---

---

The sound had faded into the background, pulsing in the night air but much too far for Peter to hear anything but the barest thump of the beat. Instead, he had to think about the bleating wails of the sirens and arcs of blue and red light that seemed to shoot up from behind every house on the block. The road was shaded from the moonlight by rows of trees, black branches stood out like strangling fingers squeezing the starlight.

He pounded down the road, focusing on every footstep as it came and the shock of each footfall jumping up his thighs. The sky had finally settled in color to black glass, twinkling with whatever gasps of light that weren’t choked in smog or tree cover. Every step was getting a little longer, less like a hobble and more like a leap as he settled forward into the neighborhood. He eyed a sturdy-looking branch and bounced forward off both of his feet, launching a webline forward. It was a clean miss, arcing past the branch and snagging onto the next. No no no--

Peter swung, kicking his legs to try and readjust as he careened into a backyard sliced apart by spotty mower work. The line gave and he fell, crashing into a plastic playhouse and scattering shards of plastic across the green.

“Okay… Maybe no swinging yet…” He groaned as he kicked aside the green plastic door and tumbled out of the playhouse’s blown out remains. His feet smacked against the grass and he was going again, jogging for the road. He hopped up and pulled himself over a wooden fence, sucking in his belly and keeping it from the sharp tops of every spiked bar of the fence.

The new neighborhood was quieter, with nubby trees shrunk into themselves and little brick houses with scrappy lawns lain out before them. The police lights weren’t as strong here, now just blue and red suggestions from neighborhoods far away, sirens pinging off into nothing. Maybe I’m actually getting away! There was something else though, on the edge of his perception. It didn’t sound like a cop car, an engine roaring like a beast with no accompanying siren, the sound tearing through neighborhoods and rebounding off of drywall, spiraling around him, drawing closer. Then were was --? Something in our head.

Peter shuddered and hit his hand against his head, trying to shake the nagging feeling, like a gnat buzzing around his ears. Like for the briefest moment, there was something else there with him, another skin slinking over him, feeling him, controlling him. It was gone just as soon as it arrived, awareness washed over and gone again. But there was still the engine bearing down on him, with renewed focus. He bolted for the other side of the street. Whoever they were, they probably wouldn’t run a rut through some random jobber’s neighborhood. He jumped forward and stumbled across the concrete, nearly tumbling over. He righted himself and set back into a jog, vying for the safety of a random backyard. Any other time, this would be a piece of cake, but now…?

It was too late for the backyard, the car careened around a corner and seemed to lock onto him, a red convertible with a gurgling engine and two indistinct passengers inside. It wasn’t like any undercover car Peter had ever seen, it was all flash and muscle. Coming to think of it, Flash Thompson drove one just like it. The car surged forward and Peter stumbled backwards. He kicked against the concrete and ran as the car wrought huge, ugly skidmarks into the pavement. Something shifted and his Spider Sense went off like firecrackers in his head.

“Hey, pal, you got mail!” A woman’s voice echoed through the neighborhood as he chanced a glance behind him. Trash bins were sailing through the air right for his head, filled to burst with banana peels and discard k-cups dropping as they rocketed towards him. Peter was moving to dodge them the instant they registered; he shot himself into the air and seemed to hang for a moment as the first bin shot beneath him. He kicked off of it and it exploded against the ground while he launched further, backflipping up and over the second bin. Ha! Nice moves, Spider-M--

White plastic and reams of paper slammed into his back like an oversized fist as the mailbox hit and Peter hit the ground, bouncing across the road like a rock across a pond in a flurry of envelopes.

“Every time…” Peter pulled someone’s credit score report from his face and turned to the car bearing down on him. He could see the drivers now, a girl with flowing red hair, and a boy with ruby red sunglasses. They were… Kids? Either way, they were about to make him roadkill. Peter flopped onto his back, facing the car gunning for him. Think Parker, think…

He aimed as best as he could for the wheel bays and unloaded with all the webbing he could muster. His fingers hit his palms over and over again as globs of web shot out to strike the front wheels.

Ted Kord, Genius, billionaire playb-- well, not a full playboy, more of an aspiring playboy. Maybe a playtoddler? No, that’s ridiculous. I mean there’s probably some gold diggers who’d be willing to tune out overly long conversations about nanotechnology’s future in an expanding green new world interspersed with frequent references to Monty Python’s Flying Circ-- No. No there aren’t. There’s easier money out there. Even Anna Nicole Smith only had to dole out the occasional geriatric spongebath, not constant droning verbal torture… Let’s try this again…

Ted Kord, Genius, billionaire… single and available… CEO of Kord Omniversal and aspiring new tech-based superhero has just declared his company’s major flagship product for the next year will be a sophisticated car and personal security system.

Abner Jenkins, married, crusty old Chief Financial Officer, inventor of the B.E.E.T.L.E suit - something which, in Tony Stark’s refusal to release the Iron Man armour, could potentially sell like hotcakes as the most desirable product for any nation’s defence force. He’s more than a little miffed at Ted’s decision.

Ted Kord, ever the sensitive soul, didn’t like where the two left off at that Annual Flagship Product Meeting and looked to extend an olive branch, calling Jenkins and leaving a message for him. He has not returned his call. Hup… spoilers I suppose. It’s not a big one though.

Meanwhile in New York City, “Frank” Farley Fleeter, Head of the floundering Farley Fleeter Advertising Agency, is being leveraged by some shadowy big business type to steal Kord Omniversal’s big product on show at the New York Science Expo before it can be announced to the world. A product which he has been led to believe is the B.E.E.T.L.E suit, with the presumed intention of clearing the field for said shadowy big business type to put some other killamajig in its place - although presumably not called a killamajig, the name probably wouldn’t test well when run through marketing. Fleeter responded by getting all hands on deck at the remains of his company - 6 people - and planning a heist with his fellow “Madmen” (don’t ask…) with a piece of the Farley Fleeter Advertising Agency senior partnership pie as the prize for any and all participants.

And that’s where we are… well, there’s other bit players involved, like “Who did Abner Jenkins call instead of Ted?”, “Who were those other board members you told me about, but now seem conspicuously quiet about?” and the whole “Ted’s father’s brain slowly and prematurely turning to mush” thing, not to mention “What was that whole smart home shower scene? Did you really just write that whole scene just to make a bunch of immature jokes about having an automated shower/blow dryer’s potential use for graphic self-gratification?”... but I’m frankly a little irritated that you managed to get the Abner Jenkins never called Ted Kord back spoiler out of me, so those questions and points will have to wait.

So without further ado…

---

---

K . O . R . D . E A S T D I V I S I O N - A D M I N I S T R A T I O N W I N G

---

^{Present Day | Boston, Massachusetts}

Ted Kord stepped out of the elevator and stopped by the desk of Angela Revere. He waited behind her desk with a smile whilst her keyboard tapped as she hurriedly finished her task.

“Oh, Mr Kord! I’m sorry. Here are your messages.”

She handed him a small stack of index cards, which contained the names of callers and the content of whatever message they had to pass on to the C.E.O.

"Angela, I’ve told you before... ‘Ted’ is fine.” He repeated his daily request to her as he thumbed his way through the index cards. “Hmm…”

“Any problems, sir?” Ted cringed slightly at the ‘sir’, before shaking it off. “Has Abner Jenkins tried to call through at all?”

“No sir. Should I be expecting a call to come through?” Angela replied, as the C.F.O had not called. (***Again, sorry about the spoilers...***)

“No.” Ted said, leaning back in contemplation, thumbing through the cards once more to make sure that no two were stuck together on the first pass. “He probably just figured he’d see me around the office at some point and would see me in person during the day.”

“Any specific plans for lunch today, Mr Kord?” Angela asked.

“Ted.” He once again gently corrected. “There’s no lunchtime meetings today, and I was cooped up in the office most of the day yesterday… No need to set up anything today, I think I’ll take a walk outside today. Around one-ish? I’ll pick myself up something while I’m out.”

“Yes sir, Mr Kord.” She returned to her typing, as Ted walked into his office and closed the door behind him.

“Cheat day at Big Belly Burger it is...” The secretary said to herself, making a mental note of Ted’s dietary calendar as she returned to composing a company-wide memo about the upcoming New York Science Expo.



Ted finished getting caught up on his daily activities and responding to messages and requests by 10:30. He used his phone’s intercom to check in with Angela who confirmed there were no further new messages since he’d last requested them. “No sir, not even from Mr Jenkins.” He ended the call and slapped at his desk rhythmically. Feeling restless he got to his feet and decided to check on the engineering pool. He grabbed his suit jacket and opened the door.

“Early to lunch, Mr Kord?” Angela asked.

“No, no. Not yet. Just thought I’d do the rounds and check on some of the workers.”

“The engineers, then?” Ms Revere knew him well. Ted had friendships and relationships with the workers there from when he first came to work at the company, well before his father had put him on the executive fast track.

“Well, yes…”

“I’ll call Ms Case then.” Angela picked up her phone.

“I hardly think that’s necessary.”

Angela looked over her thick rimmed glasses at Ted.

“Has she asked you to do that? I mean, come on--”

Angela’s gaze held.

“Oh my God. She’s asked you to call ahead anytime I’m coming? Are you kidding me?”

Her eyes softened. “I don’t think it’s anything personal, Ted. But she is supposed to be in charge on site there. And when you come in as often as you do…”

“She thinks I’m undercutting her?”

“She thinks you’re a distraction. And when the workers get all buddy-buddy with the upper management boss, she feels it-- hurts her effectiveness to manage the workforce there.”

“This is ridiculous. This is my company and I have to call ahead? What, am I supposed to sit up in my ivory tower and just get reports in on the local peasantry? That’s absurd! They’re a building over. I’m going.”

“Ted…” Angela pleaded, looking back up at him through her glasses frames which seemed to make her eyes double or triple in size. “Please let me call. It’s a courtesy.”

He looked down at her and sighed. “Do what you need to, Angela.”

She started dialing whilst Ted walked to the elevator.

“And don’t think I don’t know what you do when you give me that glasses look.” He said, calling back to her. “I’m still the boss here!”

“Good morning, Mr Kord!” Said one of the young employees from Public Relations.

“See!” He pointed at her. “Still the boss! Respect commanded!”

The elevator door opened. He walked in and turned around.

“Now please call ahead so that I can see the Research and Development engineers in my Research and Development company...” He called back to Angela as the elevator doors closed.



It took Ted ten minutes to make the brief trek to the Engineering wing, after he’d slapped the guy working the security desk in the lobby five and told him he was going to need the Corporate seats for the Celtics back with the season done. “Next year, Leon, even with no Kyrie, we’ve got the young kids another year older and wiser.”, “Catch you on the way back, Ted. I’ll bring the tix in tomorrow.” A smile to the lady working the lobby reception. “‘Morning Rachel.” and out the sliding doors.

The courtyard between K.O.R.D buildings was sparsely gardened, focused mainly on long green sections of well manicured lawns with the odd aesthetically suitable tree, pruned to shape and was occupied by people rushing between buildings, and the odd smoker. Later there’d be numerous employees interspersed enjoying lunch outside, since the weather seemed nice.

“Jason, you’re logging your smoke break, right?”

“Yes, Mr Kord.” Came the reply, with the slightest melodic hint reminiscent of a school student replying to an old teacher.

“Because I’d rather you take extra breaks, log them and take the time making sure you clean yourself up for when you get back in there. Working with sensitive stuff in there.”

“Yes, Mr Kord.” He repeated with the same tone.

Ted looked at the young engineer, clicked his tongue in his cheek and moved on to the R and D building.

He walked in to find the President of the Eastern Division Melody Case waiting for him in the lobby.

“Mel’ I don’t need this kind of procession. I was just going to pop in, say ‘Hello’ to some people I used to work with, see what kind of things people are working on and then go.”

Melody replies coolly, but with more than a faint hint of frustration in her tone. “Ted, you’re the C.E.O of this company. The procession is going to happen, whether you like it or not, so if you feel you have to do this. Then let’s do this.” She turned and hit the button for the elevators.

The elevators on the R and D building were on the outside and made of thick multiplex glass, providing a quaint view of the courtyard and the whole K.O.R.D complex to anyone watching.

“Is that Jason Fatsis down there, smoking again?”

“Yep.” Ted replied, leaning against one of the elevators sides.

“He’s so fired. His work’s been in freefall the last 3 months, he’s out there smoking as often as he’s in the clean lab and he’s been giving more and more attitude like he owns the place.”

Ted raised his eyebrows but remained silent.

“You don’t agree?”

“I’m not going to tell you how to do your job, Melody. And I agree. In fact, he gave me attitude when I asked him if he logged his break just now. But it’s not my job, it’s yours. And I’m not going to tell you how to handle these things.”

“Oh. It’s just I know you started out here with him and that you two talk quite a lot...”

“And? He has a job to do. And you have a job to do. The fact that I am friends with the people here doesn’t change the fact that they still have to do their job properly, and I’m not in the business of bailing out my friends when they feel they don’t have to pull their own weight just because they know me.”

“Huh…” Melody replied vacantly as she looked out the window at Jason Fatsis, who had just lit a second cigarette off his first and crushed the finished butt under his heel.

The elevator doors opened and the pair stepped out.

“I’m just going to get some paperwork together to sort this Jason situation out.” Melody said, sweeping some of her red locks behind an ear. “If you want to say ‘Hi’ to Murray, he’s in his office, and then we’ll walk the floor together. OK?”

Ted wasn’t one to look a gifthorse in the mouth and said “OK.” with a smile.

Ted poked his head in the door of Murray Takamoto’s office and said “Knock, knock...” whilst wrapping on the door. “You all set for New York?”

Murray Takamoto sat beside a wide solid desk made of quality oak. The old fashioned desk stood in stark contrast to his job title “Head of Cybernetics/Electronics/Online Security” which sat on a placard at the front of his desk. The pair once joked about making his title seem more badass by renaming the position “Grand Scion of Cybernetics, Emperor of Electronics and Grand Gatekeeper of K.O.R.D’s Online Presence, Omnipotent Leader of All things I.T.”

But alas the business world would not be ready for their nerdery. Hence the dull placard on his desk.

“Got my tickets and I’m all packed! Where are we staying?”

“I booked us rooms at the Hilton. Well, I booked me a room at the Hilton, opposite a lovely little backpackers hostel where I’m sure you’ll have a lovely view of me--”

“Ha-Ha.” Murray deadpanned with dripping sarcasm, but then was unable to keep the smile from his face.

“This is going to be awesome!”

“I know, man. So cool!”

“Anyway, I gotta get back to work-- never ends.”

“I know. Good to touch base before we go.” Ted turned to leave and walked to the door.

“Yeah, you know what it’s like… have to delete something called ‘Just Looking For A Good Time.’...”

Ted dropped his head, still facing away from Murray whilst his friend cackled with laughter.

He turned and closed the door behind him before rushing over and sitting down opposite him.

“Come on, you have to get rid of that! I’m not kidding around here!”

“Relax… it’s already gone, I’m just breaking your balls. You’re lucky I saw it too, going through the logs, because I was supposed to present full findings to Melody this afternoon. I figured deleting those under privacy or some such excuse would check out OK with you?”

“Yes, Oh thank you Murray, sweet Jesus!”

“Nah. Still just Grand Scion of Cybernetics, Emperor of Electronics and--”

“--Grand Gatekeeper of K.O.R.D.’s Online Presence, Omnipotent Leader of All Things I.T.” The pair quoted together.

“‘Sweet Jesus’ would mean I’d have to take a paycut. And while the meek may inherit the earth, I’ve got my eye on a kickass new home theatre setup.”

The pair laughed as old friends often do.

“So what’s going on between you two?” Murray started vaguely doing something on his computer whilst listening to Kord.

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb. You and Melody. Come on, give me something. Let me live vicariously. You’re basically me but with money. If you don’t get somewhere with the girls soon I’m going to start to think it’s our personalities that are the root of our lady problems.”

“Nothing’s happening and I can’t see anything happening in the near future. In fact I think she’s pissed off with me. Did you know she’s told Angela she wants to be called ahead before I come over here? It’s like 50 metres away and is where most of my friends are and she wants to have me asking about visitation…”

“Ouch. Hate to see Mom and Dad fighting like that, but at least I might start getting two Christmas presents from now on…”

“You’ll get nothing and like it!” Ted burst out with his best Ted Knight impression.

“Heh. Caddyshack…”

“So, yeah. I don’t think she likes me much. Certainly like that anyway. It was tense in the elevator. Besides, I’m her boss. I’d need some kind of guidebook for how to navigate those treacherous waters whilst dodging the rocks of sexual harassment suits…”

“Hmm…” Murray vaguely expressed disagreement. “I don’t think that’s your biggest issue there.” His focus was now mostly on the computer, and he’d offer Ted cursory glances or head tilts whilst talking and keeping one eye on his work.

“What are you talking about?”

“If you want my advice… considering my boundless extensive knowledge of the fairer sex…”

“...which you have managed to somehow gain, whilst still being just as tragically single as I am…” Ted finished his sentence, folding his arms across his chest.

“...yes, that. But in my opinion, she likes you. But you’re her boss. And you know Mel’. She’s a serious woman with her work. She’s strictly business. Like EPMD.”

“You’re a second generation Japanese American with your other parent being white.”

“Don’t racially profile me and tell me I can’t like the E-double…” He looked away from his monitor and pointed at Ted.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Ted rolled his eyes.

“Good... But yeah. She takes her business seriously, and you’re her boss. In a company she’s been ingrained in for a long time. Of a company your Daddy built and you’re the head honcho of. Now how do you think SHE thinks that would look?”

Ted thought on that for a few seconds before breaking the silence.

“...why are we talking about Melody anyway?”

“To assuage my boredom. Also, because you frankly don’t know many women in general, let alone women who can tolerate your presence for longer than 20 consecutive minutes.”

“Harsh.”

“...but true. Anyway, help me out with something. That issue you had with your shower profile, how’s that work with your photographic memory? Funny as it was, I thought you’d know exactly--”

“It doesn’t use a display. It’s not like I can get a visual on what it’s telling me. ...plus, I may have been yelling over it with frustration.”

“Ah. Do you want one?”

“In the shower? Seems like it’d be a more vulnerable point for water damage. Plus, the average person we'll be marketing to isn’t going to have that same preference for the visual that I do.”

“You’ve been listening to that cockhead Randall Truman too much. Surprising, because most people who do that have the telltale horns as a giveaway…”

“Mine are still growing in.” Ted smiled.

Melody Case knocked on the door and let herself in.

“Are you ready, Ted?” She asked the CEO. “Can I borrow him?” She asked Murray.

“Sure, I’ve no more use for him. I grab him by the ankles and shake him upside down til his pockets are empty anytime he strays too close to my office.”

“Yeah, how much did you get out of him this time?” A small smile crossed Ms Case's face.

“Ah not good, Mel’. He’s catching on. I just got an expired Blockbuster card, a validated parking ticket and a movie stub.”

“Marketing must have got to him first, Murray.” Melody's smile broadened.

“Wow. I’m right here in the room.” Ted replied. Flustered she turned a deep shade of scarlet.

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr Kord.” She panicked.

“Melody, it’s fine. We’re all just joking around.”

“I-- OK. Well, should we?”

“Go walk the floor? Got it.” Ted said, getting to his feet. “So, I’ll see you at the airport? I upgraded you out of pocket. First class to NYC. Am I as cool as you now?”

“Let me run the math… Nope. Still short.”

“Oh come on, how do you figure that?”

“Well I had to dock you for not being down with EPMD, plus you said ‘knock, knock’ when you knocked on my door earlier.”

“Not cool?”

Murray replied only by screwing his face up and making a sucking noise on his teeth.

“Now, the first class upgrade got you 50 points… and I only took 10 off you for the ‘knock, knock’... friends rates and all that. But you’re still behind.”

“Melody? Has Mister Takamoto been pulling his weight? Are we going to have any issues with having to let him go in the near future.”

“Murray’s one of the best workers we have, Ted.”

“Really. Damn. More’s the pity. You win this round, Takamoto.”

“I win every round, Ted.” Murray said, shrugging and swivelling a full 360 in his chair in victory. “Catch you at the airport, Kord!”

Ted closed the door behind him and he and Melody walked the engineering pool, as Ted came to terms with their progress, new products, new additions and reconnected with old friends.

---

_{Location: Warehouse Rooftop, Star City - Night}

Queen's Heir #1.01: First Night

---

"You must learn to wait properly..."

Connor had been waiting on this rooftop a long time. Like, a really really long time, the kinda wait that would make a meditating Bodhisattva feel vaguely uncomfortable. So far he had nothing to show for it but leg cramps and a newfound appreciation for the diversity of rats that could scurry through a single back alley in a night.

Did he misunderstand the old homeless guy grumbling to him last night, that this was the place and time that some of Brick's foot-soldiers met every week to count up their take from the neighborhood stores they'd extorted and the homeless people they'd robbed? A dingy alleyway between a chop shop and an old Italian restaurant in the Triangle seemed like a weird choice, and counting money and valuables in the open seemed like a bad idea even to a newbie in the criminal underworld like him.

Still crime had gotten plenty sloppy and brazen since his father vanished and someone had to do something about it. Why else would Connor be here, crouched on a rooftop in a green hoodie and a child's mask and about to use the parting gifts his teachers had given him to commit violence? Yeah, this was a great plan, the best.

He bet Oliver Queen never had to get his information on crime in the city from a hungover vagrant in exchange for a breakfast sandwich, or foil a crime while wearing a bad Halloween takeoff on his own costume. He had all sorts of sweet gadgets and information and-

Connor's mental rant got interrupted when he noticed his targets had actually decided to show up on the street below him when he wasn't paying attention, an open backpack off to the side stuffed with ill-gotten goods.

"-an' then I sez to him 'I hear cheek meat slices real nice!' an' the old geezer practically vomits on the deli slicer! He coughed it up real quick after that!"

"Hahahahaaa! Hey Johnny! Tell cold cuts over here about-"

Aaaand that was enough listening in. Raised by Buddhist monks or not there was only so much violent boasting he could take in a night before he had to tune out or else risk doing something very against Dharma. Instead Connor did his best to tune out their words, draw an arrow from his quiver and nock it. For ease of aim in the darkness he focused on the one currently bragging, Johnny. His drunken and wildly gesturing form was simple to pick out.

This was the sum total of his world, now. Just him, the bow and the target. He fixed his eye and mind on the goal, at first letting movement and specific features guide his aim. A trace of moonlight glinting off of the beer bottle in the hand, a gold watch shifting out from under the cloth, all leading to a baggy sleeve raised high...

Connor fixed the point in his mind, breathing slow and controlled, one hand outstretched and gripping the bow while the other pulled back to his cheek, tension mounting through staves and string for the inevitable as he let fly and-

*Twang!*

*shatter!*

"-The Hell!?"

Crap, missed the sleeve and broke the beer bottle. It was too dark for any of them to notice the arrow just yet, but while the first mobster was stunned and cussing through broken glass and booze in the face his friend had already pulled a gun soooo...

*Twang!*

*Crack!*

"Ha, nice! I did it! Disarmed!"

Well, that got their attention in the wrong way. If looks could kill Connor would be dead twice over, three times once his practice round got his eyes clear. That gun would still do the job soon enough, he was just now realizing that since he hadn't pinned the guy's sleeve or plugged his barrel he could just pick the pistol back up. Feeling kind of stupid for giving away his position so easily on top of that, the would-be Emerald Archer slung his bow onto his back and leaped down off the rooftop to land boots-first on the remaining thug before he could draw his own pistol, taking him out even though the impact was killer on his knees.

As he stepped off his impromptu cushion's back the one who'd gone by Johnny was still struggling to clear his eyes, but the remaining thug, 'Cold Cuts' stopped going for his fallen gun to stare at him skeptically and snicker.

"The fuck are you supposed to be?"

"Uhh...Green Arrow?

"Ha, cute. Well tell ya what kid, it ain't Halloween yet so the only thing we're handing out is beatings!"

Before Connor could react to any of that mess, 'Cold Cuts' charged him and swung a wild right haymaker. But Connor was always much, much better in close combat than with a bow. Without even needing to think about it he stepped in to intercept the punch with a jolting elbow to the man's arm, capture it and then absorb the momentum of the charge and throw him hard to the opposite wall and pavement.

Which just left him and Johnny glass-in-the-face, eyes clear now and full of hate and somehow in possession of a very big knife.

"Do we really have to do this? The beer bottle thing was an accident, I mean it!"

That did no good, not that he really expected any of them to just give up quietly. The thug apparently named Johnny tried a prisonyard bullrush and now Connor was the one slammed up against a wall, gripping his opponent's wrist to keep the knife from jabbing in and fighting the other hand to keep from getting his lights punched out. He drove a rising knee hard into Johnny's solar plexus to take some of the fight out of him then followed up with a palm strike to the jaw, reaping his leg out and dragging the knife hand out and high at the same time to drive him headfirst back into the pavement.

"Haa...haa....wow, I'm actually kind of sorry, I didn't mean to take you guys down so rough. I'll do a softer, cleaner job of it next time, promise!"

With that done Connor scooped up the bag and started to leave and redistribute some wealth. If he was lucky he could finish the 'taken from the rich and give back to the poor' routine before-"

"Die you little-"

Connor dropped the bag and whirled around. The guy he'd goomba stomped at the start of the fight was awake, propping himself up on the ground with his pistol from earlier in hand. Reacting without thinking, Connor nocked, drew back and released.

*Twang!*

*shnk!*

Connor stared and so did thug number one, equally surprised. Without really needing to aim, he'd plugged the gun barrel and jammed it to uselessness.

"No way..."

"Ha! Told ya! Green Arrow! Tell all your friends and spread the word! Star City's under my protection now!"

Even as he finished yelling he was trying not to flush from embarrassment at his own bragging and surge in pride, weird as it felt. Still, maybe he was entitled to just a little lapse in humility? His Sensei and his father would be proud!

Well, at least he liked to think Oliver would've been, considering they'd never actually met...

But still, not bad for his first night out, right?

“How are you feeling?” Illyana asked, moving her burrito away from her mouth, and turning her body slightly towards the green-clad man next to her.

It had been a couple of hours since the conflict atop the apartment building. They sat on the edge of the same roof that they had first met upon earlier that night, their legs dangling precariously off the side and over the street below. From their position, they had a perfect view of the apartment building, which now matched the rest of the dark red hues of the Gotham skyline. Now that Marcosa had been taken care of, his magic had faded and all had returned to normal. The building's residents had no clue as to what had happened. Many theories had echoed around them regarding how they'd found themselves atop the neighboring roofs; some blamed a gas leak in the basement that had caused them to all hallucinate, while others even went so far as to blame the Scarecrow, the psychotic villain of old. Never did it occur to them that magic had been in play here. Despite the capes and the cowls that protected the Earth, the people of Gotham kept their eyes to the ground, never thinking of just opening their eyes to the impossible.

That didn't matter too much to Illyana though. It gave both her and Ragman the chance to get out of there without having to answer too many questions. As well as ample time for the pair to find something greasy and disgustingly unhealthy to dig into.

“I'll be honest; I feel like shit. But then that's how I always feel after adding another soul to the suit." It was clear to see that Ragman was absolutely exhausted. His mask was pulled up to the top of his head, revealing his five o'clock shadow and large bag under each eye. His eyes seemed to be dropping slightly, as if he were about to stumble into a deep sleep, however with each bite of his burrito he seemed to find himself slightly more rejuvenated. "I know it's hard to believe, but contrary to popular belief, people don't like having their souls sucked out their bodies and trapped in a suit of rags for all eternity. So they kick up a bit of a fuss when they first get in there.”

He took another bite of burrito before continuing.

"This though... This is definitely helping."

Illyana let out a chuckle. It was good to laugh after everything that had happened tonight. She admired that about Ragman. However, his jokes could only temporarily distract her from thoughts rocketing through her head right now. The things she had seen within her "room" continued to shake her to her core. The red of Belasco's face still haunted her. The eyes. His teeth. At that moment, Illyana realised just how scared she was of him.

"Rags... About Vhat you saw vin the room..." She began slowly, her voice almost a whisper. Talking about things like this was tough. It always had been for her. It made her feel like the small child she has been in her dream. Like she had been ever since she was taken from her home.

Rory stopped to look at her as she spoke. There was a kindness in his tired eyes. Despite how clearly he was struggling right now, he was there for her.

"That's who your hunting right? The person you were seeing me as."

She nodded.

"His name is Belasco. That was around vhen he... vhen he took me. He took me down to Limbo and tortured me for years." Her throat grew dry as the words came pouring out, yet she powered through, taking something out of her she didn't know she had left to give. "Since escaping I've tried to ignore it. Push the pain avay. Strange's training vas a good distraction... But sometimes it all comes back and I just..."

She broke. Tears began to stream down her face, blackening as they hit her mascara. Her hands shook, nearly dropping her food onto the street below. Once more she felt like that little girl, her entire body trembling. Like a helpless child calling for her mother.

A brief feeling of warmth told her that Rory had embraced her, however, that did nothing to curb the emotions pouring out of her. She sobbed into her chest unceasingly, hands clutching at the rags of his suit. He held her in silence, the two rocking back and forth slowly as her tears and mascara soaked his chest. A tiny lapse let him pull away, allowing Illyana to see his face.

He was smiling. The same smile he had given Illyana during her dream when trying to calm her down. The smile of a friend.

"Looks like you have your first recruit. Let's go burn Limbo to the ground." He mused, before smirking. "Just please promise me that we're not asking that Constantine asshole."

Her laughter cut through the tears slightly. "I promise."

_{Christ the Redeemer Church, Granville, Kansas - One Month Ago}

Issue 1.01.01: Knockin' on Heaven's Door

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: None

”Forgive me father… for I have sinned. I have had to do the Lord’s work in culling those who violate his laws. My hands are stained red with the blood of sinners, father. I know that God wills it, but doing what the Lord requires is so difficult, father. I beg for his forgiveness.”

The confessionals were cramped, and a thin screen divided the two small chambers so that neither individual could get a good look at the other. The confessor hadn’t even bothered to remove his gear, still wearing a ballistic vest with camouflage military fatigues and a sidearm strapped to his belt. On the other side of the screen, the priest simply nodded his head slowly as he pondered his next move. After a deep breath, the priest’s words lacked any hint of emotion. ”You are not forgiven.”

The confessor tilted his head slightly as he saw movement on the other side of the screen. ”I don’t think this is how confessi-“

Before he could even finish his statement, two gunshots rang out in the entirety of the church. The confessor slumped over in his confessional, while a red-haired man dressed in priestly garb kicked the door of his confessional open and began opening fire on the militia that had gathered inside the Church. The vigilante soldiers barely had time to react as the priest fired with expert aim, bullets piercing the skulls of various soldiers before they could even clutch at their own weapons. The priest briskly approached the stone altar as he fired, ducking behind it just as the seven militia men left standing had turned the safeties off their automatic rifles and began firing.

The priest quickly stripped off his outer robe, revealing a ballistic vest decked out with magazines and grenades over the traditional black button up shirt and white collar. Roy reloaded his two sidearms as the sounds of gunfire and bullets penetrating the altar behind him pierced his ear drums. He had grown accustomed to the noise at this point, though it was never a sound that he had grown to enjoy. After a few moments, Roy smiled as he heard the familiar sound of empty clips. He sprung back up, and fired six shots. Six of the seven remaining hostiles fell to the ground dead. The final one simply drew his own sidearms quickly and pointed them at Roy.

This last man standing was dressed slightly differently from his fellow soldiers. Unlike the, he wore a white mask that was designed to resemble a cross between a dog and a hockey mask. He had more firearms on his person, along with a machete and a metal baseball bat. The two men kept their guns trained on each other, refusing to even turn their gazes away or blink. After what felt like a small eternity, Roy’s target spoke. ”You walk into our territory, dress yourself up like a priest, shoot my boys and you think you can just kill me and walk out of here? You must be a whole new breed of stupid, boy.”

Roy gave a small smile as he slowly inched around the altar to get closer, his guns always locked in his target’s direction. ”Stupid, not really. Borderline psychotic and pissed off to no end, absolutely. You see, you killed someone I cared about more than life itself, Jack Wheeler. So I’m going to put you and your little group of Watchdogs down like the animals you are.”

Time seemed to move in slow motion as Roy’s grip on his sidearms loosened. He let them go and reached his hands towards his vest, managing to clutch on to two grenades with pins hooked on to his clothing. As he yanked on the explosives, he instinctively ducked to his right. He gave two quick tosses of the grenades just as he felt the first bullet impact against the ballistic vest over his left pectoral. Another protected hit was felt against his gut, and then another in his leg. Roy didn’t have much time to process the pain as he managed to nimbly catch the gun he had dropped in mid-air with his left hand. With an aim that seemed almost inhuman, Roy tracked one of the grenades with the sidearm’s barrel until it got within a few feet of the Wild Dog. A single pull of the trigger, and time returned back to normal.

The combined explosion of both grenades sent a shockwave of force and shrapnel ripping through the pews of the rural church. Roy felt wood splinter into exposed parts of his skin as he was sent rolling backwards towards the altar again, coughing and wheezing. The pain was excruciating as he fought back waves of nausea and a splitting headache to try and focus his vision on his former opponent. Roy saw a mangled body writhing in pain in the center of the church, and began approaching the injured target while hobbling along on his feet. Around the edges of the impact area, flames from the incendiary grenade’s detonation began to light on the pews of the rural church.

The Wild Dog’s mask had been blown open in part, revealing the terrified eyes of a man who seemed to be about Roy’s age. The terrorist was breathing ragged breaths, trying to gurgle out some words through his blood-filled mouth that Roy couldn’t comprehend. The vigilante had little room for empathy as he lowered the barrel of his firearm towards his target’s now-exposed forehead, gritting his teeth in both anger and an effort to cope with his pain. ”This is for Toni, you son of a bitch.” One final gunshot rang out from the Church, and Roy’s work was done.

Roy Harper slowly hobbled out of the Church’s open front doors, ripping off the ballistic vest after stuffing the sidearm into the back of his pants. He tossed the vest into the back of a partially-rusted pick-up truck lazily parked along a gravel parking section near the Church’s entrance. The vigilante lazily opened the unlocked door and hoisted himself up into the truck’s driver’s seat. The truck’s keys had graciously been left in the ignition, providing Roy the opportunity to start the truck and begin peeling away from the now burning church.

_{Location: Central City}

Post #1.05: Nyctophobia

---

The Flash arrived at the remains of Cellblock S in Ironheights. The block was evacuated, six prisoners had escaped in the chaos. It was supposed to be the most secure prison in the Midwest, but those guarantees are hard to keep in this age of Metahumans. The wall was crumbled from a cell to the next, and the room in the bearing wall was torn clean off, like something very, very big had broken out. On the steel beams, one would even spot something that looked like markings from a hand - except about 10 times too big to be a hand.

"Looks like the Iron Giant broke out" Cisco Ramon quipped, as he walked to the stationary Flash, it was just the two of them in the block, Cisco was chewing some red licorice. "Also, dude! Siiick suit! I was working on something like, all red. But I dig the black accents. Gives you almost a Batman appeal. He's back again, y'know? Isn't that super cool?" Cisco mentioned, chewing away at the candy and Thawne shrugged, the mention of Batman never did him well, even if his least fond memories involved a very different Batman... And a .45 handgun.

"What could do something like this, man?" Eddie asked through the mask and Cisco shrugged. "Not sure. Some kind of Meta, for sure. A Giant-Man? Hard light generation? Maybe even a robot? Man, that'd be sick." The engineer said, clearly unable to contain how excited he was over this all, it was only the second metahuman case he had worked on, but Doctor Wells had convinced the police to let S.T.A.R take lead on the CSI work when it came to dealing with the new wave of superpowered people in Central City - it was after all kind of their fault that they were out here.

"See the indention? Whatever, or whoever it was, was very, very big. And strong. Did the cameras show anything?" Eddie asked, looking around.

"Not a thing, they all went dark." Cisco responded, as Thawne saw something in the corner of his eye and dashed towards it, Cisco's hair blowing in the wind and he let out a slight 'whoa'.

Thawne found black dust on the floor. "Hey, Cisco. Come look at this. There's nothing black around here, everything's gray or white. What is this dust? Where did it come from?" Eddie asked and Cisco looked at it, felt it between his fingers, smelt it and even licked a little of it before he made a disgusted grimace.

"Whatever it is, it ain't paint. some kind of metal. I should go run tests on it in the lab." Cisco mentioned, producing a plastic beaker and cotton swab to take a test. As he did, his phone vibrated, he answered it and looked at Eddie with huge eyes. "Dude.. Downtown's under attack by a black sand giant. I think our breakout's striking again." And as Cisco finished talking, Thawne was gone, prompting Cisco to once again let out a involuntary "Wow".

Downtown, the sene was chaotic, the beast was six stories tall and had attacked the office of Mercury Labs's Central City Outfit, tore a hole through the south wall. Cops had set up a perimeter and had opened fire on the sand creature, but the bullets would just get stuck inside of it, doing no damage. The streak arrived on the scene, going to attack from the front, punching it from the legs up across the arm, his fists connecting and distorting his form, but not doing any damage as, after all, he's made out of sand. Thawne lost his grip against the ever changing density and was caught in the undertow of the sand and tossed out of the monster, towards the cops, giving the world it's first still picture of the Fastest Man Alive..

Ass-First into a Police Cruiser.

"Sonofawhore." Eobard cursed under his breath, as he took a deep breath and crawled off of the cruiser, the monster was no longer paying attention to him, rather focused on the inside of the office. Eobard knew that currently, he was no fast enough to chuck lightning at the thing, he couldn't turn it to glass, he needed another solution. Friction could do it.

Thawne sped between it's legs, running back towards the long street, he did the math in his head and 3.5 miles, the exact distance he had just ran, would be enough. He removed his glove on his right hand and softly planted a kiss onto his knuckle. He took a deep breath, as the monster was going in for another hit on the cubicles, where there was still people hiding in terror. Eobard focused, lowering the velocity shield of the speedforce around him, he needed as much friction as possible right now. He kicked off the ground and ran as fast as he could, while running, his naked hand was rubbing against his gloved palm, knuckle towards glove, till the skin was almost raw. As he was about to approach the beast, hitting Mach 1, he saw it turn towards him and throw out a punch. Eobard jumped onto the back of a police cruiser in the perimiter and as he extended his arm out from his gloves palm, his hand caught fire for a split second, coliding with the ginat black sand creature. The heat created a hard surface to hit, and the energy from his sprint created the Super Mass Punch he had known so many times before. The yellow energy shot through the beast and his right arm exploded and the beast fell to the side.
Thawne's hand was charred and he grimaced a little at the pain as applauds erupted around him from the police and bystanders.

And then Cisco came into the communication line. "Eddie! Hey! I just ran the tests. The sand, it's not sand.. It's some kind of metal I've with light absorbing proporties, I'm not quite sure what it is. It's not a Meta who's turned into the dust. It's like it's controlled remotely. " Cisco said as Thawne saw the beast fade into dust, his form changing, as a shadow walked out of the ruins of the lab. A man in a black pair of form fitting jeans, a black tanktop, black leather jacket and black converse stepped forward, clapping slowly. His face was sickly pale and his eyes were covered by a pair of circular shades, a black ballcap sat on top of his head. The dust was being absorbed back into his hand. Eobard saw the man and immediately charged at him, grabbing him by the collar and pressing him against the wall. The man was surprised by the level of speed the hero in red possessed, but clearly not worried.

"Very impressive, Hero." His words echoed as he exploded in a puff of black dust, the dust quickly vanished, scattering in so many directions that Eobard couldn't possible follow. He turned towards the cameras and the police whom were all astonished by Thawne's display of speed, cheering for him. He quickly gloved his hand again and vanished. He had to figure out who the hell this guy was.

---

Thor and Heimdall trudged through the jungles of Warworld, keeping their ears peeled for any movement in the underbrush. Thor's friend had explained to him what the planet was. The leader, Mongul, had somehow devised a way to create jump points to maroon curious or desperate travelers on the planet. Once they were here, they became gladiators in Mongul's planet-wide game of kill or be killed. It was barbaric. Heimdall had said the gambling revenues were the largest in the galaxy, according to scuttlebutt. With them Mongul was able to stay off the radar of interplanetary authorities as well as beam broadcasts of the fights daily to illicit areas all over the galaxy.

"How many others have survived?" Thor asked, breaking the plan of staying silent during their trek. If he was being honest, he'd rather have a fight than not. It would be good to have a straight fight for once, instead of constantly getting ambushed by his foes.

"Not sure," Heimdall shook his head. "This place...it clouds my vision some how. Possibly whatever their using to trap ships. I catch glimpses. They're out there. And they're all being hunted. We need a new home, Odinson. Without that we'll be picked off one by one."

He wasn't telling Thor anything he didn't already know. With Asgard gone, they were always going to be in trouble. Even if Thor and his little band of fighters was able to track down their enemy and finish them off, the Asgardians without a home would always be in danger. Someone out there will always try and make a name for themselves by exterminating them.

"We need to get off this planet before we have any chance of finding a home, my friend," Thor smiled at Heimdall. Even in all of this tragedy, even with them stranded on this strange planet, Thor had to admit that it felt good to be on the battlefield with Heimdall again. For years, before Odin had appointed him the sentry of Asgard, Heimdall had been fighting by Thor's side. The Warriors Three may have been more...flamboyant, but Heimdall had been his most stalwart companion. "I assume you have a plan to that affect?"

"Sure," he shrugged. "I don't know how long it's going to take. But I have a few ideas."

Thor chuckled, "Like that time against the Dark Elves? When you had an idea?"

"Excuse me," Heimdall defended himself, "launching Volstagg over the castle wall with a trebuchet worked, if you'll remember."

"It ruined the element of surprise," Thor shook his head.

"What is more surprising than a three hundred pound warrior falling out of the sky into your gatehouse!?" Heimdall chuckled.

The two of them reached a clearing, and a buzzing sound filled Thor's ears. It was electric, like the sound of a mortal weapon powering up. He spun, looking for the source. As he did so, however,the vines below his feet snared his ankles. Before he knew what was happening, he was yanked upwards, flailing for anything to free him from his new predicament.

"Got you, man!" a soft spoken voice came from the trees. "Sorry that you have to die, man. But, well, you know the rules. Kill or be killed and all that."

The vines holding Thor turned him slowly until he faced a living, walking pile of rocks pointing a gun at his face. Beside the living rubble was a squat, pink grub in a robotic exoskeleton, as well as a walking tree, who Thor guessed was the being holding him currently. He cursed himself for being so careless and walking into a trap.

"Put him down," Heimdall shook his head. "I...I told you all I would be coming back with someone else."

"Ah, well, sure," the rocks shrugged. "But you didn't say who he was or what he looked like. For all we knew this specimen was here to kill us."

The tree let Thor go, and he crashed to the mossy floor below. He stood and brushed himself off, responding, "You're a Krogan, right?"

"Yea, man," he nodded and extended his hand.

Thor took it, "I am Thor, the God of Thunder."

"Oh yea? Cool. My name is Korg, God of Stubbed Toes and Broken Windows. Heh. Little rock joke for you there!" He motioned to the grub, "That there is my buddy Miek. He's an insect. Or a worm. I don't know what his biological classification is."

The pink-purple creature chattered excitedly.

"He says he is an insectoid, and I am a dumb pile of boulders," Korg's face scrunched. "Which...is not very nice. And this is-"

"I am Groot," the tree grumbled.

"Good for you," Thor nodded.

"I am Groot," the tree responded gain.

"Yes you said that," Thor looked at Heimdall. "Was he hit on the head or something?"

"That's all he said," Heimdall shrugged. "Far as we can tell he actually is saying different things."

"These are you warriors?" Thor asked skeptically.

"They've got more fight in them than you'd expect," Heimdall assured him. "And they all have their reasons to hate Mongul and stay loyal. That's what's important."

Thor looked into his friend's eyes intently. Heimdall was many things, but he was no fool. If he vouched for them, that was good enough for the God of Thunder.

"Very well. What's the plan?"



Quill studied the Thanagarian intently as they made their way through the jungles. Probably too intently. And probably staring below the belt would get him a stiff punch in the face. That's why he was behind her, of course. But it was more than the fact that she was smoking hot. He had never seen a Thanagarian outside of their military before. Whatever her reason for being a bounty hunter, it wasn't a good one. He would have to tread lightly.

"So why are you a bounty hunter?" he blurted out and shook his head.

She turned around swiftly. He could see the the rage in her eyes, "Excuse me?"

"It's just that," he winced, "all I've known of Thanagarians is that they serve in the military. Never seen one that didn't. That's all."

She turned again and kept walking, "Discharged."

"Discharged?" he seemed skeptical.

"Dishonorable." The word hung in the air like a knife ready to be shoved through Quill's heart. "Another word about it and I'm not gonna wait to kill you."

There wasn't another word. He followed and she led. To where he had no idea. Peter figured she didn't know either. They were both strangers on the planet, and from what they saw at sundown the night before they could walk into an ambush at any conceivable moment.

Quill again cursed his luck, which was the worst in the galaxy, when the two of them were suddenly encased in an antigrav field.

"I don't know how," the Hawk deadpanned, "but this is your fault."

"That's fair," Quill conceded.

They turned slowly, helpless in the grav field's net. Quill heard the rustling of leaves above them. Then to the left. Then to the right. This was it. There were probably a whole squad of Warworld gladiators about to rip them limb-from-limb. He was gonna die here on this godforsaken rock next to a beautiful woman who hated him. To be honest, it was pretty much exactly how he expected to go out.

As the rustles ceased, a small, furry creature jumped out of the bushes. From its mouth came a voice not unlike a stereotypical New Yorker, "Well, well, well. Looks like I caught myself a prize! Who wants to die first."

"Ha-ha-ha!" Quill burst out laughing. He couldn't help himself. "I'm gonna get killed by a talking raccoon. My life is hell."

The raccoon pushed a button on his belt and a current of electricity flowed through the two prisoners.

"Now, there's more coming if you humies don't shut up," the fur ball laughed.

"I am not a human," Hawk seethed.

"Pink, two legs, tall," he shrugged. "You're a humie to me."

"And what are you?" she asked back.

"Ain't nothing like me but me," the raccoon grumbled. He pulled two small pistols off his belt, "Now, again, who wants to die first?"

"None of us have to die," Quill pleaded. "We're gonna steal a ship from this Mongul and get out of here. Come with us."

"I ain't leaving here till I find my friend," the raccoon shrugged. "Way I see it, the quickest way to that is to kill everyone else in this friggin' jungle."

"You gonna be able to do that, rat?" Hawk shot back. "You gonna be able to kill Draaga all by yourself?"

"I caught you two morons," he bared his teeth. "So I dunno how you'd help."

"More weapons are always better than less," Quill said simply.

A low, annoyed growl rumbled through the raccoon's throat, "Fine. But if you try to kill me, I promise you I'll kill you first."

"Yea," Quill nodded grimly, "there's a lot of that going around."



The golden palace of Mongul surrounded Draaga like a living, breathing embodiment of the Mongul's divinity. Draaga had always known the leader of Warworld was a god amongst mortals, but this was proof upon itself. He had always dreamed of being in this place. WHile the Mongul had given him the Hall of Champions to reside in when he was invited to the capital, he had never been allowed in the palace before.

He knew the Mongul was going to present him with something special.

The large, jade doors to the planet's leader's throne room. He stepped into the gilded hall, lined with monuments to the exploits of Mongul. At the end of the long approach, the musclebound leader of Warworld smiled broadly at the gladiator, "Draaga! My champion! I am honored to have you in my hall."

"The honor is mine, exhaulted Mongul," the gladiator took a knee in front of him. "To what do I owe this meeting?"

"Because there is something I need from you," Mongul motioned for Draaga to stand. "You are the only one that I can trust with this mission."

In front of Draaga, a hologram appeared of two people on Warworld. Both were clearly warriors like he was, strong and sure of themselves. They had a noble air around them as well, and the blond one had something else. A sense of power Draaga had rarely seen.

"Who are they?" he asked his leader.

"Men with prices on their head larger than any in the galaxy," Mongul smiled greedily. "I have been promised riches beyond my wildest dreams if we kill them here for the galaxy to see. The one that wants them dead ensures it. And Draaga, if you are the one to do so, I offer you the greatest reward of all."

"Master?"

"Freedom from Warworld," Mongul's smile widened as he saw the desperate desire spring forth from Draaga. "And to kill such illustrious targets, I offer you a weapon fit for a king."

Mongul pulled a sheet from a pedestal next to his thrown, revealing a battle ax that shined like ice against the harsh winter sun. Draaga picked it up and felt its perfect balancing.

"Master, for Warworld they will die!"

---

Ninety-six hours later and Matt pushed his twelfth thug-of-the-night's face roughly into the wall of the money laundering lair he'd busted into in search of any lead on Kingpin's safehouse where Fisk had sequestered himself, or the whereabouts of his elusive aide - the mysterious gentleman with the distinctive watch. He'd had no further attempts on his life from any agents of the shadowy cabal called 'The Hand', but near everywhere he went he felt hooded eyes and patient minds upon his back, biding their time, watching him work. A tiny, darkened part in the back of Matthew's mind quietly wondered what flood water Kingpin held back with his presence; but he would not allow himself to be distracted from his righteous crusade, not when he had come this far, and had so much taken from him. The lines between Justice and Revenge blurred and muddled together in Matt's heart until they were inextricably linked, two sides of the same coin.

This was his third raid on Fisk's operations tonight alone, and he had dismantled seven more of various sizes and purpose in the nights previous since his escape from the custody of police. He was now well and truly a fugitive; there was no remedy, no soothing of the blow. Fisk had backed him into a corner and now Matthew fought with the rabid ferocity of a feral dog. This war between the immovable Fisk and the unstoppable Murdock had thus far been too heavily weighted against Matthew, but now he felt the scales tip beneath his feet and the balance of power slide towards him, every new goon bloodied, bruised, and broken another piece cleared from the board. Kingpin was powerful, Matt held no delusions about that, and probably hoarded enough fortunes to disappear forever - but the flaw of rich and powerful men, Matt knew, was their inability to be sated by their wealth. Fisk would be just like any other man who considered himself above others: unable to satisfy himself, starving for more, using money to fill the void where his humanity fled him long ago. Matthew would shut off his supply, and Fisk would become desperate, panicked. He would make a mistake. It was simply a matter of time.

Matt felt the thug squirm beneath his grip and he pulled his latest victim up by the collar. The thug whimpered slightly. Matt's cowl glared at him with red lenses and there were lashes of blood across his face, very little of it his own, and as he smiled in a violent, menacing grin, the blood seeped into his teeth and completed his ghastly visage. The goon nearly pissed himself in fear.

"Wh-what do you want from me?!" Suppressed panic threatened to overwhelm his voice. Matt said nothing for a second, allowing the sheer tension to disturb the thug further, and then broke the silence with a low, sinister hiss.

"Fisk..."

"I don't know man I don't FUCKIN' know okay?! Ain't no one know!"

Matt unsheathed a billy club from its holster on his thigh and released the end section, allowing it to fall to the floor on its wire. The metallic clang rang through the darkened room and melded with the creaking of the lights left swinging from Matt's ferocious assault. They were the only two things conscious in the building; around them lay the out-cold bodies of 3 more of Fisk's men, all low-level muscle. One lay messy with blood, his hair matted to face. The thug looked around frantically, searching for any single shred of hope, but found none as Matt pushed him to the floor and placed his knee across the top of his chest, restricting his breathing and movement as he picked up the thug's left arm. Matt seemed disconcertingly serene as he methodically wrapped the wire of his billy club around the lowest knuckle of the thug's first finger - and then with a flinch from both men, pressed the button to withdraw.

The thug screamed as the high-tension wire rapidly spun as the club retracted itself, and then cut clean through the flesh and wrenched the finger bone from the knuckle as the two halves of the club came together. Matt stood and allowed the man to buckle over in pain, clutching at his missing digit - only to put his boot back into his chin and the knee back on his chest, picking up the same arm again and releasing the same billy club again and wrapping the same wire around the second finger.

Against the melodic backdrop of blood dripping and quiet sobs, Matt hissed the same question a second time.

"I do-I don't know, please, I don't, I really don't, I-I I ain't told no-one's told please, please! There's one-one guy that knows, his o-only trusted guy. That's it just him he organizes everything for the boss his name's S-Silkworth, okay?! O-Oswald Silkworth. Fuck man take my burner man take it I only ever get, get calls from him, it's in the safe! It's in the safe...code's zero-four-S-L-one-nine-six-four-B-E...just take it..."

He slipped into unconsciousness from shock and fear and exhaustion. Matt let his arm drop to the ground and unwound his baton. He tuned back in to the ambiance of the room for the safe, and felt a hidden crack in the floor in the rear corner where air currents slipped in and pushed back out. He moved towards it quickly and ran his hand across the concrete, feeling the micro-canyons beneath his fingertips...and then felt where the floor changed feeling and pushed. The hidden mechanism activated and the slab popped up on one side, allowing Matt to grab an edge and pull the covering off the front of the safe. The door was thick steel with magnetically sealed lock, and in the center a small screen and keypad. Matt tapped the screen lightly and it whirred to life coming out of standby, and then he ran his fingers over the keypad. He wondered if the screen was QWERTY or alphabetical.

It was QWERTY, and the locks hissed as they unsealed and the safe popped open. Inside was a small phone and nothing else. Matt retrieved it, suspicious and wary, regarding it at arm's length - and then it began to rang.

"Mr Murdock, I presume? Don't worry about answering, there's no need. Presumption is merely a formality, I assure you."

The speaker paused. Matthew didn't say anything.

"Quite. I understand my associate has given you my name, and I already know yours, so we can skip any perfunctory introductions. You are looking for my employer, and I can assure you he is eager to accept a meeting. You've ruffled some feathers, as I'm sure was your intent, and I have to say your efforts continue to surprise and impress us. Simply unacceptable, obviously, but we must offer respect where it is due nonetheless."

Matt growled. "If Fisk wants a meeting you just tell me where and spare me the rhetoric."

"A man of action and not a little bluntness, I see. No room for subtlety these days. A shame. Very well, Mr Murdock, lest you fail to consider either myself or my employer men of our words. There is a vacant property owned by our organisation that we recently scheduled for condemnation on the upper east side of Hell's Kitchen. Should your altercation result in some structural damage the expense will be minimal. I trust we can expect you there shortly?"

This is a trap, Matthew thought to himself.

G O O D the Devil thought back.

"This ends tonight." Matt spoke.

"At last, we can agree on something. It has been a pleasure, Mr Murdock. I do believe we will miss your fervor when you are gone."
Silkworth hung up. Matt smashed the phone in his hand and left.

-

Matt picked his way through the debris that littered the building, thinking that any structural damage that could be done to the place had already been done long ago. He had slipped in to the top floor through a large empty window pane, quietly ducking through the rusted and bent iron frame with ease. Holes in the bare concrete floor were patched over with planks and duct tape; mesh wire stretched haphazardly across gaps in the walls; exposed rebar threatened laceration on the end of every pillar. Glass and rubble crunched beneath his boots and everything he could taste and smell was shrouded in dust and concrete powder. He reached out with his senses with every step, letting the eruption of sound from his footsteps light his way forwards, trickling down steps and around corners. He felt stifled by the stale, unpleasantly warm air, and he knew that any step could be the first one into whatever manner of trap Fisk had laid here for him. He had cleared the top floor, each crumbling room empty save for piles of wreckage and litter, and avoided the stairs down in favour of carefully lowering himself through an uncovered hole in the floor.

He hit the ground with a muffled crunch and paused, listening to his landing ripple out. He felt it immediately - the stifle and suppression he had felt in the holding cells before the ragged man had attacked him. Whoever The Hand were, Matthew knew they and their agents were here now. He felt vulnerable, naked - they had a technique to hide from him, and the concept was alien and frightening. He drew his batons, curling his fists around the cold metal as hollow reassurance. He felt out of his element, relying on senses he could not trust, paranoia playing on a deeper fear. He had built the devil to fight against fear. To be the man without fear.

He knelt, putting a baton carefully on the floor and placing his hand flat on the ground; Matt could feel the building shudder and creak minutely under his fingers as the beams groaned under their own weight. The Hand hid from his ears and his nose, but he doubted very much they could hide from his hands. Touch was firm, touch was concrete, touch was infallible. Touch showed him two sets of footprints coming from the room in the east corner of the floor. The door was closed and locked, but flimsy. It was definitely an invitation. Matt would gladly accept.

He seized his baton again as he took off sprinting, jumping feet-first into the door, boots placed beside the lock and crashing through as the old wood splintered and burst from the force. He landed on the first set of footsteps and felt their ribs break under him, and followed up his impact with a boot to the chin; jaw snapped and teeth crushed, Matt finished him off with a baton to the front of the skull. The man beneath him switched off like a light, but Matt barely had time to switch focus before he felt two sharp stings in his shoulder and ribs - the other agent had taken the opportunity to flank and throw two knives, puncturing Matt's armour, and now they came quick and fast with tantos. Matt rolled backwards and kicked towards the agent's ankle, but he drew his leg up and deftly feinted backwards, before lunging for a swipe. Matt had time to think they're fast as he swung a baton up to deflect and pushed the agent away, stepping back himself to gain some space between him and his adversary.

His senses were still suppressed, sound and smell like faint echoes and wafts; his side ached from the knives and he could feel blood trickling down his leg; he was exhausted from his relentless assault on Kingpin's operations since his escape from the precinct; and something in the back of his mind screamed at him that something was wrong, something was off. The agent before him seemed to swim in his radar, their image fading in and out as Matt tried to keep a clear bead on them. They struck quickly, rushing forwards with another lunge - deflected by Matt - followed with a swipe - Matt ducked and jabbed at the knee - the agent stepped sideways and brought their other leg around - Matt blocked with an arm and stumbled -

A tanto found its way into Matt's shoulder and he growled loud, tearing it out and throwing it as accurately as he could approximate. The agent dodged it easily and Matt felt it vibrate in the wall, using the feeling to judge the positioning and throwing a hay-maker; the agent caught it in midair and jabbed Matt's face, pushing him aside and putting another two jabs in the existing knife-wounds. Matt was in pain and bleeding out. The agent put a solid boot into his stomach and his head exploded as he burst through the weak wall and the weaker floor behind it. Matt un-latched a baton and launched it, hoping to snag something to break the fall. He blacked out when he hit the ground.
Matt came back around a few seconds later. His senses were cleared, he felt that immediately; sound and smell surrounded him and rushed inwards, painting the clearest picture of the building he'd had all night, and now he could feel the wrongness stronger than ever. Something else, something worse, lingered in the air, the faintest ghost of a scent, but present nonetheless: Elektra. Matt's mind spiraled, desperate to find her and protect her, rescue her from this vicious cabal, this new breed of adversary.

"I'm sorry it came to this, Matthew."

His blood ran like ice. Despair clawed at the bottom of his soul and found its way up his core, spilling into his throat and bulging the space behind his eyes.

"Elektra...?"

"Yes, Matt."

He could see her now; she approached him from the stairwell at the far end of the floor. The baton he had launched lay beside him in two pieces, line neatly severed before it had had a chance to got taut around an anchor. He reached for his other baton, but it wasn't there; he tried to reach for the broken end, the stub better than nothing, but his arm wouldn't stretch, his fingers wouldn't work, couldn't form a grip -

"The knives, of course. They were all I needed. Everything else was simply showmanship. Toxin is a cowardly way to best a man. But Fisk...Fisk is a coward."

Matt swore. From the shadows came another voice.

"Were I not indebted to your organization, Miss Natchios, I would kill you where you stand."

Fisk stepped forwards. Elektra faced him.

"You wouldn't be able to."

Fisk merely chuckled. "Despite my... extensive portfolio, I assure you... I still hold many secrets for myself. You have performed adequately."

Elektra ignored him. She continued towards Matt. Fisk spoke again, now with an edge of eagerness and viciousness creeping into his voice.

"Your orders were not to kill him, need I remind you. You have done enough damage. He will hardly make for sport."

Elektra knelt beside Matt, running a finger over his wounds, chuckling playfully when Matt drew a sharp breath from pain. She hushed him, and gently put his other baton back in his holster.

"Step away from him." Fisk ordered, and Elektra complied.

"I was only helping your sport, Wilson. The toxin has done its job; he won't be moving. I trust The Hand can expect you to honor your end of the deal?"

Fisk nodded.

"Then I'm done here. I don't want to spend another moment in this hovel. I feel filthy."

She slipped away, and Matt lost her, his senses dulling again but this time from the toxin. He could feel Fisk moving towards him.

The world grew dark. Matt closed his eyes, and slipped away.

---

---

The engine sputtered and the frame of the convertible groaned as the webs slammed into the wheel silos. The webs forced gears to a halt and glued sheets of fine rubber to the pavement as the tires spun furiously. The brake pads howled like banshees, scraping on organic webbing and rubber, trying to slow the car as it swung on the road. The driver looked like he was about ready to rip the wheel off the frame as he jerked it, trying to control the momentum.

“Yes!” Peter scrambled backwards and found his footing, setting into a low crouch on his haunches. Gotta swing away before Thing One and Thing Two… Oh, crap. There was a horrible crunch of aluminum and steel twisting together and grinding past one another, as the smell of burnt rubber streaked the air as the convertible started a reverse wheelie that was definitely not intended by the manufacturer. Spider-Sense flared like ice up and down his neck -- better move, or Tweedledee and Tweedledum are gonna be Tweedle-dead.

He threw himself forward, face first, and by the time his chest hit the pavement his hands were up, squeezing what was left of his web fluid through little pores at the base of his wrists, knotting together into a massive spider web between two sickly oak trees on some guy’s lawn. The car flew with the grace and style of a lead brick as it slashed through the air, dropping what looked like a hazy bubble with the kids from the car crouched inside it. The car plowed through the web with the crackle of shattering bark as the connection points gave way and the vehicle headed straight for the house’s picture window.

Peter was already back on his knees, two weblines lanced from his wrists and snapped to the car’s undercarriage. The lines went taut instantly and Peter yanked backward. His muscles screamed at the pressure, like every individual fiber was supporting a hundred pounds of force, wrenching the car down to earth, it felt like trying to topple a skyscraper. Peter felt the webline in one hand snap and he felt something go pop in his opposite shoulder when the car finally bit into the earth and splintered every surviving pane of the convertible’s glass while the car flattened against the lawn, inches from destroying a residential living room.

Peter’s breath came out shaky and the weblines fell from his hands. His muscles felt like pulled taffy, and as he looked down he became aware of the kid’s on either side of him, the passengers, both dressed in garish blue and yellow costumes. He also became aware of the round, bony joint of his shoulder, hanging at an odd angle from the rest of his torso.

Fucking OWWWWWW! Peter grabbed the arm with his opposite hand and considered it. The black costume was still perfectly free of any rips or blemishes, but the arm sat there, free in the bag of his skin. He shuddered, and tried to remember what Mr. Osborn did when the same thing happened to Harry, when they were kids. Well, I guess circumstances were a little different then. Just gotta get it back in before the shock wears off... He took a firm grip around his arm as the girl from the wreck began to get her bearings.

“You...asshole!” She spat. “I swear to God your face is gonna be a hamburger after I'm done with you!”

“Whoa, Strawberry Shortcake, you the were the one…” Peter’s breath caught as he put his shoulder back into its socket in one move, forcing bone past muscle and jamming it in, “chasing me.” His eyes came up to meet hers, narrow slits of white peering out of a sea of darkness, and he realized the floating mass around himself. It was like magic wicked pickets revolving in a circle, dozens of them, held aloft by some kind of ethereal string Peter couldn’t see. His Spider-Sense reached and miss for something, some mechanism to it, and came back with nothing but the cool breeze of the New York air. He’d run afoul of honest-to-God Mutants.

"Y'got one chance to give it up, pal. Or you're in for a world of hurt."

Really screwed the pooch on this one, Parker. He retreated into himself, lower to the ground, a tiny spider against the makeshift artillery before him. Almost outta webs. Could dodge a couple of pickets… Maybe... He glanced behind him, to a boy with his eyes firmly shut, patting about the patch of concrete he’d landed on. And who knows what kinda power that guy’s packing. He tightened the strap on his duffle and then raised his hands slowly into the air, palms out. It’s the hail mary, then.

Peter arched his fingers and wicked angles, and slouched forward like an animal baring its claws. “You better take your boyfriend and leave, lady, because I’m Spider-Man, and you just made me mad. I’m summoning the spiders. Thousands of them, hundreds of thousands of them! Because I’m Spider-Man!”

_{Hotel, London, England, United Kingdom - Present Day, 14:23 Hours}

Issue 1.03.4: Cross of Iron

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Issue 1.03.3: The Stranger

”So, you are telling me that a werewolf threw you off the rooftop last night and no one else saw it?” Fury raised an eyebrow as he folded his arms in Steve’s new hotel room.

Across the room, Steve was cleaning his sidearm while sitting in a large chair. He sighed, shaking his head. ”Yeah. That sounds about right.”

”Steve, I hope you understand how insane that sounds. You’ve been under a lot of stress, lately, and-“

”I know what I saw, Nick. It was a werewolf like the books when I was a kid.”

Sharon stepped forward from her spot in the corner, her eyebrows raised. ”Wait, Steve, you were afraid of werewolves as a kid?”

Steve shrugged his shoulders. ”We all have unrealistic fears. I feel like in a world where there are vampires and wizards, werewolves are a realistic fear right about now.”

Fury gave a nod and a smile as he began picking up on Sharon’s logic. ”That would explain the strange deaths. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that they mobilized Trauma as part of their master plan. And now that Captain Rogers is here, they want to finish the job they started in the forties.”

Fury turned his gaze back to Cap, who nodded in response. ”That would explain why he had my old uniform. If it’s Agent Ward, then what’s our next play?”

”Simple. We lay a trap. And you’re the bait.”

_{Rooftop, London, England, United Kingdom - Present Day, 12:27 Hours}

---

The Captain stood in the pouring thunderstorm of another night in London, right near his hotel room. He was hard to miss, decked out in his strike uniform and with his shield in hand. Another crack of lightning lit up the night sky, forcing Cap to squint a little as the thunder rolled. By the time Cap’s vision returned to normal, the beast returned. It seemed larger than before, perhaps by about half a foot. It snarled, its low growl nearly drowned out by the pounding rain. The two figures watched each other for a few moments.

The beast made the first move, just as Steve’s muscles tensed. It lunged forward, closing the gap in a mere second. The Captain lifted his shield, managing to catch the beast’s claws just in time. The two were able to match each other blow for blow. This time he was prepared. Cap was fighting defensively, doing his best to dodge and block the beast’s incoming attacks. This forced the Captain back, inching slowly towards the rooftop’s ledge.

Of course, the beast adapted. Steve could tell it was learning and changing to counter his own fighting style. He felt the fear rising in his throat, but pushed it back down and kept doing what he could. He just needed to buy some time. But time was running out. The beast was able to grip the edge of Steve’s shield with its right hand, ripping it aside to get a swipe at his torso. Cap grunted in pain as he took a step backwards, throwing in a sweep of the beast’s leg. It landed on its back, giving its own growl while Steve lifted his shield back up to continue the fight.

The two continued fighting toe to toe, while on the rooftop across the street Fury gave a nod. ”Bring it down.” From their position, the SHIELD operatives began opening fire with their specialized ICER rifles. Small blue pellets impacted against the beast’s fur, causing it to recoil. Cap used the brief pause in the attack to reach towards his belt, pulling out a metal ring that was still partially open. He slammed the ring into the beat’s neck, and it instantly began glowing and molded around the beast’s neck. As the beast roared, electricity began sparking from the collar and causing it to convulse. It slowly lowered to its knees in pain. The SHIELD volley stopped, and Cap slowly approached his opponent.

As Steve drew near, the beast’s head snapped up to stare him in the eyes. The electricity was still sparking, but it showed no further pain. Cap’s heart dropped as the fear began to overtake him, and the beast lunged. He was really on the defensive now. Fury reached up towards his ear as he watched the battle ensue. ”Carter, you need to take the shot. Silver bullet.”

Sharon nodded and kicked open the emergency access door to the rooftop, gripping her revolver tightly as she circled around towards the fight. Cap’s eyes turned towards her, and the beast followed suite. Before Steve could try and restrain it, the beast began sprinting towards Sharon. Without hesitation, she pulled squeezed the trigger, firing a shot directly into the beast’s skull. Instantaneously, the beast reverted back into its original form. The corpse of Terrance Ward slid along the ground towards Sharon’s feet.

Cap sighed, falling to a knee as his eyes locked on the corpse of what must have been a man no older than 21. Through ragged breaths, he slammed a fist into the ground as he muttered, ”Not again.”

---