America dove to the side, avoiding the shots. Crossbones continued to advance.

Rumlow was an imposing specimen; that much was already clear. Yet, as he continued to methodically bear down on the Captain, Rogers got his first real sense of the size of the man. Crossbones was built like a heavyweight and carried himself with the quiet confidence of a man who had known no physical equal. His skull mask afforded him a certain emotionless air, as though these wanton acts of violence had long lost their ability to raise his blood over a low simmer. There was a cold calculatedness to Crossbones’ every moment. He flicked the rifle's firing switch to full-auto and carved a path of bullets across the face of Cap's shield.

The firing stalled, and Captain America made his move. Crossbones had underestimated his speed, and so found himself still reaching for a fresh magazine when the Super-Soldier fell upon him. The Captain opened with a haymaker from his shield arm; the metal disc cracked as it scraped Rumlow's jaw. Captain America redirected his momentum into a spinning, jumping kick to Crossbones’ sternum. The mercenary's body armor absorbed much of the blow, but he fell back on his heels all the same. The Captain went for a backhand shield smash when Crossbones surprised him. Rumlow ducked the attack and caught Cap on the chin with the blunt end of his rifle.

There was little time to recover. Rumlow quick-changed the magazines and brought his weapon to bear. Captain America raised his shield in time to collect the incoming shots like a lethal hailstorm; the shield wobbled on its straps from the sheer proximity. This time, it was Crossbones delivering a standing kick to the shield's center that sent an opponent reeling. The Captain would've landed on his back save for catching himself with his free hand. Somehow, he managed to keep the shield between himself and Crossbones. His ears were ringing from the constant ping of bullets on vibranium, but he merely grit his teeth and endured.

From his crouched position, Captain America sprang up and drove the heart of his shield into Crossbones’ chest. The hit jarred the mercenary's rifle loose. Cap slammed the edge of his shield into Rumlow's wrist; Crossbones dropped the gun with a clatter. Pushing Rumlow off, the Captain kicked the rifle well out of reach. He attempted to seize the opening that followed, but the mercenary -- though disarmed -- was no less dangerous. After blocking the Captain's next swing, Crossbones countered with a headbutt hard enough to leave Captain America tasting blood. As Cap reeled, Crossbones drew a Desert Eagle from his belt. He snapped off a shot that missed the Captain's head by inches.



Several shots followed; only a series of acrobatic spins and dodges from Captain America kept him from getting hit. Meanwhile, the others mercs -- having finished loading the rest of the crates -- fired up the armored truck's engine. Glancing over his shoulder, Crossbones turned back to Cap and said, “I'd love to stay, but duty calls. You understand.” As he retreated, he emptied the rest of his clip to keep the Captain at bay. He climbed up into the truck as Captain America raced to stop them in time. Crossbones spun and lobbed something in Rogers’ direction. “Something to remember me by.”

Captain America barely had time to react. As the grenade tumbled through the air towards him, he could do little more than raise his shield and brace for impact. The explosion ballooned around the large, metal disc, making the air hot. The Captain was thrown off his feet by the force of the blast, careening into the side of a nearby shipping container. He hit the ground hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. The armored car began to pull away, and Captain America heard a buzzing in his ear. “Rogers, status update. Have you secured the weapons?”

Clamoring to his feet, the Captain grimaced. “Working on it,” he reported as he shook off the effects of the blast. He began to sprint, needing to make up for lost ground. Luckily, the truck was slow to accelerate, and at his top speed, Captain America had no trouble catching up. Closing the gap, he leapt, grabbing hold of the handle on one of the truck's rear doors. Cap started to pull himself up when the other door flung open, revealing Crossbones. The mercenary kicked down at the Captain, nearly knocking him off. As Rogers held on for dear life, Crossbones again drew his pistol.

Captain America jabbed his shield into Crossbones’ calf, disrupting his aim at the last moment. The truck then banked hard into a turn, and both men were jostled. As Crossbones caught himself against the door, Cap found himself thrown around the passenger side. He slammed hard into the side of the truck and nearly lost his grip. Cap scrambled for a handhold as a mercenary appeared through the passenger window. The man leveled a carbine at the Captain; Rogers swung and pinned the weapon between the truck and his shield. Extending his body, Captain America managed to land a halfway decent kick into the merc's chest.

The truck smashed through a chainlink fence, leaving the shipping yard behind as it barreled towards the city proper. At last, the Captain found himself unable to hang on. As the armored car veered into the flow of traffic, Captain America flew off and landed hard on an unsuspecting motorist's windshield. He watched as the truck rammed through everything in its path, including other cars. They had to be stopped. Climbing out of the splintered glass, the Captain spotted a motorcyclist stuck in traffic. Running up to the man, Cap grabbed the handlebars and said, “I need to borrow your bike.” The man shouted back in Arabic, obviously not understanding, but there was no time for a debate. Cap swung the bike out from under him and mounted it.

The armored car was easy to follow by the path of destruction it paved. As the Captain began to catch up, the truck turned sharply down a side road. Cap made the turn on his motorcycle with ease. The streets were narrower here than on the city's edge. The truck bowled through signs and facades for the storefronts lining the street, creating a steady stream of debris for Cap to weave around. More than once, a bystander nearly found themselves flattened by the behemoth tearing through their city. Captain America opened the throttle, wanting to get close and end this. As he drew near, Crossbones spotted him through the swinging backdoor and rose with a rifle in hand.

Captain America grabbed his shield and positioned it between his handlebars. He kept his head down and steered right into Rumlow's firing line. The bullets cascaded off the shield like heavy raindrops. Easily outpacing the hulking car, Cap and his motorcycle continued to close the gap. He was less than a full car length away when the truck again changed direction, taking the majority of a street corner with it. The combination of the suddenness of the turn and the mortar spilling out onto the street left Cap unable to follow directly; instead, he veered down an adjacent street, one running diagonal to theirs.

At the top of the street, Captain America found himself racing towards a bazaar. The colorful tents were upon him before he could think to stop. Using every ounce of his Super-Soldier reflexes, the Captain yanked on the handlebars to squeeze through the unaware pedestrians. A cry went out, and the Moroccans dove for cover. The street began to clear, and Captain America seized the new path -- until a delivery truck began to pull out in front of him. Slamming the emergency brake, Cap spun the bike around ninety degrees and dropped it to its side; skidding beneath the chassis of the truck -- keeping his shield between himself and the ground -- Captain America popped up on the other side and torqued the motorcycle back around to continue giving chase.

The divergence between the streets was widening, and the Captain knew he needed to get back on Crossbones’ tail. Spotting an alleyway ahead that would put him back on the proper road, Captain America swung the motorcycle around into the gap. He suddenly found himself facing a stone stairwell between buildings. Easing on the brake, Cap guided the bouncing motorcycle down the stairs until it emerged on the adjacent street. The armored car was a little ways ahead but still well within pursuit range. Captain America throttled up for a final approach.

This time, Crossbones was waiting. Seeing Captain America approach, he stood at the back of the car with an even larger rifle; this one had a front-mounted grenade launcher beneath its barrel. Pumping the launcher, Crossbones turned and fired, the explosion missing Rogers’ bike by at least two or three feet. A second shot missed high, causing the Captain to swerve underneath it. The third one was on target, but Captain America caught it harmlessly on his shield. The gap was shrinking. The Captain grabbed his shield and let it rip. As it crashed into Crossbones’ gut, the mercenary got off a fourth shot.

Had it not been for the shield throw, the grenade might've caught Captain America in the chest. Instead, the small redirection pushed it low. The explosion was centered between the motorcycle's front tire and the ground. Captain America was thrown from the wreckage of his bike. His shield -- caught up in the shockwave -- deflected high and wide, landing somewhere down the street. Rogers tumbled through a plate glass window into a storefront. His every muscle ached, and he could feel minor lacerations from the shrapnel and the broken glass. By the time he forced himself up onto his feet, the armored car was long gone.

Captain America stood in the quiet Moroccan street, surveying the trail of destruction and mayhem that Crossbones and his men had left behind. Activating the communicator in his helmet, he gave his solemn report. “Hill, Rumlow got away. I repeat, I did not secure the package.” He removed his helmet and swore beneath his breath.

Two months ago



<sub>“*nh*......Kal-El…...nim khuhp Kal-El…*gnh*.....throniv khuhp tulem rurrelahs…..”

”Clark? Are you okay?”</sub>

”Whuh?”



I open a bleary eye, the pale moonlight coming in through the window the only light illuminating Lois’s bedroom. She’s cuddled against me, barely half awake herself, her head resting on my chest.

”You’re talking in your sleep again,” she mutters, her words coming out half as a tired groan. ”Is something up?”

”No, I’m…..I’m all right,” I say, my head still swimming. ”Just a weird dream, is all.”

”..’kay,” she half-yawns before rolling over. ”Just let me know if things go from normal-weird to dangerous-weird.”

”Will do,” I say as I lie back down, but even as I say it, I know I’m not going back to sleep tonight. I haven’t been sleeping well at all lately, which is strange, considering that it’s the first time in a long time that things have been relatively calm.

Since the day I put on the cape and made my presence known to the world, I’ve had people coming after me, trying to fight me, arrest me, dissect me, or kill me. At first it was the various crime syndicates and terrorist cells I’d been rooting out. Then it was the military, stirred into a paranoid frenzy by the likes of G. Gordon Godfrey that I was too dangerous to be left outside of their control. Then the Parasite, then Livewire, the Atomic Skull and so on. There’s always been someone calling me out, someone trying to take me down a peg, someone wanting to make a name for themselves by becoming the Man Who Beat Superman.

Since Toyman was defeated, though, there hasn’t been much of anything. No coordinated black-ops teams trying to set up traps for me, no tragic results of science gone wrong spilling out into the streets, no psychopaths mutated by freak accidents and experimental technology. Even Godfrey has put his “Beware the Superman” narrative on the back-burner, shifting gears to instead praise Lex Luthor to high Heaven every chance he gets.

On that front, Lois convinced me not to confront Luthor about what the Toyman AI revealed to myself and Batman: that ‘Brainiac’ is a fragment of a vast extraterrestrial intelligence, possibly from my own home world. At least, not until I found actual proof of any wrongdoing. For starters, because tipping my hand too early would give Luthor plenty of time to move his assets around and make any sort of incriminating evidence disappear. Secondly, because, as she put it, “Your Honor, I heard it from a malevolent AI that was based on the consciousness of a severely insane black-hat hacker who died months ago” won’t hold up in any court. And thirdly, because assuming guilt based on a personal distrust is just bad journalism. Tabloid hacks target people looking to connect crimes to them; a reporter worth a damn starts with a crime and looks for the people behind it. Even though my gut tells me Luthor is up to no good, I can’t break in and start tearing up his property without real justification.

Without any major conflicts or crises looming over the city, it feels somehow….hollow. I hate to say it, but even with all the daily bustle, the streets of Metropolis sound eerily quiet without the reverberating sounds of explosions and sirens. That might just be myself becoming too much of an adrenaline addict, something Lois has confessed to being herself-- as much as I want to strive for a better, more peaceful world, I don’t quite feel like myself if I don’t get to swoop in on some imminent catastrophe or another at some point during the day.

But there’s something else…..something…..calling to me.

It started out back in Smallville, just before my excursion to Gotham. When I went home and found the artifact that Ma and Pa had taken from my pod: a silver ball that hummed with my touch. I could never figure out what it was supposed to be, but when I said the name ‘Kal-El’....when I said my real name…..it sprang to life, filling my senses with images of an alien world and a strange civilization-- my home planet and people, I assume-- then shot out of the window like a bullet.

Since then, I’ve heard something like an echo of it, an itch in the back of my mind. It was too quiet for me to really notice during all the excitement with Toyman and Batman and the like, but now that things have calmed down, I’ve been hearing it more and more, louder and clearer every day. There’s always been something keeping me from following it to its source, someone in danger, some disaster in need of stopping, but now, in the peace and quiet of the night, it’s too strong to ignore.

I sit back up, then climb out of bed, fumbling in the dark for a moment before adjusting my vision to focus on the lower end of the electromagnetic spectrum, giving myself instant night-vision. I pull on a pair of pants and slip on a T-shirt, before Lois stirs again.

”Clark,” she mutters, ”Where are you going?”

”Just….out for a second,” I say, unsure of how to explain it. ”I just need to check on something really quick. I shouldn’t be gone long.”

”...all right….” she says with a sigh. ”Keep your phone on you. If you’re not back in time to make breakfast, it’s your ass, Smallville.”

”I’ll keep that in mind,” I say with a weak laugh, before climbing out the window and pushing off into the night sky.



There it is again, stronger this time. I drift through the air, all but oblivious to the rooftops I’m skimming. Gradually, I climb up above the city skyline, higher and faster, until before long I’m above the clouds, the air splitting in a white Mach cone in front of me.



North.

Whatever this itch is in my head, it gets that much stronger the further north I go. Within a minute, I’m well out of the city, crossing the state line and across the bay, over Gotham and Blüdhaven, up through New York State, then into Canada.

Five minutes later, the air around me is so thin it’s almost impossible to breathe. Below me is a maze of blue and white, glaciers and icebergs adrift in the deep-freezing waters of the Arctic Circle. Above that, ribbons of green and purple lights dance along the curvature of the Earth, the aurora borealis a surreal view from low orbit.

Even so, I can’t bring myself to stop and take in this beauty. I have to keep going. I have to find this voice.



I push on, the signal now getting stronger the closer I get to the ground. As I pass back down into the troposphere I see something: dark clouds, whirling with hurricane force. Were there any buildings in that storm, it would knock them down as if they were made of cards. Any vehicle that went into that maelstrom would be swept away, then smashed to bits on the ice likely miles from where it went in.

Whatever this place is, it’s certain death for any normal man.

And yet, I know this is exactly where I’m being called. I ball up my fists, clench my teeth, and I plunge headlong into the heart of the storm.





I’m greeted with a deafening clap of thunder, a bolt of lightning arcing through the clouds so close to me it makes my hair stand on end. Flying this far into the storm is like slamming into a concrete wall, the wind so strong it nearly pulls me out of the sky immediately.

”Hnnngh!” I grunt, straining to keep airborne. ”Have to…...keep…...going!”

I force myself deeper into the storm, the air moving so quickly now the sheer friction starts to shred my shirt away and rub my skin raw. The gravitational field that provides my flight, strength, and invulnerability is starting to waver under the strain, slowly stripping away like dirt from a building being hit with a sandblaster.

I can take a hit like probably nobody else in the world. Missiles, lasers, bombs, even a nuclear blast. But those hits are all sudden, all momentary. You can’t destroy a landmass just by dropping a big enough bomb on it. Run a river through it, though, and over time you can effectively cut a continent in half. Just flying in and out of this storm would be one thing. But staying in it, enduring the eroding winds hitting me from all sides without letting up, is beginning to wear me down.

Eventually, I’m forced to the ground, trudging forward on foot, putting every bit of strength I have into keeping my invulnerability up. I’m in too far to turn back now. I have to find the eye of the storm, or I’ll be broken down and lost in the storm.

”Who are you?!” I call out, my voice lost immediately in the deafening winds. ”What do you want from me?!”

I don’t expect an answer, and I receive none. Nevertheless, I push forward.

Every step I take is a battle now. Every inch I gain, I have to fight for as if my life depends on it. Every stumble is a catastrophe.

I don’t know how long I’m in the storm. Minutes, hours, days. Time starts to lose any sort of meaning.

Still, I keep going.



…...and then…..it stops.

I stagger forward, the wall of impenetrable wind suddenly giving way as if it weren’t there at all. Dazed and confused, I turn to see the storm raging just inches behind me, but it’s as if I’m watching it from the other side of a window. Above me, stars twinkle in the deep blue.

I’ve reached the heart of the storm. Or, more accurately, I’ve reached an area that seems to be unaffected by the storm completely.

Ahead of me is a tall cliff, walls of rock and ice reaching up to a treacherous peak. I curl my fingers into claws and dig into the rock face, then I begin to climb. My muscles ache, my bones creak, my body begging for rest after braving the storm.

But I can’t stop now. Not when I’m this close to…...I don’t even know. I have no idea what’s waiting for me at the summit. Answers about my home world, perhaps. Or maybe a trap, luring me to my death. All I know is I have to reach it.

The rational part of me knows this is insane. It’s possibly suicidal, in fact, and at the very least it’s irresponsible. But the rational part of me isn’t in control right now. There’s something else, something primal in my mind, pushing me forward, even when common sense has been screaming this entire time to turn around and go back to bed, back to Lois.

My entire life, I’ve felt there’s been something missing, a piece of myself scattered somewhere in the world. And now, here, at the top of the world……



…...I may have found it…...

I'm ushered towards a large, crumbling warehouse. At least, from the outside it seems to be crumbling. Its facade rises up out of a lot overgrown with weeds and debris. The empty, rusting husks of cars sit in the lot, vines wrapping themselves around the metal bones of the cars like worms on a corpse. The dusty windows of the warehouse burn with interior light, and a sign denoting the place as a former autoparts factory swings lazily on one of the three hooks that used to keep it up.

"Nice place," I comment to the man who is clearly the leader of the group of men sent out to...capture me I guess. "I would have figured the gang controlling a part of New York City would have nicer digs."

He's taller than me by quite a bit, reaching at least six foot. His dark, black skin melds with the shadows and his dark clothing, and he has an athletic build. If I had to guess, I'd say he's in his mid-to-late thirties, but I'm terrible at guessing those kind of things.

"We don't control anything," the guy spits back my way. "We protect the people here."

"By driving cops out?" I ask with skepticism.

He snorts, "Yea, because they've done such a good job keeping people safe. Doin such a good job that they had to bring in some robots to take care of you. Yet we got you in a second."

"I'm here because I didn't want to have to put you down in front of your crew," my shoulders shrug with a fake, apologetic motion. "Didn't want them to make fun of you when you got back to the clubhouse."

Looking over, I see the wide, bright smile he's shooting my way. He's enjoying this, that's for sure. But there's no malice in the look. He may not particularly like me, but I'm not his worst enemy either.

"You believe anything you want to believe, Spider," he nods towards the warehouse. "You're heading into Tombstone's house now. He'll be the one who judges whether you get to work in the Bronx."

"Tombstone? Seriously?" I snort.

"You might want to watch that tone, little miss," my escort warns. "Tombstone ain't as patient as I am."

As we approach the large, metal door covering the entrance to the old factory begins to rise with a rusty squeal of protest. As it does, the warm, orange light from inside spills out like a wave of comfort. It washes the cold, December air away from me like a toasty hug. I can hear the signs of life emanating from inside, and I look over to my guide. He motions towards the entrance with an exaggerated bow, and I head for it.

We step into the building, and I'm shocked with what I find inside. It's a makeshift city. Tents and salvaged furniture dot the inside of the great hall, set up like neighborhood streets. Members of the gangs and people who I assume have taken refuge here mill about like neighbors who have known each other for years. Smiles dot their faces as they cook over grills or griddles, sharing food with their families and their friends. Children play soccer in the space between the tents, and their laughter fills the air like music. I can even spot some Christmas decorations around the area. Not only has the gang taken up in this place, they've made it a home.

"This is...really cool," is all I can get out, cursing myself for my lack of eloquence. "It is not what I was expecting in the slightest."

"That's what everyone says," the man beams. "But I'll let the big guy tell you about it. I'm just a grunt."

We pass by a group of women sowing together ripped clothes, salvaging what can be from the pile in front of them. They look up at me, showing mostly indifference in their eyes. I say mostly, because I can see fear there too. Fear, I assume, that I will tell someone about their safe haven here. Let someone know who will come and ruin everything they've built. I don't blame them. This might not be everyone's ideal living situation, but it's all these people have. They deserve it.

"Hey, what's your name?" I ask my guide as we traverse the meandering paths of tents towards the center of the old warehouse.

"Surprised you're interested," his eyebrows raise. "But if you gotta know, it's Davis. Aaron Davis. Used to be a petty shakedown man. A burglar. A good for nothing prowler. That's before Tombstone found me and gave me a purpose."

I look at him sideways. The pride in his voice when he talks about the life they've built here is evident. Still, they are a gang. They've clashed with police a few times already. They probably will again. But...I just can't find anything wrong with what they're doing. This refuge they've built and these people they've helped? It's commendable. That I have to admit.

Still, this could be a smokescreen. This...Tombstone could be using everyone here for some nefarious goal. The way Aaron is talking, he could damn well be a cult leader. They're known to foster complete devotion in their followers, and Davis is very clearly devoted.

Going further into the warehouse, we pass by a functioning auto shop. Members of the Pale Riders are hard at work souping up the cars in front of them, installing illegal spead boosters, new engines, and who knows what else. Must be where they get their money from. Makes sense.

Each member dons a denim vest, the hallmark of any good biker gang, I figure. And that's clearly what they are. Or at least what they were at one time. The sigil on the back of the vest shows a headstone with an Celtic-like cross on it. Tombstone certainly knows how to market himself.

The members of the gang barely seem to notice me. Some nod my way as I scan the area, watching the sparks fly off the cars as they chop them up for parts. One thing I don't notice in the work area is drugs. None being used and none hainging around to be pushed. That makes me feel a little bit better about all this.

I'm so engrossed with the goings on of the Pale Horses, that I don't notice the massive shadow that passes over me like a solar eclipse. Once I realize what's happened, I turn to find myself towered over by the man known as Tombstone.

Sometimes you'll read a person described as a "mountain of a man". I don't know who came up with that description, but I have to assume it came to them after meeting the gang leader towering in front of me. He stands well over six-foot-five, and his chest is seemingly as broad as one of the cars his men are working on. He looks down on me with intense, black eyes, and a face as white as a ghost. His thick arms are crossed over his chest as he studies me. He looks like a statue hewn out of snow-white marble. Unmovable and eternal.

"So," he rumbles in a low baritone, "you're the Spider. I expected you to be bigger."

He relaxes a bit, sitting on the tailgate of a pickup truck parked behind him. He nods to his lieutenant Davis, and the man leaves.

"And I assume you're Tombstone," I cross my own arms and look at him sideways. "You're...well you're pretty much exactly what I assumed you'd be."

He laughs, a booming, canon of a laugh, "Yea. I get that a lot. What do you think of our little home here?"

"It's impressive," I have to admit. "Not what I expected."

"Good," he smiles. "Now you can get the fuck out of the Bronx and leave us alone."

The smile quickly twists into a sneer. He doesn't move, but the malice begins to roll off of him.

"You know I can't do that," I stand my ground. "There's someone making poison in this part of town. Poison that's infecting every inch of this city. I can't sit around and let that stand."

"Ah. now you care about the little people. When you can look like a hero. When all you have to do is stop the bad guy," he spits.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you swing around New York like you own it. Like it doesn't matter. Like what follows in your privileged wake isn't trouble from one end to the other. Never noticing what your cost is. You pretend to be doing what you are to help people. But really it's just to indulge your power fantasies."

Anger starts to bubble up inside of me, "You think I don't notice? Think I don't care about the lives that are affected by the people who try and stir up trouble in this city? You're wrong. I know all the names of the people who died in the Surfer's attack."

"Big fuckin' deal," he laughs, this time quietly. "You know some names. What have you done to make their families lies better? What have you done to make sure it doesn't happen again? You may be good at stoppin bad guys, but you ain't no hero, Spider."

"Says the guy who beats up cops," I fire back instinctively.

"There you go, hiding behind the pillars of power," he smiles knowingly. "You think cops are always the good guys, when you know damn well they aren't. Not always. Maybe not even half the time. Hell, you're clinging to that even after Mayor McCrazy got elected, and you became priority number one over night. Power structures can be corrupted. Yet you sit here and pretend you can still work with them and make a difference. Not only that, but making metahumans officially targets doesn't help either. I got at least six mutants living here who are scared for their lives on the streets now that cops are looking to appease the mayor's edict."

He's not saying anything that hasn't crossed my mind in the past few months. The NYPD has become a thorn in my side, and the Goblin patrols are even worse. DeWolff and Dad are the only ones who will talk to me, where when I first started cops would take selfies with me half the time. Deep down I want to think that this malice wasn't always there, that they're just following orders...

But the saying about those following orders pricks at the back of my mind.

"I can't save something without at least trying to give it a chance. The police aren't perfect, I agree. But if I can become the hero you talk about, I can help bring them back from the brink. Make them the heroes they should be, instead of what they've become," I respond. "And that's all I'm asking from you. A chance to work in the Bronx. A chance to find the source of the Octopus's Ink and cut it off for good. I won't get in your way. As long as you don't get in mine."

"Is that a threat, little spider?" he stands, straightening his imposing figure yet again. "Because you would not want to tussle with us."

"Maybe not," I shrug. "But if you stop me from stopping the Octopus, or stop the cops I'm gonna need to arrest him, we're gonna find out just how tough you are, Tombstone."

Another booming, echoing laugh is followed by a smile, "Well, maybe we might just have to see that play out somewhere down the road. You want to try and take down the Ink dealer? Be my guest. But you remember what I said. You can stop the bad guys you want. But until you stop leaving a wake of human wreckage in your path, you ain't no hero. Now get out of here."

Our gaze locks for a few, silent moments. My hands clench in fists, but not in rage. More of annoyance, out of anything. Annoyance that this gang leader has cut straight into the heart of my recent crisis of faith so easily.

I fire a webline to an open window above, and make my way towards where I think the Octopus is holding up.

Chinatown, New York City

---

The floor-space of the dojo was open, and Colleen was finishing rolling up the mats. She had decided to grab a late dinner as soon as her class had ended, and was now wrapping things up before retiring into her bedroom. That is, until the stairs leading up from the street creaked. Within moments, Colleen's instincts kicked in as she was near the door. She flicked the switch off, turning off the lights, before making two quick steps over to the wall to grab her sword. The family heirloom was a ninjato, and Colleen held the sheath with her left hand as her right was at the ready. The footsteps stopped as the handle of the door was jiggled. She was glad she locked the door.

Unfortunately, that didn't stop them. The door was kicked in, breaking the cheap lock, and their silhouettes filled the doorway. Colleen responded swiftly, slashing at the arm of one of the burglars. He recoiled in pain, and the fighting truly began. The three Golden Tigers entered into the dojo slowly, doing their best to dodge Colleen's adept swings and kicks. Yet, as they tried to circle the grad student/martial arts teacher, they found that they were falling right into their trap. Two came swinging at her, and found her blade meeting their legs and forcing them to their knees. Two thuds filled the dojo as the scabbard of her blade met their heads with a powerful force, knocking them unconscious.

The last Golden Tiger raised his hands in the air as Colleen's blade lightly pressed against his chest. She gave a small smile. "Tell Chaka that if he wants protection money, he's going to have to come here himself."

---

---

Danny was surprised by the ring on his door. His family's home in Staten Island never got visitors, let alone this late at night. The "prodigal son" of NYC was in the middle of his nightly meditation session in the middle of the parlor close to the foyer. A shirtless Rand opened the door, the symbol emblazoned on his chest. Standing on the porch was a man wearing simple rags, Danny's height and just as well defined. Their eyes met, and it took only moments before the two embraced, laughing and smiling. Davos broke the hug first, taking a step back and looking Daniel over. "Davos... where have you been? I thought you stayed in K'un-Lun."

"I left after you did. Getting to... New York City is harder than I could have imagined. This world is not kind to those who reject material wealth."

Danny gave a small smile, motioning for his friend to enter his home. "No... sometimes I miss K'un-Lun."

"You and me both, brother."

---

After twenty minutes of reminiscing, the two found themselves sitting in the living room sipping on tea made from plants from their extra-dimensional home. Danny set his mug down on the coffee table as he leaned back. "So what brings you here, Davos? Why did you come to Earth, let alone K'un Lun?"

Davos followed Danny's lead, finishing his tea and slouching slightly before realizing the posture was uncomfortable, instead sitting up straight in his chair. "When I lost to you in our duel, I swore to fight alongside the Iron Fist. You left K'un-Lun to bring balance and protection to Earth. So I followed you here."

Danny gave a small smile. "Good. Our work starts tomorrow. Now let's get you settled upstairs."

Seymour, Indiana

Rachna Koul mopped her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand. The SHIELD scientist had spent all morning traipsing around Seymour in search of Horton’s Auto-Parts. In a town as small as Seymour, you would have thought it would be easy to find – instead Rachna had been forced to search for it the old-fashioned way after being stonewalled by the town’s citizens at every turn. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to offend them, but by the way they looked at her she’d clearly done something.

It was late in the afternoon by the time she managed to track down the mechanics. It wasn’t so much a mechanics as a spacious, if untidy garage connected to one of the larger houses in Seymour. A long-since faded sign with “Horton & Sons” was propped up against one of the garage’s walls. A man who looked no younger than eighty was sat beside it.

Rachna smiled at the elderly man warmly as she made her way up the drive towards him. “Excuse me, sir, I’m looking for Jim Hammond.”

As soon as the name left her mouth, the old man’s leathery features hardened. Whatever warmth Rachna might have expected as a potential customer disappeared. Instead his beady eyes studied the scientist with a suspicious look that felt incisive enough to see through solid lead.

The elderly man's mouth opened to reveal a set of teeth that had been stained a deep brown by a lifetime of chewing tobacco. “Jim who?”

“Jim Hammond,” Rachna responded with a cordial smile that the old man was completely undeserving of. “I was told that he worked here.”

This time the brown teeth stayed firmly behind his whisker-covered lips. The man’s hostility towards Koul revealed more than his cooperation ever would have done. Jim Hammond was in Seymour, Indiana and better yet now she knew that people there – or at least the old man at Horton’s – knew that there was more to Hammond than met the eye. Now all Rachna had to do was find him. Something told her that the old man was going to be less than helpful in that regard.

“Well, whoever told you that must have been mistaken," he said with a shrug so half-hearted that his contempt for Koul was obvious. "There’s no-one by that name working around these parts and frankly I’d appreciate it if you l-”

“It’s alright, Phineas, I’ve got this.”

From within the garage, a much younger man appeared. He was in his mid-to-late twenties, with eyes so piercingly blue that even though he’d traded in his perfectly sculpted blonde mane for a buzzcut, Johnny Storm was instantly recognisable. He was wearing a t-shirt that appeared to once have been white. Now it, as well as pretty much every part of Johnny’s exposed skin, was covered in oil marks.

Horton clutched at his walking stick as he shot Johnny a paternal look. “You sure, Jim?”

Johnny nodded. He helped Phineas to his feet and lead him to a lawn chair on the sidewalk by the side of the road. Though the doctors had made Horton promise to stop drinking, the old man took the opportunity to pluck a hip flask from his inside pocket and take a healthy mouthful. Johnny patted Horton on the back and returned to the garage where Koul was waiting.

“So, what brings the biggest egghead on SHIELD's books all the way out to Seymour? I didn't realise they let you people out of the Triskelion.”

Rachna was shocked by Johnny's sudden directness. "What? I don’t know what you mea-"

“Oh, come on, Rachna," Storm groaned as he rolled his eyes hard at Koul's unconvincing acting. "Are you really going to try to convince me that you came all this way just to get your oil changed? Why don’t you save us both some time and tell me what the hell it is you really want?”

Koul’s tanned cheeks reddened with embarrassment. She had many skills but clearly acting wasn’t one of them. Even Rachna would admit that she would make a lousy spy – and the speed with which Johnny had seen through her flimsy attempt at lying spoke to that. Yet she had read Storm's file more times than she could count. There was nothing in it to suggest that Johnny possessed an aptitude for spy-catching.

"How did you know?"

“Look, I might not be as smart as Reed but I’m not a complete idiot. You know how many people live in this town? When I showed up here, they damn near threw me a parade. The second you showed up here and started throwing my name around, I knew about it. Heck, everyone and their mothers knew it. Honestly, I’m surprised it took you so long to come and talk to me.”

"I wanted to get the lay of the land a little first," Rachna shrugged. "I figured there must have been a reason that you chose to settle here – some kind of connection to your past, maybe. Either that or Seymour is a front for some kind of terrorist cell? It wouldn’t be the first time."

The laugh that left Johnny’s lips was so dismissive it almost hurt Koul to hear it. Gone was the angry young man that Rachna had examined on his arrival in her world. This Johnny seemed more at ease and, perhaps even in a way, more relaxed. It was why his dismissive laughter stung Rachna a little more than they would have this time three months ago.

“Maybe I just liked the town? Did that ever occur to you?”

Koul scanned the dusty garage for something that made her feel remotely positive and drew a blank. “I mean, what exactly is there to like?”

“You know, I used to think like you once. I grew up in a pretty little suburb in Long Island. All I ever wanted was to make it to the big city – and fast. Gave poor Sue more sleepless nights than anyone deserves. And then, after our little accident, I got there and guess what? It was everything I wanted and more. The fame, the adulation, the attention from the opposite sex. I was living the dream.”

“Well, what happened?”

“The dream ended,” Johnny said with a sigh. “That’s what no-one tells you, Rachna. Eventually, if you live the high life for long enough, the bill comes due – and God knows mine did. After the craft was destroyed, I tried my best to keep up appearances, to keep going on, but I just couldn’t do it. Living a dead man’s life? Looking his friends, his loved ones, in the face and pretending that I was him? I couldn’t do it.”

There had been murmurs around the Triskelion about the Fantastic Four disbanding. Though Reed still occasionally visited Hill from time to time, no one had laid eyes on Ben, Johnny, or Sue in months. It had taken Koul every bit of resourcefulness she had to track Johnny down. Though from the look on his face, he didn’t seem grateful to her for interrupting the quiet that he had found in his new life.

“And when it came time for SHIELD to resettle you, you chose Seymour? I’m sorry, “Jim”, but something about this doesn’t quite add up.”

Outside of Horton’s an elderly couple passed by and exchanged a few words with Phineas. They shouted a hello to Jim and Johnny waved one of his oil-covered hands at them with a relaxed smile. Rachna wasn’t sure how Storm had done it, but he seemed to have managed to make the small town his home within a matter of months.

“No, I guess for someone like you that wouldn't make sense.”

With a wistful smile, Johnny turned his back on Rachna and approached a toolbox. After a few seconds of rooting around he unearthed a wrench, which he tossed between his dirty hands a few times as he approached the old Mercury Montego sitting in the garage. As if Koul wasn’t there, he popped the hood and started tinkering around with the engine. Rachna watched him work for a few seconds, confused, before approaching the car awkwardly.


“You know, I was close with Franklin. I studied at the Baxter Building alongside Reed, Sue and I were even almost friends at one point, and I saw enough of Johnny and Ben to know that they wouldn’t have begrudged the four of you taking their places. They would have understood.”

Johnny shrugged his shoulders without looking up from the engine. “As touching as that is, Rachna, that wouldn't have made it any easier for me to look myself in the face every morning.”

“So that’s it then?” Racha sighed. “You’re going to spend the rest of your adult life as "Jim Hammond" hiding out in Nowheresville, Indiana?”

“That’s the plan.”

The scientist wore her disappointment on her face. Not that Johnny seemed remotely concerned. He was still fiddling around beneath the bonnet without a care in the world. The cloying heat didn't seem to affect him, but it was starting to affect Koul. Her patience was wearing through with every turn of his wrench. Finally she wrestled it from his hands in an attempt to get him to pay attention to their conversation.

“What if I told you that I knew something that would change your mind about staying in this place?” Rachna said. “Would you want to hear it?”

Johnny sighed deeply and ran one of his dirty hands through his freshly-shaven hair. “It sounds like you’re going to tell me no matter what I say to this question, so go ahead, Rachna, let’s see whether what you think you know was worth driving all the way out here to get off your chest.”

The scientist tried to speak but suddenly found herself unable to. A knot had appeared in her throat. The secret suspicions she had harboured for so long had all but been confirmed to her over the past three months and now that it was time to give voice to them she was hesitating. Perhaps she knew it was because once she spoke the awful truth out loud there would be no going back – for either of them.

“You asked me earlier why I hadn’t sought out Reed? Well, the truth is that I don’t know whether I can trust Reed anymore, Johnny. I don’t know if I can trust anyone anymore. I have reason to believe that Franklin's death wasn't an accident. In fact, it was the complete opposite.”

Koul commanded Johnny's complete attention for the first time. “I think SHIELD murdered Franklin Storm, and I need your help proving it.”

There was no shock on Johnny's face. He let the accusation linger in the air for a few moments without response. Rachna could see the gears grinding in his face as he tried to work out what that meant for himself and the people he loved. His weary blue eyes rested on Koul eventually and he nodded in acceptance. Without saying a word he shut the car bonnet, threw on a leather jacket, and made for the exit with Rachna.

---

---

Metropolis, Delware - Suicide Slum

It was a cold and lonely Christmas night. There was naught a carol in the air, nor a cheer of a child born; the few that roamed those dark, freezing streets had no home to return to and no hearth to sit beside. The destitute, the homeless and the unwanted wandered between those looming projects and those rundown apartments with dark circles under their eyes and solemn looks plastered on their weary faces.

Jaime Reyes was among their number. A child driven from his home three months prior, with nary a clean blanket or a working heater to call his own. A numbness etched itself into his marrow as the wind beat into his thin coat. There was a sharp pain in his cheeks like needles in his flesh as each frozen gust rolled by. He tried to ignore it as he thrust his shovel into the snow, lifting it up with all the strength his arms could muster and throw it back into the grass.

Though the snow still fell from the grey clouds that loomed overhead, he'd been tasked with clearing a path to the apartment complex towering over him. It was one of many odd jobs he'd been forced to take on after their last care package ran dry; it was the only way he might afford a more adequate coat. Shivering and fumbling to keep his fingers from falling off, he continued his work, diligent and desperate to finish that uncomfortable work.

"You look like you're about to pass out." A voice called from down the sidewalk. Brenda was approaching through the snow, her own shovel hanging over her shoulder and a much larger, firmer coat wrapped about her form. She, at least, was bundled up properly. "You can borrow my coat if-"

Jaime cut her off with a firm shake of his head. "No, no. I'm fine," he lied. "The Scarab keeps me warm. Let's just hurry up so we can get back to the van." This wasn't the first time she'd offered, and it wasn't the first time he had to use that excuse. Reyes knew she did worse with the cold than him. Even with how she was dressed up, she still looked frozen to the bone. Reyes could take it. They were nearly finished anyway. He just had to ignore it for a little longer.

It wasn't the only thing he was trying to ignore.

_{"-can't do anything right, you god damn bitch-"}

The Scarab was the only reason Jaime was still alive. It had saved him several times over, and for that he was nothing but thankful. He appreciated all it could do- all of the power it allowed him to wield. It let him do a lot of good.

_{"-please, Henry, not in front of Mary-"}

But there were some things Jaime wished it couldn't do.

_{"-don't you tell me what not to fucking do!"}

Some things he wished he couldn't hear.

_{"I'm sorry! Please, just-"}

Jaime had been so enthralled in the whispers carried to his ear by the Scarab that he hadn't noticed just how hard he was digging with the shovel until he heard a sharp snap like a whip. He blinked, staring down at the handle- he'd broken it straight in half on the concrete, the head of the tool sent clattering against the pavement. His hands were shaking, but not from the cold.

'Just ignore it.' He told himself.

"Jaime?" Brenda called again, dragging his gaze away from that broken mess of a tool. He'd have to pay to replace it- less money to go toward food and new clothes. Typical. "They're at it again, aren't they?" She sighed, her voice solemn and quiet.

He nodded without saying a word, unwilling to meet her sympathetic gaze.

This wasn't the first time he'd heard it. They spent a great deal of time in this neighborhood the last few months as they chased ghosts and leads that never went anywhere. In fact, they used to park their van in an alley just around the corner- it didn't last long, though. Jaime couldn't sleep with all the screaming in his ears.

She sighed. "I'll go tell Larry. We can get the cops down here again, and-"

"-And what?" Jaime suddenly let out a violent, angry snarl, his eyes darting up from the snow to meet her gaze. There was a fire burning behind his pupils that had rarely lived there. "And what, Brenda?" He repeated with equal, furious emphasis. "Nothing, that's what. Nothing's going to happen. Nothing happened the first time we called, nothing happened the seventh time we called, nothing's going to happen this time either." He protested, tossing down the broken remains of his shovel as he threw his hands up into the air in a sudden start. "The cops don't care. They've never cared. I...I should-"

It was Brenda's turn to cut him off. "You should what, Jaime?" She took his own words, twisting them against him as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Throw on your armor and go kick Henry's ass? Is that what you want to do?" She accused, taking several steps toward him.

Jaime didn't back down, meeting her iron gaze with one of equal strength. "Maybe- maybe, yeah! Maybe I will!"

_{He was supposed to be a hero now. He had to do something.}

That set her off even worse as she continued to press him, moving even closer. "Brilliant, Reyes, fucking brilliant." Brenda praised, her words oozing with joyless sarcasm. "Do you have the memory of a goldfish? Because the last time you brought the Scarab out, SHIELD spent three weeks chasing us across the country! How much sleep did we get then, Jaime, huh? How close did they get to catching us?"

_{He fought the Silver Surfer. He helped save the world.}

Jaime took a step backward, his hands moving up to run through his hair. He could feel his heart pounding through the front of his chest. There was a pressure in his skull as he felt an unrelenting desire to drive his fist through something. He was angry. So, so angry. But he felt a snaking pit of doubt forming in his stomach. He remembered those first nights all too well- he remembered how palpable his fear was back then- he was sure they were going to be caught. He didn't want to go back to those days. Yet...at the same time... "Am I supposed to do nothing?" He asked, his voice broken and pleading. "Is that it? You want me to just sit here and listen like I couldn't stop it whenever I wanted?"

_{But now...}

"Yes!" She affirmed without skipping a beat. She was equally distraught, if not more so. She felt like a monster for trying to convince Jaime not to help someone in need. It made her soul ache with a painful sort of spite; she hated having to be on this side of the argument. But she knew he had to hear this. She knew from the very depth of her marrow that Jaime needed to be reminded of the consequences his actions would wrought. "It's not worth the risk. If you get caught, we're done. Do you understand that? We're done. They're going to lock you up and throw away the key. Every night we spent in the back of that stupid...stupid van? It'll- it'll be wasted. You'll be blamed for everything that happened and, and we- I- won't get to see you again."

_{...Now he couldn't save just one little girl?}

Those words cut deep, and they gave Jaime pause. He retreated another step, his eyes falling to his feet as he was overcome by shame and guilt. Conflicted, weary and cold, the only thing he wanted to do now was to shut out all of the noise and leave. He stood in silence for several minutes, the sound of that vitriolic arguing like the constant, mocking whispers of his inner demons. His shoulders sunk when he finally spoke, his voice naught by a broken mutter. "Alright. Let's tell Larry." The landlord could handle it. He'd tell the police, and...and they'd come down and talk to Henry again...Maybe this time it'd change. Maybe this time it'd be better.

And if not?

'Just ignore it, Jaime.' He was forced to tell himself.

_{Some hero he turned out to be.}

---

𝗕𝗜𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡 𝗭𝗔𝗡𝗔 ⫽ 𝗪𝗔𝗞𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗔
𝖣𝖤𝖢𝖤𝖬𝖡𝖤𝖱 𝟤𝟢𝟣𝟪 ⫽ 𝟣𝟦𝟢𝟢

"I am announcing today that I have already taken the first steps towards ending the isolationist policy, which has been active for centuries. The world will realize our strength and the potential to make it safer." T'Challa declared at the Tribal Council Chamber. It was the sole purpose of the entire meeting: to discuss what has been and will be done. But, he knew that there was going to be some push-back against the whole thing. N'Yami sat there in silence while her son spoke, watching the other advisors' reactions. When her son told her about ending the isolationism, she honestly had doubts about how opening up to the world will benefit them in the long run. However, King T'Challa needed all of the support right now before the Council decides to turn their backs on him.

One of the advisors, Cangza, stood up in disgust and shouted, "Blasphemy! You dare to desecrate our history by opening up to the outsiders."

"I agree! The council will never abide by this unholy breach!" Hodari said in support for Cangza.

"You may disagree with my decision, but you have no choice but to accept it." T'Challa responded to Hodari's declaration. No-one in the council cannot demand change since their only role is advisors to the king. Other members looked at each other and mumbled a few things while some took notes. The announcement was a surprise to everyone in the chamber. T'Challa started to walk away from the chamber, leaving the advisors to argue on the matter. Then, he heard his name being called out.

"T'Challa!" Hodari shouted across the chamber. "You can't just leave! We demand answers!"

"I have more important matters to attend than sit here and argue with you." T'Challa said before leaving the chamber and heading to Shuri's lab. General Okoye awaited her king at the entrance of the chamber with her spear in hand. She was one of the first people that T'Challa told about his plans regarding Wakanda and the entire world. Okoye believed that he will success and bring more prosperity to the country. It also meant that they could finally help out the rest of Africa. But, it meant that the Dora Milaje needed to protect the royal family more than ever. Her job was about to get a whole lot more difficult.

"I take it that the meeting went well?" Okoye asked sarcastically.

"Almost everyone in the chamber was caught off guard. Cangza and Hodari were immediately against the idea while the others were silent. I am sure that they also against it also." T'Challa answered while he was walking towards the labs. There were lots of people walking around because cars were prohibited in the city because it damaged the environment. Cable cars and rapid transit systems dominated the city and kept it from becoming polluted like Los Angeles and Xingtai. T'Challa and Okoye made their way to the marketplace filled with people doing their daily shopping. It was an usual sight to see the King of Wakanda walking around the city so people didn't think twice.

"Where's the outsider?" Okoye asked while looking around for Vixen.

"Vixen? Zambesi with M'Baku to make sure the information provided by the captain wasn't a lie." T'Challa answered.

---

𝖹𝖠𝖬𝖡𝖤𝖲𝖨
𝖣𝖤𝖢𝖤𝖬𝖡𝖤𝖱 𝟤𝟢𝟣𝟪 ⫽ 𝟣𝟦𝟦𝟢

"Have you heard anything from Bahta and his group yet?"

"No. I am starting to worry. We should do some-" the solider couldn't finish his sentence as he felt someone squeezing him to death. The other soldier tried to call for help but his mouth was covered. The White Gorilla snapped his neck while Vixen dropped the other dead solider to the ground. Both of them looked at the building where Abiesa was being held. Abiesa was a vocal opponent of Mustapha Maksai's dictatorship over the small African country. Six months ago, she was kidnapped from her home in Johannesburg and her lover of forty years was killed. The local authorities left the case cold and nobody knew where she was until now.

Thanks to the capture of Captain Bahta, he was able to provide a location of where Abiesa was held. And based on the two guards, the information looked to be good. Now, it was time to save her before it was too late. Vixen went ahead while the White Gorilla kept his distance to watch her back. She quietly walked passed a few guards around a campfire and entered the building. Meanwhile, there were two people on the roof of a lone building overlooking the place. Recently, their names became well-known in the criminal world for several assassinations on investigative journalists throughout the fall. Now, they were tasked with killing Vixen and retreating a necklace from her dead body.

"Maybe we can finally go on that honeymoon to the Caribbean islands once we collect our payment."

"That sounds romantic, bunny."

Chinatown, New York City

---

The streetlights illuminated two figures standing in the dark streets of Chinatown. Both outfitted in hoodies and sweats, the two figures stood outside of a luxurious Chinese restaurant: The Silver Lotus. Two men in suits stood outside of the restaurant, seeming to be bouncer-types despite one noticeable distinction: golden gauntlets resembling claws. The unusual weapons were the trademark of Golden Tiger lieutenants, and a target for the two vigilantes watching their moves.

"What is the move, brother?"

"We enter through the back. The Tigers are on alert after someone shot up the only safe location for the Triad to meet. I'll head upstairs to interrogate the owner. I need you to cover my back." Daniel placed his hand on Davos' shoulder, squeezing it as a smile spread across his face. "I couldn't be doing this without you."

The two hooded figures strolled into the alley next to the restaurant as the two guards out front were caught up in a particularly deep conversation. The back door was barely guarded, just one lieutenant. No match for two warriors of K'un-Lun. Danny and Davos fought almost as one unit, striking low and high to knock him out in seconds. With free access, the two slipped into the building unnoticed.

The stairwell had a sanitized, white glow on the harsh concrete. Danny took the lead, heading up the stairs while Davos cracked his neck, standing near the doorway. After a minute, Davos' foot began to tap. He wasn't entirely one to wait around, especially when criminal scum were just inside the restaurant. So the warrior passed the stairs and entered into the kitchen. Two men in suits were observing the chefs and wait-staff, immediately switching into a combative stance once the strange man entered.

Davos' movements were fluid. A stray knife was placed on a metal counter near the doorway, which the K'un-Lun warrior was able to sling into the forehead of one of the lieutenants. The other rushed forward, swinging wide and high. Davos lifted his left hand to block the swing, using his right palm to slam his elbow inwards and fracturing the opponent's left arm. The pain was muffled as Davos' right hand chopped into his neck, cutting off his air, before his left hand quickly tapped along his neck. The Golden Tiger seemed woozy and off-balance as a result, falling to his knees as his eyes began to roll back in his head. He was unable to breathe. The chefs and wait-staff began rushing out of the kitchen, screaming. Five more Golden Tigers rushed in, and a cruel smile spread across Davos' lips.

---

A downward knocked out the last of the guards guarding the upper floor of the Silver Lotus. Littered around the room were assault weapons and drugs, as well as the unconscious bodies of Golden Tigers. A large set of oak doors were all that was left in Danny's way. His hand glew, and the doors flew inwards off their hinges before sliding into the office. A man in a suit had his hands raised already, pleading for his life in Chinese.

With Danny's mask over his head, he lowered the hood down to reveal the ceremonial silken sign of the Iron Fist. Each step carried the weight of a true warrior, and his target shrunk to the ground in fear. "I'm going to ask you this once... Where can I find Chaka?"

"I... He'll kill me if he finds out."

The Iron Fist glew as Danny neared the man, standing right next to his desk. A single punch splintered the desk into pieces, forcing the man to let out a slight gasp. It only took a look. "C...Canal Street. Warehouse 12. O...Our Staging Ground."

The Iron Fist gave a nod, just as he noticed a knife fling through the air and into the forehead of the helpless Golden Tiger. Danny spun around on a dime, seeing a figure in a gray hoodie spattered with blood. Davos stepped forward into the light of the dimly lit office, a grin on his lips. "You were right, brother. We have a lot of work to do."

Crown Heights
Brooklyn

Misty Knight leaned against the brick wall and tried to catch her breath. A car alarm was blaring from somewhere nearby. A car had tried to take her out and would have succeeded if she hadn’t jumped out the way at the last second. Misty didn’t look back after hearing the car crash into the side of a building, but she had heard the sounds of someone stumbling out of the car and running after her.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Misty searched for her phone and cursed when she realized she dropped it after ducking out of the car’s way. She had to call Chase and let him know what was going on. They had been wrong about this whole mess. The sound of approaching footsteps drew Misty back into the moment. She pulled out her gun and prepared for who was coming. A white man in a dark suit came around the corner, a glock in his hands. His eyes went wide when he saw Misty standing there with her own gun.

“Drop it,” he commanded. “I’m--”

“FBI,” said Misty. “I know. Agent Lanning, right? I know all about you.”

“Whatever you think you know,” said Lanning. “It isn’t true. And even if it was, who the hell is going to believe a washout ex-cop over an FBI agent? Drop the gun.”

Misty lowered her weapon. Lanning started forward cautiously as she brought it down. She let the gun slip from her hands. Lanning’s eyes darted down as the gun clattered on the ground. That was her opening. Misty lunged forward and grabbed Lanning’s wrist with her right hand. The FBI tried to pull back while Misty drove the palm of her left hand into his eardrum. He cried out in pain while Misty jerked his arm up into the air.

The gun went off three times before Misty could sweep his legs out from under him. Lanning fell hard to the ground. Misty kept the agent’s service weapon trained on him as he looked up at her with angry eyes.

“You’re making a huge fuckup,” said Lanning. “Do you know who I am?”

“A murderer,” said Misty. “That’s who the fuck you are.”

---

US Attorney’s Office
Federal Plaza

Adrian Chase sighed and hung up the phone. Misty’s number kept going to voicemail. He’d already left her a message asking for her to call him back ASAP. Whatever she had found, it sounded important. Chase was fairly certain Misty had managed to find out the truth in her own way. It took Angelo the better part of a half hour to come clean about everything. And it was one hell of a story.

“He’ll see you now.”

Chase gave his thanks to the receptionist and followed her back to the picturesque corner office with the breathtaking view of Manhattan. This time, US Attorney Jack Thomas sat behind his desk. His plastered on smile from last time had been replaced by a curious yet cautious look.

“If you wanted to accept my Queen for a Day offer, Adrian, you could have just called.”

Chase waited until the receptionist had closed the door before he spoke, not even bothering to sit down.

“I want full dismissal of all charges on Angelo.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me very clearly,” said Chase. “Drop the charges or we go to trial and I wreak havoc on your case, Jack. I just spoke with my client and he had some very interesting things to say. Get me in front of a jury and I spin a tail of corruption, sex, and murder. I kick up enough reasonable doubt to at the very least hang a jury and embarrass your office to the public.”

Thomas rapidly stood up from behind his desk and leaned forward, his face rapidly turning red from anger.

“What kind of bullshit is this?”

“Angelo’s girlfriend, Rosa Torres,” said Chase. “I’m sorry, I meant Stephanie Potter. That was her real name, right? Special Agent Stephanie Potter. The name was a fallback identity in case any of Angelo’s mob buddies got fishy about where he was going to and started to look into it. The apartment was paid for with bureau funds and that’s where Angelo and Special Agent Potter met to go over any new intel he had acquired. But then something happened. Angelo’s greasy charms worked on Potter and the facade of being his goomar became a real thing.”

Chase put his hands in his pockets and bounced on his heels, a small self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“Angelo probably got a big thrill out of sleeping with the cop who he was supposed to be handling him. But something went wrong. Another FBI agent, Jon Lanning, grew obsessed with Angelo and Stephanie’s relationship. My client is prepared to testify about Lanning stalking him even though he was a willing informant. I will say, in front of a jury, that this rogue FBI agent, Jon Lanning, killed the truck driver in New Jersey to frame Angelo, and your office went along with it to keep things quiet and preserve your mob case, going so far as to doctor evidence and create probable cause. And then Lanning went further with it and killed Special Agent Potter in a fit of jealousy and to make sure that Angelo had no alibi for the night of the killing in Jersey.”

Chase looked at Thomas’ even redder face. Thomas started to say something, but was interrupted as Chase held his phone up.

“Before you say anything, my PI sent me a message that implies she has evidence that can back up my client’s bold statements.”

“You son of a bitch,” snarled Thomas. “Do you know what those kinds of accusations would do to me and my career? Do you know what that would do to your career, you little piss ant? Not even your father could bring you back out of the deep, dark hole the legal community of New York would throw you down.”

“I’m already in that hole,” said Chase. “I have been since I quit the DA's office, and if you think I’m going to appeal to my dad to save me you are sorely mistaken. I’m going to file a brief and set up an appointment with the US Attorney for the Northern District so that my client can give his testimony to a neutral third party who can investigate his claims.”

“You do this,” said Thomas. “And our case against the Regetti’s is over. Angelo’s testimony will be tainted by his affair with Potter and the accusations against Lanning. That’s a lot of criminals you’re going to leave out on the street. A lot of potential death and mayhem.”

Chase stared out at the view of the city and took a long moment before responding.

“I’d rather take the two-time murderer with a badge off the streets than worry about potential crimes. And the fact that you’d be okay with leaving Lanning were he is in order to protect your case says everything I need to know about you, Jack. Enjoy your nice corner office while you can. I’ll be in touch.”

Chase started to walk out of Thomas’ office, but stopped short when he reached the threshold.

"Oh, and if you need a job please let me know. I still have enough pull at dad's law firm to get you a spot in the mail room."

Quinjet Heading to Unknown Location

Abigail Brand was an interesting individual to be sure. With green hair, green eyes, and even green lipstick she certainly knew how to garner attention just through looks. An agent of SWORD that was tight lipped and mysterious, apparently her hair was even her natural color which certainly made one wonder what her circumstances were, of course there was little time for me to ponder such mysteries as things went quickly to business.

"Hello Agent Brand, out for a ride are we?" I quipped a bit, trying mostly to get myself back in a good mood then to get any response from ms. green.

"Go ahead and change back into Ms Marvel. The less people who know your identity the better."

Abigail tossed me a small glowing orb, obviously quite well versed on all my abilities and their limitations. I easily caught it and started the transformation process into my still unfamiliar battle suit. I couldn't help but ask about the name.

"Really? Ms Marvel?"


"You really are a marvel. After all you survived an alien device explosion, somehow bonded your DNA with that of an alien species, and are now probably one of the strongest humans in the world. It's also a marvel you are still almost completely human both biologically and physically, Ms Marvel. A lot of accidents usually have much more dramatic consequences that are often uncontrollable and more life shattering."

Agent Brand certainly wasn't wrong about that, it was a miracle I had come out of that experience with pretty much only a bunch of pluses, in fact aside from the occasional slip into Kree language there really had been few negatives to come out of the changes. Course I was sure something bad would turn up sooner or later but then again maybe I was lucky, or even God had a bit of a hand in everything to tune me up. Still, I wasn't quite sure about the name Ms Marvel, it sounded awfully similar to the alien Mar-vell. I was grateful he saved me but...to be almost named after an alien spy was a bit troubling. Of course SWORD didn't know about his name and really only knew about his existence, so obviously they had chosen Ms Marvel for it's more, well, marvelous quality and meaning.

I was sure it was going to take me a while to get used it as now that I was changed and suppose to stay that way while on SWORD property, I was going to be Ms Marvel until further notice.

"Good, now we can talk more freely." Brand beckoned me into the middle of the Quinjet into a sort of briefing room with a holographic projection table in the middle. These special organizations really did get all the toys.

A few other agents were milling in and out, either being busy or trying to look busy. I noticed one of the male agents being a little, distracted upon seeing me and of course he couldn't help but look down at the hip and thigh area. Of course he caught the stink eye from Agent Brand and quickly slinked out of the room.

Sometimes it was hard to think of this suit as battle gear. The certainly had tough bodies to allow for such liberties.

"Well I can think of only one reason you would suddenly call for me. Something Kree related?"

"Indeed Ms Marvel. We recently came into possession of...a rather large object that appears to be Kree in origin. All of our attempts to study the object have failed so far. Due to your knowledge download of Kree intelligence from the accident, SWORD has decided that as a valuable asset we needed to call you in; hopefully something in that brain of yours can help us crack this thing. If not I suppose we can also just use your new strength to good use and try to force it open."

"Great, so now I'm your personal pickle jar opener?" After I said that I just made the connection that Agent Brand was kinda green like a pickle, I resisted the urge to smile.

"Everyone has a role Ms Marvel." Agent Brand smiled, she looked a bit creepy quite frankly. I had a feeling things would not be so simple.

---

Mountainside, Nevada Desert, near Secret SWORD Facility

Colonel Yon-Rogg sat patiently in a small crevice in the rock. He was looking at a small screen that showed video feed from one of his Kree drones that was secretly scouting out a human complex on the desert floor. He had tracked the machine to this location after the native population of the planet had swooped in and claimed his prize before he had finished giving the device the necessary instructions. Captain Mar-vell had put in some safety precautions against tampering so it had taken him longer than needed to bypass those measures, which had delayed him long enough for those primitives to stop him from achieving his goals.

Thankfully human technology was too limited to track him so it had been relatively simple connect his equipment to the the machine and track it to this location; unfortunately the facility was obviously specifically modified to prevent anything on the outside from getting in, including signals. As soon as the machine had entered that complex all signals were lost and now he had no idea where exactly it was. Still, those humans with their inferior technology would make a mistake sooner or later and that was when he would swoop in and finish what he started.

He was a military man, he was patient, but he found his free hand clenching into a fist as he remembered the humiliation of being thwarted by that traitor, Captain Mar-vell. All his plans of ridding himself of that sentimental fool had all been for naught, which was why he was resorting to a rather drastic but necessary plan B. It wasn't the most ideal plan and if it succeeded his superiors might be a bit disappointed after all the time and effort put into this planet, but it would rid him of all his obstacles in one fell swoop, as well as forever hide his disgrace.

A blip appeared on his screen and he turned the metallic and blue drone to get an eye on the approaching object. It was one of the human craft which were remarkably fast and agile considering their technology. He watched as the quinjet landed on a helicopter pad outside the facility's main doors. The vehicle opened up and out came some humans in their black and white uniforms but there was one very unique individual among them. The colonel couldn't believe his eyes.

"Is that a Kree Uniform on a human? Rutgath! It has the appearance of a Starforce female uniform! How did the humans get their hands on one!" The colonel started at his screen in surprise and a bit of anger too, had Kree intelligence somehow fallen into the primitives hands? Still, he doubted they knew much even if that was the case, if they were bringing someone in with that uniform, that meant they were up to something. Whatever they planned they would fail and then he would be able to achieve his objective, it was only a matter of time.

---

SWORD facility, Nevada Desert

I was amazed at just how smooth a ride the quinjet really was, as a pilot I couldn't help but be impressed with its craftmanship. I had tried to used my pilot senses to get an idea of where we were going since I wasn't allowed to look outside, but the best I had managed to figure out was we had traveled somewhere to the western United States and I was unsure how far North or South we had traveled.

Once I was outside and noticed the blazing sun and the rather desolate landscape with hardly a cacti to be seen, I had a much better idea where we were. I walked along with Agent Brand and some other SWORD agents into the very large, heavy, and well guarded entrance to the facility. The place didn't look that big on the outside but I could quickly tell this facility had quite an extensive underground. The facility had quite a spartan look to it but not clinical as the interior decorators had a little fun making the facility look a bit older and more rustic than it had any right to be.

"So is this Area 51?" I half-joked, kind of wondering if it actually was the fabled Area 51.

A SWORD member blew out a laughing puff of air. "Pfff, don't we wish. As far as I know this place was just some extra facility SHIELD created that they gave over to the SWORD branch because it was out of the way. Basically we're the perfect location to place all sorts of crazy alien tech they find in case something bad happens. The real Area 51 is basically a tourist location for government officials to keep them happy and in the dark."

Well, remote locations were the best for dangerous research after all, a little disappointing it wasn't actually Area 51, doubly so to realize the real Area 51 was more of a front than anything else.

"Enough chatter," Agent Brand intervened so we wouldn't be distracted and kept marching us along. Before long we reached an elevator, got in and took a rather silent ride down to a lower level. It was rather awkward as Brand wasn't one for small talk and nobody else dared say anything. Soon I was standing in what was basically a giant hangar with a colossal...err rounded cylinder, but my senses were telling me it was much more than it appeared. I could instantly see why they thought it was Kree as the proud engravings of some Kree symbols were etched on the polished surface.

"So first things first, can you tell me what those symbols mean?" Abigail asked with her arms crossed and a sour look on her face. I stared at the symbols, at first meaning nothing to me but then that weird Kree knowledge started to pour into my head and the meaning of those symbols became clear as day.

"It's a designation I believe. Sentry 459."

”The Ranchero of Miracle Mesa” - The Magnificent Seven

---

---

They were sat squat upon a low ridge, overlooking a valley gouged into the belly of Mother Earth herself. It was like the life of the desert had crawled into it and died. Where there should’ve been cacti or yucca, talons of black rock stabbed at the sky. Any desert grass had been reduced to dried up scrubs, life sucked out of them by the blight that seemed to permeate the land. Wasn’t a trace of mountain lions or any local critters for miles. No, it was just the Soldiers and their enemy.

The winter cold nipped at the back of Vigilante’s neck, hairs pricking up in response. Reality itself seemed to bulge around the place. Space and time shifted like sands in the wind. But all he could focus on was his eyes pressed into a pair of binoculars, watching the shifting form of the object before him.



The Miracle Mesa hung in the sky like a malevolent god, waiting to pass its furious vengeance on the populace. The air was swollen with its energies, throbbing like a beating heart, crushing in on Vig’s muscles and pressing back on the whites of his eyeballs. It was an effort to even stand before it. Waves of its power washed through the air and wormed into Vig’s form, forcing its way between his atoms and molesting his organs. But they had to press on, or no one else would.

---

“They call themselves The Sheeda.” Agent Meskin tapped the manilla dossier on the wooden picnic table. “This is everything our recon boys have on them. Teams that made it back, anyway.”

Vig’s eyes flashed over the assembled documents. They looked almost like fairytale creatures, green and with big ol’ ears. The folder had all kindsa images practically fallin’ out of it. Laser guns. Advanced lookin’ armor. Photos of big ol’ bugs all saddled up.

Vigilante swallowed and exchanged a glance with Stripsey, sitting beside him, across from Meskin. Stripsey wiped the condensation from his beer. Frankenstein stood over the three of them. He heaved out a sigh.

“Then it is as I feared. The Sheeda have risen again.” Frankenstein’s bulging necrotic arms were crossed over his chest.

“Yeah. This lines up with everything you told us in your report. No eyes on ‘King Melmoth’, as you called him, but they seem to be reporting to a higher commander.” Meskin said. As he spoke, Stripsey pawed the folder over his way, running his finger around the lip of his beer.

“I would think not. I killed him myself.” Frankenstein rumbled. “His blood still stains my sword.”

”You said yerself, Sheeda are tough sumbitches to kill. Maybe you didn’t get him as good as you thought. Wouldn’t be the first time we only figured someone was dead.” Vig said.

“No. If Melmoth survived, he could only be immortal.” Frankenstein cut back.

”Either way, we got some kinda Sheeda King to handle.” Vig contended. He adjusted in his seat, wood creaking beneath him. ”N’ he’s likely gonna be one big bandito.”

“Calm down, yahoos. Whether or not Melmoth bought the farm, everything the G-Man has on ‘em says invasion, t’ me.” Stripsey cut in. He pointed out a map spread out on in the folder before him. “Lotsa small patrol parties originating around one area.That screams ‘staging ground’.”

“Our people reached the same conclusion.” Meskin pointed to the valley dominating the center of the map. “We triangulated their position to here.”

”That’s only a coupla miles out from Warpath.” Vig observed. Silence washed over the table. Meskin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Frankenstein rested his hand on his scabbard, tinkering with the handle of his sword.

“Then it’s war.” Stripsey stood. “And it’s up to us to end it before it starts.”

“How do you plan on stopping them? They aren’t demons, as far as Frankenstein recognizes or our scans show. We can’t just carpet bomb them with Holy Water like the demon camps.” Meskin asked. “We could try typical SHIELD Xenos Response protocol, but with The Surfer, that hasn’t been working swimmingly lately.”

“I have set the other three Soldiers on a promising solution.” Frankenstein said.

Vig nodded. ”But we’re gonna need all of SHIELD’s help that we can git if it goes south, and then some.”

---

Vigilante felt at the throat of the world. The valley before him swirled in his vision, a mess of Sheeda soldiers stalking amongst a network of tents and hermetically sealed domes, astride giant ticks and spiders. He had to force himself to look at them and not lose himself in the churning of the Miracle Mesa. It was like an abstract expressionist had designed a city. It’s buildings swirled and mixed into one another like paints on a palette. Architecture of all different times and styles clashed and then blended together, all twirling off into some vanishing point beyond the clouds.

Vigilante broke his gaze and focused on his team around him. Frankenstein was crouched low on the bluff beside him. His sword was clenched in one hand, and he already taking aim with a steampunk-lookin’ pistol in the other. The Star Spangled Kid and Stripsey exchanged hurried whispers with one another, making frantic hand motions and pantomiming some kinda’ karate moves at each other. For all the years he’d worked with ‘em, he still couldn’t understand it -- but theirs was a bond forged in real fire. And it was just about time to go. Hopefully the other two’d be ready when their time came.

Vigilante focused on his breathing. In, out. In out. His hands dropped to his pistols. He felt the intricacies of each handle through the leather of his gloves. Fine grain. He’d collected the wood himself. In, out. They came out of their holsters. He could smell the fresh grease in the air. In, out. Slowly, he drew to his feet. In, out. Standing over the valley, looking into the mouth of the universe itself. In, out. He took aim.

”Sheeda!” The cowboy’s voice boomed across the valley, blasting through the skittering legs of the Sheeda bugs and noise of their alien chatter. ”I would have words.”

“Interlop-!” A bullet as big around as Vig’s thumb turned the first Sheeda to paste before the aliens could respond. The camp exploded below them, Sheeda dragging on the reins of their mounts and driving them at their new attackers. The hum of laser weapons being energized knifed through the air, like a bug zapper digging into Vig’s ears.

“It’s not as cool when you say it.” The Star Spangled Kid leaped past him, flinging himself into the air and down upon the hordes of Sheeda below. Frankenstein was already reloading his pistol and charging down the cliff, his sword at the ready.

“That’s our cue, Greg. Time to knock some heads together.” Vigilante could scarcely hear Stripsey over the combined pulses of laser fire steadily shredding their position, and the screams of the Sheeda eviscerated by Frankenstein’s blade. Already around the canyon various SHIELD teams had begun unloading on the Sheeda with their mounted gun turrets. It’d give The Soldiers more time to get close and personal.

”Loud n’ clear, Pat. Try not to git licked.” Another laser thundered into their position, blasting away the last of the slab of granite that made up their cover. Vigilante took off down the canyon, vaulting over cracks in the stone and ducking and rolling between rock formations. Frankenstein had already carved out a path for them. He and The Kid fought in tight formation, Frankenstein cutting swathes through the aliens with wide swings of his sword and The Kid keeping them from drawing too close with precise punches and kicks.

Vigilante could practically feel Stripsey’s breath on his neck as he ran. Vigilante was supposed to punish them with his pistols at medium range, while Stripsey discouraged them from getting within sniffing distance. His pistols cracked in his hands and Sheeda gunmen exploded from across the canyon. He could hear the fleshy smacks of Pat’s fists against Sheeda armor, only to hear a sickening crunch as he heaved them over his shoulder into another horde of them.

The whole arena seemed an endless maze of gunsmoke and laser trails burnt into the air, all twisting off into the sky for the insatiable pull of the Miracle Mesa. They’d have been plum blind from the sulfur-smelling laser discharge by now without the thing. Sheeda would burst from the fog into the waiting arms of Stripsey, throwing them to the ground only for Vig to finish them with a shot. They’d long lost sight of Frankenstein and The Kid in the carnage, now. But the cries of the Sheeda grew steadily quieter; they had to be doing some kinda work.

“Left!” Stripsey’s voice broke Vig’s concentration and he dove to the right. A spider the size of a sedan charged across the ground, ripping up chunks of sandstone and kicking a plume of dust dozens of feet into the air.

“Ssssss…” Venom dribbled from the maw of the spider, and eight black eyes the size of pool balls stared back at Vig through the sand. The spider had lost its rider, the dark metal saddle on its back sat empty. The spider lowered its head and sealed its armored mandibles. Vigilante brought his guns to bear and started unloading on the beast. His rounds plinked harmlessly off of it’s chitin hide.

“Saunders. Release me. You are in great danger.” He felt The Spirit now, pressing against his mind. It’d been quiet when they entered The Mesa -- apparently “big-ass spider” was more of a threat than an army of laser-toting aliens.

”Believe me, I know.”

Vig frowned and pressed forward, probing the spider for chinks in its hide as he fired. The monster lowered its head and readied a charge.

”Oh, butter my butt n’ call me a--” The spider launched forward, springing through the air on eight spindly legs. Vig dropped to his back and fired up as the spider’s titanic body blocked the brilliant lights of the Miracle Mesa above. It came down like a ton of bricks, pressing against Vig’s lungs and gnashing at his face. He pushed against it with one hand, struggling to bring his gun to bear.

“Release me!” The Spirit demanded.

”Nnng…” Vigilante brought his legs against the spider’s underbelly, trying to force it off of him. Venom splatter from it’s jaws onto his face. His skin burned. He could feel the presence of The Spirit deep in his belly, waiting to explode outwards…

---

“You all call Infernus Plagus Crassi ‘Fatboys’?” Doctor Richard Occult sat beside Vig on Billy Gunn’s roof, watching the daily patrol of SHIELD agents skewer Fatboy demons from their perches on the perimeter walls. The lot of ‘em had been more n’ freaked out at the Fatboys at first, but Warpath had a way of getting folks acquainted with strange.

”Well, didn’t really have the literature on hand, or nothin’.” Vigilante shrugged.

The Doc gave a hearty chuckle. “Guerilla Demonology will never cease to amaze me.”

”I aim to please.” Vigilante fished in the cooler beside them for another beer, handing it to Occult. He smiled and nodded his head. The Doctor was a man of tougher stuff than Vig had imagined. Instead of some city slickin’ magical schoolboy, he found himself in the company of a real scholar. Feller knew his shit back to front about demons. N’ he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, neither. Over the past couple weeks Vig had learned more than a few surprising things about demon biology, up close n’ personal.

”So. Not to press ya, but I don’t suppose you’ve given any more thought to my proposition?” Vig didn’t look at The Doc as he asked, staring out at the Agents. They were just about finished by now, pulling back their long steel spikes and jamming them into huge vats of holy water, then disinfectant.

Doc smiled, but let out a big sigh through his nose. “Well, cowboy, that’s a complicated answer.” He stuck his beer under his arm and twisted off the cap. “I’d like to stay long term, believe me. But the world needs a Doctor Occult out there, somewhere. It’s the way it’s been since my great-great-grandad. But then, there are others. The Thirteens. The Bloodstones. At the same time, there’s an incredible wealth of research to be gained here. Between the magic of the Mesa and all these demons? It’s one helluva proposal. And that goes even without the Spirit situation--”

Vig cut him off. ”The situation? Far as I’m concerned he’s been mighty useful to us.”

“It, Greg.” The Doc reminded him.

”Oh, it, schmidt.” Vig blew past it. ”Weren’t for that thing, Aqueduct would’ve killed us all.” Aqueduct was the latest of the assassins, by Vig’s reckoning. Feller didn’t talk much, came in like a specter in the night. Turned himself into water and had drowned a half of the SHIELD boys. Only thing that stopped him was when he tried to kill Vigilante, The Spirit had intervened.

“Look, I’m not saying it doesn’t have utility. You’ve known this since that fight. ‘Fatboy’ numbers alone tripled overnight as soon as it reared its head.” The Doctor set his beer down as Vig turned to face him.

”I reckon we’re handling the demons just fine.” Vig said. He grabbed a can out of the cooler and popped the tab.

“For now, yes. Before Frankenstein came to get me, I had half a mind to come here myself. Whenever I was trying to scan for any sign of magical activity in the US, Warpath lit up like a Christmas Tree. At first I thought it was The Mesa acting up, but, well?” Doc rubbed the back of his neck.

”What else am I supposed to do? We’re fighting things a feller can’t fight with just his irons. And, since New York, I...” Vig put his hands out, open palmed.

“I know. Not the same. Bigger and badder threats. Like SHIELD has been saying. Darkseid.”

”No. It hasn’t been the same since he and I -- It and I came together... I ain’t never been addicted to nothing in my life, Doctor. But this is somethin’ else entirely. It’s like you’re askin’ me to stifle a part of my soul.” Vig said. He rubbed the calluses on his fingers.

There was a long silence between the men. The agents were all cleaned off by now, sitting around a plastic table and playing cards. They watched the sun start to fall below the horizon.

“You have an exemplary team around you, Greg. You’ll get through this. You’ll beat the demons. Solomano. Together.”

---

“Hey, ugly, try someone your own size!” A Sheeda lasgun exploded into a billion tiny bits of metal and crystal filament as Stripsey emerged from the dust, shattering the gun over the Spider’s head. The thing chitinous armor cracked clean and it hissed, scuttling away from Vig.

“Much obliged, pardner!” Vig brought his guns up and squeezed the triggers, turning the spider’s brains to paste. Stripsey hauled him to his feet and the pair surveyed the situation around them. There were certainly a helluva lot more Sheeda around then before, streaming out of their tents and hastily built domes in the dozens. They’d already slagged a SHIELD gun encampment or two, and were threatin’ to bring more down by the minute.

“Looks like all our party guests have arrived. Might be time t’ call in our birthday surprise.” Stripsey snagged two gas masks hanging from his belt, passing one to Vig.

”Whenever you’re ready.” Vig snapped the mask into place, sealing it tight over his face. He could hardly see through the thing, but it’d have to do.

“Ready, set…” Stripsey snagged a fallen Sheeda armament off the ground, prying out the power cell with inquisitive fingers. “Mark!” He flung the cell into the air like a shotput. Vig sighted up…

A yellow glow expanded over the height of the valley, sweeping through the sky and blotting out the Mesa. ”Now!”

A brilliant white horse broke through the yellow glow of the cell. It unfurled titanic white wings from its back, like an angel from on high. It’s rider held aloft a silver sword and a blazing red lance.



“Have at thee, creatures!” The Shining Knight bellowed, astride Winged Victory. He swung his sword in a mighty arc, its sound slicing through the cacophony of battle. The Crimson Avenger held fast to him, his red trench coat billowed in the winds. He had a massive silver canister strapped to his back, almost as big around as another man. Lances of energy from the Sheeda gunners below missed as The Avenger reached backward and unscrewed the top of the canister. A nauseous green gas spilled out, sweeping all through the canyon as Winged Victory dove and turned through the air.

”There’s our edge!” Vig dropped his guns, already boiling hot from firing, and drew a fresh pair from his holsters. All around them Sheeda were already wobbling, some collapsing to the ground and breaking into mournful slumber.

“Form up!” A Sheeda voice hissed from somewhere beyond the dust cover. What few of the Sheeda hadn’t been conked out tried to regroup. Vig could see their shapes hurrying in the dust. Trying to get to a more advantageous position to hunker down.

“Time to press the advantage, huh? Right behind you, Greg.” Stripsey shot him a thumbs up.

They ran through the dust, swatting at the air to get it out of their eyes. They clattered and tripped over fallen Sheeda and discarded weapons. Stripsey scooped up a gun and held it like a bat. He set his jaw and lowered himself to the ground, setting into a full sprint.

“CHUNK!” The sound of sword knifing through bone and sinew cracked through the air like a gunshot. Frankenstein emerged from the clouds. Holding the severed head of a Sheeda-Tick-Beast in one hand. The Star Spangled Kid was right behind him. His stars and stripes suit was in tatters, stained further blue with Sheeda blood and red of his own.

The dust cleared while the ran. The Sheeda had stopped firing. There were a dozen of them now, save for the mounts that nudged sheepishly at their sleeping riders. They sat in a hastily arranged circle, drawn in the sands with blood and viscera of their comrades. They prayed to the sky. The Shining Knight and The Avenger had already spotted them from the sky, sweeping in for the kill.

“Neh-Buh-Loh! Neh-Buh-Loh!” The Sheeda chanted.

”What in Sam HIll is Nuh-Bu--” Vig’s world exploded into color as the Mesa pulsed and a golden bolt of light crashed into the Sheeda circle, sending out a pulsating wave of energy.

Vig found himself of the ground, scarcely able to open his eyes. The Soldiers lay around him, even Winged Victory was grounded. It’s wing was bent at an awkward angle. The Shining Knight hung off of her, barely conscious himself.

Above them was a swirling black mass of what seemed to be the universe itself, given the form of a man. It held an immense black trident, stabbed into the ground. It crackled with black energy.


“WHO DARES?”

---

“Just got off the sat-phone with Frank.” The Star Spangled Kid stepped out from Greg’s house. Sylvester looked mighty different without his costume. Greg supposed that sticking anyone into anything that garishly red, white, and blue would do something to hide the age in their eyes. Still, it was taking some getting used to, seeing anyone without their duds. Downstairs, it was all they had.

”And?” Greg leaned against the post beside the door.

“Christmas Day.”

”Like… Like in Die Hard?” Greg cocked an eyebrow.

“Die what?” Sylvester asked. Greg smiled and shook his head.

”Aw, nothin’ important.” Vig shot a look around the town. Night had fallen some time ago. Most of the SHEILD spooks’d be asleep by now, except for the few still scouring the walls. A’course, those folks weren’t the most stellar listeners of the bunch. ”That’s only a few days after Meskin wants us to have our run at The Sheeda. Didja try to get him to push it back?”

Sylvester sighed. He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Yeah, I tried. According to him, Solomano’s figured that we’re gunning for him, by now. He’s trying to move all his equipment from his tower as fast and as discretely as he can. Apparently if we wait any longer, he and all of his goons will be in the wind.”

”Demons. Sheeda. The Mob. Next thing we know, we’ll have Stormtroopers trying to bum rush us.”

“Jesus, we still have Nazis to worry about?”

”Not… Not that kind of Storm… Yknow what, pardner? Nevermind. Point is, seems to me that we’ve got us a little too much on our plate.” Vig turned up his hands.

“Well, it’s not like we ever had much of a choice, this business.” Sylvester laid a hand on Greg’s shoulder. “Look, I know it’s been a while but… You’re sure we can’t let Meskin in on this?”

Vig nodded. ”Castle’s a wanted criminal. He’s done right by me, wouldn’t sit right with me to turn ‘im in to gov’ment.”

“Of course, Greg. I wouldn’t ask you to do that. But, SHEILD is reasonable. At least when I knew them. If we give Frank a few days to get out of town, I’m sure they could send a deployment to help us out with Solomano.”

”They’ll get us all tied up. Bureaucracy n’ all that sorta thing. It’ll be months before whatever pencil pusher in their fancy Helicarrier decides it’s a-okay, and by then Solomano could be halfway across the world.”

“During the war, all the propaganda said it was Me and Cap vs. The World. It was Captain America and his faithful sidekick socking Hitler right in his jaw. Same thing when our obligations called us apart and Stripsey and I started our tour of the states. The two of us. But there was a team. There was always a team behind us. And now? It’s seven of us against God knows how many guys, armed to the teeth.”

”That’s how it’s always been. Seven Soldiers of Victory against every ugly sumbitch Hell saw fit to throw at us.”

“But this time we have a choice.” Sylvester reached into his back pocket and passed Greg the satellite phone. “Look. You know I’d follow you to Hell and back, and, heck, I have. Whatever decision you make here, I’m right behind you. I just hope it’s the right one.”

Vig took the phone in his hands as Sylvester stepped off the porch.

“See you in the morning. Pat makes great eggs.” Sylvester waved, setting off into the town.

Vig nodded in goodbye, and turned the sat-phone over in his hands.

---

Vig’s vision was swimming. His tongue felt like a bag of sand. He struggled to piece together the form of the thing before him: Neh-Buh-Loh. It was an easy ten, fifteen feet tall. It seemed to drift in and out of existence, its energies rippling and distorting the air around it. Its eyes were little black rocks, sweeping the battlefield, viewing each Soldier in turn. Vig saw something green and mottled moving in the corner of his vision. His lungs tried to escape his ribcage as he formed the words.

”Frank!” Frankenstein’s coiled muscles launched him towards Neh-Buh-Loh, sword low at his side, ready to gut the thing like a fish.

A black clawed hand snatched him out of the air and catapulted him across the valley, crashing through a pile of Sheeda bodies.

Neh-Buh-Loh raised a hand and Vig felt a tingle across his body. Something was grabbing at him, dragging him up into the sky. He squirmed, forcing his eyes open. Tendrils of black squeezed at him, he could feel his ribs groaning under the strain.

Neh-Buh-Loh held him aloft, lances of darkness arcing out from his fingers. His trident crackled. The Spirit inside Vigilante smoldered, only to be stifled by something else, suffocating it, forcing it back to the edge of his mind.

“YOU REEK OF MEPHISTO.” When Neh-Buh-Loh’s mouth opened it revealed an orange, swirling vortex, seeming to suck in the fluid of Vig’s eyeballs.

”He ain’t… As ugly as… You…” Vig tried to move his hands to his last set of holsters. He could scarcely waggle his finger. He felt his guns crush in their holsters.

“I HAVE FELT EACH OF YOU MORTALS BEFORE. YOU HAVE EACH PASSED THROUGH QWEWQ.” There was a release and Vigilante felt his arm crushed against the sand. He screamed.

“MEPHISTO’S TAINT TOUCHES EACH OF YOU. HE IS SWORN TO NOT INTERVENE.” Neh-Buh-Loh raised his trident, holding it to the Miracle Mesa above. His body seemed to suck in all of its light, drawing into him and making him all the greater.

“I WILL LEAVE YOU ALIVE. THIS ONCE. YOU WILL TELL MEPHISTO THAT HE IS NOT TO TAMPER IN THE AFFAIRS OF THE SHEEDA.” His trident left his hand, seeming to almost teleport from his grip, sucked into the mass of the mesa.

“What are you… Creature?” Blooded dribbled from Shining Knight’s lip. His helmet was long gone, his golden locks askew.

“I?” Neh-Buh-Loh rose into the sky. “YOUR PEOPLE HAVE KNOWN ME FOR CENTURIES AS ‘NEBULA MAN’. I AM A GOD.”

---

Vigilante’s everything hurt. He’d been tagged a few more times by the Sheeda more times than he thought. They all had. The SHIELD boys had some special sorta gel -bandage thingamabob that they were applying to the wounds. Supposed to let it sit for a few days n’ it’d be good as new. Apparently.

The six of them were sat around Vig’s living room, nursing their wounds. The agents and the medics had long since cleared out. Their boys had gotten dinged up a lot worse than The Soldiers. The only reason the medics stayed as long as they did was trying to figure out how to fix Frankenstein -- weren’t so simple patching something up that’s already dead.

They each looked over their own wounds. Shining Knight’s finger traced each stitch on his chest. Stripsey poked at his bruises and looked surprised every time he felt the sting. Frankenstein sat in the corner, observing the grain of the wood with intense focus.

“I’m sure everyone else is thinking it. So I guess I’ll say it.” The Crimson Avenger’s hat was at his side, and his arm in a sling. His mask was flung off somewhere in the room, probably lost in the cushions of the couch. “We can’t take down Solomano. Half of us are barely strong enough to walk.”

”Never took you for a quitter, Lee. Don’t start on me now.”Vig winched in pain as he shifted in his seat. The Spirit’s presence sulked in the background of his thought.

“He’s got a point, pal.” Stripsey grit his teeth as he dabbed at the blue gel coating his side. “We figured that the Solomano job’d be eaiser than The Sheeda but now, we’re twelve kinds of screwed up.”

“And if we lick our wounds, then?” The low rumble of Frankenstein’s voice demanded attention. “We wait for the Sheeda to overrun us? Fight back, only to be slaughtered by ‘Nebula Man’? We cannot hope to face him without Solomano’s resources in our hands.”

”Or without Jonah Hex kickin’.”

The house creaked in the desert winds. Vig swallowed.

”You’re lookin’ spry, Stripsey. Git the sat-phone. Castle deserves to know we got tagged. N’ that all it means is that we’re going after that sumbitch even harder.”

The Savage Land, Antarctica

Images flicked across a screen. Scenes from Metropolis flashed past, followed by footage of Captain America, Clint Barton, and Diana Prince fighting side-by side, still images of Gotham’s caped crusader at work, and Marville’s protector Thor at battle with the Silver Surfer at The Raft. A red and yellow blur tore through Central City leaving a wave of ne'er do wells in its wake. The inventor Tony Stark, encased in his iron suit, patrolled the skies above New York. The images came to a halt as the Fantastic Four appeared on screen. First Jonathan Storm in conversation with Spider-Woman, then with a click, Reed Richards, Sue Storm, and Ben Grimm nursing over him following the scenes at The Raft. With another click the screen turned black and the face of Kal-El appears on the dark screen. He inspects himself for a few moments. With his stubble shorn clean, he cut a more impressive figure than on first arrival on this Earth.

For the past two months, the Savage Land has been the Kryptonian’s home. He had stumbled upon the scientific marvel hidden away by a wall of impenetrable volcanoes – at least, impenetrable for those that lack the strength he possessed in abundance. There existed within the Savage Land’s domain all manner of life, from subspecies of humans long since extinct in the outer world, to prehistoric life forms that defied explanation, and, of course, dinosaurs. All existed in a concert of savagery that lent the kingdom its name. It was, as Kal-El understood, a kingdom in need of a king. And there was no one better equipped to lead it than himself.

There had been some resistance from its inhabitants. The savage Ka-Zar and the so-called “She-Devil” Shanna’s insurrection had proved stubbornly difficult to break. They knew their land better than Kal-El ever would. But the Kryptonian had not concerned himself with that. There were more pressing matters at hand – namely, finding and killing the Fantastic Four and returning to his own world. Every waking moment since he had established his fortress in the Savage Land had been dedicated to studying this world and its champions. To learning how best to bring them to heel should they stand against him. And now Kal-El was so close to launching his opening salvo that he could taste it.

“<My lord,>” Pierre Jardin’s voice called across the Fortress to the Kryptonian. “<It is as you expected. Ka-Zar and Shanna, they are here.>”

A wry smile appeared on Kal-El’s face. “They will pay for their hubris with their lives – as befalls all that stand against Darkseid’s will.”

The Frenchman nodded feebly in response to the comment. He had heard his master use the name Darkseid on a handful of occasions over the past three months. Each time with more reverence than the last. Pierre had learned quickly not to ask questions of his new master or to interrupt him – most of all, to never refer to him as Superman. Why Kal-El had kept him alive, he had no idea, but on some level he thought wherever the metahuman had been, he had deprived of company for a lifetime. A thousand lifetime’s perhaps. Now Jardin waited on Kal-El hand and foot. He acted his master’s emissary to those in the Savage Land with the sense to bend the knee to Kal-El of their own volition.

Ka-Zar and Shanna were not in their ranks. Try as Jardin might to reach them, it was clear that they were determined to fight for the Savage Land until the bitter end. Outside the black crystalline fortress that Kal-El had erected at the centre of the wild lands, Ka-Zar and his forces had assembled for what would almost certainly be their final stand. Kal-El walked towards one of the fortresses’ many windows and stared out at the Savage Land’s amassed forces. Dinosaurs taller than buildings waded through the trees with sabretooth tigers and mammoths striding at their side. Kal’s eyes narrowed as he spotted Ka-Zar beside his beloved tiger Sabu. He could have incinerated him there and then – but that would only have emboldened his followers. He needed to be along them, to break them with his bear hands.

“<I made contact with Sauron and his forces earlier this morning,>” Pierre said diligently. “<They are standing by if you need reinforcement.>”

“Reinforcement? Have I given you reason to think so little of my abilities, Pierre? I could end this charade just as easily as I could break your neck,” Kal grinned as his fingers wrapped tightly around Jardin's throat. ”I have allowed that fool Ka-Zar to continue because it suited my aims, but now that the preparations for what come next have been made, it no longer serves a purpose. And so it will end.”

Pierre’s face turned from red to blue to a dark purple. Only at the last moment did Kal let his servant free. The Frenchman fell gasping for air on the ground. He watched as the Kryptonian strode through the dark, shiny halls of the fortress, servants bowing as he went, to face down the army awaiting him. As Kal reached the double doors, they flew open and a gust of warm air came flooding in. He stood, alone, and glanced up at the hundreds, if not thousands, of flying dinosaurs and birds congregated above them. The ground shook with each pace the army stepped towards him. Yet the Kryptonian remained with arms folded and allowed the hostile force to draw nearer still.

A familiar horn blew from the army’s ranks and suddenly the black, winged clouds above the fortress came alive. They dove in unison towards the Kryptonian. Still Kal did not move. His feet were planted to the ground, eyes unblinking as the winged beasts dove towards him, completely unafraid of their approach. A pterodactyl was mere inches from his face when the Kryptonians limbs came to life. His hand clamped around its beak, breaching it into a thousand splinters, and with the other its head came clean off from its neck. A smile appeared on his blood-splattered face as he wound his arms back.

By the time the second horn had sounded, it was too late. Kal’s hands crashed together and the sheer force of the clap seemed to all but liquidate the flying beasts nearest to him. Others were sent careening out of the sky with burst eardrums. A ruthless, incisive blast of heatwave tore through their numbers as Ka-Zar and his ground troops raced to support their winged allies. The tigers arrived first, pouring into Kal-El one after another without an ounce of hesitation. He swatted them away with blows that sent jaws flying clean from their faces and caved in skulls.


Zabu stayed loyally by his master’s side as the Kryptonian tore his way through the other tigers. Ka-Zar placed a supportive hand on its back, Shanna by his side, as he prepared to address the outsider that had turned the Savage Land into a plaything. He too had once been an outsider to the Savage Land once, but where Ka-Zar had sought only to learn its way and become one with it, this outsider had brought death and destruction in his wake – and he meant to put an end to it whatever the cost. He cleared his throat, shouting in Kal’s direction as the dinosaurs began to reach him.

“You will learn, outsider, as all that have sought to conquer this land have been forced to learn, that the Savage Land answers to no king. It cannot be conquered or tamed. Man and beast will give their lives to protect it – and if we fail, long after we are gone others will come in our place to finish what we have begun.”

The words seemed to have next to no effect on the Kryptonian. He wrestled with a nearby Tyrannosaurus Rex, prying loose a tooth and sending it jutting through its eyeball, before knocking it clean off its feet with a punch. It went flying in the direction of Ka-Zar and Shanna. They leapt out of its path. Ka-Zar knelt and placed a gentle hand against the dinosaur’s head. Its breathing was weak and laboured, but it was still breathing. Zabu roared and stepped to approach Kal-El, but Ka-Zar quieted the beast with his other hand. He watched as the life slipped out of the dinosaur’s eyes and then patted it gently before rising to his feet.

“Come then,” Shanna nodded as she produced her spear. “If death is the only language you speak, the Savage Land will gladly meet you in it.”

Ka-Zar and Shanna shared a tender look and then raced towards the Kryptonian. The wildman thought he could feel his heart pounding in his chest but smiled as he realised it was Zabu’s footsteps sounding from beside him. A wave of roaring beasts from all manner of species clashed into Kal-El with a noise so loud it could have have levelled mountains. Shocks of heat wave and punches so fast they were nearly invisible passed through the horde. Blood turned the outsider’s black spires a stained brown. Yet Ka-Zar remained. His knife in hand and tiger at his side, he made his way towards the would-be conquerer undeterred.

The Kryptonian let the wildman stalk towards him. He saw the blade coming but kept his back to it. At the last second, Kal broke towards Shanna, placing her in Ka-Zar’s path. The wildman’s knife sunk into Shanna’s throat forcibly and Kal watched as his foe’s eyes widened with shock. He tried to tug his arm free, but the Kryptonian’s fingers were prised around his wrist. Shanna’s glugged desperately as she tried to reach for the bloody wound at her neck. She fell to the ground with a thud and Kal tossed Ka-Zar aside with a smirk.

A howl of grief left his mouth as he fought to his feet and charged towards the Kryptonian with his bloody knife. Ka-Zar’s howl was met by Zabu, who appeared from the crowd, and the tiger clamped his jaws around Kal’s forearm. Ka-Zar arrived in support half a second afterwards. His knife scraped helplessly against the Kryptonian’s chest and yet he plunged it downwards into him at every turn.

Kal-El's bloody hand clamped around Kazar's face tightly as his lips parted. “Do you understand now? You could never have beaten me. I am more than you, savage, so much more. You fight for survival, for love, for your land. I fight for Darkseid – the one true Darkseid.”

With a tug, the Kryptonian tugged his arm free from Zabu’s mouth. The tiger’s teeth shattered with the force of the move and Kal forced his hand down its throat. With another tug its innards were wrenched outwards. It fell lifeless at his feet and Ka-Zar roared again in pain as he stared down at his now lifeless companion. He struggled helplessly in the Kryptonian’s grasp, knife flailing wildly, as the tears fell from his eyes onto his cheeks. Kal’s smirk disappeared as two of the tears fell onto his face.

“Command them to stand down,” Kal-El said with a glance to what remained of the army. “Make them stand down and I will spare them.”

Through bitter tears, the bloodied Ka-Zar let out a defeated laugh. “You didn’t listen to a word I said, did you? I could no longer command them to stand down than I could command the wind to stop blowing or the rain to stop falling to Earth. The Savage Land accepts no masters.”

“So be it,” the Kryptonian murmured as he let his grip around Ka-Zar’s face loosen until the wildman slipped free from his grasp to the ground.

Kal’s eyes glowed a familiar blood red. Ka-Zar considered launching for a moment one last desperate volley of slashes, but instead tossed the blade aside. He stepped towards Zabu’s lifeless corpse and knelt beside it. One of his bloody hands brushed the beast's eyes closed and he pressed his forehead against the tiger’s with a solemn sigh. When he turned to face the Kryptonian, there was a look of acceptance in his eyes.


No scream left Ka-Zar’s mouth as the heat vision tore through him. He met his end with a determined silence. His skin turned black and ashen within a tenth of a second and the black dust that billowed to the ground was all that remained of the wildman. The Kryptonian stepped through it, preparing to face down another wave of Ka-Zar’s forces, but found that the beasts had stopped in their tracks. Perhaps from grief, perhaps from fear, they stood unmoving, each eyeing the space where once Ka-Zar had stood. Kal-El’s fists unballed and he lifted a closed fist high above his head. The beasts watched, confused, until the first of the tribesman took a knee. One by one the others followed. The dinosaurs bowed their heads in reverence and beasts rolled onto their back in submission.

Kal-El lowered his fist, wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand, and observed his new subjects with a smile. “Hail Darkseid.”

"Great Scott," I whisper to myself, wandering onto a catwalk suspended in the middle of a wide, cavernous chamber. "What is this place?"

The massive crystalline....palace? castle? fortress?....that I had found at the heart of the Arctic storm is impressive enough from the outside, giving the impression that it's perhaps the size of a particularly nice mansion. Inside, however, it's absolutely sprawling, stretching out on all sides in impossible distances. And I don't mean 'impossible' as in 'hard to believe;' there's simply no way the interior of this place can fit inside the exterior. It's the size of a small city, at least. Starting below and stretching far above me, there are towering structures that could hypothetically fit thousands of people in each of them.

It's not merely the size of this place that catches me off-guard, but the atmosphere as well. From the outside, I expected the cold, gleaming spires to be more of the same once I entered. Instead, it is a riot of colors, arches and lattices of gold and silver, the shimmering white crystals providing huge support columns or reaching out in clusters of what I assume are control panels of some kind. Bright stripes of red and fields of blue saturate the larger buildings, giving them the appearance of being sculpted from enormous rubies and sapphires. There's even an artificial skyline, pastel rays of orange and purple shining down through what look like colossal and intricate panels of stained glass.

There's a warmth to it, a faint sweetness in the air. More than that, as I survey the strange serenity of this place, I get a feeling that I've never known. It looks so much like the places I've seen in my dreams, but more than just familiarity, I get a sense of.....belonging. A sense that whatever this place is, it's something from.....

"....home," I finish my thought out loud.

I barely notice the glint of light in the distance, speeding towards me, before it's less than two feet from my face. Coming to a dead stop near instantly, it hovers in the air with no visible means of propulsion, humming and buzzing. The silver orb from under my bed, the thing in my pod Ma and Pa took with them.



I hear the voice again, the itch in the back of my head that called me here.



"That voice, was....was that you?" I ask. "What are you? What is all this?"

At the sound of my voice, the silver orb begins to twist around itself, stretching and morphing like a ball of clay. Lines appear on its surface, and along those lines it begins to split into segments that open up like flower petals. Inside, I see shimmering jewels, crystals of all colors, before I suddenly feel a tingling in my head. It permeates it, the sensation like a leg that had fallen asleep after sitting cross-legged too long, and I begin to feel dizzy.

I stumble backwards, feeling my heart beginning to pound. Am I being attacked? Did it do something to me, affect my mind? I find my balance as best as I can and raise my fists, ready to defend myself.

"What the hell are y--"

My apologies, Kal-El, I hear the voice again, speaking in words I can actually understand. Acquiring enough of this language to effectively communicate required a neural interface, using the Fortress's ambient fields generated by the Sunstone Matrix as a medium. I did not have the capability to ask for permission, therefore I must instead ask for forgiveness.

"I...I need to sit down," I say, trying to regain my composure. Behind me, a large standing bowl of silvery liquid begins to stir. Springing from the bowl, a silver tendril reaches out to a few feet to my right, pouring itself into the shape of a lounging seat.

A brief rest is well-advised, Kal, the orb says, floating towards the seat to guide me to it. Your travel here has taxed you physically, and I imagine the revelations to come will be emotionally taxing as well.

Still uneasy, but seeing no immediate danger, I tentatively put a hand on the liquid seat, which was now surprisingly solid. Sitting down in it, I make it a point to keep my legs on the ground and my arms free in case it suddenly springs to life to grab me, then I look up at the floating orb.

"Let's start from the beginning," I say, the investigative journalist in me coming up. "Who and what are you?"

Again, my apologies. I had not thought to introduce myself, the orb responds. I am Kelex, your Servitor. I have served the House of El for over two hundred generations. It is my duty to serve you, protect you, and prime you on the history, culture, and values of the people of Krypton.

"And Krypton, that's.....that's home?" I ask, a thrill running up my spine like a lightning bolt.

When I was a kid, I would lie awake at night, wondering why I was so different from everyone else-- if I was some kind of monster, or part of some act of God or who knows what else. When my parents told me the truth, that I was from another world, it only raised more questions. I wandered the world for seven years after that, trying to make sense of myself, to find out what I'm doing here. I lost count of how many nights I spent staring at the night sky, looking up at the stars and wondering which one I might have called home.

Now that home has a name....Krypton.

I feel the tingling and buzzing in my head again, now knowing that Kelex is feeding my mind not just with words, but with images.



This, Kal, is your birth world, Kelex says. An ancient, savage world approximately the size of the local gas giant designated 'Jupiter' by this world's inhabitants. Its gravity would have crushed any life more complex than bacteria, were it not for the high concentrations of Sunstone in its crust.

"Sunstone?" I interject.

An element found only on Krypton, it explains, that, when exposed to an electrical current, generates graviton particles, creating a localized gravitational field. All complex Kryptonian life contains traces of Sunstone in its DNA, and it is essential in the construction of Kryptonian technology and architecture. It is what allowed life to emerge on such a hostile planet, to spread and flourish, and to create a world of wonders and horrors unlike anything else in the universe.

More images flash through my mind.

Explorers rappelling down into a chasm that would make the Marianas trench look like a pothole, titanic sparkling gemstones beneath them belying pressures that would turn them into jelly with the slightest breach of their blue and red-trimmed suits.

Skycraft skimming the clouds, chasing after a flying creature with wings that could eclipse Metropolis.

A dark-skinned man in flowing robes standing on top of a precipice overlooking a vast violet sea, dropping a tiny white gem down into the waves, before gigantic gleaming crystal towers erupt all around him seconds later.

A green-haired woman in golden armor and a red cape, locking a translucent blue blade with a cruel-looking spear wielded by a hulking figure in a chitinous black exoskeleton.

Krypton would, in time, give way to a great civilization, one that would last millions of years, Kelex continued. Explorers. Adventurers. Scientists. Artists. Warriors. And a countless myriad of other destinies, all propelled by the Jirod, the Eleven Virtues that define Krypton's culture, and crafted by the gene-shapers and birthing matrices of the Great Houses. Beneath them were the Free-Born, spawned by obsolete biological reproduction, not beholden to any House or caste but lacking any special destiny of their own. Often soldiers, merchants, farmers, or performers of otherwise necessary but unremarkable duties. And beneath them the Servitors, artificial life-forms designed to ensure society continues to function. Together, the civilization of Krypton would spread into the stars, creating an interstellar civilization that was the envy of the cosmos.

"'Was?'" I ask, the thrill of discovery giving way to a cold dread.

The bright, vibrant colors, the shining golds and glittering jewels, gave way to duller shades. The pastel skies were now laden with heavy clouds of smog. The vistas of the alien world would, in a way, remind me of an aging athlete: still proud and powerful, but very clearly in decline.



All things have their time, Kelex says. The homeworld lost touch with the colonies, some lost to the hardships of their new planets, others destroyed from enemies within and without. Eventually, the Fortresses would fall, World Engines would go quiet, and our sister worlds would grow distant, in time forgetting their ancestors entirely. Krypton's people ceased to look to the stars, and turned instead to more and more drastic measures to keep their society alive.

Many believed they could fuel a new golden age by harnessing facets of reality beyond this physical time-space. The forbidden secrets of the Phantom Zone, the bizarre abominations of the Underverse, and the absurdist perversions of the Fifth Dimension became common knowledge among the elite of the Great Houses. Conflicts arose between great and powerful minds, and what began as passionate debates would spill into planet-wide bloodshed. And the cost of that war.....

".....no.....no, no, please no....."

...was everything.

The last image Kelex shows me is from far away, speeding away from the burning embers of a world......

.....from my pod as it escaped my home world's dying moments.



"It's....gone....." I say, suddenly feeling cold and empty inside. "Krypton, its people.....my family.....they're all gone."

I believe so, Kelex says. Plans to evacuate were made, but only two prototype pods were made. Of the two, only yours escaped the blast radius in time.

"Then I'm.....alone," I say, sinking back into the seat, my head in my hands. "I'm all that's left."

That is correct, the Servitor answers. And it is why it was imperative to bring you here. This world has proven to be both extremely beneficial, yet potentially dangerous. The ecology has allowed you to become several orders of magnitude stronger than you would have been on Krypton, thanks to a far more powerful star and a negligible gravitational pull. And yet, its people, while physically weak and primitive, display a level of savage creativity that could in time lead to threats that might destroy you. The sole function of this place, the sole purpose of my own existence, is to serve and protect you, Kal-El. I will do everything in my power to safeguard the Last Son of Krypton.

Suddenly, the chair reverts back to its silvery liquid form, creating tendrils that ensnare my arms and legs. I strain against them, but they're unbelievably strong, maybe even strong enough to hold me down at full strength.

And it is why I cannot allow you to leave.....

I'm so engrossed in my own thoughts that my Spider Sense doesn't register her approach.

Tombstone managed to touch on all the insecurities I've been feeling in the past few months in a matter of minutes. The situation with the cops has been weighing on Dad and I privately, and neither of us know what to do about it, and Tombstone just straight calls me out on it right away. I know there are problems, and not just ones relating to me. Mayor-elect Cassidy seems to have brought the worst out of them though, and I'm sure I'm not the one paying the real price of that. There are people much more vulnerable to that kind of thing.

And if those people see me as the source of their problems rather than the one that could help save them instead? That's not gonna fly with what I'm going for. I need to find a way to make sure the citizens of New York see me as a friend, not a foe.

So yea, I'm all up in my own head.

I don't see her coming.

My webline is severed from above, sending me tumbling towards the rooftops below. Luckily I've had this happen to me way more times than I would like to admit, so I merely right myself in the air, land in a roll on a nearby roof, and try to locate where the strike came from. I curse myself for allowing Tombstone to get in my head so deeply that my Spider Sense could barely get through. It's something I've noticed recently. If I'm stressed or too buried into my own thoughts, the warning won't be loud enough for me to hear. It's more of a shout from down a long hallway than the siren it usually is.

When she appears, however, I'm ready. She lands on the roof behind me, and doesn't take any time trying to close the gap. She swipes at me twice with clawed gloves, barely breezing by my mask as she does. She's quick, like Delilah from the Enforcers. Possibly the quickest non-metahuman I've come up against, assuming of course she has no powers.

"Well, well, well Spider," she smiles seductively. "Finally get to chat girl to girl. I've been waiting for this."

An all black tactical getup not wholly different from mine covers her shapely form. Looks like it's a carbon fiber weave like my suit,
except she has some kind of utility belt handing on her hips and the aforementioned clawed gloves. Her long, flowing white hair falls over
half her face, obscuring the high-tech domino mask that covers her eyes.

She sure is outfitted to the nines. I'll give her that.

"Sure, whatever," I grumble. "I really don't have time for this. Tell me where your boss is and I can go take care of him."

She pouts, "Oh, but that would ruin all of out fun."

"Oh great," I roll my eyes at her. "You want to do the cutesypie femme fatale thing with me. Terrific."

"Not quite."

Before I can react, a whip unfurls from her hip and wraps around my wrist, and I curse myself yet again for getting into my own head. She
tries to yank me towards her, but I'm stronger than she is. I pull back, knocking her off balance.

At least that's what I think I do. Instead of stumbling towards me, she rolls and attempts to sweep my legs from below me. I spring backwards onto my hands, putting some space between the two of us.

"Nice moves," she smiles mischievously. "Now let's see if you can keep up."

Without warning, she darts away from me and leaps off the roof. I watch as she swings down the street with the whip.

"Hey!" I yell after her as I give chase. "That's my gimmick!"

I catch up to her quickly. She can't move as fast as I can, that much is for sure. Rather than let me catch her, however, she drops to a
rooftop, and snags my ankle with the whip as she does. I come down hard on the tar roof, landing with a thud.

"Ugh," I groan, rolling out of the way of her trying to kick me in the face, "that was rude."

"Honestly," she swipes at me again with the claws, barely missing once again, "I don't see what's so special about you. The way he goes on and on about your abilities, I would have thought you'd be more of a fighter."

"You haven't given me a chance to show you what I got yet."

Kicking myself off the rooftop, I close the gap between us quickly. She slashes at me, and I duck under her arm, wrenching it over my shoulder and tossing her with a judo like throw. As she flips in the air, she brings one of her hands around and manages to scratch through my mask, leaving four shallow scratches across my cheek. The surprise of the quick, burning pain causes me to recoil a bit as the Cat lands with a thump a few feet away on the roof. It's followed bu the sting of the freezing December air.

I approach with purpose towards her, but she slinks up and plants a kiss where she just scratched me. I feel the heat coming off of her, and an odd passion behind it.

The shock throws me completely off guard yet again, and I push her off and retreat away, "What the hell is wrong with you, you weirdo?"

She licks her lips and smiles, shaking a piece of plant in her hand, "We were under the mistletoe, Spider. You don't want to ignore Christmas tradition, do you?"

"Okay," I growl, "time to finish this. And then we're gonna go take out your boss's poison factory."

"I don't think so Spider. Not tonight."

As I rush her, she throws something to the ground, and it explodes into a thick fog. I cough and choke as the smoke clears, and I find myself all along on the rooftop.

"Of course," I grumble. "Of course she has ninja vanish smoke bombs. What else would happen to me. Christmas freakin' miracle."



The smell of cookies wafts through the house as I hip check the oven door closed while using me hands to lick the batter off the mixing paddles. Chocolate chip cookies are about the only thing that can cheer me up after getting talked down to by a gang leader as well as losing the right hand woman of the notorious drug kingpin infecting my city. No one is going to tell me other wise.

Which is why I shoot Peter a nasty look as he gives me side eye, "Don't look at me like that. It's Christmas and I got my face messed up by a dominatrix furry last night. I deserve a sugar high."

"Hey I didn't say anything," he puts his hand up in defense.

"And if you want this relationship to continue, it'll stay that way," I wave a paddle at him, splattering the two of us with batter. The two of us cackle with laughter. I lick a glob off his cheek and scrunch my nose at him, "Seriously. Christmas is the best. When else do I get to eat a diet composed mostly of baked sugar."

"It probably helps when you have a super human metabolism," he wipes his face. "The rest of us have to run."

"Peter," I look sideways at him, "I've seen you run. It's not your strength, babe."

"Probably why I couldn't make the soccer team," he muses.

"Oh sweetheart there are so many more reasons than that," I stick my tongue out at him.

"Hey, I saw your cheerleading tryout," his eyebrows raise my way.

"Peter Parker that is not fair," I scowl jokingly. "MJ made me do that."

"Yea but you still did it," he shrugs. "Anyway, mind if I take the ripped mask. I have some upgrades I've been considering, and I figure today would be a good day to get them done. No one will be at Oscorp today."

"Sure, take it," I toss it to him. "I gotta go on patrol tonight thought. There's no way I'm letting them get away that easy."



On the night before Christmas Eve, I'm out on patrol before a concert with MJ and the band. At least I'm supposed to have a concert with MJ. She hasn't gotten any better, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't considering quitting the band. But I love music and the other girls a bit too much to leave them hanging.

I land on a building that overlooks the crossing from Queens to the Bronx. I don't love the idea of going back in so quickly, but I have to take care of this.

"You let her get away," a gruff, even keeled voice says from behind me. I turn to find a man standing like a statue, his arms crossed over his bare chest, covered only by a flowing white shirt and what look like karate pants. His red hair flows in the winter wind, and smoke pours out of his nose and through the beard that adorns his face. He doesn't look angry at me, per say. It's more of a look of disappointment. Everyone else has already been disappointed in me the past few days, so what's one more stranger to judge me like my father. I definitely can never get enough of that.

"Yea, well, only for now," I respond to him. "I know where their base is. I'll get there, take her out, and stop her boss. Deliver the city a big early Christmas present."

"Yes, you may know where she is. What she is, however, is more disciplined, skilled, and focused than you are," the man responds matter-of-factly. "She'll get away again, because you let your emotion overpower your will. And if you can't even beat her, what chance do you stand against her master?"

I cock my head to the side at this guy, "Who the hell are you, and why do you think you can tell me how to do my job?"

Oh my god that sounded exactly like my father. What have I become?

A small glimmer of amusement crosses his face before he regains his composure, "I'm someone who knows an unfocused warrior when I see one. I know when someone will lose a fight before the first punch is thrown. And you stand no chance against the Octopus and his disciples in your current, frazzled state."

"Frazzled?" I clench my fists.

"See," he motions at me. "All emotion. No focus. You couldn't land a hit on me if you tried."

"That a challenge?"

"If you take it to be," he shrugs.

I come in at him hard and fast. I don't want to hurt him, as it's clear he's just here to bug me, not to really fight. But he gets out of the way of every strike I through his way. No. "Gets out of the way" is a terrible way to describe it. He moves like water around my arms and legs, the same calm look on his face. We dance around the rooftop, him made of stone and me getting angrier and angrier at my inability to land a hit.

"You see," he says, almost mockingly, "your emotion blinds you. It steals your resolve."

"Would. You. Shut. Up," I growl at him loudly. But after another half-hearted punch, I stop, "Okay, you made your point. But I'm still a little confused as to why you're even making it. Why do you care about the Cat? Why do you care about me not being able to take down the Octopus."

"My interest in the one you call the Cat is...complicated," his eyes narrow and he looks into the distance as he says this. "As for your other question, I care because I fight for the same reasons you do. You have great powers. You have a great desire to do the right thing with those powers. But the world is more dangerous than it seems, young one. Without the proper training, it may overtake you."

"What the hell are you-"

I'm interrupted by my Spider Sense, and I snag an incoming projectile out of the air. I look down to find a business card emblazoned with a red dragon and an address in Chinatown.

Looking back up, I find myself alone on a rooftop yet again.

"Yea...that tracks."

Scarsdale, New York

Chase and Misty stood at the bar and watched Don Regetti make his way to the stage. Jake Wexler stood beside them with a drink in his hand. The mafia boss had bought a round for the three of them before he headed to the stage. Wexler pulled a stuffed envelope from his jacket and passed it to Chase. He kept his eyes fixed on the stag as he spoke to them.

“Since Angelo is no longer in a position to pay his legal bills, Mr. Regetti is offering to pay for your services.”

“We don’t need his money,” Misty said after a sip from her beer.

“Especially since the US government is picking up the tab,” said Chase, passing the envelope back. “It’s proforma to pay legal fees for anybody entering witness protection.”

Chase saw Wexler’s eyes flash in something that looked like anger. Misty saw it as well and spoke up.

“Settle down,” said Misty. “He’s testifying about that whole mess with that FBI agent. Chase says that all the information he gave the feds about Regetti is now inadmissible.”

“They tampered with the evidence and framed Angelo for murder, Jake. You know what we lawyers call that?”

“Fruit of the poisonous tree,” said Wexler.

Chase winked and took a long sip from his fruity cocktail, careful not to poke himself in the eye with the drink’s umbrella as he did so.

“Be that as it may,” Wexler continued. “Mr. Regetti wishes to show his appreciation for your discreet resolution.”

“Actually, I have an idea.”

Chase took the stuffed envelope from Wexler’s hands and opened it. He rooted through the cash until he plucked out a single ten dollar bill from the envelope and passed it to Misty.

“The man owed you a tenner, right? He missed that pool shit.”

“Right,” Misty said with a smirk. She slipped the bill into her jacket pocket and reached for her drink.

“Now we’re square, Jake,” said Chase.

On stage, music came from the karaoke machine and Don Regetti grabbed the microphone. When he sang, a pitch perfect impression of Frankie Valli came from the big man’s lips.

“Sheeerry, Sherry baby! Sheeeeeeeeeeerry baaaaaaaaaaby! Sherry, can you come out tonight?”

“Mr. Regetti loves the Four Seasons,” said Wexler. “Big Frankie Valli fan.”

“I can tell,” said Misty.

---

Harlem

Misty and Chase sat in her car just outside her apartment building. Chase had his jacket off and his tie wrapped around his forehead like a bandanna. He’d had more than a few of the tropical drinks as the night went on, especially when he found out Regetti and Wexler were buying. At one point in the night he sang harmony with Don Regetti on “Big Girls Don’t Cry.”

“Heck of a day,” said Chase. “We got paid, we got Angelo off the board, we got some justice, and we got paid. Did I say that already?”

“Yeah,” said Misty. “You did.”

Chase nodded and closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against the seat. “Mmm… Job well done.”

“Chase?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna be able to make it home?”

“I don’t have a home,” mumbled Chase. “I’ve been putting all my money back into the business, not paying rent on my place. I got kicked out of my apartment two months ago and been sleeping at the office ever since.”

Misty sighed and leaned back in her seat. Chase was snoring softly. She cursed and got out the car.

“C’mon,” she said as she opened the passenger side of the door. “Let’s go.”

“Where we going?”

“You’re gonna crash on my couch tonight. Tomorrow you find an apartment.”

She helped Chase up on his feet and guided him towards the sidewalk and stoop.

“I’m sorry,” Chase said as they started up the steps. “Sorry for all of this. I fucked our lives up, Misty.”

“You had help, remember?” Misty stopped on the top step to unlock the front lobby door of the building. “And don’t apologize for what’s happened. Just do better in the future.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m drunk.”

“Pretty much,” said Misty. “And I’m almost entirely sure you won’t remember this conversation in the morning. Which is why I can tell you that I’m getting closer. I found the name of the man who set me up. He’s called--”

Chase laughed as they entered the apartment building and he started to sing.

“Sheeeeerry, Sherry baby!”

Misty resisted the urge to smile, instead she said, “That's not his name. But you keep singing that Frankie Valli shit and you can sleep in the car tonight.”

---



Yonkers

“What exactly did she say?”

Turk Barrett raised an eyebrow at the little drug dealer standing in front of him. He was leaning against the hood of his car parked just a block away from the corner the boy ran for him. Turk resisted the urge to shake his head at the boy’s attire. Skinny jeans and shit. Not like the baggy pants, gold chains, and puffy Starter jackets Turk wore back when he was a clocker. The boy had a bandage on his nose and a sling on his left arm.

“Bitch wanted to know who I was working for.”

“Bitch?” snapped Turk. “You the bitch that got his ass kicked, boy.”

The kid looked down at his feet and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. It was a childish move that reminded Turk just how young he was. If he had to guess, he’d be fifteen at the most. Not much older than Turk had been when he started running his own corner crew in Harlem.

“What did you tell her?”

“I ain’t tell her shit. Why the fuck you think I look like this?”

“Because you don’t know how to fight?” Turk asked with a laugh.

“Because I kept my fucking mouth shut,” said the boy. “Just like you told me. Besides, I don’t know no shit about fishes?”

“What?”

Turk stood up from the hood of the car and quickly crossed the short distance between him and the boy.

“What the fuck did you just say?” he yelled.

“Chill!” shouted the boy. “She asked some shit about a whale. I don’t know what the fuck she was talking about!”

Turk stepped back and rubbed his hands against his shaved scalp.

“Alright,” he finally said. “Get the fuck outta here. Text me when you need a re-up.”

The boy hurried off. He sighed as he watched him disappear around the corner. That was when he pulled out his burner phone and dialed his boss’s number.

“It’s me…. Yeah. Nah, he didn’t say shit because he didn’t know shit….. Yeah. But, sir, she knows about you. At least your name. Yeah… but what about?... No. I get it. Okay. I’ll take care of it, sir.”

Turk ended the call and stared at the phone for a long moment. He tucked it back into his jacket, pulling out his gun instead. He started off in the direction the boy had gone just a few moments earlier.