T H E F O R B I D D E N A S T E R O I D S

---

The young horse lord was seated in mid-air.

It was a floating meditation. A practical exercise in the application of physics that defined the fundamental principles of Kymellian technomancy. His three-fingered hands held out, the boy concentrated on understanding the present exercise. To understand his place in the universe. To reflect on what forces were acting on him. To appreciate how he affected the kinetic potential around him…

He was interrupted by a chime.

Looking up, the young Kymellian spoke to the air as he answered, “Yes?”

“Lord Whitemane, you’d requested to be contacted when we had contact from the human.”

The horse-boy’s ears immediately perked up. “Billy?” he uttered wistfully, hopping from out of the lotus position. In a shimmery flash, the world surrounding him was displaced. Gone were his spartan quarters. In their place, he had returned to central assembly.

“Captain... og, star... whatever point...”

It was unmistakably Billy Batson. The sound of his voice brought a smile to Kofi’s long face, his imagination already running away with flights of fantasy that sought to speculate on what adventure that Billy might have found waiting for him on Tolmeria.

G’Kar and Aelfyre were already present, the two figures pouring over different monitors. “The Galladorians have an exploratory vessel that received this transmission,” Aelfyre offered, casually taking note of his young cousin’s arrival.

“I’ve arrived... Tolmeria. Surface search is... ning up any signs of life... definitely been a... something here. Maybe a...”

The sound of Billy’s voice was becoming distorted, crackling in and out amid bursts of static. After a moment, Aelfyre looked up and noted, “That was as much of the signal that they were able to decipher.”

Kofi looked down toward the floor, then raised his eyes again. It was more news than they’d had. And now they knew that Billy had arrived at Tolmeria.

“The vessel was able to capture several scans of the Tolmeria System,” G’Kar intoned, in his booming voice. Lowering his tone slightly, the Okaaran warlord noted, “The energy readings are concerning.”

An Okaaran who expressed anything resembling fear was cause for a double take.

Aelfyre moved over toward the monitor where G’Kar had been standing. Reviewing the data there, the elder Kymellian remarked, “This electromagnetic signature is consistent with Billy’s power. But I don’t think we’ve seen him hold such a high output for any extended period of time.”

G’Kar just gave a solemn nod. “Whatever he’s fighting, Billy’s at his limit.”

Kofi just blinked at that suggestion. Billy had a limit? Everything that Kofi had seen had caused him to believe that Billy was unstoppable.

So, the Kymellian boy could hardly believe the question that he was posing, as he opened his mouth and asked, “He’s in trouble?”

Aelfyre didn’t answer.

“We may all be in trouble,” G’Kar murmured darkly.

The two adults just stood there, arms crossed and brooding as they cast dark glances at the monitors in the room.

Looking up at the pair, Kofi was quiet for only a moment before he reached up to tap his communicator. “Friday, please prepare for launch.”

Aelfyre’s head snapped up. “Kofi, what are you doing?”

What was he doing? What should he be doing?

What would Billy do?

Standing his ground, the horse-lord looked up at his uncle and said, “Well, for starters, I’m not standing around.”


Space was an infinite vacuum that was expanding infinitely in all directions.

So how was it possible to be out of breath in space? Well, beyond the notion of being out of breath all the time. Because of the no air thing.

But, seriously, Billy ordinarily moved about in deep space with no problem. Now, he and this Terrax guy had been going at it for long enough that they’d moved from the planet into orbit and then beyond.

For his part, Billy was pretty winded. Which was remarkable, because he’d forgotten just what this felt like. The last time he’d felt this way, it was the Second World War and Billy still had no ideas just what his powers even did.

And Terrax the Pants-less?

Dude still seemed the same as when Billy first met him. He took everything that Billy could dish out and then came back without so much as a scratch. The transition from terrestrial planet to the interstellar medium allowing Billy a luxury of being able to cut loose without worrying about doing some serious damage to the environment. Even still, none of his blasts seemed to faze Terrax.

They were fighting to a stand-still, but it wouldn’t last. Terrax was wearing Billy down. At this rate, Billy would exhaust himself and then Terrax would return to Tolmeria to continue the conquest and enslavement of the planet.

Unfortunately, punching things repeatedly wasn’t looking like it was going to carry the day for this one. And Billy was running out of other ideas.

There was a warbling chirp in his right ear.

His communicator had just paired with another. Did that mean..? “Friday, I need something to trap this guy. Quick!”

“Trap?” Kofi’s voice came back through the open channel. “What trap?”

“I dunno,” Billy tossed back, ducking and weaving as he continued to try and press his attack. “Something!”

Trading a series of blows, Billy fought to try and get a word out. “I just do the punching, you’re ‘sposed to do the thinking.”

Friday’s voice came back a moment later. “There is a neutron star at approximately two-eight-seven mark twelve, distance forty astronomical units.”

Glancing around, Billy finally stared down at his feet and oriented himself to the location that Friday had mentioned. He could feel the gravity from here. Getting close to that was going to be a day time…

“Kofi, I hope you got a bodyslide in you,” Billy noted softly. Bracing himself, he deflected a punch along his forearm, before angling himself so that Terrax was between himself and the neutron star. “‘Cuz I think I’m gonna need one…”

“You’re not actually flying into a neutron star, are you?”

“See you in a bit,” Billy quipped, before rocketing forward in an explosion of nuclear energies. He slammed into Terrax, grabbing hold of him even as the two accelerated rapidly to the speed of light, and then beyond.

Letting go of Terrax, Billy flipped around to kick away from the pants-less dictator.

He didn’t get very far.

He could feel himself falling backward into the star’s gravity. It was possible that this was a bad idea.

Pressing against the edge of forever, he blacked out.

---

---

“He is not my- shit, that's a lot of spiders-"

Peter was up on his toes, watching every revolution of the pickets as they circled him, points like daggers stared back at him. The turf was shredded where the girl had plucked them from the ground with her mind, plumes of dirt and destroyed greenery lay in a heap around what Peter imagined was once a respectable hedgeline. The wreckage of the convertible smoldered quietly, little fires starting as the engine gave a sicky whine, still trying to operate despite the crushing pressure forcing its pistons back down into the ground. The more ways he looked, the less opportunity there was for escape -- there seemed to be a picket every foot, and she’d eventually put together that there were no actual spiders.

Honestly, I’m surprised it worked at all. He scanned the line of projectiles. Maybe I can web them together, or something? Screw up her… Throwing arc? God knows if that’s how it works, anyway. Still, even if he could get past that, there was the matter of the other kid. Even with his eyes firmly pressed shut, every time his head so much as turned in Peter’s direction, the surface of the suit crawled and he felt pins and needles on his neck, like his Spider-Sense itself didn’t want any part of the kid’s mojo. Still, he had to try something soon, or…

"Wait! Jean, can you get me my- Thanks." The kid on the ground sputtered, as ruby red sunglasses suddenly rose and skipped across the pavement towards him. The girl’s expression softened as he collected his glasses, but the perimeter of fence posts stayed tight, bearing down like the needles of an iron maiden.

As soon as the glasses found their way onto his face he was moving again, pushing himself up to his feet. A regular Velma Dinkley, useless without his glasses. Peter turned to get a better look at him and pain stabbed down through his shoulder, fire down into the bone and deep into the socket. He bit his tongue and braced himself, squeezing the muscles in his opposite arm and willing the pain away. The sirens had already started in the distance -- evidently playing catch with a Convertible wasn’t a great way to stay incognito.

"Alright, listen,” the boy started, “you don't know us. We don't know you. I figure you've got some issues if you're attacking police stations in the dead of night. But so far as I know you didn't kill anybody in there, so...you're not fully gone. But you hear that, right?" He jerked his thumb back, and Peter saw the police lights in the distance, huge blue and red streaks marking the sky like banners of arms.

"That's the sound of a lot of really angry cops coming this way. Guys with guns who probably won't stop to talk, if you catch my drift. But we can help you. We're the X-Men. Helping mutants out of tough spots is sort of our thing."

This was one of those times when Ben would give a platitude about rocks and hard places… Did he say X-Men? Peter remembered Ben, back at the Hospital; ”I can’t believe they let them print this rag, huh Pete? Going after those poor kids in Bayville. The nerve.” Either way, he still wasn’t sure he was much up to running away, especially with his shoulder socket feeling like an especially painful game of Operation. And if Ben can put a little faith in them… Peter swallowed.

“Well, I only came for the Disney tickets, but you’ve convinced me, I’ll buy the timeshare.” Peter rocked back onto the balls of his feet and stood, inch by inch, pushing both of his hands into the air. The ring of posts held fast, and the girl rocked on her heels. "I don't know about this. This guy, I don't think he's-"

The boy cut her off; "I'd rather not have to knock you out to save your life. Don't make this harder than it already is." He held out a hand. The sirens were closer now, the sound echoing between the plaster and paint of houses and the slick concrete of the road.

“Yeah, I’m partial to consciousness, myself.” Peter made sure to show his hands as he pointed one to the nearest treeline, preparing to sling a web. “I’m thinking we hop a few fences, since your car, uh… Probably needs to go to the shop.” He tapped the center of his palm and the web flew from his wrist, snapping onto the bark of a nearby tree -- he hoped the girl wouldn’t spike him for it.

_{20,000 ft. above the Atlantic Ocean - Present Day, 13:33 Hours}

Issue 1.03.5: Come and See

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Issue 1.03.4: Cross of Iron

Rogers, Carter, and Fury stood around the holotable, the machinery in the ceiling buzzing to life. Within moments, the holographic images of Natasha and Tony filled in some of the empty space around the table. The Colonel gave a nod to his subordinate officers before activating the holotable’s display, showcasing footage and files concerning their two most recent missions. ”Well, let’s review. HYDRA has kicked our ass twice in Rome, and nearly destabilized the British government while also trying to execute our favorite 70-something year old agent. We’ve been managing to stop HYDRA’s attacks before they’ve caused irreparable damage, but only just. And we have no clues as to where they're going to strike next.”

”They’re turning our own agents against us, Fury. Masters and Carter have both had to execute our own. It seems more like they are toying with us than actually trying to accomplish anything.”

”Perhaps that’s exactly what they are trying to do.” Natasha began tapping away at a small tablet, and the files on those who went missing from the Helicarrier attack months before were brought up on the holographic display, along with a world map showcasing featuring red dots all throughout Europe, Northern Africa, and South America. A few of them began glowing green as Natasha continued tapping away.

Masters interjected before Natasha began speaking again. ”They’re stalling. The tactics seem inconsistent with a frontal assault on any nation or even on SHIELD’s credibility. They’re trying to buy themselves time.’

Fury nodded in acknowledgement. ”We are still missing Patel and Mason, which is a dangerous pair to have in their back pocket. Sgt. Green and Mr. Ward were heavy hitters, and could easily be mobilized anywhere in the world. Ms. Patel and Dr. Mason, on the other hand... they would most likely be kept underground for a longer play.”

”Then we just need to find where HYDRA could be hiding them? Check under every rock we know they used?”

Natasha gave a sly smile at this statement. ”Great minds. I’ve been coordinating searches of HYDRA bunkers between Rome and London, seeing if we can find any clues. Our searches haven’t been fruitful.”

Steve furrowed his brow for a moment, before he began manipulating the map and pulling out a stylus to circle areas of the map. ”I recognize this strategy. Zemo used it against me before. Near the end of the war, HYDRA began fights they knew they would lose because they were working on the ultimate weapon: the nuclear bomb. They started battles as far away from their main base of operations as possible to keep me and the Howling Commandos busy and out of the way.” Steve finished his drawing, marking up pretty much all of Europe. ”They wouldn’t keep Patel and Mason somewhere between London and Rome if they want us distracted. The situation in Trasnia also rules out Eastern Europe, especially given SHIELD has increased presence there. Northern Africa is a bit too close for comfort, since we have SHIELD analysts in the region still picking out pieces of the Helicarrier.”

”Then that leaves South America as our best option?”

Fury’s head tilted slightly, and he picked up a tablet and began swiping through reports. He gave a nod as he finally came to the right one, and flicked it up so that the report was front and center on the display. It showed satellite footage of Brazil, noting an electrical shortage in the Brazilian hinterlands. ”We noticed electrical disturbances in rural Brazil not too long ago, but by the time we investigated the situation there were no signs of tampering. We wrote it off at the time, but that might be our smoking gun.”

Carter gave a nod. ”Should we mobilize the Commandos?

Cap shook his head. ”No. I did that with Heinrich Zemo back in the War, and that move made him rush his process and I ended up in the ice.”

Natasha nodded. ”I have some old contacts in the black market in Brazil, and can see if they had any interesting characters roll through.”

Fury took a deep breath. ”For now, we need to stay sharp. Romanoff, begin coordinating the search in Brazil. Masters, continue monitoring the situation in Trasnia. The rest of us will reconvene at the Triskellion and assess our next move.”

Nearly everyone nodded in agreement, and the holographic images of Romanoff and Masters faded. Fury was turning to leave when Cap spoke up. ”Colonel Fury, I need to make a pit stop before returning back to base.”

Fury stopped and turned around slowly with a bemused expression on his face and a sass that took decades to master. ”And may I ask what for, Captain Rogers?”

”I have to visit an old friend.”

Location: Washington Avenue, Dakota City

Time: 7.00 PM

---

"I'm thinking about you, and the things that you do to me. That make me love you. I'm thinking about you."

Pulling off the battered headphones, Mari rolled out of her bed with a loud groan. She clutched her side warily as she gingerly stretched out her back. The last of her painkillers had faded and pain pulsed outwards from her bruised rib. Rippling waves of agony swept over her, reminding her of her encounter with the asphalt monster. The bruises had faded faster than she'd expected. She'd asked Nancy but he'd provided no honest answers. He'd simply winked and said it was a perk of the job. Mari wasn't sure that she believed in magic, not yet, but she felt certain there was something going on. Nancy was an asshole, but more importantly he was a schemer, she knew he was only telling her part of the story. She would have worried more, if she wasn't focused on revenge. She wasn't going to let some glorified piece of asphalt show her up.

"Concrete face really did a number on you, did he?" Nancy jeered.

"I'll live," Mari hissed back between clenched teeth.

"Of course you will, we still have work to do," the spider whimsically replied from his perch at the end of her bed.

"How about we take a rain check on that."

"Oh there ain't no rest for the wicked, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that."

"What shall I call you then?"

"Mari, Mari is fine."

"No, no. That won't do. You need a nom de guerre. Something with flash. Something that resonates with the masses. Like that kid, Static."

"Who?"

"Another neophyte. A colleague."

"Another idiot with a mask?"

"Sure, you could say that. You'll meet him soon enough. We've just got to follow the plan."

"Whatever, fuck your plan. How about you just tell me why I'm awake instead?"

"Beyond it being evening?"

"I need my beauty rest."

"Well, no time for that my dear apprentice, my web has been tingling, I can feel it. We have an appointment."

"An appointment with who?"

"An appointment with some new friends."

"Friend friends or friends-with-guns-who-aren't-really-friends-at-all?"

"The latter of course," Nancy replied with a Cheshire Cat grin.

---

Mari dove beneath the wide, clumsy swing of the bat. They were so slow, so weak. Dancing forward in a blur of motion, she raked her claws cross across the right arm of the bat-wielding hooligan. The bat cluttered to the ground and the hoodlum staggered backwards, disarmed, and clutching his arm. His face was painted a shade of white, equal parts fear and pain, and it filled Mari with an unfamiliar feeling of pleasure. She could smell the blood that dripped onto the pavement.

"Pick it up," Mari commanded, kicking the bat towards him. His eyes darted towards the other scumbag that lay sprawled across the pavement, but he made not move to pick up the bat.

"Don't play with your food," Nancy chided. She didn't want to listen to him. She'd listened to him enough. He'd told her to be discreet, to be cautious, to take things slow. She didn't see the point. He'd asked her to make some new friends, to make some noise. She was going to do this her way. More importantly, she was enjoying herself. She felt in command. She could smell the fear emanating from the wannabe-gangster as she began to slowly circle him. It felt good, so good.

"Tiny, step back, I'll handle this," a woman's voice said. She could smell the burning ashes as the door to the trap house slammed shut.

Mari eyed the woman that stepped forward into the street light lazily. She yawned loudly and fidgeted with her ski mask, "I'm not here for you, any of you. I just need you to call for help. I need you to get me the concrete man. I've been thinking about him."

"How about I just kill you instead?" The woman offered, spitting onto the pavement.

"You can try."

H A L E Y ’ S C I R C U S

---

The ground is forty feet below me.

There’s no net.

Nothing holding me up. I let go of the flying trapeze and, for a moment, I’m flying. I can hear the gasps, the collective holding of breath, and even a few shrieks rise from below. I’m starting to fall, but I’m not afraid. I just stretch out my arms, and I know she’ll be there to catch me. Because she’s always there. Because she always does.

The gasps echo, louder this time, as we both go sailing through the air. Me, dangling in mid-air, and my mother holding onto my arms with her legs hooked around the trapeze bar.

Then she lets go.

The screams pierce the air. I shut out the audience - the blur of faces and lights - as I tuck into a ball and flip through the air. Once. Twice. What they don’t see is my father, standing on the platform. He let the trapeze bar go right as I finished the first rotation. Coming out of the second, I plane my body out. My hands open wide, the trapeze bar smacking right against the palms. Holding fast, I sail through the air. Dismount, tuck into a backflip, and make the landing on the platform.

The cheers break out, even as my mother is following suit, until all three of us are standing on the platform together. The applause grows in intensity as she dismounts and joins us, then transforms into a standing ovation as we take a bow.

“The fearless Flying Graysons! Let’s have a great Gotham round of applause for ten year old Dicky Grayson. The youngest acrobat performing today!”

I step back, and soon I’m the only one standing on the platform. The performance goes into the second act and I’ve got the best seat in the house.

Stepping back from the platform, I put my back against the tent pole and slide down. The strength seems to go out of my legs and I’m starting to realize that my arms are numb. My heart is pounding in my chest and I’m still trying to catch my breath. Below, it probably feels a little cool inside the tent. Up here, with all the lights, it feels like it’s a hundred degrees.

There’s a strange twang overhead. I look up, but it’s just the tension wires. In between the platforms, mom and dad are really putting on a show. I know every move. I know each routine. But it’s still incredible to witness. It takes my breath away, and I get to see this every day. The audience below? Amazed would be an understatement. I wish that I could be out there with them, but I’m still too little. Mom and dad are worried that I’ll get tired. Tired during practice is one thing. We have nets and safety harnesses while we learn a new routine. It gives us that little extra security to push ourselves to the limit to figure out what works and what doesn’t. Which, in my case, usually doesn’t. I hit the net four or five or even a dozen times some days.

But that’s practice, and this isn’t. So I come in at the start of the performance for the first act, then I’m sidelined for the second, and come back toward the end of the third. But I don’t really have any stunts after the first act.

The sound again. Louder, the cable and support structure giving a snap-CLAP of protest that echoed like a roll of thunder. I heard it. I bet the audience below heard it.

My parents heard it.

They’ve paused their routine, missing the jump. They’re lower than they should be. From this vantage point, I can see that the trapeze is sagging. My dad’s looking up at the cables. My mom’s looking at me. I can see her face.

I can see her fear.

“Mom?”

The cable snaps before I can even get back to my feet. “DAD!” I see them drop, and lunge forward. I collapse onto the platform, peering over the ledge and I see everything.

I see the end of the world.

City of Bludhaven, New Jersey
Present Day

The coffee had been cold for more than an hour.

The styrofoam cup cradled in his hand, untouched, as he sat there. He seemed as oblivious to its presence in his grasp as he was the flash of lights from the roof of the police cruiser. The door to the car was open, one leg extended out to the shoulder of the road. Propped up in the driver’s seat, the former circus acrobat looked as though he was withering away. His clothes might have been slept in.

And that was before the call had come in about a school bus out on Route Sixteen.

The iconic, yellow caravan was reflected in the windshield of the police cruiser. Dick was staring at it when the phone rang. Reaching inside of his wrinkled suit coat, the disheveled man fished out a cell phone. Swiping a thumb across the screen, he brought the phone up up to the side of his head as he answered, “Yeah?”

“This hasn’t been a good two weeks for you, Commissioner.”

The scowl on the man’s well-lined face only deepened. He’d known it was only a matter of time before the political vultures began circling.

This had been a month for vultures.

“This hasn’t been a good two weeks for any of us,” Dick answered, working to keep his voice even as he spoke back into the phone.

“The mayor is asking for advice on what the messaging should be on this,” the man on the other end of the line remarked, before plunging ahead with what was obviously the line that the PR cadre intended to try and tow. “Can we call it an accident?”

With a shake of his head, Dick just rolled his eyes in disbelief. Then, staring at the coffee lingering in the cup, pitched the drink out the door of the car before returning to the conversation. In a much more heated tone. “I’ve got three dead bodies and thirteen missing children,” Dick snapped coldly. Did these politicians even give a damn about any of that? At times, he had his doubts. “That’s thirteen families that are going to show up in the hospitals, looking for their kids who were in the ‘accident.’ How long do you imagine that story’s going to hold water?”

Jesus. He was appealing to a political lobbyist with common sense. That was somewhere between futile and talking to a wall.

“We can’t go public with this,” the man’s voice on the line repeated, though it seemed as though he didn’t have any alternatives or thoughts of his own on the matter. “The outcry could spark a panic.”

“Whatever happened to ‘and the truth shall set you free?’”

“Jesus saves. You know what Jesus doesn’t do? Manage a fucking election campaign,” the man on the phone snapped in retort. There was a pause, before Dick heard, “Tell your people to keep this close-hold. We’ll be in touch regarding the messaging.”

The line gave a click, before Dick was left with the muted warble of the cell phone closing the connection.

He just sat there, in the police cruiser, staring out at the school bus without so much as breathing. Then, he punched the steering wheel as he lurched forward and exploded with a forceful, “FUCK!”

His people were trained to serve and protect. To color within the lines, investigating ordinary crimes.

There was nothing ordinary about what was happening in Bludhaven right now.

Relaxing back into the driver’s seat, Dick looked at his phone. A tap of his thumb brought up his contacts. Without even thinking about it, he started scrolling through the list.

Until his thumb hovered over a name.

WAYNE, BRUCE

He stayed that way for about three minutes, debating in his mind whether to make that phone call or not.

Instead, he put the phone down. His head in his hands, the Flying Grayson was at his wit’s end. He hadn’t been this twisted since he’d walked out on Bruce. But, he was certain of one thing.

Turning to Bruce Wayne for help was not the answer.

Instead, he picked the phone up and, this time, scrolled through the contacts until his thumb landed on CHARLES, SARAH.

This time, he pressed it.

Holding the phone up to his ear again, he heard it ring twice before she picked up. “Sarah? Dick Grayson.”

”Dick?” He almost winced at the surprise in her voice. Not because she was surprised, but because he knew that he’d come that guy who only called his friends when he needed something.

He’d become like Bruce.

”Oh my God, it’s been ages! How are you?”

He forced himself to smile. People could always hear the smile. “Good. You sound good,” he offered, trying to come off as relaxed or casual.

He could try to make conversation or...

No, just get to it. “You have time for a cup of coffee?” Dick asked, before adding “Your office, preferably.”

It was during the early hours of the morning that Illyana Rasputina found herself returning to the Sanctum Sanctorum. She had teleported to the street outside, not wishing to wake the other inhabitants of the Sanctum at such an hour. Closing the door on the already bustling sounds of New York, she crept across the entrance hall as silently as she could, awkwardly tiptoeing in her heavy boots. She eyed the stairs in front of her cautiously as she veered towards the back right of the room and towards the kitchen.

She passed the archway to the drawing room on her way, and upon hearing the soft crackle of a fire, poked her head through curiously. She smiled warmly at the sight of Bats' spectral body curled up comfortably before the fire. Normally Illyana wasn't a fan of pets, however, she held a soft spot for Strange's ghostly basset hound.

Blowing him a silent kiss, she continued on her way, moving into the kitchen. Despite the grand yet whimsical nature of the rest of the house, the kitchen was sleek and cool, with a large spotless countertop centering the room. The place would make the likes of Paula Deen jealous. It was no wonder that Wong referred to this room as his happy place.

Despite knowing that fact though, the sound of Wong's voice still took Illyana by surprise as she entered the room. Her eyes darting towards him in shock like a deer caught in headlights.

"Good morning, Miss Rasputina." He mused, before turning back to the pile of laundry that he had been tending to. "Or should I say good evening? I assume you'll be sleeping in today?"

Illyana made a noise and shrugged before striding into the room and grabbing a glass from the side. Wong in return simply chuckled in bemusement.

“Is Stephen about?” She questioned, filling her drink from the faucet.

Wong shook his head slowly as he turned, not turning his eyes away from the shirts he was folding with perfect precision.

"Much like you, he went out last night. Had to make a trip to the Himalayas I believe."

She nodded, before beginning to drum her fingers against the countertop in thought.

"I feel like you have another question Illyana."

The question threw Illyana somewhat. She had forgotten how close she and Wong had grown since she'd started living here. He had always been a somewhat perceptive person, however now he could read her like a book. She didn't know whether to be worried or touched that someone finally understood her.

"I've been doing some research and veading up on some of Stephen's old associates when he first started out." She did her best to keep her cool as she spoke. Technically it wasn't a lie.

"From his Shadowpact days?" Wong questioned, finally turning away from the clothes, a huge smile across his face. "Oh, I do miss them. Simpler times!"

"Shadowpact? Bit of a stupid name." Illyana rebuked, scrunching up her face slightly at the thought.

Wong let out a laugh, before raising his hand up towards the door. Within seconds, the sound of rushing wind met their ears as a small object rocketed out of the darkness of the hall towards them. It slowed dramatically as it neared them, with Illyana realizing that it was a book. Bound in dark green leather, the tome looked as if it were hundreds of years old. She held her breath slightly, a part of her feeling like the thing would crumble into dusk at a single touch. Wong had no such hesitation however and grabbed it from the air. Placing it on the counter before them, he brushed off a thick layer of dust before continuing.

"[color=steelblue]Maybe it is stupid, but that name has been used throughout history by champions of magic." Just to prove his point, he opened the front cover, revealing a drawing of an assorted group of men, all dressed in brightly coloured robes. He turned the page, revealing another group, this time dressed in loin clothes and dresses. Each page displayed an image of a different group, and as they went, the clothing changed as they leaped forward in time. The art style remained beautiful though, truly capturing the essence of each and every person.

"It's... It's a photo album."

"This is the complete roster of Shadowpact since the beginning of time, Illyana." Wong said sternly, before breaking out into a laugh. "But yes, it's essentially a magical photo album."

He turned the final page. This time, instead of a beautiful oil painting like the other rosters, there was a simple photograph. She gasped in amazement as she took it all in. She had spotted Strange immediately, his infamous goatee and flamboyant red cloak giving away his position instantly. While maybe not to the extent of Stephen's costume, the men around him were also all dressed somewhat bizarrely, from ill-colored suits to uncomfortable looking spandex. One individual took the cake though.

"Who the hell is that?" Illyana asked, thrusting her finger towards the bottom corner of the photo.

Wong smiled, taking in the horrifying visage of the all-so-familiar human-sized insect before him.

"That Illyana, is the Canterbury Cricket!"

---

When you’re young and dumb, you tend to have role-models. You emulate them. You revere them. You copy their every move like a less-creepy stalker.

It seems to be inevitable that people gravitate from celebrities to heroes. Gods. Men. Monsters. People with extraordinary abilities in what was once an mundane world.

Every time you do something, you always think about what that person would do in your shoes. You’d be hard-pressed to find a single girl in my school takes after Wonder Woman as a symbol of feminism. Captain America shields are passed around like cotton candy during Halloweens.

I’d never imagine becoming a role-model myself. Me? Hanging out with the big leagues? Going on international missions? Saving the world?

I could laugh at the thought of that.

---

“ Pssst, hey!”

A tug on his wrist woke Virgil up from his nap just as the public bus shuttle lurched a right turn, inertia tilting everybody on the vehicle slightly to the left. It was two stops before he reached Hemingway. He turned his head to the left to see a young girl, holding out a pastel-colored comic book with a toothed grin. An adult-size blue parka made her small frame look more bigger than it was.

“ Uhhhh…”

The girl waved the comic book in his face for a moment as if it was obvious before speaking in a saccharine tone that naivety could only afford.

“ Could I please have your autograph, Mr Static?”

“ Sure….” Virgil gingerly took the chipped crayon that the kid offered him along with the comic book. On the front page was a scene of the Man with a Plan himself socking Red Skull in the face with bright, cartoonish text from a bygone era. It would have been more appropriate for Cap himself to sign it but unfortunately, it would be hard to raise a dead man out of the grave. Bradley and Nasland could never compare to the original Steve Rogers. Virgil murmured whilst attempting to scrawl a legible signature on the front page of the comic book.

“ Name?”

“ Raquel Ervin.”

“ To. My. Biggest. Fan. Raquel. “ Virgil punctuated each word slowly before Raquel piped up in a giggle.

“ What’s with the weird swimming goggles?”

“ Firstly, they’re welding goggles.” Virgil tapped the cracked edge of the yellow visor to emphasise his point “ and secondly, they’re not weird. They’re awesome.”

He returned back to signing the autograph, the soft purple wax smudging against the brown stained paper.

“ Remember. You. Always. Have…. ”

His voice trailed off on the unspoken words. A choice. After his conversation with the Shocker, he wasn’t sure if Dakota City gave him a choice in the first place. It took him a struggling minute to write those last two words down, the words his mother and father lived by, the words that he was beginning to doubt. The old brakes of the bus screeched, the chassis swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

“ This is your bus driver speaking. We are currently at Washington Avenue..”

Virgil sheepishly handed it over towards Raquel who snatched it in a blur and began to inspect it.

“ Sorry if it doesn’t look good. It’s my first time -”

There was a loud gasp, Virgil sucking in his breath nervously, before Raquel began bouncing up and down. “ It’s TOTALLY Awesome! This is gonna be great for tomorrow’s show and tell!”

Raquel hopped off the bus stop and began to run back towards her home in a frantic pace. Virgil could have sworn that she was skipping over each crack in the sidewalk. The bus doors shuttered close just as she began to wave a good bye to him. He waved silently before shaking his head in annoyed amusement. If he had mentioned to her that it'd been the first autograph he'd ever given to someone else, she would have exploded in joy.

It was lucky that he still had a few spare dollars from last month’s allowance to afford a ride across Dakota. It was a painful discovery to find out that his metaphorical internal battery could no longer provide enough electricity for street-surfing after leaving Mr Schumer's home. He squeezed a fist, minute droplets of electricity leaking out like a facet as his brain was burning with indecision. He massaged the left side of his scalp which had a small cut on it that had gummed up with scab. Or was it the Shocker's home? Virgil internally debated over what to do with a man who he once knew as his chemistry teacher and now as a former retired supervillain.

Turn him into the authorities? Arrest him? Virgil bit his lip as he considered it. Stab Schultz in the back? The person who had stolen from him was the real danger to the public of Dakota City, not some washed up retiree. His house was built on stolen money, though. Money that had been accumulated from a long career of robbing banks. What Dakota City needed was less criminals, not more criminals. He couldn't let him go, nor did he have the courage to arrest him. Virgil slumped back into the linoleum seating, staring outside at the afternoon urban jungle of inner Dakota City. He wondered if Black Lightning -

No. He didn't even want to think of that stranger now.

Though, the last words that Schultz gave him before he slammed the door shut in face left something for him to mull over.

No one ever told you to be a hero.

But no one ever told him not to be one.

“ This is your bus driver speaking. We are currently stopping at Hemingway High.”

Virgil stood up. Most occupants of the bus were trying to pretend not to notice him of courtesy but he could see them peering from out of their phones or sneaking a glance at him from behind their newspapers. He walked to the front doors, preparing to step off.

“ Wait. Before you go - “ Virgil turned around with a raised eyebrow of confusion. The bus driver took out from a phone from his pocket and looked at Virgil in a grin that made his eyes roll “ - You got time for a selfie?”

---

Larry Buchinsky was frustrated. He clanged the mallet down, using every molecule of anger that he had within his being to shape the weapon which would slay Static. His workbench was covered in sweat from the 24 hours of work he had done. He had to fend off the complaints of landlords and neighboring tenants with polite apologies and death threats alike.

48 more hours to deliver Static's head on a platter to Ebon. 48 more hours for Ebon to take control of the city and depose the Mayor. 48 more hours for Ebon to secure funding for the Freeman Community Center. Herman tossed the hammer away and took out an acetylene welding torch, the inner bowels of his apartment glowing neon blue from his work.

His tinkering had leading results that Herman Schultz would have never imagined. Deciphering the secret to Schultz's shock-gauntlets was like trying to solve a puzzle whilst missing essential pieces. Every member of the Squadron Supreme kept the blueprints behind their technologies a secret with the exception of Boomerang, who stuck C4 to the end of one of his signature razor-rangs and called it innovation.

This, though....This was a triumph. Herman shut off the flow of heat and pried off his welding mask, taking a gander at his suit. A series of electrical relays had been welded onto the back that connected to a power pack that supplied energy to his very own shock-gauntlets. The electrical relays would allow him to absorb the electrical blats that the Kilowatt Kid was so fond of and turn the vigilante into his very own pit stop.

Luring out the Kilowatt Kid would prove difficult, given that he didn’t know his behaviour. However, like every vigilante with a hero complex, causing the largest commotion would grab the kid’s attention. He had a plan in the -

His phone rang. Larry picked up the phone, immediately recognizing the brusque voice of Robert Hawkins, manager of the Freeman Community Center.

“ Hey, Rob. I’m still working on securing those funds for us. I know that the deadline - “

“ That’s not the reason I called you. I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“ The bad news first.”

“ The bad news is that the city council has decided to redistribute their grant for us towards cleaning up the Black Hole.”

Larry winced “ Well, that’s a waste of time. The good news?".

“ We’ve received some donations from some minor charity programmes associated with Wayne and Queen Industries. Not much but it’ll keep us afloat for a month or so.”

“ That’s…..great.”

“ The second news is that I’m inviting you to a coffee lunch this Saturday. My son’ll be there.”

Larry groaned and stared at the calendar on the wall.

" Rob, maybe, this isn't the best time for me...."

" Think about it."

" I will." Larry returned back to staring at his completed work before squinting “ Your son….Isn’t he that Virgil boy you told me about?”

“ The one and the same. He’s a good kid for his age. Trust me, he's not going to be much of a nuisance. I hope you're okay with having him at the table.”

---

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

Queen's Heir #1.02: Partners

---

10:30

Connor liked the Star City Public Library. It had the same sort of gentle quietness as his home monastery, broken mainly by younger schoolkids on trips and hushed or inconsiderate conversation. He wasn't always huge on books but thanks to a very generous, very plaque-adorned donation from one Oliver Queen, QCore computers were free to use and through them so were a lot of news subscriptions and archives. So he spent a lot of his free, non-masked time here. Mostly he was looking up the latest criminal activities he'd missed (a lot), binge-reading older news articles on Green Arrow cases and his father's public works and persona (amazing and a mix of inspiring and embarrassing or irritating, respectively) and trying to gauge public opinion on his new Green Arrow identity (who again?).

That last part made it ultra-weird when a black screen suddenly popped up with the words:

sup GA ur a real tough guy to get a hold of.

typed out on it.

Connor almost fell out of his chair, none of this made sense! Once he recovered though, he noticed there was a text box for him to use at the bottom.

What the hell! How do you know who I am and how are you doing this? I'm not even in a chat right now!

...
Well lets just say if it has QCore Tech or an internet connection, I cn make it dance. That's a lotta stuff in this city. How I know isnt the point, but I know u need info, and I cn help. If ur tired of getting tips on muggings from hobos, theres a QPhone and a linked earpiece wedged in the back left booth's cushions at the B3 on the corner. Take it and wait for my call.

Well, it was that or read another article speculating on his father's love life.

Nooooot really much of a choice.

---

10:45

The smell of the Big Belly Burger's interior was both curious and a little gross. Connor had to admit he liked french fries, and since Big Belly Burger's weren't done up in beef fat or anything it well, technically wasn't sacrilegious to eat them, except maybe from an over-indulgence perspective.

But no time for that right now, at least the phone was in the promised cushion crack even if he'd probably looked like he was scrounging for change digging through the first few wrong picks for 'back left'. The phone was shiny, high-tech and new-looking, done up in a dark green, maybe-waterpoof-looking phone case with the same Green Arrow logo certain tongue-in-cheek vigilante merch sites used on t-shirts and the Halloween costume he'd been mix-and-matching from at night. The earpiece had similar detailing, except tiny enough to fit in one ear. Maybe it was some sort of in-joke from his new 'friend'. Either way as he sat there staring at them the the young would-be-monk couldn't help thinking they were both nicer and probably more expensive than anything he had ever owned.

As if his thought summoned the hacker, Connor's new acquisition blared out an obnoxiously loud, bombastic ringtone.

"Sorry about the typos, I was multi-tasking. But seriously, no phone, no computer, no social media, you're almost completely off the grid. What's up with that?"

The voice on the other end was distorted to be crazy deep, but the rising and falling tone still made Connor guess at feminine. The question made him feel a little defensive, no internet access at the monastery.

"Yeah well, I have my reasons! If I'm so hard to track how did you manage it?" Connor tried to make himself sound casual, like secret phone meetings with mysterious voices who knew his secret identity were an everyday thing.

Too bad his voice cracked under the stress.

"Ha, well that goes a long way toward my theory on your age. Anyways, you didn't make it easy for me, but I pulled security camera footage from a couple of your adventures and started cross-referencing them against footage from around the city using QCore facial and gait-pattern recognition software. the gait-pattern stuff is still being tested but I managed to get it working okay. That mask isn't doing you any favors, is it store bought? Pretty sure it's store bought. I Pulled up hits for you at a couple of places in the public parks, a homelesss shelter and the SCPL. You use that same computer you were sitting at every day and it makes the same searches, all for topics related to 'Green Arrow old cases' 'New Green Arrow' and for some reason 'Oliver Queen'? Fun connections there. To confirm it I may have remotely activated the camera on that desktop and sneaked a peek at your face. Cute in a sort of 'lost puppy' way. Wouldn't expect you to spend nights beating down criminals. Also-"

"I get it already! You're some kinda super-hacker and maybe I got sloppy!" Between the fear of being found out and embarrassment at the voice's...other comment, He said it a little louder than he'd meant. He sneaked a glance around to see if anyone'd overheard, but they were in that weird minutes-long lull between the breakfast menu and the all-day menu and nobody was paying attention to the kid in the back on his phone. He followed up half-whispering "But what do you actually want?"

"Super-hacker huh? I like it. I was gonna go with 'hacktivist' or maybe 'cyber-vigilante' but super-hacker sounds good too. Oh, right! Sorry, not great with voice-to-voice talk. Anyway! Well, we're gonna team up! See, you've got your crazy kid archer ninja skills but you're missing the big picture and I've got my whole 'super-hacker' eyes-and-ears everywhere thing but there's a lot I can't stop without feet on the ground. I mean I could drain criminals' bank accounts, publish their internal memos or send footage to the cops I guess and sometimes I do but if I do too much the FBI or the SCPD's cybercrimes unit or SHIELD's cybersec division will come down on me hard trust me and- er, well anyway I want you to be those feet, helping me kick crime in the face! That...admittedly sounded cooler in my head but-"

"No no it's fine trust me, still working on my witty quip game too..." Connor's head was spinning from all this, and not just because his new potential 'partner' apparently had super-speed rambling for a power. "But I'm in. Like you said, only so much info you can get out of crime trends and free lunches for the homeless." Not that it'd stop him from giving anyways, after lunch-meals were against his principles.

"What do I call you though? 'Mysterious voice' probably isn't gonna cut it."

"Oh, I've actually been giving this a lot of thought! Call me...Overwatch."

"Nice! So 'partner', where do we start?"