The East End
9:34 PM

Selina walked up the rickety stairwell to the apartment building’s fourth floor. She didn’t venture to the East End if she could help it. It brought back… memories, that was the word for it. They were memories she would rather forget. Looking at the sad, faded blue paint on the corridor walls reminded her of the building she grew up in. She wondered if her mom still lived in that little one bedroom apartment. It wasn’t that far from here, just a block or two away, and it would be easy to swing by after she was done here.

But she’d left for a reason. Twelve years ago Selina walked out the door and never looked back. Her mom had been passed out on the couch with that needle still stuck in her arm. She was a husk of the woman Selina had once known her as. It would be a small miracle if her mom still had that apartment. It would be an even bigger miracle if she was still alive. Either way, Selina decided to let the past stay in the past as she knocked on the door of 4C.

“What’s the password?” a voice asked from behind the door.

“I brought a burrito,” Selina said, holding a plastic takeout bag up to the peephole.

She heard a series of locks disengaging. The door opened and a dainty, pale hand snatched the burrito out of Selina’s grasp. She smiled as she watched the teenage girl disappear into the apartment. She was amazed that the girl never gained weight. For as much garbage as she packed in, she was still rail thin.

“Don’t forget to take the foil off this time,” Selina said. She entered the apartment and closed the door behind her. “And chew, please.”

“Mmfhfmf,” the girl said with a mouth full of food.

“What did I say?” Selina asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly after swallowing. “It just hits the spot, you know?”

Selina nodded and looked around the studio apartment. It was spartan to say the least. The walls were bare, a single mattress rested on the hardwood floor and a naked lightbulb dangled from the ceiling. The only other furniture in the room was an overturned plastic milk crate upon which sat a laptop worth more than a place twice as big as this apartment.

You wouldn’t think it to look at the surroundings, but sixteen year old Stephanie Brown was worth almost a million dollars. And every bit of those gains had been ill gotten.

“What’s your latest scam,” Selina asked as she tested the mattress.

“You’re gonna love this.”

Stephanie sat the wreckage of her burrito down on the floor and scooted up to the computer. A few clicks on the keyboard and mouse and she pulled up a site. Selina leaned in to look at the screen. She furrowed her brow at the very basic webpage that seemed to be straight from 2003.

“South Dakota state probate?” she asked.

“You betcha,” Stephanie said in her best faux midwestern accent. “In almost every state there’s a law that if you die without an heir, your assets are turned over to the state government after a certain amount of time. When the time comes to transfer to the state it’s just a simple movement of money from bank account A to bank account B. I’ve got a program that intercepts that transfer and skims off of it. Not much, mind you. Not enough to really go noticed. If it is noticed they chalk it up to accounting errors. So far I’ve gotten about fifty grand from the unmourned dead of South Dakota.”

“Jesus,” Selina sighed. She shook her head. “What happened to the days when thieves used to have to work for it?”

“I am working,” Stephanie said, taking another bite from her burrito. “Work smarter, not harder. Isn’t that what people who actually work say?”

“I’ll take your word for it. I just know I actually like to feel like I'm stealing something instead of just looking at numbers on a screen.”

"How very analogue of you," Stephanie laughed.

Selina reached into her purse and pulled out her cellphone while Stephanie finished off the already mortally wounded burrito.

“I do need your help with something though,” she said as she typed out a message on her phone. “I'm trying to track a blackmailer and fellow hacker.”

“A white hat job?” Stephanie asked.

“Not exactly. More of a gray area.”

Selina held up her phone. She had written a message in the memo section, but hadn’t saved it.

"PRETTY SURE I AM BEING MONITORED. B-MAN IS LISTENING AND TRACKING MVMENTS"

Stephanie nodded slowly as she read the screen.

“Okay…,” she said slowly before turning to her computer. “Let’s see what we can do.”

---

Unincorporated Gotham
9:40 PM

Bruce weaved in and out of traffic as he raced down the expressway on the bike. The cargo van ahead of him was going much faster than it should have been capable of. After all, it was loaded down with illegal weapons. Buckshot pellets whizzed by his head and he looked back to see Blackwood and a few Crusaders riding up close behind him, each man with a weapon at the ready. The bike roared as he hit the throttle. The biker posse faded away and the van came rushing ahead. He leaned forward and swerved left to avoid a minivan tottering along at a much slower pace.

“Drone view,” Bruce said into the mic mounted inside his cowl.

The lenses in his mask flashed and he saw a split screen at the bottom of his peripheral vision. The overhead drone was keeping ahead of the traffic showed him traffic was coming up along with the van, himself, and the pursuing pack of bikers. From the view above, he could see Blackwood was beginning to gain on him.

The bike jerked suddenly, and from the overhead view Bruce could see Blackwood had opened fire again with his shotgun. The bike groaned and began to shake. Bruce had to fight to keep it straight. Wherever Blackwood had hit it, the damage was about to tear the bike apart. He punched the throttle and made a beeline for the fleeing cargo van. Still holding on to the handlebars, he pushed himself up onto the seat and jumped at the back of the speeding van as the motorcycle began to twist. From the drone, he saw the bouncing wreck of his bike catch one of the Crusaders flush and knock him from his motorcycle. Bruce caught the edge of the van and started to slide backwards. He reached for purchase, but his gloves and boots kept sliding against the slick surface as he fell. He could hear the sound of his cape rubbing against the rapidly passing pavement.

“Magnetics,” he said. The powerful electromagnets in his gloves and boots kicked on and he stuck against the surface. He climbed up to the roof of the van and ran towards the front. To his right Blackwood rode beside the van and slowly reloaded his shotgun one-handed.

“You’re fucking dead,” the big man shouted over the noise.

Bruce knew Blackwood was right. His only escape path had been the now destroyed motorcycle. Soon Blackwood would have all the ammunition he needed to take potshots at him. And he wouldn’t be the only one. The van was now slowing and the other Crusaders were catching up. Pretty soon Bruce would be caught in a crossfire. He had to do something drastic fast. He crouched low on the van and let his cape blow into the breeze as he watched the footage from the drone. Their convoy was coming towards a bend on the expressway and on an overpass section. Bruce saw something at that overpass. A cluster of homes down below. They looked like mobile homes.

He chuckled quietly to himself as he pulled an orb from his belt and stuck it to the top of the truck. He set the charge as the truck drove across the overpass and jumped. He held on to his cape and let the electric currents in his gloves stiffen the fabric into a gliding wing. He heard the surprise of the bikers. Followed by the explosion.

With a loud and jarring crash landing, Bruce rolled to the ground and came to a stop against the underpinning of a trailer. Another explosion rocked the expressway above. He could see flames licking the concrete barriers of the road. Another round of explosions went off. This time, it was the rapid pop of bullets exploding from the heat of the fire.

He stood up and did a quick inventory. Nothing on him was broken or misplaced. He now had to figure out his next move. Whatever it was, he had to keep moving. The longer he stayed here, the more he risked the Crusaders cornering him. With a deep breath, he ventured into the night.

---

“He has fucked up,” Blackwood said with a humorless smile. “Royally fucked up.”

He and what was left of his gang, all four of them, were on their bikes at the trailer park entrance. A rotting wooden sign proclaimed the place “Elysian Fields” in what had once been gold lettering. Some smartass had written in spray paint beneath it “Methsylvania.”

Blackwood propped his motorcycle up on its kickstand and lead the group into the trailer park. A group of about twelve tweakers stood around a fiery trashcan passing a glass pipe. Even in the dim lighting, Blackwood could see open facial sores and mouths with missing and roten teeth.

“Here’s the deal,” Blackwood said as he pointed the shotgun at the group. “You know the Bat? He's is in this trailer park somewhere. Two hundred bucks worth of crank to the first motherfucker who brings me his head.”

The tweakers eyes lit up. They all whooped and started through the trailer park. Blackwood motioned for his men to follow. The Cursaders followed the methheads into the darkness, like hunters following bloodhounds.

---

Thor staggered drunkenly down the streets of Knowhere towards where Peter Quill had pointed him. He said the head science officer was located where the Celestial's cerebral cortex would have been. Thor thought that was kind of on the nose, but that was par for the course for mortals. They did everything just a little too obviously. They always took the easy route, and tended to never think about anything that wasn't five feet in front of them. Of course, if he lived as short of a life as they did, maybe he would do the same. Still, it often frustrated him how little they understood the workings of the Gods.

Like Quill's boss, Yondu. Thor had seen him in the bar, even if Peter hadn't. Thor was sure the pirate leader was chatting to his underling now about the God of Thunder. Yondu couldn't keep his eyes off of him when he was there. Probably wanted to know why Quill was wasting time. Thor only hoped that Quill was smart enough not to leave him here. While he was using the mortal for what Thor could get, he still planned on rewarding Peter with Asgardian treasure in the end. Thor may not have cared for mortals much, but he still rewarded those who served him.

After what felt like an interminable amount of walking, oh how he missed soaring through the air with Mjolnir already, Thor found himself in the front of the Knowhere science center. It was an amorphous building that resembled an outcropping of crystals which formed in the deepest caves of the mountains of Asgard. The starlight that filtered into Knowhere refracted off of the luminescent metals that it was comprised of, making a spectrum of beautiful colors.

He stepped, well more like staggered, through the doors, startling the robot behind the front reception desk. It singular, ocular lens focused in on him, "There's a bar 'round the corner. I think that's what you're looking for, hun."

"I am no Hun, machine," Thor growled at in insolence. "I require the services of your observatory."

"Mhm," the camera-like robot nodded. "Seems like you need a cup of black caf to me. What do you need the observatory for, sir?"

"I need to triangulate the place I am attempting to reach," the god burped.

"You can't do that with your ships navicomputer?"

"No, it must be done with the eye," Thor growled. "A computer cannot read the stars as I can."

"Sure," the robot clearly wasn't impressed. "Well, we've got quite the backlog. Maybe in a few standard days we could-"

"Do you not hear the need in my voice, machine!" Thor raged. "This is of utmost importance! Thou would not understand the pressing need of the-"

<Well it's no wonder no one likes your kind,> a voice echoed loudly into Thor's head. He spun around to find a sight he had never imagined to see.



<Come,> the dog's voice rattled around in Thor's head yet again, <you vill get your time vith the observatory. And zhen you vill leave mine space station.>

Thor followed with confusion as the dog padded down the corridors of the science center. As they walked, Thor saw dozens of labs containing strange experiments he couldn't begin to comprehend. He could have sworn that in a biological testing lab he saw a brain with eyes and a mouth staring back at him.

"You know what I am, dog?" he asked as they continued their journey.

<Da,> the dog barked in the god's head. <Loud. Obnoxious. Thinks he owns zhe place. It is not hard to spot a god, or someone who thinks zhey are one. Especially when you've been in space as long as I have.>

"Careful with your tone, mongrel," Thor seethed.

<Yes,> the psychic voice laughed. <Zhere is the normal point of view of a god. Vhy are you here?>

"My...home was destroyed," Thor responded, realizing that he may have been allowing his frustrations to get the best of him. "I need to triangulate a cache of my people. It should have weapons and gold to allow me to start to find who did that."

<I see,> the dog looked up at him. <You have my sympathies for that, immortal. I know what it is like to not be able to return home.>

"Thou are from Earth?" Thor inquired.

<Da.>

"Are all dogs psychic there now? I have not set foot on Midgard in quite some time," Thor pondered if humanity had been overthrown by sentient canine. He hadn't heard anything about that. Heimdall probably would have told him about something of that nature.

<Nyet,> the dog shook his head. <Merely a cruel cosmic joke zhat made me this way.>

"Who did this to you?"

<Khrushchev,> the dog barked with venom in his voice. <Here we are.>

The two of them entered a large, grand observatory. It nearly took Thor's breath away at its beauty. It was as if he was in space again, the stars surrounding him in totality.

"This is impressive, dog," Thor admitted. "Nearly as impressive as the Allfather's private observatory on Asgard. You mortals truly are fascinating sometimes."

<Da, fascinating,> the dog patted away from Thor. <Not fascinating for your kind to care much, zhough.>

Thor wasn't sure why the dog was so hostile towards him and the thought of gods. They may not have answered every prayer the mortals have, but they did their best. At least Thor thought he did. Though he had to admit he couldn't remember the last time he answered one himself.

"Why do you hate me so, dog?" Thor pondered.

<First, my name is Cosmo,> he replied. <And I do not hate you. I merely have seen what zhe indifference of the powerful can result in for zhe weak. And I tire of it.>

"Understood," Thor nodded. "If I can use the observatory, I will then leave you and your station in peace."

<Do what you wish,> the dog growled as it left the observatory. <That's what you normally do.>

_{Hinterlands, Brazil - Present Day, 22:37 Hrs}

Issue 1.01.4: War of the Dead

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Issue 1.01.3: Fury

The only sound in the bunker nearly half a mile under ground in the mountainous region of Brazil’s Hinterlands was that of boiling water. The only light came from candles, and incense gave the musty bunker a more homely smell. Three capsules rested against the back wall, though the capsule on the far left was open. Men in cloth masks were moving about, solemnly going about their various tasks. All around the bunker were sensors and machines from the 1940s, but seemed to have been upgraded recently with far more advanced technology. LCD screens and holographic projectors turned the old bunker into a gearhead’s wet dream. Overseeing it all was a rather short man with a hunched back, wearing a white lab coat and big coke-bottle glasses. Phineas Mason snarled slightly as two of the soldiers were carrying a gurney that sported the corpse of a man with red skin and a shaved head. While this would be the Tinkerer’s greatest accomplishment, he was never a fan of working with carbon-based organisms.

The henchmen rested the gurney onto a pulley system, and another set began to hoist the corpse into the air. Phineas oversaw a retrofitted terminal, monitoring the various calculations necessary for such a complex procedure. With the help of documents from a certain group of assassins, Phineas may have just cracked the secrets of life itself. Not that the machinist much cared for living beings. He made an exception when he was offered freedom and a rather long-term contract to develop weapons. A much better offer than the indentured servitude of SHIELD.

A figure entered into the bunker, wearing a simple suit and tie but wearing a similar cloth mask to the henchmen. Upon entering, all the henchmen not immediately occupied raised both fists into the air at an angle. ”Hail Hydra!” The figure raised a hand to silence them, and attention returned to the procedure.

The new figure saddled up next to the Tinkerer, watching things carefully. The corpse was lowered into the bubbling pit in the corner, and everyone in the room was silent. For nearly a minute, the only sound that persisted was the sound of the bubbling pit. That was, until a single beep came from the terminal in front of Phineas. Then another. Before anyone could react, what was once a corpse was very much alive as it splashed its way out of the pit in the corner. Baron Zemo patted the Tinkerer on the shoulder at the sight, whispering to him so none of the henchmen could hear. ”Once the others are reborn, kill the grunts. We can’t afford any leaks until everything is in place.”

---

“Please don’t do that again” Ragman moaned, clutching his stomach, as the stepping disc faded away.

Illyana ignored him, moving forward into the dimly lit street, eyes fixated on the flaming apartment building in front of them. Her gaze turned to the old stone steps leading up to the building’s front entrance, where the flames seemed to be at their strongest. She frowned. This was going to be a bit more difficult than she had expected. As Ragman continued to wretch and groan underneath his ragged mask behind her, she raised her staff, pointing it towards the flames. Clearing her throat, she let out a soft hum before speaking the words of magic, her voice taking on a husky tone as she did so.

“Winds of Watoomb.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, the street around them erupted into noise as the wind picked up around them. Magik stood strong as what appeared to be a miniature tornado formed in front of her, gale force winds pushed back against and upturning trash everywhere. She could barely hear Ragman over the noise, who had now stopped being on the urge of being violently sick and had instead turned to shouting in confusion at the commotion. She ignored him, and instead simply raised her hand, moving it forward, as if she was motioning to push the wind forward. And so, it did. The tornado moved forward rapidly, rocketing towards the apartment building, with enough force to snuff out any flame.

However, as soon as the first torrents of wind hit the hellfire, the winds simply dispersed.

As the street grew quiet, Magik groaned, tapping her finger against her staff impatiently. Maybe she hadn’t done the spell correctly? Maybe she wasn’t the competent sorcerer she thought she had been? Maybe Strange had been wrong about her. Wrong about all of her “potential.” Maybe Belasco was right. Maybe... No. Her spell had been perfect. It was just that the building’s magic was stronger. Hellfire’s a bitch, there was no questioning that.

“Woah…” Ragman’s voice snapped her out of her self-deprecating thoughts, returning her to the Gotham street.

“I’m glad someone’s impressed because that did fuck all.”

“No, not that. Look!”

Her eyes followed his, her mouth falling agape slightly. It suddenly dawned on her why no one had been paying the two of them attention. Or panicking at the sight of a whirlwind appearing in the middle of the street. No, instead they moved like zombies, slowly lurching towards the apartment building. As one middle-aged woman crawled past her, Illyana caught sight of her face. Her features were motionless as if she’s been frozen in a sheet of ice. All except her eyes, which glowed and burned a crimson red, like two tiny balls of fire.

“Блядь… They look… Possessed.” She went to grab the woman by the arm to pull her back, however, despite her weak appearance, she wriggled out of Illyana’s grasp with ease, continuing. Defeated, she stood back, running her hand through her hair. “We need to get in there.”

“And there’s our entrance.” Ragman said, pointing up towards the building, where a window sat wide open next to a fire escape. Once he saw that Magik had seen it, he moved his finger up towards the rooftop across the alleyway from it. “If we get up there, then I reckon we could jump right down to the window without hitting the flames.”

Illyana simply scoffed. “Too slow.”

At once the ground beneath them erupted into light once more.

“What?! Wait! Magik!”

The two materialized inside a dimly lit corridor. The walls and roof were covered in damp, with the wallpaper peeling off all over the place. The furthest door from them had been left ajar, allowing a glorious amber glow to meander like a narrow stream across the hall, stopping at it hit a figure in front of them.

“I think I’m going to be sick…” Ragman moaned, stumbling to a wall for support.

Illyana ignored him, focussing on the approaching woman. Frail and feeble, a light pink frock covered the old woman’s bony arms. Her wispy hair and wrinkled features were illuminated by the burning eyes of fire that she shared with the zombies from the street below.

“A warm welcome to the Ragman, and the Daughter of Limbo.” Her voice was eerie and cold. A combination of both what must’ve been her own voice, and another’s. “Master Marcosa has been expecting you.”

At that, the sound of Ragman’s retching reached an all-time high as he pulled up his mask, and vomited onto the floor before them.

Kitimat, British Columbia

Since the day he’d woken up to find Heather McNeil’s shotgun pressed against his face, “Logan” hadn’t spoken a word to anyone. It was clear even to Heather that beneath the growling, there was a man – or at least, there had been once upon a time. It had been nearly a week since they had picked him up and day by day, James had attempted to coax words out of Logan. It was two days until he was docile enough for them to unchain him. Even then he backed himself into a corner like a trapped animal and growled at them for hours on end. Hudson brought him food: he turned his nose up at the cooked meat they offered him, but seemed to enjoy raw meat well enough. Finally, after two more days, he relaxed around them enough that James didn’t feel the need to carry the shotgun – though Heather kept it close at hand.

Logan still wouldn’t, maybe couldn’t speak, outside of vague murmurings in his sleep that almost sounded like words. He seemed the most free out running through the hills and valleys that surrounded the cabin. One morning he produced a deer not unlike that he’d been gnawing on when James had almost run him over. This time Logan had been willing to share it and Hudson seemed to consider that progress.

From the porch, James and Heather watched as Logan trudged his way towards the lake. It had been mild in Kitimat over the past few days and the lake, usually frozen at this time of year, still sat clear and smooth. Logan’s bare feet kicked snow around with him as he went. Though Hudson had been able to get their guest to wear pants, he’d not yet been able to convince him of the importance of shoes. James smiled as he watched Logan kneeling beside the lake. He turned to Heather to find her unmoved by the scene. She was as opposed to his presence there as she had ever been.

“We’re going to have to go back to work soon,” McNeil sighed. “If we’re off much longer, people are going to start asking questions.”

James nodded.

“You know, it’s the weirdest thing. That goat Jaxon was calling me every two seconds up until a couple of days ago – then nothing. Maybe he knows something we don’t? It’s unlike Jerome to go AWOL like that, especially when he’s got someone’s balls in a vice.”

The cogs began to turn in Heather’s mind as she considered what could have caused his sudden disappearance. He was a multi-billionaire after all, there were hundreds of things that Jaxon could be doing. In the back of her mind, she worried not only would the Guardian project be dead, but that they wouldn’t have jobs to go back to when they went back to Toronto. There was a sudden splash from the lake that made Heather laugh nervously. Logan had begun slapping the water in an attempt to attract fish.

“We go into the lab tomorrow and put a brave face on things,” Heather shrugged. “Maybe corporate has already told them the game’s up, maybe not, either way we’ll face that miserable bastard down together. What’s the worst he can do, James? Truett basically built Can-Am from the ground up from beneath him. Everyone knows that.”

Heather invoking his brother’s name seemed to sit uncomfortably with James. “You’re right. It’s probably nothing.”

“What are we going to do with Logan? Do you feel comfortable leaving him out here on his own whilst we go into town? Because I sure as hell don’t.”

“What’s the worst he can do?” Hudson said with a smile. “All he seems to want to do is hunt and sleep. We’ll be out … what, eight hours? Maybe ten at a push. I figure he won’t even realise we’re gone.”

Before Heather had a chance to respond, James skipped down the porch and made his way towards Logan. The mutant was still slapping his forearms into the water and snatching at fish that scattered around with each splash. Hudson made sure to let his feet scrape along the ground noisily as he approached, though he knew well enough by now that the mutant’s senses were far stronger than his own. It was a courtesy. One that helped to keep the growling at bay and their relationship cordial.

“Doing a spot of fishing, huh? I was never really much of a fisherman. My old man was pretty handy with a rod, if my brother’s to be believed. Said he used to take him out fishing most weekends and they’d reel in the biggest trout and salmon you’d ever seen.”

Logan didn’t respond. James didn’t expect one. He’d built up a theory that whatever trauma the mutant had been though had fractured his mind. He had dissociative disorder or something similar to it. Hudson wasn’t a psychiatrist by any means, but something told him the only way to reach the man inside of Logan was to treat him like one. That meant no more shotguns or chains. He’d treat him not like some caged animal, but like a man and maybe with time something would reach him.

“I see you favour a more traditional approach,” Hudson said with a mock slapping motion. “Not much of an angler, eh? I don’t blame you, I could never quite get the handle of it. I went on a fishing trip with Truett and Jaxon once, not lake fishing mind, we were on Jaxon’s yacht out in the Caribbean somewhere. I didn’t catch a damn thing. Nearly split my hand open on a line at one point too. Jaxon didn’t let me hear the end of it for the best part of six months.”

James glanced back at the porch and saw Heather shake her head disapprovingly and disappear inside. He sighed and took to watching Logan have at the water again. This time the mutant’s furry arms plunged into the water just in time to grab a large salmon. It was flapping around violently until he plunged his teeth deep into it and took a large mouthful. Blood sprayed down his face and splattered onto Hudson’s coat. He laughed and looked down to wipe the blood away and when he looked up Logan was thrusting the fish towards his face.

There was no warmth in the gesture, no kindness as such, but there was almost a reluctant acceptance of Hudson’s presence and his likely need to eat too. James considered turning the fish down but had no idea how his refusal might be taken and so accepted it slowly. The mutant was watching him closely, too closely for James to feign a bite. He steeled himself and chomped down on the fish and almost instantly regretted it. His mouth filled with blood, bones, and flesh. It took all his strength not to retch as he forced the mouthful down with a grimace.

James used the back of his hand to mop the blood from his chin and handed the fish back to Logan with a smile. “T-t-thank … thank you.”

A grunt left the mutant’s lips in recognition of the thanks and Hudson’s eyes lit up. It was the first time Logan had acknowledged him verbally and he couldn’t help that it represented a victory of some sort. He wanted to run to the cabin and tell Heather but he knew even if she believed him, she wouldn’t see the significance in it. Instead he stayed with Logan and watched him scarf down the rest of the fish, bones and all.

“You know, Logan, I know you don’t feel the cold like … well, like the rest of us, but I really think we ought to see about getting you some shoes. Your feet are so blue they look like they’re going to fall off any sec-”

A hand clamped over Hudson’s mouth before he realised what was happening. Logan had dropped the fish to the ground and crouched like an animal that sensed a predator’s gaze resting on it. His right hand, dangling free, balled into a fist and James saw the skin begin to stretch over so slightly and the silver claws he’d seen the first night begin to sprout from the back of his hand.


“Someone … someone’s watching,” Logan whispered to Hudson from beside him. “Out there ... in the trees. They’re watching us.”

After a few seconds, the danger seemed to pass because the mutant let his hand slip from Hudson’s mouth. There was no time to ask questions. Logan had taken off running into the woods almost instantly, leaving James alone by the side of the lake. A wave of nausea ran over him and he knelt and pressed his fist against his lips to hold down the raw fish he’d just eaten. Once he was sure that he wasn’t going to be sick, he rose to his feet, and walked gingerly towards the cabin. He wouldn’t be telling Heather about this. That much James was sure about.

The Runaways, Issue 1 : Chase I

Wholesale District - LA 02:06

---

Admittedly, Chase wasn't an expert on the whole superhero gig. But even his tenuous grasp on the subject told him being tied up and getting a stern talking-to about being sent back to your parents wasn't a stellar start to the career.

"Sure we should be letting him see this?"

"Nothing he hasn't already seen. Knows more than we do I bet." The two minder’s Chase had dubbed jackass and idiot, seemed just about as tired of him as he was with them.

"Should'a had him help unload then" Jackass grumbled as he began to roll a fourth cigarette. His name has been earned for punching Chase in the jaw. Idiot was idiot for letting him when he knew it was his employer's son his partner was hitting. Maybe that made him less stupid in the end.

"This is taking too long"

Chase nodded in silent agreement, fear has passed to boredom about an hour after they’d met up with a second group over an hour earlier, and he'd had a long day. Of course, the end of the night meant going home to dear ol’ mom and pop, whom he doubted would be holding a banner welcome. Best case scenario, they’d play it cool again and send someone else to do the dirty deed. More likely his father would just kill him. The former plan hadn't worked last time, and if there was one thing the Stien's were good for it was learning. Or so he'd been told, maybe that gene skipped every generation or something. There wasn’t much for Chase to do other than rub his wrists raw against his restraints, and every so often he catch himself craning for a better look at the action happening on the opposite end of the alley. Sure, he'd seen what was in the crates already, but he'd been a little more preoccupied with getting the stuff out so he could get in before anyone found him. As well as that plan had worked out.

Light broke through his thoughts self-pity before any noise. Fire and light cutting straight through the two groups 20 feet away. But distance didn't stop Chase from jumping to his feet in a panic - onto tied feet, which left him face flat on the pavement. That was when the noises began to register. Mostly shouting.

"Get the van!"

"They fuck us over?"

"Cops?!"

"It's those fucking kids!"

"Guess it's two for one night, lucky us!"

That last one was incredibly out of place. Young, and-happy? Chase twisted on the ground and with great effort managed to lift his head. His eyes still only level with the ground, it was hard to see much anything other than the fires, burning much closer than was comfortable. The other gang’s truck had started, had they even finished loading? So much for honor among thieves. Or criminals at least. His minder’s came out of their own shock and appeared to remembered his existence.

"I got the kid, let’s get out of here."

A pair of boots blocked Chase’s view and a hard grip dragged him up by the collar. His pride and favourite shirt ruined in the same night. The hit to the head obviously left him dazed. No sooner was on he on his feet, then the grip was gone and he was falling again, backwards this time. The back of his head hit the pavement, and the world instantly began to blur, but he could have sworn there was a kid standing over him just before it went black.

The Runaways, Issue 1 : Tyrone I

Wholesale District - LA 02:20

---

"Everyone okay?" Just the sound of Tandy’s voice brought Tyrone a wave of relief. He spared a quick glance at her to ensure she was in one piece before joining her frantic search through the mess they'd made for the other two. This was not how the night was supposed to go.

"Why were there so many? Any of them conscious enough to question?" Eddie landed in front of him, surveying the fires he had stared, then the starless-sky. “It was supposed to be raining by now.”

Tyrone shrugged. “You seen the kid?”

“She was going to deal with the other truck.”

As though on cue, a slow, but steady grinding noise began to come from the direction Eddie had pointed to. Tyrone didn’t need to look to know Tandy was at his shoulder, light blade in hand. The kid appeared from behind the tuck, dragging one of the bodies behind her with little effort. Tyrone was never really sure weather to be impressed with her, or afraid. It took a few moments for her to get close enough for the group to realize it wasn’t one of the thug’s she was pulling.

"What is it?" Tandy leaned between the two boys, offering an orb of light to let everyone get a better veiw.

“It looks like… a kid?” muttered Eddie. It was a kid. Tyrone’s eyes immediately did another sweep of the bodies around them, but no, there had only been grown men in the fight. More than was normal for trafficking. He hated that he knew that.

The kid was tied, Tyrone noticed as he was brought closer to Tandy’s light. The girl dropped his arms two feet in front of her companions and unceremoniously ripped the tape off his mouth. His eyes flew open, and a string of curses loud enough to rival the earlier fight filled the alley.

Tandy was the first to speak after the echoes subsided. "Who are you?" It took a minute for the boy to register her words, he was rubbing where the tape had been with bound hands.

"Wha-? Chase Stein." He paused as though that should have been enough for them. Tyrone looked to Tandy, who shook her head slightly, then Eddie who shrugged, the all returned their gaze to newcomer.

"You deal with Simon Marshall?" The kid hesitated, and Tandy charged him, the light that had lit the alley came to a focus on the boy’s throat.

Tyrone followed her forward "Tandy!" He had to forcefully pull her away. "What the hell? We’re here to help.”

"We didn't see what was in the other truck.” She shrugged his hand off, and was glaring at him. "He was here, the only one left here and he's still alive. He knows something."

Tyrone’s own heart skipped a beat. "Were there other kids?” He asked.

“Who the fuck are you people?” The poor kid was staring at both Tandy and Eddie in turn and looked equal parts terrified and confused. This kid wasn’t some great conspirator. Not that Tandy was so easily swayed.

“Answer the question”

"What?"

“Where are the other kids?” Tyrone held her wrist, not entirely certain she wasn’t going to lunge again. What was with her? She was always the one picking up any stray that landed at their feet.

"Kids? There were no kids, they were making a weapons deal- look I didn't have anything to do with it, I swear."

“He’s in as much shit as the rest of us.” Eddie said with a pitting smile. Tyrone nodded. The silent girl standing next to Chase crouched down and began undoing his bonds.

“You’re all really just going to trust him like that?”

“We did for them.” Tyrone felt comfortable letting go of Tandy’s wrist to gesture to the devil and mute of their crew.

“Besides,” Eddie pitched in “we can’t stick around here forever, the cops are bound to be on their way here by now.”
Tyrone looked at the four people surrounding him and considered his remaining stamina. He’d taken groups of six before, but those had been little kids, and even sitting it wasn’t hard to see the new kid was at least matched him in size. "Don't think I can take all of us."

“I can fly back.” Eddie offered. Tandy threw her arms into the air and turned from the group, making her way back to examine the small stack of remaining crates.

"Don’t think that’s the best idea Red.” Tyrone said as gently as possible while awkwardly gesturing to his tail, horns, and well, entire body. “We don’t know if there’s anyone left to follow us.”

“Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” Chase finally spoke up, and began to bring himself to his feet, wobbled for a moment then found his footing well enough to give Tyrone an indignant glare.

“Right, sorry. I’m Tyrone, that was Tandy, this is Eddie. We’re going to take you home with us.” He hesitated. “Unless you have another home to go to.” He’d gotten used to finding kids with nothing.

Chase stared at him blankly and slowly began to shake his head. “Why should I be going with you?”

Tyrone gave what he hoped was a comforting smile – seriously why wasn’t Tandy doing this part? “We can get you out of here fast, and maybe help with some of your other problems. Or maybe you can help by telling us what was going on here tonight.”

“Alright” he said after a moment. “Just let me get my things.”

Tyrone shrugged, and the kid went sprinting back to the truck. Suddenly his stomach dropped, he’d never hear the end of it if the one time he’d been the trusting one the kid had cut loose and ran back to a gang or something.

Tandy returned to them, a large object tucked between her arm and hip. “Well he’s not a complete liar at least.” She presented the thing to the group. “No idea what it does though.”

The supposed weapon didn’t look like much, sleek and black with no visible seems. Almost a rectangle with curved corners and a convex top.

“I’ll take a look at it back home.” Eddie said, though he was already reaching for whatever it was to examine more closely.

“Where’d the other girl go?” Chase had returned, this time with a pack slung over one shoulder.

“Headed back on her own I guess.” Tandy muttered, still looking at the weapon and not him. “She’ll fair better on her own then you did don’t worry.”

“We should be going too, before anyone shows up.” Tyrone reminded, before any note could be made on Tandy’s tone.

“How far is it?”

Tandy laughed, Tyrone grimaced, and Eddie took the boy’s elbow. “I suggesting thinking of something warm.”

---

’...Amidst controversy about the announcement that continued use of Stark Industries technology in Trasnia will result in the intervention of Iron Man, Tony Stark has taken an impromptu vacation with his former military liaison James Rhodes. As another attack is reportedly underway in Trasnia our sources indicate that despite warnings from the state department, that intervention could result in prosecution, Tony Stark was adamant to ‘cease his legacy of murder, whatever the cost’ now onto the latest from Kord industries…’

---

---

Footsteps heavy on old stone cobbles. Frantic breathing, screams in the distance as chaos spread through the small border town of Velinsky. A man ran through the street, he tripped over a knocked over stroller. Dragging himself to his feet he winced as a coffee shop beside him exploded. Throwing his hands up to protect his face from falling debris he felt glass slice into his arms. The fire of pain spread through his body, his limbs feeling heavy as he lifted himself again. Ignoring the blood that was pouring out of his arms. He could hear other people running, see them alongside him but they did not register in his conscious mind. What mattered was the border. There was a checkpoint only a mile away from the edge of town, the Sokovians had guns. They could protect him.

There was a thud ahead, a figure slightly larger than a man crashed into the street in front of him. Standing up it raised its arm and flame spat forth. <No. No no no no no.*> Skidding to a halt he dove into some kind of mechanic workshop. THUNK, THUNK, THUNK. He turned to look behind himself, he could hear the footsteps coming. Panic enveloped him, he was breathing but not receiving any air. He fell, turning to face his pursuer he tried pushing himself away along the ground as a sword of energy came out of the robotic mans wrist. In the distance he could hear the thunder of more suits coming. He bowed his head as the suit came right up to him. “ Inna Lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un-” the prayer came out of his lips in broken sobs. A scream leaving his lips as the ceiling crashed just as the sword was raised for the final swing.



He opened up his eyes, as the rough metallic suit was thrown out of the building, crashing through a wall. Before him stood another suit, red and gold. Towering over him.



As the enemy suit reappeared at the door with two of its friends, they all raised their hands in unison. A trio of repulsor beams lancing out to hit the suit. Tony spun on his heel and crouched himself over the fallen man. The strikes hitting his armour, he could feel the force of the blows.“Shielding appears to be holding steady sir.” As they stopped firing Tony stood up, turning to face the enemy suits. If they could have seen his face all they would have seen was a grimace as he raised his left arm, clenching his fist till the knuckles were white the chaingun mounted on his wrist started spinning up.

“Okay. My turn.” Depressing his thumb into a button that wasn’t actually there small energy pellets were fired at the suits, they raised their arms to try and protect their faces. Tony pushing forward as he did so, gaining ground against the Iron Men he grabbed the one in the middle by the helmet with his right arm as he stopped firing, swinging it into the one on the left as he attempted to grab the one on the left with his other hand, however it ducked below his grasp and dashed into his midsection. Arms around his waist and pushing. As Tony was knocked back he dropped the one he was holding. Reaching around he grabbed the one pushing his midsection around its own waist. Squeezing tight he pulled back, flipping himself onto his back and throwing his attacker up through the roof behind him. Tony saw one of the other two suits push himself up into the air with repulsors, activate its energy sword in an attempt to impale him. Moving in a roll red warning lights flashed as the sword nicked his right arm.

Tony swore. He should have compensated for the decrease in mobility, while the Mark 7 was his most physically strongest suit it was the slowest as of a result. Well, slower than everything after the Mark 1. He flicked a switch with his tongue, cutting his speakers so that what he was saying wasn’t transmitted externally. “Jarvis, what the hell was that?” He backed up as a scanner focused on the energy blade, scanning it. He stood with his hands down at his side, ready to move as he and his target circled each other. “It cut right through my shielding.”

“Scanning…” Tony raised his right palm in a repulsor blast as the man charged him, firing the suit of armour deflected it. He fired a couple of more shots in quick succession, then as the blade came down he drove his knee up towards the abdomen of the man. Knocking the suited soldier backwards as he felt another one try and wrap its arms around his shoulder. “Enemy units appear to be utilising some form of repulsor based blade.” Well at least while they were stealing his technology they were doing something new and original with it. A rocket pod came out of his shoulder, turning and firing at the suit behind him blasting it off. By this point all three suits surrounded him again. All of them deploying swords.

Tony moved his legs apart to brace his body as the three of them surrounded him. <”We’ve been expecting you Iron Man. Now prepare to meet your end.*”>

The roof collapsed as three more suits crashed through the roof. This was going ot be a long day.

^{*Translated from Trasnian.}

If I ever wrote a Dummy's Guide on how to become a teenage superhero, the first lesson would be to remember that you aren’t the first one. Just because you’re stronger than a locomotive or faster than a speeding bullet doesn’t mean that you’re the biggest fish in the pond. No, you’re a fish in an ocean and it’s important to remember that the ocean has been longer around than you have.

Let me explain.

Ever since I came on the scene, “ Lightning strikes the same place twice” has become a local saying in Dakota City. Non-Dakotans often mistake the context of the phrase for something else entirely.

That also means I wasn’t the first black electric superhero in Dakota City. Yeah, I know. Shocking, right?

“ See the lightning, feel the thunder.”

That was Black Lightning’s catch-phrase back in the day.

Every local has a different story or anecdote to say about him. How he once saved their pet bird from being electrocuted. How he threw down bolts of lightning like Zeus towards joy-riding robbers. How he once busted a drug ring by himself like a one-man army. I can say that about 75% of them are bullshit and 25% of them have a grain of truth in them. One thing was for certain, though. Black Lightning was so effective that he essentially replaced Dakota’s corrupt police force in protecting the city.

Then, out of nowhere, he disappeared. One of the problems about finding out where superheroes disappeared to is that you don’t know their real identity. Everyone knows what happened after that. Dakota City soon became the crime infested hell-hole that everyone in the Mid-East is talking about. Gangs and syndicates started moving in, some returning and some new, into the free real estate that Black Lightning accidentally provided for them.

Then, the Big Bang came in and suddenly, I’m part of the equation that makes up Dakota City. Just like Black Lightning once was.

Living in the shadow of Black Lightning ain’t a pretty thing. Trust me. It gets annoying when people like to point out similarities between him and me like a game of Spot the Difference. It gets worse when you have to hear the endless amount of theories about connections between me and Black Lightning.

An alien imposter?

A robotic impersonator?

A younger clone?

Time-travel?

His son?

Trust me, I would vastly prefer any bat-shit insane theory over the last one I mentioned.

Because, one nut-job just had to be right.

I am his son.

---

location: Harold's Hardware

time: 4:00 PM

The moment he crashed through the front entrance of Harold’s Hardware was the moment that Virgil realised he was totally out of his depth. Virgil rested in the middle of a wrecked shelf of bathroom appliances, already feeling wooden splinters crawling into his skin. A hand swam into the midst of his blurry vision, a voice speaking out towards him.

“ Hey, do you need a hand?”

Virgil took the hand, calloused fingers locking around soft ones. He grasped it strongly. Bit by bit, he was assisted into standing normally by the stranger who’d helped him. “ A few blinks transformed the blurry brown blotch into the face of a auburn-haired young woman. A spread of freckles covered her cheeks and her frizzy hair shrouded her head like a lion’s mane. Virgil could have sworn that he saw her from somewhere before. Virgil rubbed his face, feeling the trickle of blood leaking between his hands.

The woman looked down towards his hands, alarmed. “ Is that supposed to be happening?”

The veins within his hands were glowing and bulging, errant cobwebs of static discharging erratically from his palms. He checked his inner stores for a moment. Slivers. He bet that if he even tried to cast out a bolt of electricity, sparks would only fly out. Still, it was more than he had previously 20 minutes ago. Looked like playing tag had been useful after all. The Shocker was nowhere to be seen. For now. He shook his head as a reply and was on the beginnings of thanking the girl -

Virgil was then assailed immediately by a crowd of curious customers who barraged him with questions.

“ Oh my god! It’s Static! Can you - ”

“ Could I please get a selfie with you? The 3 of - ”

“ Hey! Hey! You broke my fucking entrance, Static! I’m not paying for th-”

“ Do superheroes get discounts?”

(To be fair, the last one was actually an valid question.)

There was a loud scream as out of the corner of his eyes, Virgil saw something blurring towards him at untold speeds. He swerved to the left as a parking toll gutted through several shelves like a kebab stick, items being flung everywhere haphazardly. The screaming and shouting only added to the chaos. The Shocker was now punching whatever he could find on the street towards him. The sheer momentum that was packed in his gauntlets could transform the most ordinary of objects into deadly projectiles. Virgil’s eyes widened as he saw the Shocker begin to approach an abandoned concrete truck resting near Harold’s shop. The gears began to crunch in his mind as the rubber suited robber’s plan was obvious as daylight.

“ Everyone, get out now!” He shouted towards the crowd of customers as they began to disperse and run out the exits. He managed to catch a glimpse of the girl who helped him. Never even got her name. Virgil’s eardrums burst with the sound of a highway collision as he turned his head towards the sight of a 10-wheeler slamming into Harold’s front entrance and lodging itself between the brick walls like a dam. The ceiling of fluorescent lighting shivered, dimming and brightening in random patterns. A second punch from the Shocker’s fists burst apart the chassis of the 10-wheeler in half, metal shrapnel slicing apart and sticking themselves in the walls. The Shocker strode through the bisected vehicle. Confident. Assured. Luckily, the store was large enough for Virgil to run away in.

“ What’s the matter, Lightning Junior?,” Shocker taunted.“ Out of juice? We all thought you were the living reincarnation of the Energizer Bunny from the way you’ve been acting last month.”

He didn’t know how he’d managed to muster the energy to move even a single muscle or run at this point. Whether it was a benefit of being a Bang Baby or adrenaline, Virgil couldn’t care less as he hid behind a rack of wrenches. Virgil shouted out, his voice echoing through the inner confines of the ruined store.

“ Who’s we?”

“ Oh, some associates of mine. You should be less worried about them and more about you. We were all fine and dandy with your little cops and robbers routine but you’ve been growing bolder. Bigger. We can’t have another Black Lightning: Volume 2 in Dakota City. Too bad copycats often follow the way of their predecessors.”

“ What? You think that I’ll disappear like he did? ” Virgil eyed the escape exit as he began to slowly cross towards him, making sure each of his steps was as silent as possible.

“ No. Which is why I’m here to teach you what it means to be a hero.”

“ Quite an unorthodox teaching style. Smashing walls apart. Were you popular with the kids? ”

“ It did. Made them quiet enough.”

“ For how long?”

“ Enough that they didn’t pipe up in class anymore. Like you’re currently doing right now.”

He was almost the edge of the exit entrance before a whine of circuitry and air-powered vacuums breached the tension.

“Gotcha.”

Virgil suddenly found himself in the position of being off his feet again, a shelving unit slamming painfully into his right side. Something cracked as he was flung into the back of a counter. Virgil groggily stood up to meet the searing heat of agony. It was coming from his left forearm. He hung it out to take a look at it, gritting at the knives of pain that were biting into his elbow. His arm was crooked at the wrong angle, like a child twisting back the arms of a doll. The silhouette of the Shocker came into view, his fingers tapping the underside of his masked chin.

“ Hmph, not symmetrical enough. Maybe, I should break your other arm to balance it all out?”

Virgil then looked upwards at the lights, glaring bright down towards him. The lights. Well, it was a good a chance as any. A bottle of clear solution was next to him. Fortified rubbing alcohol. 100 proof. An orange triangle paper label was printed onto the side. Flammable. An idea began to form in his head. A suicidal one but an idea, nonetheless. He glared towards the Shocker as he began to raise another fist.

“ Thanks for the offer but my insurance doesn’t cover being injured by a punch-happy pineapple.” Virgil grabbed the bottle to the side of him and threw it. A childhood of playing baseball had directed it directly towards the Shocker’s face. It shattered apart on contact. The punch stopped mid-flight. None of the glass shards had cut him but the danger of the bottle was in the contents rather than in the container. He then summoned the last reserves of electromagnetic energy circulating into his body into a single high-current bolt towards the lights. An influx of electricity entered the lighting circuitry of the store, resistors melting apart and circuit-breakers activating as the store was enveloped in a shroud of darkness.

“ Do you know how much the laundry bill is going to be for this costume?” The Shocker stared around in the darkness to look for him, disoriented by the sudden change in lighting. “I guess this makes it more- “

Virgil leveled his right hand towards him, eyes closed, aiming towards his body. A single jolt of electricity leapt from the tip of his index finger towards the Shocker’s suit. He was intending on shocking him but chemistry taught him that alcohol was the most volatile out of all organic molecules. A pool of bright blue flame spread from the point of contact, the alcohol in the soaked suit being lit on fire. “ GAH, YOU SON OF A-, ” The Shocker was currently flailing around, his arm struggling to pry the coat of fire off him but the licks of flame just went through his gloved fingers. Being stuffed in a full-body suit was sweat-inducing but being stuffed in that suit while on fire at the same time? It was like being cooked inside an oven. The Shocker stumbled and ran out in a panic, looking for a way to extinguish himself.

Virgil then ran.

---

location: hemingway high school

time: 12:30 AM

His knuckles rapped several knocks on the room of his dorm room. Virgil hoped that Richie would answer soon, his shattered arm sending pain shooting down his spine with every second wasted. A yawn came out from behind the door before it whined open. Richie’s face blearily blinked, eyes half-lidded as he rubbed his left optic with his fist.

“ Look, V, I’m letting you in after curfew for the last time, so, don’t whine for weeks on end about being caught by security - “

Rich put his glasses on, his tired face immediately shifting into a face of horror.

“ V? Your arm! It’s - what happened to you?”

“ Hey, Rich. Bad time to call a sick day tomorrow?”

Virgil then coughed out, speckles of blood dropping onto the dorm floor. He stumbled forth, his broken arm tethering and tearing him apart. He felt Richie’s hand catch him by the shoulders, distraught voice yelling out, as his vision clouded over with only one remaining thought in his mind.

You lost

Elysian Fields Trailer Park
10 PM

Little Walter could hear his heartbeat in his ears. For the first time in a long time, the big man was scared. He hadn’t truly felt fear since he was thirteen. He hit a growth spurt that summer and towered over all the boys in junior high. Even when he was a prospect for the Crusaders, low man on the goddamn totem pole, he was still the biggest and meanest son of a bitch in the room. He’d stared down Mexican cartel bosses, survived shootouts with rival MCs, been backed into a dark prison corner by a group of black power gangs. But through it all Walter never lost his cool.

But now?

Whoever or whatever the fuck it was that was out here was unlike anything Little Walter had ever seen. Motherfucker tore through their convoy like it was tissue paper, blew up their haul, and disappeared into the night like a goddamn ghost. He didn't think the bat was supernatural like some of the other morons in the MC. But that didn't mean the bat wasn't a serious son of a bitch. Walter double checked the assault rifle he was carrying before taking a few hesitant steps forward. He started down the small alley between two trailers.

He stopped when he heard a thump and a crash from somewhere nearby. Walter squinted and tried to make out any movement in the darkness. He flinched when gunfire erupted. It was the rapid fire of an automatic weapon firing off just a few rounds. Someone yelled in pain as the gunfire stopped.

And that was when the music started. It was coming from somewhere close, but Walter couldn't’ figure out where. It dawned on him and he pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was the source of the music.

“The fuck?”

---

The surprised biker got three shots off with his gun as Bruce rushed towards him. He felt the slugs whiz past his head and cape as he knocked the gun away with his left hand, his right hand punching the biker in the temple. His arm was wrapped around the dazed Crusader’s throat in a chokehold. The man tried to claw at Bruce’s face and eyes but his hands slid off the slick leather and body armor of Bruce’s cowl. The biker's struggling slowed before stopping altogether. He let the unconscious man’s body crumple to the ground. before he took off into the darkness.

“Thermal vision,” he whispered as he climbed on top of a dilapidated single wide. His lenses flickered before switching to the eerie blue hue. He could see heat signatures of over twelve figures in the immediate area. Some cradled guns, others were unarmed. Overhead drone surveillance showed that there were a few more people near the entrance of the trailer park standing guard around the Crusaders' motorcycles.

The closets armed man was just below him in the alley between two trailers. He was taller than Bruce by at least six inches, larger than even Blackwood, and he carried an assault rifle in his large hands. Bruce pressed a few buttons mounted on his left wrist gauntlet. In his HUD, he saw notifications confirming that every biker and a few of the junkies had cellphones. After a few quick taps, he connected with the phones and queued up Sinatra.

Mood Music

He watched as the big man fished the phone from his pocket and tried in vain to turn off the music. He watched the drone footage as the rest of the men with phones tried the same. A smirk appeared on Bruce’s face as he pressed a button. He sent out a signal to the phones that sent an electrical pulse to the batteries, turning each mobile device into a 50,000 volt taser.

Bodies dropped across the trailer park and writhed in pain. He made his move quickly. He leapt from the trailer and hurried through the dark towards the exit. Those he could sneak past he did. Those he had to fight, he fought. One tweaker charged him with a rusty knife. He countered the attack before striking the heel of his boot into the man’s kneecap and driving his face into the ground. Another biker he landed on and spun him to the ground, an armbar breaking his left humerus and shoulder. He was now less than fifty yards from the exit of the trailer park. The only thing standing in his way: Blackwood himself.

“C’mon on out,” Blackwood screamed into the dark. “You done took down everyone else, you son of a bitch.”

Bruce stepped out of the dark. A smile appeared on Blackwood’s face when he saw him. The burly biker held up his shotgun and twisted it into a bow with his bare hands.

“I don’t need no fucking shotgun to take your ass out.”

---

Camden & Young Industrial Electroplating
Gotham Industrial Park
10:15 PM

Selina felt the lock give a millisecond before it made the click. The hinges on the fire door squealed as she pushed it open. Through the door was a giant cavern of space. Selina slowly closed the door behind her as she entered. She imagined the space had once been filled with the machines of Camden & Young, machines that ran around the clock and manned by workers doing their part to keep the wheels of American industry turning.

But that was a long time ago. The machines were long gone and only the sad, empty husk of the building remained. Across the open space was a flight of stairs that led up to a room thirty or so feet above the floor. Back in the day that was the supervisor’s office. Even from this far away she could see the soft glow of light from the door’s window.

Whiz kid Stephanie was able to locate the source of the hacker to the industrial park, but even she was limited by technology. The closest she could narrow it down to was within a six block radius. That was when Selina turned to the riddle left after the hack.

How do you spell candy with two letters?

C and Y.

Camden & Young.

Selina pulled the snubnosed pistol from her purse as she approached the stairs leading up to the office.

---

Elysian Fields Trailer Park
10:20 PM

Blackwood roared as he threw a heavy metal burn barrel at Bruce. The barrel tumbled through the air, fire and ash spilling from it. Bruce rolled out of the way just as the barrel crashed into the ground and exploded in a ball of fire.

“Come on, motherfucker,” Blackwood yelled. He slowly strutted towards Bruce. “Show me what you got!”

Bruce pressed a few buttons on his wrist and the drone swooped in from above, firing off missiles at Blackwood. They hit the biker flush and flew him backwards into a trailer. Bruce pulled a small disk from his utility belt and rushed forward. Blackwood pulled himself out of the wreck of the trailer and shakily got back to his feet. The drone buzzed near him and he reached out. He grabbed it and ripped it apart in a shower of sparks and metal.

“Enough of this bullshit,” he roared.

He ran towards Bruce as Bruce ran towards him. At the last second, Bruce dipped low as Blackwood tried to wrap his arms around him. He slid under Blackwood’s legs and popped up. He scaled the large man’s back and slapped the metal disk on Blackwood’s temple. It let out a high-pitched whine and Blackwood tried to reach it. He froze in place and collapsed to his knees in a spasming wreck.

“Make it stop!”

Bruce ignored Blackwood’s pleas. The disk was designed to send electrical impulses through the body. Low-grade impulses that stimulated the muscles in the body at such high speed and frequency that it incapacitated the person wearing it. For all Blackwood’s metahuman strength, he was still limited by human physiology as everyone else. Same nerves and same nerve endings.

Sirens were beginning to ring out through the area. Bruce could see a fire truck on the overpass where the cargo van had exploded. Off in the distance a chopper was approaching. He saw the spotlight sweeping over the expressway. Bruce mounted Blackwood’s motorcycle, started it with a kick, and sped off into the night.

_{Location: Central City - 4 Months Ago}

Post #1.01: Eddie Thawne

---

"I win." His words had uttered, yet what was happening hardly felt like a victory anymore to Thawne. He might’ve beaten Barry Allen, but with what The Speedforce had told him, it looks like he can’t savor the sweet taste of being the best. He’s not fast enough to go back to his time, and The Speedforce will offer him no refuge from the claws of the timeline - and if he didn’t play along, he’d be neck deep in time wraiths.

So, he was left with but one course of action, there was only one man who could be his savior in this night of chaos. A plane crashed above and debris caused even further panic, as the yellow blur raced through the streets of Central City, to the slums. The most rundown part of town, under the highway that connected Central City to rest of the states. It was called ‘The Face of Central City’ officially, but the natives knew it simply as ‘The Gates’. Fancy facades hiding the drugs and homelessness.

There was one apartment in this complex of divorcees and addicts that was of interest to the renegade speedster. E. Thawne the mailbox read, as he burst through the door, vibrating the lock to pieces. In the bedroom, a blonde, 27 year old man, pale as a corpse laid passed out, a needle in his arm. His name was Edward William Thawne, a divorcee and estranged father. A Janitor at CCPD and a heroin addict. He was set to inherit a billion dollar fortune from his parents, but a falling out left him without a penny from the fortune and a disgrace to the Thawne name - a dynasty of some of the greatest minds of humanity.

Eobard felt disgust run through him as he walked through the apartment and into the bedroom. His gloved hand trailing the frame of the bed as he walked towards the unconscious Thawne. His breathing was slow.. Too slow. Eobard felt Eddies pulse only to find that there was barely one there.

"That’s certainly not good." The speedster mentioned, as he moved his hand towards Eddie’s Chest. Vibrating it to stimulate the heart, a speedsters way of doing CPR. No effect. Eobard’s damaged arm aches and it further angered him, he couldn’t let this Thawne die.

His heart stopped completely, as did his breathing. Thawne’s eyes flashed with red, and his arm swung into the air, coming down like a hammer, staking Eddie with red and yellow lightning, defibrillating his heart and shattering a few of his ribs. Eddie’s eyes shot open and he gasped for air, shock and panic in his eyes, as Eobard smirked for a second, before his expression turned back into a frown.

"You.." Eobard spoke, vibrating his entire body to distort his appearance from Eddie. ”W-Who are you?!” Eddie cried, terrified.

Eobard grabbed him by the arm and jerked him out of the bed, pinning him against the wall with his forearm to his throat. "You pathetic, sorry son of a bitch!." He yelled and Eddie replied with terror in his voice ”Take anything! Take it all! Just don’t hurt me, please!” Eobard threw him to the ground, where he began trying to crawl away, turning around and running on all four away from the speedster, Eobard caught him by the ankle and pulled him back, grabbing him by the chin, his eyes glowing with fierce red light.

"You waste of space, sorry excuse for a human being. You had all of this potential, all of this promise, and you’ve squandered it all! " The man in yellow yelled, twisting Thawne’s jaw, holding his face in place as he tried to squirm away.
"But no more. You will finally be useful."

”Who are you?!” Eddie cried, as Thawne smirked. Piercing his skin with what looked like a syringe, and Eddie’s skin began shriveling away, drained of all essence until nothing more but a husk was left behind. Eobard’s arm healed under the suit, as the other end of the syringe was stuck in his chest. And as he pulled away his mask, his face was now that of the far younger Eddie.

"I’m you." The Speedster said, taking off his suit and hiding it inside of his yellow ring. Now, he had to feign an accident that’d left him in a coma. A Short circuit would do the thing, and his body would radiate enough dark matter to leave a trail that the would-be allies of The Flash would believe.

He hoped.

---

The door creaked open, catching the girl's attention as she looked up to witness a tall man step into the room before gently closing the door behind him. He had on a white dress shirt—the sleeves rolled up to the elbows as was typical with most cops—navy blue pants, and a matching tie. His hair was black, parted to one side to give off a professional vibe, and his eyes were a piercing shade of blue.

"Ms. Roth...or do you prefer Rachel?"

"Rachel's fine."

"Great," he went on, pulling the chair back to take a seat across from her. She had been alone for some time now in the interrogation room, although she couldn't pinpoint exactly how long given that the clock on the wall was broken, the hands permanently stuck at 8:44. "I'm Detective James Rossi, the lead investigator assigned to this case. I'm aware that you gave a quick statement to Officer Lopez, but I'm going to need you to be very specific with me and go into detail. This is your chance to be thorough, Rachel, and whatever you say may guide the beginning of this investigation."

Having seen a handful of crime—related TV shows and movies, Rachel more or less knew the process. She wasn't in any trouble just yet, nothing real solid at least. Detective Rossi would conduct his investigation, and she would either get charged and arrested, or she would walk. But Rachel simply nodded her head, not wanting to incriminate herself in any way. "I will tell you the truth, Detective—" she shrugged, hoping for her sake that he would at least take into consideration her side of the story, "that's all I've got."

She lowered her gaze for a moment, then looked up when Detective Rossi opened the file he had brought with him. As he was reaching for a piece of paper, his movements gradually slowed to a halt, essentially leaving him frozen in time.

"Detective?" her voiced echoed.

"Hello, my child."

"Trigon...what a surprise."

"You know you hurt me when you do not address me properly."

Her vision slowly started to go dark, and an all too familiar silhouette invaded her line of sight. Detective Rossi no longer existed, at least for the moment.



"I see that world is still not treating you well, my dear Raven. Perhaps you will consider joining me—"

"No, no, you always do this. How is it that a prodigious being such as yourself can't grasp the simple concept that we will never work together?"

Trigon remained still for a moment, the quiet, eerie ambience making Rachel slightly uncomfortable. Had she been elsewhere, away from him, she would have been fine, but whenever her father reached out to her, she felt small and vulnerable.

"You will change your mind...you always do."

"I change my mind about a lot of things, but not you."

She was met with silence once more, and the familiar darkness enveloped her to the point where she found it hard to breathe.

"Rachel, are you okay?"

The girl was startled awake in a cold sweat, the increased pulse giving her the sensation of waking up from a vivid nightmare, though in her case, the terror was real. Detective Rossi grabbed her shoulders to practice some form of restraint on her. "Hey, relax! Listen to me you fainted and fell out of your chair, but you're fine now."

She looked around the room and nodded, "Yes, you're right. Sorry."

He eventually helped her get to her feet before advising her he was going to call the paramedics. Rachel insisted she wasn't hurt or in any pain, but he told her neither of them had a choice in the matter as it was policy. Rossi excused himself for a moment and left Rachel alone in the room again. The encounter she'd had with her father replayed in her mind, and she had questions, questions that could only be answered if she were to reach out to him.

_{Quinnjet - Present Day, 15:47}

Issue 1.02.1: The Search

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Issue 1.01.4: War of the Dead

Rogers adjusted the straps of his seat in the back of the quinnjet as Fury turned around in his co-pilot seat. Masters and Romanoff turned their gazes towards the Colonel as he gave a nod when all eyes were on him. ”CCTV footage was able to pick up an image of The Gauntlet near the site of the ancient Roman forum about six hours ago. Local SHIELD agents attempted to apprehend him, but the bodies of two agents were found in the Tiber River two hours ago. We haven’t heard from the other two.”

Masters gave a quizzical look as he raised a hand as if he were in a classroom. ”Permission to speak, Colonel?” Fury simply shot him a look and a raised eyebrow, forcing the agent to slowly lower his hand and simply ask the question. ”Why not mobilize the Hercules and the rest of the Commandos? Wouldn’t there be strength in numbers?”

”If there is a leak in SHIELD, that leak could be on our helicarriers and even among our commandos.” Natasha’s thick accent seemed to overpower Masters’ former question, and he simply gave a nod in response.

Fury gave a small smile as Natasha seemed to be on the same wavelength. ”This mission is strictly off the books. We’ll be breaking off into teams. Romanoff and Carter will report to local authorities and see what information they can provide regarding the incident. See what the coroner’s report states the cause of death was and see if that can give us a lead. Rogers and Masters, you should report in to the local SHIELD safehouse and make sure it is secure. I have an old contact operating in the region that I’m going to check in with.”

The agents all gave a short nod to their commanding officer. Carter began to flip switches at her station, and called out to the others. ”Going dark. We’re sixty seconds from touchdown at the airfield.”

_{Rome, Italy - Present Day, 15:49}

---

As soon as they touched ground, there were three black SUVs awaiting the SHIELD agents. Steve and Tony approached the one in the back with large suitcases in hand. They loaded into their vehicle and rolled out of the airport rather quickly, peeling away from the others as soon as they got on the open road. The new commando took one brief look at the GPS before turning it off and leisurely driving through the outskirts of Rome. There was silence for nearly fifteen minutes as Tony Masters seemed to seamlessly blend in to the hectic Italian traffic. After a while, Steve decided to pipe up. ”Have you ever been to Rome before, Tony?”

”No, I haven’t, Captain Rogers.” Tony’s response was short and formal, which seemed to be a pattern.

Steve just gave a small smile in response. This response was what he expected, but Rogers was determined to get to know his co-worker. ”Before the attack, I served in Europe during the Second World War. Got the chance to visit. Everything looked so different then.” For but a moment, Steve seemed to get lost in his thoughts as he looked out the window from the passenger’s seat. He snapped back to reality and turned his gaze back to Tony. ”Where’s the best place you’ve been assigned?”

Tony kept his eyes on the road for a moment, almost as if he was ignoring his superior. He gave a quick look to Rogers seconds later, flashed a small smile, and looked back to the road. ”When I was recruited by SHIELD, I was stationed in Tokyo. Kept an eye on things there. Enjoyed spending my nights out on the streets.” His face seemed to scrunch slightly as he realized he had shared a little too much, before simply sighing and continuing. ”I took my time off to chase some rumors I had picked up. Some group of international assassins. Superiors said that they couldn’t be brought in for arrest because that was up to local authorities.”

”So you just followed orders? Let them be?”

Tony shook his head. ”No. I couldn’t sit by and watch innocents get killed. So I hunted one down, used his disguise, and took out the rest at their hideout. Fury was waiting for me back at base the next day. Recruited me on the spot and gave me a promotion. Tony took a quick glance to try and get a read on Steve, before finishing it with a simple, ”Now I’m here, Captain Rogers.”

”You can call me Steve.”

The SUV pulled over to the side of the road in front of a rather average apartment complex about a ten minute drive from the heart of the city. ”Right… Well, it looks like we’re here… Steve.”

---

The passage of time through faster-than-light travel would be a difficult thing to try and describe, even if a frame of reference existed. Usually, it didn’t. Ships traversed space through various means. Star gates. Warp gates. Whatever folded space was supposed to mean. But people? People didn’t generally fly between galaxies on their own power.

Billy Batson had become the exception to the rule.

He usually closed his eyes. At that velocity, light really wasn’t a thing. That was the whole point of the faster than part. There were glimpses. Of what? Billy couldn’t have said. Color? Not any that formed the rainbow, that much was certain.

To be honest, he preferred when he was just a passenger. He could kick back on Friday and they could listen to the old Shadow radio dramas or watch replays of Casablanca like it was a movie theater.

You’d think in a galaxy where massive floating ships that traveled faster-than-light were a thing, that someone would have delivered a portable radio or something so that maybe you could listen to music or even the news. Anything to break up the loneliness of solitary space travel.

In silence, in moments between the ticking of the clock, the young Batson catapulted across the stars at speeds that defied the bounds of reality itself. Left with only his own thoughts, the half-remembered dreams that tripped across memories.

...so many memories.

O P E R A T I O N D R A G O O N

---

They’d been fighting non-stop for nearly two weeks now.

As Operation Overlord turned all German eyes to the northern part of France, the opportunity for new gains in the southern reaches of the French Riveria opened up with the fall of Rome. Now, they were working to liberate the ports. The U.S. Third Infantry Division was dug in at Cavalaire-sur-Mer and the French Army was making gains at Toulon.

That left Marseilles.

A shrill whistle cut through the air, before the impact of artillary sent dirt, timber, bits of the road flying through the air. The Panzerkampfwagen IV was the workhorse of the German armored infantry. Twenty-five tonnes moving at twenty-five miles an hour. Two crew served machine guns. And a 75mm main gun that promised a bad time had by all.

The dark haired child darted in a zig-zag pattern through the streets. He had a drab olive green shirt that was the smallest size manufactured by the Army, and was still several sizes too big for him. Someone had pinned the silvery railroad tracks of an Army captain’s rank insignia on him. He was, after all, called Captain Marvel. Not Corporal Marvel or Major Marvel.

He was also currently flying through the air.

No, he couldn’t fly.

He didn’t think so, anyway.

Instead, propulsion for Air Billy was currently being supplied by the 18 pound artillery round that hit him moving at about a thousand miles per hour.

In rapid succession, Billy ripped through the front doors of the local church and then shot out the back of the chapel. He went about another five hundred feet through the air before he began tumbling along the ground until he slumped down into a smoldering pile that lay still for a moment.

“Ow.”

Pushing himself up from the ground, a series of sparks seemed to arc along the boy’s frame. The smoldering of his clothes intensified, as flames started to emerge from the energies that seemed to radiate from the small figure.

Staggering up to his feet, the child took a moment in which to catch his breath. The back of his arm swiped across his face, using his sleeve to wipe his nose. Then, drawing a deep breath, he simply started in a jog forward.

The jog became a run.

The run became a sprint.

Spring from off the ground, the child seemed to take off like a rocket. Not flying, just a massive jump that cleared the top of the church in a single bound. Using the roof of the cathedral as a springboard, the boy pounced over the top of the city streets. Balling his fists together, Billy arced through the air as fiery energies enveloped his small frame.

“PANZER PUNCH BUGGY!”

The boy’s shout cut through the air as he slammed his fist down atop the German tank. The tank seemed to crush like a soda can in the instant before the kinetic energy was unleashed in an explosion that ripped through the streets. Glass rained in a torrent of shrapnel as the windows were blown out in a six block radius.

When the dust cleared, the boy was barely managing to stand in the center of a crater where bits of the German tank littered around. Chest heaving, his clothing burned and torn to mere tatters that either clung or had melted down onto his skin, the child looked out and watched as the second wave of German infantry came into view through the smoke.

Using his sleeves to wipe his nose again, the boy spit onto the ground and uttered, “No take backs…”

T O L M E R I A

---

The boy’s eyes fluttered open.

Had he fallen asleep?

Stretching, a large yawn escaped him even as he glanced around. Just a lot of black. Well, a couple of stars here and there. But a lot of black.

Rotating around, it was a moment before Billy had oriented himself and managed to get his bearings. Assuming the Nega-Bands had done their thing and this was the place, then he’d assume that the planet that was underneath him was this Tolmeria place.

...or was he beneath it?

Geometry was really funky in space.

Whatever the case may have been, the boy pitched himself across the stellar medium. Arcs of fiery energy sparked and seemed to spread from his body as he cross through the radiation belts, where the solar winds were shifted by the planet’s magnetosphere. Friction added a red glow as he felt the upper atmosphere apply resistance to his path through the air. Before long, Billy was ducking from out of the clouds and finding himself tumbling through the air over an alien landscape.

No matter how long he lived, he’d never quite get used to this.

A bright smile lit up his face, a bubbly laugh escaping from out of his lips. A mere thought and low boom accompanied his passage through the sound barrier. He was sailing like a shooting star through the sky.

A hand came up to the link attached to the side of his head. “Captain’s log, stardate whatever point something.”

Why was he recording a captain’s log? He had no idea. They did this kind of thing on that television show. Plus, at this distance, it’d be at least a week before the closest Resistance patrols picked up his message. Hopefully he’d be back before then, but if not it made sense to at least let the folks back home that he’d arrived.

If anything, it was nice to actually have folks back home who’d want to hear from him.

Something on the ground caused the boy to circle back. He found himself lingering over top of a crater. Something about it reminded him of one he’d seen before. A long time ago. “I’ve arrived on Tolmeria. Surface search isn’t turning up any signs of life yet, but there’s definitely been a battle or something here.”

Circling as he elevated himself in the air, Billy was confronted by what seemed a series of similar craters in the surface of the planet.

“Maybe a couple of battles.”

---

The galaxy swam around Thor as he went from point to point, triangulating the location of the nearest Asgardian cache. He used the old way of triangulating the stars, as the Asgardian wayfarer of old. The mortals' computers were impressive, and allowed them to travel in ways Thor had never thought they would be able to obtain. But they still missed the finer details of how the galaxy worked. As always, they were far more interested in how quickly they could do things, rather than doing them correctly.

He studied intently until it clicked for him. The nearest cache was not far at all, and, even better, it held a weapon he was intimately familiar with.

"Finally some good tidings," Thor smile=d to himself. "It is time to begin the hunt."

As he turned to leave the observatory, however, a small tremor seemed to shake the entire station. He steadied himself as Cosmo appeared once again before him.

<Come, god,> the dog's voice permeated Thor's consciousness. <Zhe station is under attack.>

"What foul being would attack a civilian space port!?" Thor raged at the injustice.

<We don't know,> Cosmo grunted. <And that's one of the problems. They jumped in before we could muster our defenses. Our guns can keep the capital ship at bay, but they've dispatched landing ships that have slipped by them.>

"Good," Thor smiled.

<Ve have very different definitions of good,> the do looked at the God of Thunder with confusion.

"If there was no landing party, there would be none to fall by my hands," Thor's smile widened. "And what's the point of a battle if that happens?"

<You need help,> the dog barked. <But if we're going to survive, we'll probably need you.>

"Aye," the god nodded. "I require a weapon."

<Follow me.>



The alarms that began blaring through Knowhere nearly shook Quill out of bed. The pink Kree woman beside him stirred with a fright. He motioned for her to stay in bed as he stood and moved over to the station information screen located in the room. When he turned it on, he quickly found out the situation.

Turning back to her, he asked, "You have somewhere safe to go?"

"Yes, why?" she asked with a tinge of panic in her voice.

"The station is under attack, get there as fast as you can," Quill warned as he made sure his Element Guns were primed for battle. "I've got a job to do."

Peter Quill was nothing if not impetuous. He desired wealth like all pirates, but there was a heroic streak in him. What he desired more than anything in the galaxy was fame. He wanted people to know his name. He wanted them to be in awe of him. Up until this point, that wasn't working out too well, to say the least. But saving the people of Knowhere from some sort of attack? Instant fame for sure.

He twirled his guns and holstered them on his hip, flung his Ravager duster on, and pressed the universal translator unit on his ear, which instantly unfolded and covered his face in a protective mask.

"Time for the legend of Star-Lord to grow!"

With that he kicked open the window, fired his rocket boots, and soared towards battle.



Thor felt the weight of the two Thanagarian swords Cosmo had provided him. They weren't the kind of weapon he'd usually gravitate towards, but they would do in a pinch. Sadly, they were not made of the race's famed Nth Metal. Those would have been a bounty worth celebrating. But in his current state, he could not complain. They would help him fight, and, considering his recent history, he could have used a good one of those.

"Does thou knowest who attacks the station?" he asked the psychic dog as he left the station's armory testing the swing of the swords in his hand. Yes, they would do.

<No,> the dog sounded worried. <Our records don't have a read on zhe larger ship or zhe troop transports. I vas actually hoping you could give us a hint.>

The two of them strode into Knowhere's command center, where aliens of all the different races that called the station home scurried about frantically. Cosmo motioned towards the large hologram in the center of the room, and what Thor saw chilled him to the bone.

There, floating in front of him, was a curved dagger of a ship, which he knew was partially organic. It looked like a wasps nest, with layers of meteoric metals and organic clay folded over top of one another in layers.

"Impossible," he hissed at the sight. "It cannot be."

<Vell it is,> Cosmo retorted. <I take it this is not a happy sight?>

"Aye," Thor nodded grimly. "Those are Chitauri cruisers. The Chitauri were conquering parasites, feeding off one world before moving to the next. They were a powerful fighting force."

<Vere?>

"Aye, my father and I fought what we believed to be the last of their kind defending an Asgardian stronghold," Thor was lost in time, thinking back to that day. He missed his father now more than he had in any moment since Ragnarok. "At least I believed it so."

<Vell, bad news,> Cosmo deadpanned. <You vere wrong.>

"I can see that, dog," Thor gritted his teeth. "But they will not escape this time."

The God of Thunder stormed out onto the streets of Knowhere. Around him the panicked citizens raced for somewhere to find shelter. He could see the defenses of the station firing out towards the cruiser, keeping it from getting close enough to do damage. But he also saw the smaller troop transports making it through the fire, at least some of them. He could see the Knowhere security forces bracing for the troops.

Screams, yelling, and crying filled his ears. Lesser beings would cower at such a situation. Mortal men would have fear in their hearts. But not Thor. Thor felt alive in moments like this. He thirsted for battle.

Raising the swords above his head, he let out a massive war cry.

---

Elektra's mournful, defeated voice played on Matt's mind as he followed Harry Ricci, Mob Lawyer, along his winding night-on-the-town. He played the short, awkward conversation over and over in his mind, only paying half-attention to the movements of his target - but enough to notice that, despite bouncing from bar to bar to bar all evening - the better part of four hours since finding him initially - the smell of alcohol was one that merely clinged to Ricci, rather than originated from him. When the wind hit him Matt could smell only cola, not bourbon, on his breath, and his heartbeat had been the elevated thudthudthud of a stressed and anxious man all night, and not the lax thump - thump of a sedated drunkard like many of the other patrons of the bars and club that Ricci had visited this evening. They were making a slow, winding path downtown, inching ever closer and closer to the address that had been whispered to Ricci some hours earlier; but Matt couldn't help but wonder why he bothered with the charade of trawling the clubs at all, rather than heading straight to the end destination. It reeked of suspicion. It reeked of a trap. Matt double checked his positioning, ensuring he was following at a safe distance, reassuring himself that he hadn't been made. The trail continued to the next block over - 35th - and as Ricci entered yet another bar, Matt chose the moment to softly descend from the rooftop via a fire escape on the exterior of the building. He hit the ground with a crunch and crouched low, hunkering down behind a large dumpster to wait for Ricci. The address was now just two streets over; Matthew had no doubt this bar was the last before the end destination, and whatever or whoever lay there for Ricci.

Matt wasn't sure what to prepare for, but he poised on the balls of his feet and hovered his hands over the holsters of his batons on his thighs nonetheless; the night was noisy, thick with the smell and heat of drunkards young and old. Matt lost himself in them, letting his senses wander the street, astrally moving from couple to couple, in and out of bars. A whiskey chaser and laughter at the one friend who chucked it down the wrong pipe and now spluttered, heat blossoming on their cheeks. A jibe and a joke as a group left one bar and debated on the next, each member arguing for their own suggestion and deriding the others. A couple sitting across from each other, a glass of wine each, fingers wordlessly intertwined and a heat building at their cores as the woman used her legs to play with her partner's. Two long-time friends reuniting, arguing over who gets to purchase the first round, a warm, loving tone in both voices, before the decision is made and four drinks are bought, a clink of glasses saying more than either of them could put into words. All of this surrounded Matthew, a living, breathing city of good people with kind hearts.

But surrounding that was the darkness Matthew fought against. Up high in the flats above him, there were sobs as a husband drunkenly berated his wife and son. In the next building over, halfway up, two young men - too young to be in this world, but involved all the same - compared guns and knives and organised weed, cocaine, and heroin for a night of selling. Two streets over, shivering women in provocative clothing solicited passing men, their hearts thudding with cold and anxiety about bringing enough money back to their pimp. It was always there, cloying and clawing at Matt's mind, an underlying decay that threatened to rot away the very foundations of the city and bring it all down until everything sunk into the murky pits that the bad men and women of Hell's Kitchen called home. He would not - could not - allow them to hollow out his city any more. He had made small progress since beginning his crusade, the saviour of the people, beating back would-be muggers and rapists, assaulting laundering operations or arms deals. But these were simply symptoms of a greater illness; now, Matthew needed to be the cure to the disease, not the medication to treat it. He needed to go after the biggest fish he could. The assault began here and now, with Ricci and his mysterious contact.

The door to the bar Matt was watching from his vantage point in the alley across the street swung open, and from it erupted sound and smells, but Matthew cared only about the smell of Ricci's cologne and the sound of Ricci's heartbeat. The cologne was tinged with a nervous sweat now, and his heartbeat had elevated to an even higher level. Matthew was worried his mark might pop and have a brain aneurysm before they reached the meeting point.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Ricci's brain remained unruptured as he stepped out of the bar and let the door close behind him, straightening his tie as he looked up and down the street both ways. Matthew waited for a few tense moments, holding his breath unconciously, and then Ricci turned and began walk to their final destination, one block over. 34th and Lexington; a nondescript street with a bodega and laundrette on one side, and low-income apartment buildings on the other. There was a service alley down the side of the bodega and Matthew could already feel the presence of someone there, a low heat and a steady pulse as they waited patiently. Ricci beelined for the alleyway, and Matthew tensed up in anticipation. This was it.

The man nodded as Ricci approached and then he asked, as previously instructed, for a 'house special with a sour twist'. The contact nodded again, and wordlessly retrieved something from his coat before handing it to Ricci. It seemed to be some manner of large envelope, but it was bulky and Matthew heard a rattle from within as Ricci gripped it, a sound that seemed familiar to him but he was somehow unable to place within the context. Whatever was in that envelope, it was what Ricci had arrived for. The contact spoke as Ricci tore the top of the envelope off and peered at what was inside. His heartbeat spiked again, and now Matthew began to move across the street to the alleyway, his own pulse rising as he prepared for action.

"You've done excellent work thusfar, and he extends his gratitude. He asks you for only for one final favour."

Ricci gave him a long stare, and then nodded with a particular sense of finality.

"The organisation thanks you for your commendable loyalty. Naturally, we all wish you good luck."

The contact left and Matthew waited for Ricci to move before he approached - but Ricci didn't move, he just stood in the alley alone, clutching his envelope and...waiting. Matthew grew impatient. He removed his batons from their holsters and stepped around the corner, quiet and menacing, letting his boots crunch on the badly-kept ground of the alleyway to announce his presence, doing his best to appear intimidating and frightening. Ricci pushed his hand into his envelope as he turned around and Matthew immediately broke into a sprint as he realised where he recognised that metallic rattling and slight clinking. Ricci had pulled a pistol out, and as the envelope dropped to the ground he stretched out his arm and pulled the trigger haphazardly, squeezing it over and over. Matthew threw himself into a slide underneath the first two bullets, feeling the air split in front of them and the shockwaves of pressure left behind them, the white-heat of the shot lingering in the gun's barrel before exploding again and again and again, every new shot another cacophony that overwhelmed Matt's mind; from the slide he slung himself into a sideways roll before springing up and pushing a boot against the wall to vault backwards. Sparks and mortar flew as a bullet crumpled against brick where Matthew had been mere moments before - and as Matt practically flew through the air, propelled by adrenaline alone, he swung his batons down on Ricci's arm, shattering the radius bone and putting his shooting arm out of action. Matt landed to the side and flipped, bringing his boot aggressively into Ricci's chest and taking him to the floor, before following the fall with his baton again, this time cracking ribs. The gun clattered to the floor, and Matthew stood slowly, looming over the panting Ricci. He made a vague clawing at the discarded pistol with his non-broken arm, and Matt stepped on his wrist with an aggressive amount of pressure, letting Ricci squirm and groan for a few seconds before he dropped and drove his knee into the side of his head, knocking Ricci unconscious, and allowing Matt to search his body.

There wasn't much; change and small notes from the bars, a balled up napkin that reeked of sweat, a wallet with a few business cards and very little else. In his left jacket pocket, however, Matt found a phone - modern, sleek. No case. He flipped the silent switch on the side off and pressed the home button, feeling the faintest whirring from within as it fired up out of standby, but there was no forthcoming click as the phone unlocked; he pressed the home button again, and the phone gave out a slight vibration. Entry locked. He had a good idea how to gain passage however; reaching down, he took the broken arm of Ricci in hand - the dominant hand, he made an educated guess at, as it had been the hand Ricci had taken the pistol in initially - and pressed the thumb against the home button. The phone unlocked, and Murdock dropped the arm, to a significant groan from the groggy, semi-unconcious Ricci. He held the home button down until the voice command system activated.

"Activate text-to-speech dictation." The phone dinged with an affirmative. "Open messages." The phone made a swishing sound as the relevant app opened, and at this point, began to dictate the names of those whom Ricci currently held conversations with. Matt listened with growing impatience as the phone listed known low-level mob thugs, local business, several different females including one that shared Ricci's name...and then it said 'Kingpin', with as much anticlimactic aplomb as Matthew would expect a waiter reading the day's special soup for the fifth time in one dinner order. His heart skipped a beat, and he opened his mouth to say, 'Open my conversation with Kingpin', but only got as far as "Open-" before he heard Ricci's weight shifting behind him with a considerable groan, and then that metallic clank of the gun being picked up from the ground, and how could he have been so careless to not have kicked it away, clenching the phone in hand as he tensed his legs to dive out of the way of the incoming bullet-

There was a gunshot that felt louder than any of the shots before it, but Matthew felt no air splitting in his direction, no belch of heat towards him. He heard a wet, squelching sound; the unmistakable thick trickle of blood hitting ground; a low, moaning gurgle. The smell of fresh blood exploded forth, and he heard Ricci's pulse quiver and become thinner and faster - and then there was a final, sickening thud and a following clatter of metal on concrete.

Matt turned around. He already knew where the last bullet had gone, and it mattered little now. Angry as he was, any frustration or rage at lost answers - or even lost lives - was impotent and irrelevant. The phone pinged, vibrating as it rang and dictated its call aloud.

'INCOMING CALL FROM: KINGPIN'

Matthew answered, and brought the phone to his ear. He couldn't bring himself to find appropriate words. He wasn't sure he needed to. The dulcet, menacing tones of his nemesis soon erased all other thoughts from his mind.

"I am so sorry that we must first meet in such unpleasant circumstances. Believe me, were your self-imposed involvement in my affairs not to have come at such... inopportune a time, I may have admired your...tenacity. Alas, your indomitable efforts have proved an unbearable thorn in my side, and so, the time has come for such an opponent to be...removed. Obviously, my men have found themselves...outmatched, in the past. And it would seem that subterfuge, though poorly executed, still underestimates your abilities. And so, we have come to the only remaining solution to you, my final problem."

Matt cleared his throat. "I am far from your final problem. Even if you kill me, there will be more that come for you. And I will not go down easy."

Through the phone, Kingpin chuckled, and Matt struck the wall with the baton in his free hand, removing a chunk of brick at the impact point."Please, have no doubt that I will kill you. But before that...inevitable end, I will first make an example of you. I will show the world that those who seek to hinder me will lose...everything. You see, this city is mine. And it shall remain. Mine. What you do now is of no concern; you have already chosen your fate, and the fates of others, through your actions. There is a universal truth, Mr. Murdock. And it is that everything...everything. Has consequences."

The phone hit the ground before the line went dead. Matthew was already running.

---

’...With a drop in stock price in Stark Industries since the sighting of Iron Man flying into Trasnia, Starks second hand man Obadiah Stane has been seen meeting with other members of the board. So far they have been unavailable for comment…’

---

---

A rocket launched from a shoulder mounted launcher, hitting one of the five suits head on. It was sent careering out of the crumbling building. As the Iron Men started to approach him Tony took to a knee, an extension popping out both of his wrists as a red laser was shot out, he spun on his heel sending the beam all around him. His opponents moved to dodge or block. The beam cutting straight through steel and concrete as it came into contact with the building. <”Is that all you’ve got Stark?”>

If they could only see the smug look- Wait. What did they call him? The building collapsed, and before Tony could begin to process that they had called him by his name he kicked in his repulsors and shot out of the rapidly approaching roof. The building collapsing in on itself, landing straight on top of the Iron Men. Jarvis instantly began scanning the wreckage for any sign of movement. He flicked off external comms. “Jarvis. Is your translation software working properly?”

“Yes sir. Somehow these adversaries appear to know who you are I- WARNING! INCOMING HOSTILE!”

Tony grunted as a suit collided straight into his back, driving him down towards the ground at full thrust. Putting his hands out in front of him Tony expelled a blast of energy that forced the two of them to flip. Instead of slamming into the ground he instead slammed into a suit of armor that slammed into the ground. He rolled himself off the top of the armor. “Status-hng-Status report.”

“ armor shielding is down to 67%. Scans indicate there may be some minor bruising internally. Long range scans indicate inbound aircraft. I recommend withdraw-”

“Not going to happen.” He picked himself up as the Iron Men started to crawl out of the rubble, left foot forward and right back he stood side on to them. Braced for their move. Two propelled themselves in the air, while two started running straight at him. All with swords poised straight for his chest. Left arm forward he closed his fist, pulling on the imaginary trigger as the gatling gun powered up letting loose with energy pellets directed at the two charing at him on the ground. They ducked and split, focusing fire on the one on the left he raised his left hand, palm open firing a repulsor beam at the other. When he missed he tried another. The second shot collided, sending the suit tumbling off course as Tony had to dive backwards to prevent from being impaled from the two flying suits. Swinging his arms low he grabbed them both by a leg each, slammed them into one another and then tossed them aside like a toddler bored of a toy.

The last suit charged sword raised. Tony aimed a punch at the gut, then grabbing the helmet pulled. He almost threw up when there was a loud crrrrrrruuuunch. That’s when the helmet came off. Revealing no person inside. “What the…” He looked at the underside of the helmet that was still in his other hand. It was a robot. He looked around at the other suits as they attempted to return to their feet. It suddenly made sense, how they worked so well in unison. The occasional clunky movements. He smiled inside his helmet. He had been holding back because he thought that there were people in these suits. No more. Stood in a brace, legs shoulder width apart. “Now Jarvis!”

Two pods popped out of his upper back, a cluster of small missiles launching into the air. Reaching their apex they turned and started careering back down. AS they neared the ground the head of the missiles opened and five smaller warheads dropped. Tony dropped to a knee, the resulting explosion still shocking him to hise core. Warnings flared up all over his hud as the suit attempted to compensate for the amount of raw kinetic energy it was absorbing. The lights flickered off for a second. “WARNING! Suits shielding systems are dis-dis-dis-dis-dis-disabled.”Tony walked through the rubble, approaching one of the destroyed suits. It lay with its electronic guts spilled out among the rubble.

He picked up one of the helmets. “Aircraft are two minutes out sir.”He dropped it as light came out of the helmet, a hologram of a balding man appearing. A scar strewn across his face. Yuri Petrovich. The so called liberator of the Trasnian Nation.

“I have been waiting for you Iron Man.” His voice was heavy and metallic, cold and calculating. Honestly Tony couldn’t tell if it was the helmets speaker or the man himself that sounded menacing. Thick with accent that belonged in a sixties movie about Russian spies. “I am surprised you managed to refrain from sticking your nose in my business earlier. After all you aren’t exactly known for restraint Stark.” He spat the name out. The real question was how did he know. Only one person alive knew his secret identity and that was Rhodey, and he wouldn’t tell anyone his identity. Someone else had a theory, a suspicion. That’s all it had to be, and he couldn’t let on that it was the truth.

Tony clicked his mic on activating his external speakers. “Your English is good, I’ll give you that. You’re using my employers tech to kill and maim your own people. He can no longer allow this, stand down. Or I’m coming for you Petrovich.”

“Warning! Detecting incoming signal!”

“What kind of signal?”

“Goodbye Iron Man.” Tony looked down at the chest piece of the suits as they flashed red. A low whining started building up from within the chests of the suits.

---

STARK CORPORATE HQ - SAN FRANCISCO

Obadiah Stane sat with a glass in hand, swirling the golden liquid contents. The cubes of ice clinking against one another and the glass itself. He raised the tip of the glass to just below his nose, the aroma jolting his senses. The bitterness striking a cord in his brain. The two other members in the room sat looking at him. Eric Lynch. Empty husk of a man, yet surprisingly deceitful. The man didn’t have a creative bone in his body, but he knew how to navigate the corporate structure and how to make money. It’s why Stane brought him onto the board shortly before Tony inherited the company. He needed a public enemy for Tony, while he himself kept working on things behind the scenes.

Abraham Zimmer, the old man in the corner was his biggest opposition. His own company had been failing, some form of non-profit. Tony had seen some kind of value in him and had brought him in, as much as Obadiah hated to admit it the man did have a way with people. The biggest problem with the bleeding heart was that they couldn’t openly discuss some of their deals in board of director meetings anymore. Instead they had to sneak around for fear of discovery, whereas before Tony’s change of heart after Afghanistan they openly plotted against him. He was their biggest opposition.

Simon Gilbert wasn’t so much as opposition as competition. Another long term friend of Howard, Gilbert was ruthless and deceitful. Had their plan to be rid of Tony been successful then Gilbert would no doubt have had a plan to take him out as well to leave him as the president of the company. Given a suitable amount of grace time between the two killings of course. “It’s safe to assume that Tony isn’t going to make a surprise return for this meeting, so shall we just start?”

He looked around the room as everyone nodded. “The stocks taken another dive after Iron Man was sighted in Trasnia. Tonys not out of town, we need to address this now. Kords tech demonstration is coming up, and Luthor will no doubt be close on his tail. We need to put something new out there and fast.” Eric nodded while Abraham just stroked his beard, looking pensive. It was Simon that spoke first.

“The announcement that we will be selling weapons to S.H.I.E.L.D is a step in the right direction. At least Tony hasn’t lost his mind completely, even if it would have been nice for him to inform the board beforehand.” He threw a look at Obadiah that would melt anyone of lesser mettle than a Stane.

“That was unforeseen, and while it will give our profits a boost we still need to think about long term gains. As far as we know we’re not releasing any form of new product to the general public. The Jocasta virtual assistant is still one of the most popular for smartphones and offices across the world when compared to our competitors. Despite this we’ve probably peaked at the potential profit from that line of thinking.”

Simon looked around the room. “I’m going to be the one to say it. We need to get Tony to get us the plans to the Iron Man armor. Shield are practically drooling to get their hands on that tech, not to mention the Marines, Army, Airforce… and that’s just in this country. Not to mention the possible developments in other technologies the armor gives us.”

“I agree, however Tony isn’t going to give us the design of the suit.” Obadiah stroked his beard as he took a minute to think through what was going on. “We have teams of people attempting to engineer the technology based on what we have, and what we’ve seen. With, mixed results.” Simon gave him a knowing look, whereas Eric just nodded and Abraham looked between the three of them.

“I for one think what Tony is doing is probably the best course of action. Keeping the platform only for someone he trusts, and using it to clean up the mess that Stark Industries has created all over the world. Let us not forget that somehow weapons that this company designed are still getting into the hands of criminals and terrorists.” Obadiah had to refrain from rolling his eyes. How Abraham had ever managed to own a multi-million business he’d never know, though it was understandable how he had managed to run it into the ground. “The point is we’re already seeing what a weakened variety of this technology can do in Trasnia right now. If the actual Iron Man armor was replicated and mass produced? I’d hate to see what that would look like.”

“You can’t really be so naive Abraham. If Trasnia proves anything it proves that this technology is already out there, it already exists. We need to get it into the hands of the right people.” Finally Eric spoke up, a subtle point as always. There was no speaking off profit, only of saving lives. That was exactly how you spoke to Abraham. He was good. Abraham just nodded to the suggestion.

“Matter of the fact is. This company needs to do something. The Iron Man suit is the obvious answer to all our problems. Increasing profit for the company, as well as protecting people from terrorists and super villains. Rumour has it Kord scientists have… something that could be a potential weapons platform. I don’t know what exactly it is, or if it’s any real competition to the Iron Man armor but we need to jump on this before someone else picks this up.” Obadiah took a sip of his drink, the cold liquid burnt its way down his throat. Warming him from the inside. Tony always bought the best stuff, he had to give him that.

“The Arc Reactor-” Before Abraham could even finish his thought Simon stepped in.

“The Arc Reactor is not going to make us the same kind of money the Iron Man suit will.” Obadiah ground his teeth together. That complete and utter ignorant fool. Bringing money into the equation, that was just going to make Abraham harder to deal with.

“The Arc Reactor is a viable project. With the construction of Stark Tower in New York City underway, the newly built reactor should be able to power the entire skyscraper on green, clean energy as well as the surrounding blocks. We’re just waiting for our lawyers to get approval to plug it into the grid. Obviously the power companies are giving us a bit of push back about it.” Abraham turned to simon with a scowl. “While I agree that it may not be the as instantly profitable as selling a killing machine to governments around the world, it’s a more noble cause. Sometimes that is more important Simon.”

Erik cleared his throat raising hands at both Simon and Abraham. “Now Gentleman, this infighting is getting us nowhere. Let us focus on the clear issue presented by everyone here, and agreed upon. We can come back to the Arc Reactor in a moment, Abraham?”

Abraham nodded at Erik, and Obadiah had never felt more proud, or glad to have brought Erik on board. As Erik nodded at him Obadiah placed his glass down on a coaster, a single droplet of condensation crawling down the glass towards the piece of wood. “Gentleman. I propose we bring an ultimatum to Tony. As much as I hate to say it-” Obadiah paused, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. All for dramatic effect of course, to show that he really cared what he was thinking about. That this was a hard decision, in truth he had been waiting to do this for months. “-We should call for a vote of no-confidence and have one of us replace him as president. He’s jeopardizing the company-” He looked directly at Abraham “-the livelihoods of all our workers-” he turned now to Simon “-and everything we’ve built. In order dress someone up to play Superhero. We should demand access to the Iron Man technology-” He raised a hand as he could see Abrahams lips about to move.

“-not for replication, but for study. We can decide what to do with it once we have access. We should also demand the name of the pilot, so that we can have him recognised as a hero to the American people. More importantly we need to distance ourselves from these recent judgement calls. Tony Stark is going to bring the government down on us, hard. We can’t let him sink this company.”

He placed his hands on the table, head held low. Holding it, needing to look remorseful. Not for Erik or Simons benefit, they needed a full vote to replace the president of the company. This was for Abrahams benefit, if he could convince him that this was really in their best interest, and not just financially. They would have it. “What say you my friends?”

---

”...Warning to viewers. Some may find this content disturbing.” The screen changes to a shaky cam, in the middle of a debris ridden village. In the centre of the village stand five Iron Men. Their armour rough, grey. Nothing on the sleek design that Iron Man possesses. A bald man stands with his back to the camera, turning as it approaches. In his hands, Iron Mans helmet. A crack in it from the top of it’s temple all the way down, burn marks all over it. He steps to the side to show the rest of the Mark 7 armour, battered, bruised and covered in scorch marks.

“I warned him, I warned the UN.” The man’s accent is thick, and heavy. Subtitles follow at the bottom of the screen. “Iron Man is no more. Send more of your heroes to Trasnia and they will suffer the same fate. I have no wish to expand my borders, all I wish is for my people to live in peace and prosperity. I am doing what needs to be done.” He threw the Iron Man helmet away. “You have been warned-” The footage cut out.

The video returned to that of the news anchor, on the right hand side of the screen an image taken of Iron Man. “There has been no official statement from Stark Industries, or Tony Stark regarding the announcement that Iron Man has been killed. The UN have called an emergency assembly after satellites picked up a large explosion in the town of Velinsky near the Sokovian border that nearly levelled the town, the very explosion that is believed to have caused the… death of Iron Man. We’ll keep you up to date as the story progresses, now over to Sandra in New York, where a so-called vigilante ‘The Man-Spider’ broke into the Daily Bugle headquarters…