“So here’s the layout. K.O.R.D’s part of the display floor is over here.”

All of the future senior partners of the Farley Fleeter Advertising Agency leaned forward to study the schematics of the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center.

“Where’s the suit?” Asked the copyboy.

“Well if all things go according to plan, then it will likely be either here, in the trunk of this car K.O.R.D’s setting up on the showroom. Or here.” Fleeter pointed at different spots on the map, and then stood up and walked away whilst everyone else looked closer at where he had been pointing.

“What if it’s none of these? What if someone’s wearing it? You know, for a demonstration?”

“Good point. I’ve organized a pulse rifle, stowed off in the fire hose segment that’s marked with an ‘X’. So just to make things clear. Five on the floor, or four of you and myself. Sixth is the wheelman. And then we have one here watching the main door, floating in case cops or capes have a faster response time than we’ve planned. The name of the game is efficiency and speed. The five enter in costume disguise at the marked egress points, re-group on the pulse rifle ‘X’. We then move quickly to the K.O.R.D segment of the floor. We fire once to cause disruption and a show of force. Then we only use the threat of the pulse rifle to get the location of the B.E.E.T.L.E suit out of them. If they give up the suit, we take it, nobody gets hurt. The five exit here to the car. The pulse rifle then is used only as a deterrent to prevent anyone following. The floater gets the door. The six get in the van. We leave. Speed and efficiency.” Farley Fleeter said as he swirled his rye, standing off to the side and talking through the plan.

“Alternatively, the B.E.E.T.L.E suit is being worn in a demonstration. This gets more messy and we have to be ready for it. The five with the pulse rifle enter. We blast the suit. The five create multiple targets. Our keys to success here are speed, agility and creating confusion. We blast a hole in the suit. We carry the suit out with the body still in it between four of us, with the fifth using the pulse rifle to maintain the deterrent. The floater gets the door. We put the armour in the van and go.”

Fleeter drained his glass, before he continued.

“Messy. Undesirable. But we have to be ready for the possibility.”

The Ad men looked at each other.

“We’re going to have to shoot someone?” One of the two phone bank workers asked.

“Well, we’re certainly going to be firing the pulse rifle. I want that understood by all of you right now. If only because the initial show of force will keep bystanders from doing anything stupid. I’ve got a place out past Albany where we can practise fire it. Get everyone here used to the kick and the sound. But if someone’s in the suit, yes. I can’t see anyway around shooting them to take the suit. It’s supposed to be extremely durable though. So just because we down the suit doesn’t mean we’ve killed whoever’s wearing it. Who knows, maybe we can strip them out of the suit in the van and dump them on the way.”

Farley Fleeter dropped in more ice and poured himself another. He turned and addressed the elephant in the room, which made everyone uncomfortable.

“But yes. We don’t stop shooting until the suit stops moving. There’s no way around that.”

N E W Y O R K S C I E N C E E X P O

---

^{Present Day, Earlier Tonight | Jacob K. Javits Convention Center, Manhattan, New York}

Ted lifted his head gingerly. He could hear screaming, a firefight and the din of a fleeing crowd. Everything happens so fast. He pushed himself up onto his forearms. So much happens you can barely understand how you act or why. That’s why Ted strangely peered out across the showroom floor, he saw colourful crazies bouncing around trying to take down the B.E.E.T.L.E suit. He saw the huge clock across the other side of the showroom. He saw wafting heat rise off of their weapon’s blast, and from the suit’s rocket boots.

Ted looked to the left and right of him. The Stark model who had been on the car had sensibly fled. He grunted, took his tuxedo and shirt off and tore the white undergarment clear off. He put his gloves on with some care and peeked over the platform again to survey the fight. He pulled his cowl on and snapped his B.B. gun back together. Ready for action.

With armoured suits and pulse rifle fire? Maybe not.

Ted inhaled and exhaled deeply. His side hurt from being slammed into the wall, but there was no time to dwell on that. He hurdled the platform, and felt another blast of heat coming from his left. For a second Ted thought his goose was cooked and he’d lost track of the number of coloured costumed fighters, but this was something else again. The green haired woman who had been with Stark was now completely ablaze with emerald coloured flame. She sent a blast after the pulse rifle, whilst Ted sprinted for cover.

Ted dived and rolled behind a partition. He turned and found himself looking at two of the colourful costumed fighters. Ted let out a bright flash from his B.B. gun, stunning both. He fired out a tazer line into one, dropping a purple and yellow faced goon, whilst kicking the other green and red one in the chest. The Blue Beetle dropped the tazer unit as the purple and yellow one still convulsed, and loaded another fresh electrical cartridge into his B.B. gun.

The fight started to sweep back across the showroom, and Ted took cover as it came back towards him, readying himself for his next move. He let them pass before stepping out and firing a sonic blast from his B.B. gun, knocking another two off balance, following up with an acrobatic combination of kicks and punches. Pain seized up his arm. The green flamed metahuman looked at him and he waved her through to the final leader of these colourful crooks and the B.E.E.T.L.E suit, where they were blasting at one another with powerful weapons by the platform with the two cars. She laid down covering fire as the Blue Beetle rushed up. He fired another Sonic burst at the solid metal suit to no effect, before turning his B.B. gun back on the Madmen’s leader.

...but it had no juice left. Ted threw the B.B. gun in desperation and scrambling, he dove for the platform. The pulse rifle was swung in his direction. The Blue Beetle found the key fob and turned. Letting out a sonic blast that launched the Ad man a solid dozen feet, where he fell in a crumpled heap.

Ted rocked his head back and breathed a sigh of relief. He saw the clock once more.

“Hey! Aaa--aaay you!” Ted yelled to the man in the B.E.E.T.L.E armour. Covering poorly for his knowledge of the man in the armoured outfit.

The B.E.E.T.L.E’s rocket boots fired up as he went to make his hasty getaway through the ceiling once more.

“Nope… not going to happen.” Ted looped a length of cable around the armour and ducked away from the jet boots’ blast, clinging to the cable. He’d turned away too slowly, however, as the jet blast scorched part of his cowl. The B.E.E.T.L.E soared up through the hole in the roof, with Kord in tow by cord. Once the pair burst through the roof, Ted let go, not wanting to be dropped at high altitude. He performed a gymnastic tuck and roll on top of the roof, finding his way back to his feet and glared at the flying suit.

“ABE!” He yelled. Not caring who knew anymore. Far above the Convention Center and unable to be heard over the din of the city below.

The suit stopped and hovered.



The helmet of the B.E.E.T.L.E looked back over its shoulder. It was a truly terrifying sight.

Ted hurt. His left lens was covered with black soot. He was starting to think he’d probably broken a rib or two when he was slammed against the wall by the armour, and he’d hurt his arm punching one of the colourful Madmen in the face. He cradled his sore arm to take the pressure off, as if it were in a sling.

The B.E.E.T.L.E floated back towards him. “Your father.” Abner said, as the helmet opened up.

“Respect for your father is the only reason I let you walk away. He was a great man. He built something brilliant. And you’re destroying it by inches.”

Ted tilted his head back and opened his mouth to say something, and stopped and sighed instead. Apparently either too sore or too tired to respond.

“You thought I didn’t know who you were? Even if you weren’t using THAT tech, even if you didn’t go diving for the keys knowing exactly how they worked, EVEN if this wasn’t the EXACT kind of immature reaction to an imperfect world that anyone who knows you would expect from you… You came up from behind me after I knocked you against the wall in the corner. You were the only one there.” Jenkins’ voice smacked with the contempt of a man dealing with an unruly child.

Ted willed himself to respond. “Wow. That’s really smart, Abe. So what’s the play? Suddenly the world sees how effective your suit can be. The demand tilts for your suit? Suddenly you’re pressuring me with the shareholders response?”

“They’ve seen it, Ted. It worked with Stark and his Iron Man. It’ll work with us. That’s what you never understood. Fortune favours the bold, Kord. You never learned that. You’re a lousy executive.” Abner Jenkins felt better, larger as he said all of the things he’d felt and wanted to say, but had bottled up for so long.

Ted looked off to the distance, his head rolling. He looked exhausted. Cooked. “You’re right.” He mumbled.

“What was that?” Jenkins called back, holding a metal glove to his ear, he would relish this moment. “Just trying to make sure I heard you right.”

_{“7 minutes, 37.4 seconds. 42,200 Newton force.”} Ted muttered.

“What?!” Jenkins yelled back across the rooftop, now really not having heard what Kord was saying.

“You’re right. I’m a lousy executive. I’ve been scrapping and hustling and trying to learn on the run.”

“...but I’m one Hell of an engineer. And I remember things I see. Like the early schematics for your B.E.E.T.L.E armour. Capable of generating 42,200 Newton force. Designed for dealing with different gravity and pressure levels than we would normally experience. For interplanetary travel.”

“What are you--”

“And a vehicle travelling at Mach 3, from Boston to New York, as the crow flies, allowing for getting to safe altitude for supersonic travel, take-off included. My math has that at 7 minutes 34, 35, 36…”

“Wait-- what have you-- HNNNNN!” Abner was suddenly slapped from behind by a large metal disc and jerked upwards.

“What you’re experiencing now is an industrial electromagnet which I juiced up a bit. Regular junkyard crane can generate 1 Tesla, or about 13,000 to 13,340 Newton force. This one here? 5 Tesla. You may not like what I say, but you can’t fight physics and raw mathematics.” Ted started to walk gingerly across the rooftop towards the man in the metal suit.

“The reason I let you talk so much Abner, is because this is your exit interview. I’m extremely disappointed with you. I can’t stress that enough.”

Struggling in vain with no success whatsoever, Abner Jenkins completely lost his cool. “Errraargh! Forget what I said about your father! I’m going to kill you! I’m going to make it my--”

“No, you’re not, Abner. You’re going to drop this, like you should have when it first came up. Do you know why?” Ted walked right up next to his spread eagle former CFO. “Because at the moment, I’m going to make sure Mim’s still gets access to your 401k. You know I don’t have to. You know that… all of this... Certainly justifies pulling that away from you. But I’m not going to. You put in decades of good work. Work for your family. You’ve already made me do more than I wanted to, Jenkins. Please. Let it end here.”

Abner Jenkins scowled, his anger was palpable.

“It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.” Ted said. “But if I so much as get an inkling that you’re not done with this, I will pull it. I'm not a vindictive man, but that's my leverage here. I need you to convince me.”

There was a few seconds of hesitation, but that was just ego. Abner didn’t have a play here and he knew it.

“Alright.” He relented with a grizzled tone. “You won’t get any moves made against you from me.”

Ted put his head back and sighed. “I don’t like how you phrased that, but I guess if nobody leaves happy then we’ve probably got a good deal.”

“So you’re going to let me down now?” He asked.

“What? No.” Ted chuckled. “No, I’m not letting you go now. I’m letting you go down there, where the police are interested in knowing all parties who opened fire in a crowded convention hall. But you will have access to the best lawyers K.O.R.D can buy. We’ll do what we can do for you, but then you’re going to serve whatever time you’re due, and then you’re going to resign.”

“None of these points are negotiable. But you do all that, you keep your pension and stock options. I’ll see to it.”

Abner Jenkins looked at him with skepticism. Upside down skepticism. Whilst being stuck to a disc.

“What? What are you looking at me like that for?” Ted asked. “Are you really going to suggest that the board wouldn’t see it as in character for me to make a soft move like let you keep your pension and portfolio? That’s what got us in this mess in the first place.”

Jenkins snorted. Then chuckled. Then broke down and outright laughed.

Ted stepped back and started to remote control the Bug and it’s electromagnet, lowering it to the street far below.

“Hello.” A soft feminine voice came from behind him.

The Blue Beetle jerked around with a start and clutched his heart, before feeling relieved when he saw who it was. It was the woman in the blue cocktail dress from earlier. “Geez-- Don’t do that! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“You did well.” She said in a Scandinavian accent.

“Uhh, thanks?” Ted replied, going back to lowering the electromagnet. “I guess?”

“This is going to sound like a strange request. But I’m going to have to ask you to strip down.”

“Umm, I’m flattered I guess. But no.”

“Ah. You don’t understand. You see. I froze the doors down there, but eventually they are going to get through. The police and paramedics. And when they do, they are going to expect to see Mr Ted Kord down there, behind that car, wearing his tuxedo. And when they do, they’re going to take him away and put him in an ambulance for precautionary reasons. And then they will find… well.” She gestured to his costume.

“Ah, I see. Well, even then, I still can’t just GIVE you my outfit. You must think I’m pretty dumb to just hand over my gear to one of Tony Stark’s girls.”

“Ugh.” She winced. “I am NOT one of Tony Stark’s girls. I’m a member of the Global Guardians, a section of the international taskfor-- you know what, you don’t need to know that. In short, I work for a group who protect key private citizens and diplomatic figures of importance. Mr Stark was involved in some… complications with the nation of Trasnia. But, if you know anything about Mr Stark, he can be a most difficult man. He was refusing the services of the Global Guardians unless he got to hand-pick his protectors.” The young woman explained.

“So he picked two based on how good you both look in--”

“Ugh. Yes. He is a pig. My partner Bea seems to be a lot more willing to play along, you saw her earlier.”

“Green flame girl.” Ted described.

“Yes. That’s her. She was resolving the situation whilst I made sure Mr Stark safely got to his car and away.”

Ted made sure the police had Abner Jenkins secured safely on the ground below, before turning off the electromagnet, and raising its line back up into the Bug far above him.

“That may well even be the case, but I still don’t know anything about you. You come here with Tony Stark, and now you’re trying to take my suit.” He further explained his reservations.

“My name is Tora Olafsdotter, and when I work they call me Ice Maiden.”

She walked over to the hole in the roof and created an ice slide down to the showroom below.

“Ted Kord, I promise you I’ll return your outfit as soon as all of this calms down.” She looked at him and seemed sincere, but Ted looked back at her with no small amount of skepticism. He sent the Bug home on autopilot and logged his glove command out. The only way to remote control the Bug now would be to reconnect the glove’s circuitry to the system by reinstating the signal. Which should be too difficult to crack, if anyone was interested in doing so in the first place.

Ted removed his cowl, he removed the rest of his Blue Beetle suit, leaving it at her feet on the roof as he stood in his boxer shorts in the night time chill, more than a little self conscious.

“My B.B. gun should be down there too.” Ted said, pointing down to roughly where he dropped it.

Tora and Ted slid down to the showroom floor, where Ted began to get dressed again.

“I can’t see it.” Tora said.

“It should be near the unconscious guy with the red face and the yellow wig. In the techni-colour dream shirt.” He said, not looking as he pulled up his pants.

“There’s no one here like that. In fact. None of those multi-coloured people are here.”

Ted sighed, of course they got away. “Yeah, your friend’s not here either.”

“Bea? She's probably just checked in on Stark.”

“You don’t have comms?” Ted asked, tapping his ear.

“We did, but when she flames… Pffft!” Tora made a sound effect simulating the ear piece going up in flames.

“Well, that should be easy enough to counter just by using-- Sorry. Not the time.” Ted censored the engineering side of his brain.

Tora was turning over fallen objects and debris. “You’re taking having your tech stolen very well for someone who just a few minutes ago wouldn’t trust me with his outfit.”

“It’s no biggie. I can whip up another one pretty quickly, and the B.B. gun’s no good without me anyway. It’s just an expensive paperweight to anybody else.” He said, buttoning up his shirt.

“The ‘B.B. gun’?” Tora asked, smiling at him.

“Yeah.” Ted’s cheeks flushed. “You were around Stark long enough. Boys and our toys. Overcompensating. Giving them names.”

“Well from what I can tell, you are nothing like Tony Stark. And whether you believe it or not, that’s a good thing.”

Ted’s face turned a darker shade of red. And not just because the top button on his tailored shirt was a little tighter than comfortable as he re-tied his tie.

“I think you’re right. It’s gone. You’re going to have to back up your talk now and make yourself another one.”

“That’s alright. It’ll give me something to do in my hotel room. It’s good to have a hobby.”

Tora nodded, and straightened up, hands on her hips.

“I should get out of here. Make sure we get your B.B. Suit clear from when the police get here and do their sweep. Did I say that right?”

“No, it doesn’t work like that. B.B. gun is a play on words. You know ‘Pew! Pew!’ like the kid’s toy?” Ted said, making finger-guns.

“Wow. You really weren’t joking. Boys and their toys.” She replied with a smile, forming another layer on her ice slide to carry her back up through the roof. Ted sat on the cars’ platform and watched her go. He gave a smile and a feeble wave as she slid through the roof and away.

A few minutes later, the police and medical emergency services breached the frozen door.

H O M E W O O D S U I T E S B Y H I L T O N N Y / M I D T O W N

---

^{Later That Night | Manhattan, New York}

Ted was sitting at a small table in his hotel room, working out the rudimentary circuitry for a new B.B. gun. A lamp lit his work. He’d answered a battery of questions first from paramedics, then from police and finally from Murray Takamoto. One of which was “I saw you dive over to save that car model, did you get her number?” Followed by several more tips and suggestions along the lines of “OK, but you should have got her number.” completely oblivious or insensitive to the mayhem that had been unfolding around them at the time.

Abner Jenkins was being held at the local precinct. The B.E.E.T.L.E suit taken as evidence. Ted had kept his word, he’d made the calls and organized a legal team for him and handled early media obligations well. “Well, Abner Jenkins has been a hard worker and a good man known to my company, and furthermore my family, for 4 decades. Can we even be certain that he was the one responsible for this? At this point we’re doing all we can to get to the bottom of what exactly happened tonight, and until we have more information it just doesn’t make sense to comment at this time.” Using his minor injuries as an excuse for not talking further.

It was a late night, and had been a long day, but with how it ended he still had an adrenaline spike. Which is why he was still tinkering away, despite medical advice that he get a good night’s sleep. His phone had been blowing up with well wishes and friends checking on him, but short of a form reply that explained his few injuries and wish to get some rest he’d largely been leaving it unattended.

Suddenly a crisp wrapping on his door broke the stark silence and smell of hot metal. Ted got to his feet and looked through his peephole and saw nobody there. He stepped away from the door and thought for a second. He went back to the table and grabbed the hot soldering iron, unplugging the cord and wrapping it around his arm. It was a poor weapon, but here he was starved for choice. He grabbed the door handle and yanked the heavy door open part of the way...

And came face to face with Tora. She was off duty now and wearing plain clothes.

“Hi?” He stammered out.

“I was tossing up whether I should just leave the paper bag here and just knock and walk away, but then Bea said I wouldn’t have the guts to come up here and see you again, so…” Tora wrestled with her explanation.

Ted looked down both lengths of the hallway and finished what he hoped was her sentence for her. “Also it’s a paper bag containing… that… and if I didn’t hear you knock it would probably be best if it weren’t just left sitting there for some employee or someone else staying at the hotel to find?”

“We got fired.”

“What?”

“Well, I got fired. Bea kind of just blew up and quit afterwards.”

Ted opened the door to his room and gestured for Tora to come in. She obliged and stepped inside.

“What were you going to do with that?” She laughed, pointing at the soldering iron he was gripping, with it’s cord wrapped around his arm.

“I don’t know. I got a knock I wasn’t expecting. No one was there when I looked through the peephole. I’ve had enough people today trying to kill me. So how’d you lose your job?”

“Oh. I put Stark in his car, it was already full of Stark Industries private security so I left him with them to get him safe and clear.”

“And that didn’t work? One of them was a kidnapper?”

“What? Oh no. He’s fine. It’s the Global Guardians. Standards say I should have kicked one of his security workers out and taken their place so they still had representation to ensure his safety. It was never going to happen. Not quickly anyway. Like I said Stark has a tendency to be difficult. Ugh. This job has suuuuuuuucked.”

“You explained all this to them?”

“No. Well, Bea did. Loudly. And with a lot of Portugese words that don’t bear translating. She can get pretty protective.”

“I’d hope so. Otherwise you two were in the wrong business.” Tora laughed. “So what are you going to do?”

“Well, I don’t know. Any openings in your security detail?” Tora asked in jest, but her unfamiliar Norwegian accent failing to sell the joke to Ted.

“No. We contract out.” Ted said, before an idea sprang into his mind. “But what if I could find something better? Something where you can see the positive tangible difference you’re making on the world everyday?”

“Flying around with you and your little B.B. gun and suit. ‘Pew!’ ‘Pew!’ I don’t know. That’s not really a job, and Bea can have some expensive tastes.”

“I might not be Tony Stark, but I should be able to set something up. Steady wage. I’ve already had some thoughts about Headquarters/Accommodation…”

“Well, what would we call ourselves?”

Ted thought back over the whole night. The ordeal with his company’s flagship product.

“I don’t know, but please don’t make me name it…” He said, rubbing his head at the thought.

“You’re serious about this?”

“Well… yeah.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, you probably shouldn’t say anything yet anyway. Go talk it over with Bea, I’ll set some things in motion, and we’ll see.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as the pair both realized they were alone in his room. Tora had a look around the Hotel room looking for something to distract from the silence, her eyes falling on the table set-up with the circuitry. “Is that--?”

“Yep. Just got started. I told you it wouldn’t take me long.”

“Wow. You’re really in on all of this. OK. I guess I’ll talk to Bea about it.” She quickly said, flustered and walking to the door.

“OK. Well, I hope I hear from you soon.” Ted said earnestly, opening the door for her.

“You will.” She replied. The pair were standing awkwardly close to one another in the door frame, Ted with a goofy grin on his face. Tora went up on her tiptoes and gently pecked a quick kiss on his cheek, after which she smiled awkwardly before rushing off. “See you soon! We’ll talk soon! When I see you next, we’ll talk!” Ted watched her hurry down the hallway to the elevator, wondering what just happened.

He went back inside and closed the door, his head bowed in introspection trying to figure things out.

“Did I-- Did I just get a super secret-- a secret super girlfriend?” He beamed, chuckling to himself. Before a thought jumped into his brain and made him stop.

“Oh God… If I ever screw this up she’s going to turn me into an ice cube!”

---

_{Location: The Triangle At Dusk, Two Weeks Later-Storefront Rooftop}

Queen's Heir Epilogue: Inheritance Pt. 1

---

Connor had been waiting on this rooftop a long time. Once again he could count the rats skittering away from the overfilled dumpster below, fewer this time than the last. But even in a dingy side-street Star City felt weirdly pretty and peaceful at this time of day. Besides at least now he wasn't bored. Now he had company. Well, more company than scurrying rats and his own thoughts, anyways.

"Okay, so you were right and The Force is definitely a ton like Chi and I know I asked this the other night during the stream, but if Obi-Wan knew Vader was Luke's dad, how come he didn't tell him?"

It wasn't like they had anything better to talk about while they waited, nothing that wouldn't leave Connor an anxious mess anyways. Besides, his mind was only half-committed to the conversation. He used to think that once Brick was in prison crime rates would drop, but it seemed like the whole criminal underworld just flared up to try and take his place instead.

Since Overwatch had apparently spent a lot of energy promoting some edited version of his fight with Brick online, Connor was noticing some changes from the city's criminals. For one, a couple times in the last week some lower level street thugs actually tried to run. But more important than that, he'd already had to interrupt two skirmishes between some seriously bizarre gangs that Brick used to keep under his big rocky thumb. According to some chatter Overwatch picked up over the last week, tonight the major heads of Star City's criminal groups would meet here in the Triangle to discuss a compromise to avoid all-out-war.

First there were The White Hair Triad and the remnants of Brick's gang, both pretty conventional criminal outfits even though Connor was pretty sure he'd heard China White's name mentioned in martial arts circles before. Then you had the Death Throws. From what Connor knew, they were a weird circus-themed group and all their members were trained with throwing weapons, trained up by some obscure early enemy of Oliver's with a major grudge. even Star's premiere big-scary-metahuman gang, The Berserkers, were supposed to attend. The only group they hadn't heard any word on was the Yakuza and-

Connor had totally spaced on the actual conversation.

"...or it was part of a plan to trick him into taking out Vader, depending on how you interpret things."

"Yeah, yeah that's pretty messed up..."

"You okay? You sound out of it..."

Before Connor could answer a blur flicked toward him out of the corner of his eye and he snatched at it. Mosquitoes sure were getting huge and...

Arrow shaped. Huge and arrow shaped and softly beeping in his fist.

Huh. I caught a beeping arrow.

Crap!

Connor tried to throw it as far away from him as possible but it was almost too late. The black arrow exploded in a bang and a blast of force that threw him from the rooftop. Acting more on reflex and terror than anything, Connor twisted and curled to land in a blessedly overfull dumpster. The world was spinning, his ears were ringing and everything hurt but he was still alive. Alive thanks to luck, hunted by an archer he hadn't sensed or seen.

"Oww..."

"Connor! Are you okay? Was that an explosion?!"

"Yeah...I think some mystery archer...shot an exploding arrow at me. I...kinda caught it...then fell in a dumpster."

"I haven't heard anything about this on the web. Maybe it's Merlyn? I mean, he could've seen the video and decided to act on it..."

Connor shifted off of some old tin cans, silently grateful he hadn't crushed any rats. "Yeah maybe. Either way, I'm gonna try and find out more."

"Okay but be careful, run if you have to."

"Alright, I will." Or at least he would if he got the chance.

He did his best to readjust his quiver, snatch up his bow and dig himself out of the garbage agonizingly cautious and slow, pulse pounding, sounds and sights hyper-focused and overstimulating as he tried to find any sign of his assailant from street level.

Nothing. He crept his way down the narrow side street to the entrance closest to the arrow's flight path, his own nocked and half-drawn as he hugged the corner.

"Nothing yet, maybe he left but I'm gonna get a better look."

After peeking around the corner he saw a hooded figure all in black against the orange-purple skyline. He drew back his arrow, turned the corner and snapped off a shot. Somehow the figure was faster and fired three arrows at once. One black arrow intercepted Connor's green one right as two more flew right at him. The young vigilante ducked back around the corner but not fast enough to stop the broadheads from slicing his shoulder and side as they passed.

Connor froze up for a second at the searing line of pain and the scent and feel of blood. Apart from Brick he hadn't been seriously injured by an opponent yet, and for all his durability and power even Brick didn't land too many hits. He was already running off nothing but panicked adrenaline and the first wounds paralyzed him.

"Connor?!

"I...I'm fine, he just grazed me and I got spooked. I don't think I can beat him at range but I have a plan to draw him in. Stay quiet or-"

Just then an arrow pin-balled off the entrance to the alleyway, ricocheted off a corner and flew right at him. He actually caught it left-handed, amazed at himself until he noticed the stream of blood trickling from the slice down his palm. Shaken, he stumbled down the alleyway and slumped against the dumpster, clutching the bloodied arrow close to his chest. He willed his vitals to slow and hoped the little crimson trails added to the realism as he closed his eyes in real pain.

He heard a whirring thunk at the end of the alleyway and an odd metallic hissing noise, followed by two heavy boots clomping down on the asphalt. He tracked the left-right stomping of each footstep, surprisingly light, until he could feel the dark archer looming over him.

Connor sprang up and launched himself at the would-be assassin, planning on closing and throwing him hard against the metal surface of the dumpster. Maybe he was outmatched in an archery duel but he was sure he could take anyone on hand-to-hand. He'd hurt Brick, he could do this!

That thought lasted right up til a compound bow's metal limb cracked him across the face. The Dark Archer followed up immediately, driving the tip of the compound into Connor's stomach, leaving him slumped over and gasping for air before the hard edge smashed into the side of his head.

Connor's world turned into a little galaxy of spinning, burning stars while his lungs spasmed and screamed for air. He was suddenly on the ground as a booted foot stomped down on his chest and an arrow pointed right at his face. Beyond it, he finally saw that his adversary's face was completely covered by a hood and a black cloth mask, even the eyes shadowed. He'd die without even knowing his killer.

Sorry Overwatch. Oliver. I guess maybe I wasn't good enough...

Before the world faded out Connor thought he heard a gunshot and then the weight suddenly lifted off his chest.

But being saved was so tiring, maybe he'd just take a little nap...

_{Star City - Present Day}

Issue 1.01.06: Sweet Child O’ Mine

---

_{Interaction(s): Green Arrow @Dblade26}

Previously: 1.01.05: Estranged

As Connor’s eyes slowly opened, the first thing in his line of vision was a figure clad in a lightweight red uniform. Roy had pulled up an office chair and was waiting for the young impersonator to wake up, and stood up when he noticed Connor’s stirring. The former sidekick turned his back to fresh blood, his gaze redirected toward the huge screens mounted to the wall above a large console. Each monitor had a different file Roy could pull up on Connor: newspaper articles, blog posts, pictures, police reports… everything except a birth certificate. ”You’re not him. Who are you?”

At first, Connor thought maybe he might be dead. After all, there was a bunch of information on his life up on display, he’d been pretty sure he was going to die earlier, and an intimidating guy in red was asking him existential questions. A little Christian for his tastes but who knew…

But no, he definitely hurt too much to be dead, which meant that the red guy was-

”Oh! Awesome, you’re Speedy! I mean uh, you were, right? I’m Connor, Connor Hawke! Thanks for rescuing me from that weird Dark Archer! This is actually a huge honor for me! See um, how do I explain any of this…” Just going ‘I’ve wanted to be you since I was six’ seemed inadequate.

Roy raised a hand momentarily to command silence, turning his head to reveal that he wasn’t wearing any sort of mask. ”First of all, I’m not Speedy. Second of all, Connor… why are you are wearing that dumb outfit? Are you just some kind of super fan?” Roy’s arms remained folded, and his expression had an air of dismissiveness and the vague undertones of a disappointed father.

Connor’s spirits sank, but just a little. He was still face-to-face with not only a childhood icon but finally, really getting a chance to explain himself to one of the people he’d been hoping to meet this entire time.

”I mean no, huge fan but not like that. See...okay so apparently a long time ago...no that’s not right...so I guess...well...I’m Oliver Queen’s son! Like, biologically. I came to Star City to finally talk to him but when I got here I found out he’d vanished and...the city was kind of in a panic without a hero around and I grew up in a sort of...well, warrior monk situation so I decided I’d try and help. Please, I didn’t mean to disrespect anything or do anything stupid. Just...people seemed really desperate and I didn’t want to do nothing.”

He hung his head, waiting for the rebuke that seemed inevitable given Roy’s tone.

Roy’s face remained consistent as he gave Connor his full attention, though he had to do his best to internalize the sigh he naturally wanted to give. He knew more than anyone what Connor was thinking, and more than anyone else what it would cost. ”Alright, assuming I buy the whole warrior monk thing… it doesn’t matter. You can’t solve all the issues out here. Sure, you took down one bad guy. Another is gonna take his place. And then another after that. And another. And one of them is going to kill you eventually. My best advice is that you stop now. While you were knocked out, I decided to do a blood test. You sure do have half his DNA, and you have every right to stay here. Hell, I can set you up with a college fund and you can go off and be a doctor or some shit. You would never have to worry about getting beaten or broken because you would have every damn luxury a boy could ask for.”

Roy opened his mouth to continue, but no words came out for a moment. His eyes were trained on Connor intently, and a look of realization washed over his face. Roy knew Connor more than he thought he could.. ”But you’re not going to give up the hood, are you?”

Roy’s approach was actually nicer than Connor assumed it would be- even if he winced at the word ‘bastard’- but it still lead to the same place Connor knew it would eventually, and his expression hardened the more Roy spoke. It was a nice offer, doubly so since he needed to leave the monasteries eventually but... ”No. I’m not.”

Now Connor had to stand up, even though it left him woozy and needing some serious mind-over-matter to work through the pain. ”I appreciate what you’re trying to do, really, and maybe I didn’t know what I was getting into at first, even a couple weeks ago.”

He struggled to continue for a second, memories flooding back, but pushed forward ”But...look, I’m pretty sure you’ve seen the video even though I don’t know how much of it got edited out. You know, that one where I ‘took down the bad guy’ that went viral? But see, I’d already spent hours strapped to a chair while being battered and fried like a...I dunno, I can’t eat fast food. The point is...somewhere between what I’m guessing was the first and second hour of torture, I decided that even if this was a game or something at first, that I’d never be able to just sit around while anything that bad happened to somebody else again.”

Connor took a deep breath, letting the memories of torture and the intensity of confronting one of his heroes fade, trying to stop the shakes that had suddenly started. ”So you’re right, I can’t solve all the issues, and eventually someone’s gonna take me down. But until that happens, I’m gonna solve every issue I can manage. With or without your approval.”

Roy ground his teeth together as Connor stood before him defiantly. Before he could explode in anger, the former sidekick turned around and walked back to the terminal setup near the monitors. He didn’t say a word, but the furious sound of his fingers tapping the keys and clicking the mouse were a clear enough sign that he was angry. In a matter of seconds, all of the files on Connor had disappeared and all the monitors showed a single prompt: INITIATE GOOD FRIDAY PROTOCOL. Roy hit enter, and a monotone voice filled the small section of cave the two were standing in. ”Voice Authorization Required”

Roy sighed, before confidently declaring, ”Speedy.”

A small buffering icon showed for a moment, and then all the monitors went black.

The monitors all then showed the same image: Oliver Queen, leaning against the same terminal Roy was standing over. He was wearing the outfit of the Green Arrow, but he wasn’t wearing a hood, hat, or mask. Ollie stared at the ground for a moment before turning his gaze up towards the camera. ”Well… I… I must admit, this is a first. If you’re watching this, then you know I’m not the type of guy who’s usually speechless.” Oliver gave a small chuckle to himself, one that almost made Roy join him. The Green Arrow quickly cleared his throat before his expression turned serious and he continued on. ”Well… to put it simply, if you’re watching this, then it means I’m… well, gone. I’m either missing, or dead, or I got drunk and lost my keys again halfway around the world. Regardless of what happened to me… it means that I’m not around to protect this city.”

Oliver shifted uncomfortably for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing. ”As I take a moment to reflect… whoever it is that ends up watching this… you’re someone I must have hurt. Someone I abandoned when they needed me most. I… I’m not…” Roy’s expression softened slightly as he watched the man who had been his legal father for years start to choke up a little, before recomposing himself. ”I made a lot of mistakes. But putting on this costume wasn’t one of them. This city needs a hero… this whole flippin’ world needs heroes. And I know I don’t have the right to ask this… but if you’re watching this, then this city needs you to pick up my legacy. And I know that you can do it.” Oliver shuffled a little on screen and began to stand before the monitors cut to black again. After a few seconds, they came back online and all but one continued to display the information on Connor.

The one exception was the center, bottom screen just above the terminal. It was simply a folder with a file inside of it. Roy pulled a flash drive from his belt and plugged it into the terminal, quickly copying over the file. He turned back towards Connor with a surprisingly stoic expression. ”Well… you heard what he said.”

In contrast to Roy’s stoicism, Connor was openly crying. He hadn’t spoken up once through the video will, but It was the first time he’d ever seen his father outside of video for the news or photos in the paper or online, and the message hit hard. Even if it was indirect, it was the apology he’d never gotten and permission, even approval for everything he’d done all rolled into one.

He’d gladly have suffered a thousand more hours of Brick’s torture and Dark Archer beatings if he’d known this would be the result.

He ducked his face, then grinned at Roy once he was back under control, obviously embarrassed at the lapse. ”Well...thanks. So, does this make us brothers? Also uh, where do we go from here? ”

Roy’s expression hardened further, his teeth clenching slightly. ”We’re not brothers. He was never a father and barely a mentor.” He yanked the USB drive from the terminal and pocketed it, quickly tapping at the keys for a moment to reset the terminal. He turned around to face Connor, trying to remain professional. ”As for what happens next, Stanley can give you the proper tour of the place when you’ve rested a bit more. In the meantime…” Harper walked over next to the console, towards what appeared to be a blank metal wall with a single touchscreen security panel. Roy placed his palm on the scanner, and a section of the wall suddenly slid open to reveal a simple reinforced outfit resembling Green Arrow’s. ”Oliver always wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but I think I’m going to take my own path. The suit and the name… they’re yours now.”

Ordinarily Connor would’ve felt crushed by Roy’s rejection, but the hugeness of the situation and his sheer excitement and gratitude overwhelmed all of that quick enough. ”I...I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Roy. I’m sure it’s weird considering I just got pincushioned and beaten unconscious earlier, but this is the best day of my life! I promise, I’ll always do my best to honor your trust!” He paused, reflecting on Roy’s general attitude ”Or at least your grudging acceptance, it still means a lot...also we have a butler?”

Roy gave a sideways look, his teeth grinding a bit harder at the last statement. ”Stanley is going to be the one keeping an eye on you. He knows you’re Ollie’s spawn, and has agreed to educate you and clean you up when you get bruised and bloody.” The scarlet archer turned around and placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder, trying to lead him back to the couch. ”He’s the one who bandaged and stitched you up, and I imagine he’ll be doing that a lot from here on out. If you really are going to follow in our footsteps, you’re going to have to get used to getting knocked down. It comes with the job. But, before you can go out to get your ass kicked again, you need to lie down and relax. I can watch over the city for tonight.”

Connor was honestly too weakened to resist Roy’s attempt to steer him back over and sit him down. Besides, for all of Roy’s protests, the gesture and reassurances both still felt oddly familial to the younger archer. ”Well...fine. I heal fast though, so just for tonight! He flopped back on the couch and tried to seem unconcerned even as a chorus of bruises made him wince.

Roy gave a slight nod as he turned around to leave behind the new Arrow, rounding the corner out of the room and noticing Stanley waiting for him. The old butler gave his former charge a smug smile, before speaking just loud enough for Roy to hear. ”If I didn’t know any better, that sounded an awful lot like the mature thing to say to the boy.”

”This was a one time thing, Stanley. Besides, I needed to come back and grab some of my old stuff.”

Stanley’s wry smile grew. ”I always knew you’d start working again, Speedy.”

Roy sighed, rolling his eyes a little. ”I’m not Speedy anymore, and this is a one time thing. SHIELD is calling in a favor because I needed one from them. Once that’s over, I’m done again. Then I can go squander my money like Ollie would have.”

The young vigilante tried to walk past Stanley, who simply grabbed on to his arm to hold him back a moment. ”Are you sure we shouldn’t tell him about the ‘Dark Archer’ fellow?”

Roy pulled his arm gently out of Stanley’s grip, before giving him a swift hug. ”The kid idolizes Oliver. He doesn’t need the truth yet. We can figure out what to do when I get back from DC..” He pulled himself out of the embrace, giving his real father figure a gentle squeeze on the shoulder before walking farther down the neat cave complex.

Stanley gave Roy a concerned look. ”I know it’s been a while, sir, but you do know that the elevator to the estate is the other way, don’t you?”

”I’m borrowing the jet, Stanley. Can’t let that thing rust while Oliver is gone.”

---

March 5th, 2019.

A week after the Big Bang.

It’s when he tames lightning for the first time.

He remembers it clearly. There’s an extra plate, a knife and a fork on during dinner when Dad sets the table. Monday night. Fresh on the eve on Mom’s funeral. Her worktable is coated in a thin strip of dust. Dad acts like she’s still sleeping next to him, even though he has the bed all to himself right now. Sharon locks her room, inconsolable. He can’t even lure her out with the promise of a good old fashioned round of Monopoly. Besides, she knows he always cheats.

They say here’s always a catalyst at the beginning of everything great. An accident. A wish. A desire. For him, it was the weather.

Grey clouds brewed warily outside in the dying night sky. Mom used to tell him whenever it rained, it was a sign that Black Lightning was close by before he left. He stops writing and stares towards the claps of thunder and branches of lightning in the distance, waiting for the shock of sound that arrives a heartbeat later after the searing flash of light. Counting. Waiting for a miracle to happen as if wishing for a shooting star.

It’s all it takes. Something wells up from his belly and then, the lights begin dim and brighten sporadically. His laptop begins to quake along with every other object in his room. He ain’t haunted by a ghost. He’s haunted by lightning.

Or rather, he is lightning.

Every pulse in his body is a stroke of thunder. Lightning courses through his veins and arteries like ichor. He looks in wonder as static burns through the tips of his fingers and toes, blood vessels glowing blue. He closes his eyes and sees a world of frenetic energy, schools of glowing fish swimming through an ethereal maze.

He sees the heart of Dakota City in all its glory.

---

There was only one answer that Virgil could give in response, one that completely and perfectly encapsulated his feelings about the situation as a whole.

“ What?”

“Oh, for the love of….” Buchinsky narrowed his eyes, a vein on his head throbbing in frustration “ Sit down. I’m not going to kill you. Yet.”

The casual threat on his life shut Virgil up as he obeyed Buchinsky instructions. He began slowly walking towards the bunk bed. The door was still unlocked. Perhaps, if he’d gave a shout out in the corridor or if someone walked in by accident. At that moment, Buchinsky spoke up, making Virgil wonder if the man was somehow reading his thoughts.

“ Lock the door.” Buchinsky finished off the last of the chips, scrunching the bag up in his hands “ We don’t want any unexpected guests barging into our little conversation.”

Virgil turned around and very slowly locked the door, looking back every now and then to see Buchinsky staring pointedly at him, making sure that he wasn’t being tricked. Virgil strode back and squat down, a soft whine emitting from the mattress as it struggled to support both of their weights.

“ So, let’s get down to brass tacks, Lightning Junior. I know who you are and you know who I am.” Just as Virgil began to shake his head, Buchinsky waggled his finger. “ Don’t play the role of clueless high-schooler with me. You do, don’t you? Nod your head if I’m correct.”

Virgil nodded once.

“ See?” Buchinsky raised both of his arms up exasperatedly. “ That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

A silent gulp. Buchinsky leaned back and chuckled, shaking his head. “ I never much understood the point of secret identities, you know. Protect your loved ones. I’m supposed to feel something now that you know who I am. Anger, shock, fear, stress……”

Buchinsky stood up and wandered over towards Richie’s prone form. Virgil stiffened as Buchinsky rotated the chair around, as if to deliberately test him.

“ The truth is that I feel nothing at all. In fact, it’s a certain burden lifted off my shoulder. For you, though, I can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling right now, hero. I’ve made a few enemies throughout my entire lifetime but you? How many enemies have you made in one month? Bang babies, robbers, little old me targeting your families and friends.”

As Buchinsky continued to speak, the bedside lamp began to flicker spastically, catching the criminal’s attention at the last moment. Virgil shot Buchinsky a glare as he unscrewed the bulb from the lamp and held it carefully in one of his hands. Electricity bubbled frothfully out of his body, making the electronics go haywire in the dorm room. Virgil gritted out his reply.

“ Do you love hearing yourself talk or do you want to start talking about why you haven’t killed me yet? ”

“ Not one to mince words, I see.” Buchinsky was aimlessly playing with the bulb in his gloved hands whilst speaking to Virgil. “ How should I say this. My clients wanted me to kill you, which I would have done so gladly. Fortunately, after our little conversation at Sadler, I’ve had a change of heart. I’ve come up with a solution that doesn’t involve gratuitous violence.”

The bulb stopped flickering. Buchinsky took it as a signal to continue further. His taunting face had morphed into one of stoicism.

“ Instead of me killing Static, you’ll be killing Static.” said Buchinsky, folding both of his arms.

“ Uh…..” Virgil tilted his head in confusion. “ So, should I be throwing myself out that window right now?”

“ Funny. Though it would be tempting to do what you just said…” Buchinsky flashed a smile before returning back to scowling at Virgil “ You’ll stop being Static. Forever. Virgil Hawkins, the ordinary high-schooler, will still live but Static? Static dies. We’ll never see each other again as long as you don’t use your powers in public ever again. It’s a win-win situation. ”

Virgil was now suddenly more scared about the fact that he was considering the offer rather than the presence of a homicidal wanted criminal knowing his secret identity. The beating of his eardrums grew louder and louder.

“ But, the city won’t.”

Maybe, Buchinsky’s deal was alright. No pay. No reward. No fame. He’d gotten nothing in return for being a hero.

“ You don’t have to worry about the city anymore.” Buchinsky’s voice was an echo across mountains, seemingly miles away now. “ My client will ensure things in Dakota City will go smoothly as long as they remained convinced you’re dead.”

“ Hard to trust someone who sets a target on my head.”

“ There are some things you just don’t understand, kid.” Buchinsky offered his hand out to his, confident that Virgil wouldn’t electrocute him on the spot. A devil’s handshake. “ You’ve got two choices now. So, which one will it be?”

His eyes shut, shirking away from Buchinsky’s waiting laser-focus stare.

In Dakota City, you always have a choice.

Virgil tilted his head upwards to look at Buchinsky before standing up. A plan began to form in his head as he stared at the lightbulb still tucked in the corner of Buchinsky’s right hand.

“ Thank you. I knew this was hard for - “

“ I’m prefer to go off-road.”

Unfortunately, Buchinsky was still holding the light bulb within his left hand. Virgil had been letting electricity accumulate like a water balloon within his chest, letting it burst apart. The incandescent bulb became painfully hot before shattering apart like a firecracker, glass shrapnel lodging itself within the palm of Buchinsky’s right hand. Buchinsky grunted, holding his cut hand in pain before meeting a sucker punch to the face. There was a resounding crack that made him wince. Buchinsky bowled over on the floor, his thoughts dulled by the sensation of pain. Ignoring the soreness of his knuckles and with Buchinsky cursing a storm about his broken nose on the ground, Virgil ran over towards Richie’s prone form and shook him.

“ C’mon, Richie. We gotta get out of here…” Virgil murmured whilst trying to find a way to unbind him.

Richie slowly woke up, blearily blinking his eyes open. “ Vir...Vir..Virgil? What’s going on….”

“ Explanations later. Right now, we gotta get this BDSM shtick off you - “ A loud pneumatic suddenly whine issued from behind him. Buchinsky was beginning to stand up on his knees, still disoriented from the blow as he leaned onto the wall for support. With a tug, Virgil finally tore off the bindings off Richie’s hands. It only took moments for Richie to tear the rest of the restraints of him before grabbing Virgil’s arms and beginning to babble tearfully, despite Virgil’s attempts to calm him.

“Virgilohmygodi’msosorryhejustknockedonthedoorandithoughtitwasthepizzaiorderedahouragoandIaskedhimwhyhewas-” Richie shut up and pointed over Virgil’s shoulder silently. Both of them turned around to see a pissed off Buchinsky, having fully come to his senses. The trickle of blood running down his lip didn’t help to make him look less intimidating. Buchinsky morphed into the namesake of the Electrocutioner as he rammed both of his shock gauntlets together and began to run towards them like a raging bull.

“ That all you got?”

Virgil pushed Richie to the left, out of the way of the Electrocutioner's brazen charge. A hand caught itself around his throat, slamming him against the wall. A noose of steel-like fingers was starving him of oxygen, his legs kicking against the Electrocutioner in an attempt to get him off. That was with only one arm. The other one trapped his right arm against the wall. It only seemed to make him smile. Adrenaline spiked up in Virgil’s blood, adrenaline that made grandmas lift cars and made the impossible possible.

His blue in his veins was fading fast, though, there was still enough juice for one last hail mary. A fistful of lightning gathered in his crushed left arm, setting the bandaged cast on fire. Virgil’s eyes burnt blue as he forced a spear of lightning directly into the Electrocutioner’s exposed face. The flash was blinding, there was a brief shout and he was dropped onto the ground, wheezing for air.

He didn’t have enough time to stop the punch coming for him. He heard Richie scream something before he collided violently with the TV. His left arm now was just a sack of broken bones and mincemeat, spikes of pain flashing through his entire body. A shadow loomed over his body as Virgil struggled to get up, only for a boot to slowly plant his face down on the floor.

“ Didn’t you learn the last time, kid? My suit insulates me from your electricity but wait. There’s more! “ The smoking form of the Electrocutioner shuddered with laughs as the diodes on his chest began to crackle ominously “With the new electrical relays I built into this costume, you just gave me enough juice to flatten this entire building.”

“ C’mon, at least, give me something….” Virgil attempted to summon another bolt in his hand out of desperate hope. Only the sputtering and humming of short-circuting sparks answered his call. “ You’ve gotta be kidding me…” The Electrocutioner pressed his foot down harder, his visor glowing a sickly green and his entire suit thrumming with energy.

“ And it looks like you’re all out of juice yourself.” The Electrocutioner signed in disappointment. “ I’d hope you’d taken my offer of generosity. Looks like Rob’s gonna deal with having a single child all to himself.”

No electricity. Left arm broken. Heck, everything was broken at the moment. Virgil could imagine it now. Fist pulled backwards, his head being caved in…..

Richie hopefully was covering his eyes right now.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang as if a live grenade had went off nearby. The pressure on his head lightened considerably. Virgil coughed through the smoke which had filled the room. The Electrocutioner had been flung onto the other side of the room, groaning in pain.

A light electronically distorted voice broke through the silence.

“ You know, they say imitation is the most sincerest form of flattery…”

Virgil could hear soft thuds through the smoke. A dark figure stepped through a hole in the wall . The haze swept away to reveal a mirror image of the Electrocutioner. It was less ramshackle and more profesionally stitched, the fresh yellow quilting bright like police tape. The gauntlets of the Electrocutioner were brutish meat-tenderizers compared to the clean and efficiently designed shock gauntlets of this identical copy.

No. Virgil smiled. It was the other way around. The new arrival held his shock gauntlets by the side like a cowboy holstering his pistols, waiting for the Electrocutioner to fire first.

Anyone could tell that the original Shocker, Herman Schultz, was angry.

“ But I prefer to see it as stealing in this instance….Larry.”

---

The moment he saw Virgil’s burnt left forearm, Herman fought the impulse to immediately blast Larry into smithereens. His former associate was now standing up, no worse for wear, thanks to the suit he’d stolen from Herman. The stolen suit was designed with similar principles to the one he was wearing now. Despite the severe destruction he’d done to the room, anyone under that suit would have felt as if they’d been slammed with a baseball bat in the gut. Larry had settled into a boxer’s gait, caution evident in every twitch that he made.

“Schultz. I thought you’d be dead by now.”

Herman narrowed his eyes. Buchinsky was as charming as ever.

“Larryberry.” Herman grunted in a dead-pan tone “ You should have called if you wanted to borrow my costume.”You could have asked to borrow my costume.”

Larry bristled in annoyance in response to the nickname. Herman’s index fingers travelled towards from the triggers of his vibro-smashers. Even though he’d been out of practise for quite a while, years of muscle memory and experience was the equalizer and guarantee that he wouldn’t get his ass kicked. Larry began prowling from side to side like a wolf, muscles taut, ready to maul Herman, whilst Herman stood calmly, waiting for Larry to make the first move.

He noticed soon that Larry was edging towards Virgil and Richie. Slowly. Deliberately. Testing whether or not he would react. Herman then placed himself between the pair and Larry, making a statement. Larry nodded to himself.

“ So, that’s why you’re here.” Larry spat in realisation. “ To protect the kid.”

“ The cops are on their way in a few minutes. ” Herman spoke warningly. “ So, give me back my suit. Walk away from all this. Whatever you’ve got going on right now, I’m sure we can get all the lads back together to sort this - “

He was suddenly interrupted by the shattering of glass. Larry’s fist lashed out to the left, leaving a spider-web of cracks on a laptop screen. One of the kids behind him, probably Virgil’s friend, croaked a noise that was a balance between screaming and crying. Herman stayed impassive as Larry approached him angrily.

“ You’re not the boss of the Squadron Supreme anymore, Schultz.” Larry stabbed one of his fingers in Herman’s chest several times. “ Scram before I do something you’ll regret.”

Herman raised an eyebrow underneath his mask whilst clenching the trigger-guard of a vibro-smasher with his right hand. Well, his bluff about the police had failed to work. He wrapped his fingers around Larry’s offending hand before pushing it slowly away from him. He was only a few inches taller than Larry, the latter being forced to look slightly upwards to meet Herman eye to eye.

“ No.” He replied simply.

“ No? No?!” Larry’s laughter was muffled. “ Is this all the great Shocker has to sa-”

Herman cursed as Larry swerved his head to the left at the last second to avoid a level one blast from his right vibro-smasher. The coruscating air continued forth past Larry’s head, turning the dresser behind him into a cloud of splinters. Larry caught his right arm in a tight grip, Herman at his mercy, as he raised his towards him like a scorpion’s tail.

“ You’d thought you would be getting me with a cheapshot like that?”

Herman smirked. “ Who told you that was the cheapshot?”

Right as he finished the end of his sentence, Herman grasped Larry’s back and pushed him towards himself. There was a yelp as Larry tried to let go of Herman. Too late. He’d been charging a level 5 blast in his left hand ever since he’d walked into the room. His right arm pulled Larry forth in an embrace whilst he swung a level five uppercut towards the man’s gut.

“ GET DOWN! ” Herman shouted out as he pressed down on the trigger.

The recoil slammed his brain into the back of his skull, his heels digging into the carpet . The windows simply fell apart into dust, the walls were peeling apart and the floor began to jiggle as if it was made of jello. Coruscating walls of pulsating air made Buchinsky into a living bullet, sending him crashing through the wall and hurtling into nowhere. Herman took his hand off the trigger, before the entire school building collasped.

The entire front half of Virgil’s dorm room had been completely demolished, brick and mortar dropping out of the structure. His right vibro-hammer was unbearably hot, the composite shelling visibly smoking. Letting off a level five that close would leave his ear drums ringing like gongs for three weeks straight.

Virgil and his friend jaw’s were agape, staring in a mixture of wonder and shock at the devastation he’d wreaked. Herman simply shrugged in response.

“ What? He was in the middle of a monologue.”

Herman walked towards the hole, a little wobbly in his step. An orchestra of car alarms greeted him, chunks of the concrete wall having landed on them. He could make out Larry’s spread-eagled body on one of the car hoods several meters away. He made a strangled noise in his throat before resigning to a facepalm. His car hood to be more exact. Hopefully, his insurance would cover the costs of repair….

“ So…” Virgil had slowly walked up beside him. “ Is he….uh…..”

“ Dead?” Herman finished Virgil’s sentence. “ No. Though, hopefully, he’s going to be taking a long premium vacation in the hospital right now…..”

Larry suddenly rolled off the wreckage and onto the pavement, Herman making out. That was surprising to say the least. A Level 5 was the equivalent of getting run over by a freight train in terms of energy. Then again, perhaps Larry wasn’t as an amateur tinkerer as he thought he was originally…….

“ Damn, he’s still breathing….” Herman tightened his right vibro-hammer as he prepared to fire another blast at Larry. “ Just one more should do it…..”

“ Hold on a second.” Virgil grabbed the crook of his elbow, stopping him much to his annoyance. “ You can’t just blast him while he’s down on the ground! ”

“ Kid, it’s called caution. The school fire-bell began ringing amidst the chaos. “ That’s your signal to go.”

“ At least, let me help. You need backup - “

“ You’ve already done enough. If you couldn’t beat him with your powers, now, you couldn’t now.
”

“ I don’t have my powers anymore.”

“ All the more to get the hell away from here, kid.”

“ I’m supposed to help! I’m supposed to help everyone.”

Dammit, he wasn’t a student counseler. Why was every vigilante in the world born with a hero complex? Herman turned back towards Virgil and leaned down, pressing a button located on the visor of his mask to depolarise it. His hand firmly gripped Virgil’s shoulder as Virgil looked at him for support.

“ Kid, sometimes, the best thing you can do is to help yourself before helping others. If you don’t know how to do that, well….”

The floor beneath Herman suddenly crumbled as an armoured fist wrapped around Herman’s leg. He could only manage a quick “ GO!” towards Virgil before he disappeared in a puff of wood and concrete. He was hanging upside down for a short-while by his leg before he was rammed in the jaw by a skull-powdering blow. Half of his mask was torn off by the punch, his visor sputtering as damage reports lighted up on what remained of it.

Larry looked as if he’d been tortured with a cheese grater. The center of his suit was scoured away by the blast, several splotchy bruises visible through the seams. On the ground, hydraulic fluid dripped in place of blood. One single eye through his cracked visor, bloodshot blue, gleefully stared at him for several seconds, pondering just what to do.

He almost didn’t expect the kick coming.

“ I’ve been dreaming of this ever since you left the Squadron Supreme, Schultz! “

Herman dearly wished someone could shut Larry up before a strike to his head shut his thoughts up.

“ Behind all your professionalism and your code of honour is just a scared little man who couldn’t bear me suffering no consequences. A man who couldn’t move on with the death of just one child. ”

His attempt to block the next punch failed as a thousand pound of force smashed his right vibro-hammer apart, bending the bone behind it.

“ I’m about to teach you the price of heroism, Herman.”

Herman stumbled backwards, putting distance between himself and Larry to charge up another blast. This time, a Level 3. Larry simply ducked under his blow and threw a swift jab that left Herman’s lungs aching for air.

“ And after I’m done finishing you off and the Kilowatt Kid, I’ll become the only Shocker.”

Okay. Being a punching bag wasn’t working so well. Herman tried another strategy. Larry dodged on instinct but Herman wasn’t aiming for him. Instead, he pointed down towards the floor and sprayed a wide cone of vibrating air. A Level One would only give a bloody nose but it could still wreak merry hell on standing structures. The consistency fo the floor turned into mud. Herman watched as Larry’s foot sunk into it like quicksand, coming to a halt. Herman detached his broken vibro-hammer as Larry wriggled in place like a trapped worm, eventually resorting to pounding the floor with his fists in order to release himself.

“ I could say the same thing about you. Behind all of that talk is the same two-bit thug I met seven years ago and a person who was afraid of not being able to kill someone.”

Herman then made a ‘come over here’ gesture with his one hand.

“ Now, come on. I’ve got an identity theft case to settle and it starts with you being in cuffs.”

---

Useless. That was how Virgil currently felt as he stood on the football field along with the rest of the school faculty. Principal Forrester was currently shouting through a loudspeaker false assurances that it was just a normal school fire, despite the fact you could hear the sounds of a miniature earthquake occuring on campus. The school nurse was busy fussing over various students who had received cuts and scrapes from the two Shocker’s brawl. The burn ointment didn’t do anything to soothe Virgil’s growing feeling of helplessness.

“ You’re just going to let Mr Schumer fight the guy who broke your arm?”

“ Mr Schultz. ” Virgil corrected. “ And what am I supposed to do, Richie? My left arm’s broken and fried. The Electrocutioner’s beaten me once already. Worst of all, I’ve only got enough juice within me to power a toaster. I’m just sitting here by the sidelines, just like you are - “

Virgil cuts himself off, looking regretfully at Richie. “ Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to get upset. It’s just….” He takes his pair of cracked yellow goggles out of his pocket and stares at it. “ I’m nothing without my powers.”

Richie only snorts in response. A tight smirk crosses his face, as if he finds Virgil’s excuse to be laughable.

“ Where’s the Virgil that went off on his own to chase after the Shocker, even though, he knew he had a drip of power left? Where’s the Static that defended Dakota City for one week from the Bang Baby Crisis whilst the cops were struggling without complaint?” Richie scratches the side of his neck, revealing a pale scar. “ Where’s my friend who told me that people depended on him?”

“ It’s not your powers that make you Static, Virgil. It’s what you decided to do with them that makes you Static.”

“ Great pep talk, but what exactly am I supposed to do? Just waltz to the Electrocutioner and hope I get lucky.” Virigl threw up his hands in defeat. “ The guy just absorbs my electricity like a sponge and it only powers him - “

Virgil froze mid-sentence. A flurry of emotions went through his face, beginning from confusion, doubt and then to realization. He then slowly stood up, brushing the grass off his pants, checking to make sure the teachers weren’t paying attention. They were all currently taking attendance, every student arranged in a loose crowd of unorganized lines.

“ Where are you going?” whispered Richie.

“ To test a theory.”

He ran off without a word, sneaking through the crowd. If Buchinsky’s armour functioned by absorbing his electricity and repurposing it, then, surely, he could copy it. Virgil ran through the inner facilities of the school campus, ignoring the fact that it looked like a disaster zone. Dust shook off the ceiling as the Shocker and the Electrocutioner continued to duke it out in Hemingway High. Though, there was a silver lining to all of it. At least, the school would finally have a good excuse to ask the city council for a bigger budget.

A few minutes of desperately trying not to get crushed by crumbling walls and running through school corridors, Virgil found himself face to face with the school’s generator. The janitor was nowhere to be found, everyone currently outside on the school field. He ignored the ‘Danger’ Sign marked in bright cherry red as he swung open the front panel. Exposed wires greeted him, channeling enough electricity to stop a person’s heartbeat.

Here’s hoping I don’t electrocute myself…….

Virgil immedietely regretted his decision the moment he touched the wires. The voltage bucked in his hands like a slippery eel. His hands flew back, the smell of burnt skin filling the air. The numbness in his arms and head dissipated. His tongue felt like dried cardboard.

What was he doing wrong? All he had to do was touch it right? Maybe, he needed to look at the situation from a different perspective…...

Virgil closed his eyes, darkness creeping around the edges of his vision as he parted the curtains of reality in favour of a world of glowing mazes. Networks of neon light coursed and connected through each other like ant tunnels, all leading towards a single node that shone like a miniature star.

He concentrated, trying to direct the flow of electricity towards his own body. It was an abstract tug-of-war. Eventually, tributaries of electricity began to split and snake towards him.

Only a trickle. Barely enough. Frustration welled up inside him. He needed more. He reached out towards the node and pulled harder. Offering it new paths of less resistance to flow into his body.

An ocean of electricity threatened to drowned him. No, it wasn’t pain. It was the sensation of something never felt before. He stopped struggling and began accepting it, thousands of volts coursing through the entire length of his body.

It was overwhelming at first. Every cell, every molecule was paralysed by the power, lightning racing up and down his body. His right arm slowly stitched back together, electricity fusing his bones back and removing his burns like a bad memory. His gritted tight expression slowly transformed into one of a gleeful grin, savouring the feeling. Feeling the thunder throbbing, thrumming, bouncing, flowing, roaring, charging up his body.

The first thing Virgil woke up to was darkness. Inhaling in and out, Virgil slowly stood up, having felt like he’d gone through the wringer. His heart hammered the beats of an alarm clock on the fritz. Trying to find his way out of the basement without a source of light was annoying. The school’s backup generator would only kick in after a few minutes after all. As if on instinct, his palms lighted up, filling the dark room with a eerie blue glow. Faster than before. Jagged arcs of lightning wreathed around both of his arms, baying for release.

The yellow googles snapped themselves on his head comfortingly with a smile.

He felt like himself again.

---

Getting thrown through a window was not Herman’s idyllic picture of a weekday afternoon.

Herman dived out of the way as Larry made a crater where his head would have been. Thumb already on the trigger, Herman struck out at the Electrocutioner’s legs with a Level 2. Larry fell into a kneeling position, catching himself at the last moment. Herman tried to follow it up with another blast only for his vibro-hammers to click dry. Out of batteries, already? Pressing down his desire to curse out loud, Herman ran into the bowels of the car park, hiding behind a yellow Ford.

“ The great Shocker quivering in his boots? I’d never thought I’d see the day.”

Herman felt as if he was in the middle of a horror movie now. Larry was the slasher killer wielding two hydraulic tenderisers on his fists and he was an idiot wearing a yellow quilted leotard He’d badly underestimated how crafty Larry had become since his days in the Squadron Supreme. Herman crouched down further to avoid Larry noticing him, tip-toeing behind a van.

“ You know what the sad thing is. Unlike the boy, no one will cry or mourn for you, Schultz. ” Larry strolled through the car park, rapping his fist against every car door he passed by “ Look on the bright-side. I’m the one who’ll carry on your legacy….”

A sprite can then beaned Larry on the head with a loud “ THOK”. Larry paused his search.

“ Who the hell did that - “

A garbage bin followed after, overflowing with Tuesday’s cafeteria enchilada special, colliding with his left shoulder.

“ Seriously, stop that - “

Several school lockers pelted against his back, knocking him onto his face.

“ I swear to - “

Something white which Herman swore was a urinal crashed directly into his skull.

“ That’s it! I’m - ”

A two-seater car knocked Larry off his feet, its momentum sending him cruising right into a street-light. The impact shook the pole, before it toppled to the ground like a felled tree. Larry was no where to be seen, currently crushed underneath the vehicle.

Herman felt the hairs tingle on his back as the cars around him began to rumble. Virgil landed next to him, garbed in an oversized blue parka and his signature yellow googles which had garnered media attention of Dakota’s local news channels. He was levitating off the ground on a garbage can lid. Virgil gave a friendly wave towards Herman.

“ Hey.”

Herman could only wave back.

“ Hey,” He then pointed towards Virgil’s entire body which was currently surrounded in an aura of electricity. “ So, since when was that a thing…”

“ Spur of the moment.” Virgil replied. “ Besides, I have a score to settle with punch happy over there…”

The loud of metal ripping apart caught both of their attention as they turned their heads towards the wreck. One of the car doors has launched off its hinges by a yellow fist. The Electrocutioner crawled out, looking positively enraged. His attention shifted from Herman towards Virgil.

“ Good. I was almost afraid this wasn’t going to be a challenge. “

“ You don’t need to do this alone.” There’s an edge of worry in Herman’s words. He ignores the stabbing pain in his chest.

Herman sees the look of trepeditation on Virgil’s face, his left hand unconciously nearing towards his right arm. It then dissapears in lieu of an enthusiastic confidence. “ You can rest now, Mr Schultz. I’m gonna take this fool to school.”

Virgil jumps off his board which disobeys the laws of gravity for a few more seconds before submitting to it. Herman watches Virgil approach towards Herman, thunder and lightning coalescing in his wake.

“ You broke into my room. You tied up Richie. You stole from my stash of snacks.”

Herman interrupted snarkily.

“ I think you’re forgetting that he’s been trying to kill you.”

“ Despite everything that you’ve done to me last week, I’m gonna give you one chance to stand down before I make you stand down.” Virgil stamped his foot down to finish his sentence and Herman swears that he can hear a thunderclap in the cloudless sky.

Herman wonders what thoughts are rolling through Larry’s head in that moment. Though, he knows what his answer will always be. Surrender and the Electrocutioner are like oil and water. Larry smacks the side of an expensive sports car as his reply, sending it skidding towards Virgil at breakneck speeds. Virgil simply lifted his hands and one thousand pounds of steel stop dead in an instant, puppetered by strings of electricity that emanate from Virgil’s fist.

“ And they say I’m a bad listener in class.”

Rebar begins uprooting itself out of the concrete, Virgil tossing them like a hail of arrows. Larry attempts to dodge them by hiding behind a car but with a twist of his wrist, they re-direct mid-flight, homing towards Larry. Eventually, a piece of rebar wraps itself around both of Larry’s legs. And then, his hands. And then, his elbows. And then, his chest. By the time Virgil is finished, Larry is wriggling like a worm in salt. The servos in his suit whine as the rusty anchors stretch and slowly yield under his strength. It’s just enough time for Virgil to get in front of him, radiating a storm’s worth of lightning that leaves burn marks in the pavement.

“ Here’s a little science lesson for you. If you have enough charge….” Virgil’s voice was a reverberating chorus from the sheer volume of electricity flowing through him. “ Anything can become a conductor!”

Virgil seemingly slaps both of his palms onto Larry’s chest. Cars begin bouncing up and down near the proximity of the two as Herman sees what can only be described as a thunderstorm up close. The odour of ozone is thick in the air, electiricty splitting air and water apart whilst the branches of lightning forking out of Virgil’s body lick his surroundings, leaving scorch scars. His eyes begin to hurt at the intense light that surrounds the both of them, their bodies becoming mere silohuettes.

The light then stops shining.

Suddenly, the electricity stops. Herman waves away the smoke only to see Virgil standing over the body of Larry Buchinsky. His arms sag to the side in exhaustion. Herman catches him by the shoulders before Virgil collapses. They’re not out of the woods yet. Virgil huffs in fatigue before shooting a smile of thanks to Herman.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the Electrocutioner is toast. He remains motionless on the ground as both Virgil and Herman stand over him. The hydraulic sub-systems in his suit are malfunctioning, orange liquid spewing out and forming a puddle. The electrical relays mounted on his shoulders are fried and cooked, the heavy scent of melted copper wiring present. On the front of Larry’s charred suit is a large black blotch with even two darker handprints on it. Larry’s expression is one of resigned fury as Virgil ties a piece of lead piping around both of his arms like shoelaces.

“ All you had to do was agree to my plans and Dakota would have been saved. Now? You’re only prolonging its death. You call yourself a hero?” Buchinsky spat out “ You’re a glorified mall cop at best. Corruption, poverty and homelessness? You can’t beat those things with a punch.”

Virgil’s face is indescipherable, wrapping a piece of metal around Buchinsky’s legs.

“ I’m just the beginning, Virgil. Pretty soon, you’ll be swarmed in work and responsibility. I’d take a prison cell over what you have to face in the future. Trust me, Herman. He’ll end up leaving this city just like Black Lightning - “

A band of metal clamped itself around Larry’s mouth, gagging him instantly. Virgil crouched downwards towards him with a tired yet determined stare.

“ Maybe, you’re right about how I’ve been a hero. Maybe, you’re right about how there’s more problems to this city than mad Bang Babies gone loose. I sure ain’t Black Lightning, though. As long as I am around, Dakota City will always be under my protection. ”

Once Virgil finished his last sentence, the life had gone out of his eyes and Larry sunk into the doldrums of being utterly defeated. Virgil stepped back and surveyed the damaged car park and the ruined campus, fire alarm ringing overhead. Herman can hear the wailing of emergency services coming over the bend. Meanwhile, Virgil rummages in his pockets for a moment and takes out a packet of bubblegum.After taking a gander on the undersides of high school tables for a year, Herman made it clear that there would be a no gum policy in his classroom.

Virgil snapped open the crinkled packet and offered a stick to him.

“ Want a piece? It’s blueberry.”

Herman raised his hand out and accepted it.

Despite the flames that roared outside the tower’s window, the stone floor of Illyana’s chamber was cold against her skin. She sat stiffly against a wall, her legs crossed with a battered old tome spread open atop them. She turned the pages carefully as her eyes poured over every rune on the page, taking it all in. Normally an eight-year-old girl like herself would spend her time running around in the open fields, enjoying her childhood. However, Illyana wasn’t a normal eight-year-old girl anymore. Now she was bound to Limbo. Daughter to Master.

Outside of her training with Master, Illyana rarely had any time for herself, and as such decided to make the most of it. Knowledge was power here. And power meant escape.

Sudden banging on her door shook Illyana out of her thoughts. She barely had enough time to hurry the book behind her back before the door was kicked open and a fiery presence filled the doorframe. A smirk spread across S’ym’s face as he stepped into the room, his snakelike eyes piercing Illyana like a pair of daggers as she scrambled to her feet. His hulking figure was flanked by his two brothers; Rath and Ghast, who were equally as terrifying with their horned heads and clawed fangs. The three demons surrounded the girl, who clung to the wall behind her as if her life depended on it. Because in her eyes, her life really did depend on it.

“Boss wants you downstairs for dinner.” Rath growled, flashing his teeth as he circled around the side of the room.

“We’s wouldn’t keep him waiting.” Ghast continued. He mirrored Rath’s movements as he did so.

Illyana stayed silent, her head pointed down towards the floor. She could feel the goosebumps rising across her arms. Moving at a snail's pace she nodded, before finally moving forwards towards the door, hoping to avoid any more of their torment. However, before she had even got halfway, she felt a scaly hand grab the back of his dress and fling her backward, back towards the wall.

“What’s this you have here Poppet?”

Her screams were meaningless as S’ym wrestled her against the wall, pinning her against it with her hand above her head. His spare hand reached down to the book, and he plucked it from her grasp. Her wails were merely met with laughter from the two brothers who quickly closed in on their prey.

Dropping Illyana as if she were a simple plaything, he turned his attention to the book in his hands and scanned the cover. His eyes widened in surprise slightly, however they soon returned to their regular shade of yellow, as he eyed where she lay crying on the ground.

“Teleportation runes.” He clicked his tongue, before crouching down to get closer to her. “My, my. Someone’s been a naughty girlie.”

She scrambled to get away from him as he grew closer, tears streaming down her face. He continued, leering towards her.

“Please…” She managed, her eyes snapping shut reactively as he swiped his claws towards her.

Illyana’s eyes stayed glued to the decapitated body before her, her mind unable to take it in fully. She felt like she’d been stood there for hours, just staring silently. In time she finally raised her head back up to see her old captor’s. The Demon’s Three looked exactly how they had back in Limbo. Rath and Ghast continued to laugh and sneer. It’s what they always did. It was all they were good for. Just pawns to S’ym and his violence. It was as if she’d never left.

S’ym was speaking again. Mostly likely making some threat towards her. She just continued to shut it out, her shaking in fear. It was just like the tower before. Just like every other time they found her alone in Limbo. And just like before she felt herself go numb. She felt the oh so familiar feeling of goosebumps rising across her arms.

The trio stopped their laughter and began to advance. S’ym moved triumphantly, twirling the axe in his hands, the blade of which still dripping with cricket blood.

But before she found herself overwhelmed once more by their violence, another sound rang out around the old English pub. This one she heard.

Ragman leaped through the air, his green cloak billowing out behind him. He collided abruptly with S’ym midair, pushing him down to the ground. Acting quickly, Ragman wrapped his arms around the demon in an attempt to pin him down. His head shot upwards as he did so, locking eyes with Magik, whose look of fear had now merged into a look of confusion and surprise.

“Get out of here!” He cried.

He was trying to sound brave. To sound as if he had all of this under control. But she could easily see that in this instance he was just as afraid as she was. Even the strength given to him by the souls in his suit didn’t seem to be enough, as S’ym struggled to his feet, overpowering the green-clad vigilante grappling him. Rath and Ghast had turned on him too now. He was a goner.

Temptation filled Illyana’s mind as she watched her friend wrestle her tormentor. She wanted to run. To escape from this place and return to the Sanctum Santorum where she’d be safe. To return to the farm. To Piotr. It would be so much easier.

She could go back to hiding. Go back to being a monster.

The word stung as it crossed her mind. Monster. It was a word she’d been using to describe herself her whole life. It was a word that just moments ago she was telling a talking cricket that she wasn’t. He was right. She wasn’t a monster. She had to be different. She had to be Magik.

“No.”

The word came of her mouth in a fury, as the young magician darted forward towards the demons. She pivoted to the left of the group, rearing up on Rath, who had turned in confusion at the sound of defiance. She swung her arms towards him, willing her Soul Staff into existence with a flash of light. The staff struck hard, clobbering the beast across the face, and knocking him back and through the bar. Wood and shrapnel ricocheted outwards as Rath broke through it, causing a shelf of alcohol to collapse and rain glass and booze all over him.

That was one.

In one swift move, she turned, now facing Ghast. Witnessing her attack on her brother, he snarled animalistically before pouncing forward like a wild dog. Her eyes whitened, and with a raise of her arms, an aurora of lights flashed in front of her blindingly. The fireworks erupted further once Ghast made contact, and as if shot from a cannon, was launched high into the air. Before finding himself hitting the ceiling, Magik had moved her arms once more, generating a stepping disc above him. He vanished as he hit it, his screams disappearing immediately.

That was two.

Now for the main event.

The fight being Ragman and S’ym wasn’t going as well. The demon swung wildly at the man clambering on his shoulders, and within seconds, his great red hand was wrapped tightly around the tip of Rory’s cape. He pulled angrily, ripping the hero from his body, before slamming him into the floor. A loud crack could be heard as Ragman hit the ground, the bones in his arm breaking. Without breaking a sweat, S’ym flexed his muscles slightly before raising his axe into the air, before bringing it down on the body before him.

Clangggg.

The axe blade struck against the obsidian staff, sending sparks flying as its momentum vanished. Illyana stood before him, holding her staff up as if it were a shield, protecting the body of her friend below her. She stood strong, a scowl across her face, her blond bangs now a mess. Her breath was heavy, however, this was out of anger rather than tiredness.

“Oh, this is more like it.” S’ym leered down towards Magik, licking his crimson lips. “This is the girlie S’ym remembers.”

Illyana simply roared and began her attack. She kicked forward, implanting her boot into his knee, buckling him slightly. She followed through with a swing from her staff, only to find it blocked by a thrust of his axe. She moved away once more, darting to the side in an attempt to strike once more. But S’ym was ready for her now. His blows were fierce, fueled by the hatred of Limbo. He swings seemed wild in nature, but each one was calculated. Each one was deadly. Yet Magik defended against each strike, her own rage building each time the axe hit the metal of her staff.

She somersaulted backward to dodge a strike of his blade. As she moved through the air, a flick of her wrist generated a stepping disc beneath, teleporting her out of the way as another swing nearly decapitated her. Appearing behind him she took a swipe at his skull. She was striking to kill now. Not maim. She was tired of fighting. Tired of him living.

He was too quick. He ducked, before swiping himself with his spare arm at his cut, his claws cutting through the front of her shirt. Before they tore at her skin however, she spun out of harm's way, striker herself. Once again the weapons collided with a piercing clink.

“I can do this all day Poppet.” He hissed, before charging forward towards her.

She smiled. Big mistakes.

She opened a disc before him, and before the behemoth could stop he tumbled through, flailing wildly. He appeared in the end to her right, exactly when she wanted him. Her staff struck him across the chest, sending him crashing into the ground. And then she was atop him.

With the butt of her staff, she thrust downwards, smashing the bones in his hand, causing his axe to fall to his side with a thud. The demon let out a violent howl that echoed around them as he thrust about where he lay in an attempt to escape.

"Why?" She roared, pressing down hard. "Why are you here?”

His cries grew louder. But they weren’t loud enough. She wanted to hear him cry. She wanted to see him bleed. See him suffer.

But then the sound of his pain ceased, as S’ym let out a croaking sound, which after a few seconds transformed into a painful laugh.

“S’ym didn’t kill you when you were small, Poppet because our master protected you.” His voice growled on through the pain, yet as he went on he seemed to regain his strength.

“Now that protection is over. Belasco has a new pet to play with. And now S’ym thinks you’re fair game.”

New Pet.

The comment caused her to freeze, her mind attempting to race to an understanding. He had to be wrong. He had to be lying.

S’ym smiled, knowing the damage was done. Acting while she was distracted, he darted up, pushing her off him with a single swing of his arm. He struggled to his feet, as Illyana caught her balance.

“Should’ve killed me when you had the chance.” He jeered, limping forwards towards her.

It took everything Illyana had to keep her focused. Her mind was screaming a multitude of questions. And on top of that, she still had S’ym to deal with. Anger still edged on her, however now the pain was back. And the fear.

“Maybe.” She managed, locking eyes with S’ym while tightening her hands around her staff. “However there’s been enough bloodshed today.”

And with that, she crossed her arms before her. S’ym shouted in protest as a stepping disc materialized once more at his feet. Before he could even attempt an escape he was gone. The bar grew silent immediately in his absence. Her eyes wandered the room as she took everything in. The patrons had vanished, having escaped from the carnage shortly after the demons had arrived. Now all that was left was the dissected body of the Canterbury Cricket, an unconscious demon amongst the remains of what was once the bar, and Ragman slumped against a wall, clutching his arm.

And down in Limbo, Belasco was currently busy torturing a new soul.

Everything was fucked.

Illyana fell to her knees and wept.

G O T H A M C O U N T Y

---

“That’s not the suit that I asked you to alter.”

The air rushed by. The reverberation of the motorcycle radiated through the doll’s body, filling the night with a dull roar. The bike was a modified 1971 Triumph Daytona that had originally been used by Bruce Wayne as part of a publicity stunt, before it had been passed to Dick for use when he’d become a teen. The blue paint was factory, with the only emblematic addition being a muted Robin ‘R’ symbol.

The so-called Robin Cycle had been sitting inside one of the safehouses that had functioned as one of the many fallbacks to the Bat-Cave that were strategically placed in the event that Bruce had to shift operations. Converted from an old warehouse, it was owned by a dummy company that was tangentially connected to one of the Wayne Group businesses. Dick had used it as his headquarters when he’d first arrived in Bludhaven, before buying and converting the apartment over.

Amazingly, slapping in a new battery and putting some gas into the engine had worked. When this was over, Dick was probably going to have to replace the plugs and hoses if this kept up however.

His comment, of course, was not directed at the bike so much as it was the current operator. A short cape fluttering in the wind behind the small driver. While flashes of yellow marked the underside of the cape, the predominant color was black. The short sleeves, the trunks, the gloves, and the boots were all black. Gone was any hint of green. The yellow was significantly downplayed, relegated now only to the R symbol and the underside of the cape. The body and legs were both red, but a far more muted tone than the bright colors that Dick had sported.

“If I had to guess, based on the color scheme and quality of the polyester fibers, then I would say that the previous Robin suit was designed in the late Nineteen Sixties,” Toyboy remarked, quite astutely delivering a proverbial slap across Dick’s ear drums.

Unlike Dick, Toyboy’s vision was inhuman. The lighting had been removed from the motorcycle, as the dark shadow shot down Interstate-12 in completely blacked out conditions. On this part of the interstate, the traffic was light. By the time anyone thought that they saw something, the bike was already vanishing back into the darkness. This ensemble is much more durable and appropriate to the post-modern child superhero,” the doll added, easing back on the throttle of the motorcycle as he approached the turn. Sliding into neutral, the android boy allowed the bike’s speed to bleed away before neatly executing the turn from off the asphalt onto the dirt county road. “The use of black is apparently associated with something that the internet identified as ‘edgelord’,” the Toy Wonder remarked candidly, noting, “This is reportedly a popular trait with tweens.”

If it was possible, Toyboy could hear the facepalm through the Bluetooth earpiece that was clipped to the side of his head. “Popularity with the eight to fourteen crowd wasn’t exactly what I was going for when I was Robin.”

Sliding the bike into third gear, the doll rocked the throttle as the motorcycle underneath him gave a dull roar while the tires bit into the dirt. “Perhaps a reason why the identity has failed to attract a successor in recent times,” the simulacrum chirped brightly. Soft notes of mirth concealed what seemed like a faint echo of giggling as he’d said it.

“All right, you’re coming up on the storage facility. Maintain radio silence unless absolutely necessary,” Dick’s voice noted. In recent time, Dick had planted a GPS tracking device on the Robin Cycle and the Redbird, just in case someone stumbled upon the old Bat-Bunker. “Remember, for this outing it’s surveillance only. Observe and report. I’ll check out the barn and then we’ll compare notes before we jump into something half-assed.”

Easing off the throttle, the doll slid the bike back into neutral. Slowly coasting along the rough road, the bike rolled to a stop just outside the fence that surrounded the confines of the storage facility. “Observe and report. Don’t jump into anything that’s not full-ass,” the boy supplied, his voice betraying the childish giggle at the word ‘ass’. Then, the line dropped as the boy said brightly, “Got it!”

Pushing the motorcycle off the road, the doll concealed it into the brush and removed his helmet. A black domino mask dressed the front of his face.

A light litany of boyish laughter trickled through the air. Taking off in a sprint, the android closed the gap to the fence and then neatly performed an acrobatic leap from the ground. Performing a twist in the air, the small figure landed on his feet on the other side of the barrier and then sprinted toward the nearest structure.

As he did, he uttered under his breath, in a sing-song voice, “Na na na na na na... Robin!”


“Got it!”

He had a bad feeling about this. Glancing down at his cellphone, Dick tried to ignore the knot in his stomach and just put the phone in his coat pocket.

He was in a different part of I-12, taking his unmarked police cruiser through a county road that was little more than a one-way path carved through cornfields. He was way outside of his jurisdiction in this part of the county. Proper decorum required that he contact the sheriff to let hi know that he’d be stepping out into his jurisdiction, especially if he was collecting evidence for an official Bludhaven Police Department investigation.

Except Dick knew just enough about the Gotham County Sheriff to know that call would do more harm than good.

First rule of being Nightwing: It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.

He’d found an empty field that was a short distance away, leaving the car and crossing through the corn toward the foreclosed farm.

At first, he’d almost missed the acrid scent in the air. Recognition was gnawing at the back of his brain, but he was distracted by the vibration in his coat. He tapped the side of his bluetooth ear bud. “Grayson,” he answered shortly.

“It’s Chambers,” the voice on the other end of the call announced. “I ran the victims from the Ninety-Six case and found that there is one still here. I’m on my way to see if I can get an interview tonight.”

So she’d found Chambers. “Solid plan,” Dick stated quietly. Peering through the stalks, the man gauged the empty path toward the farm before he ventured out from cover and into the open.

“Blackgate is getting me the names of all inmates who have been released that they think Helzinger would have spoken with.”

That would be a start to growing their list of suspects. “Run that first thing in the morning,” Dick remarked. Then a pause. “What about Ellsworth?”

“So, that’s the thing,” Chambers’ voice remarked. That statement caused Dick to stop short, even before he heard, “What led you to think that Schott was moved to Ellsworth?”

“He’s not at Ellsworth,” Dick uttered, feeling a foreboding sense of dread wash over him.

“They say that they’ve never heard of him.”

Now this was making perfect sense. The knowledge about the abductions. The motive. It had been Anton Schott.

And Dick had just sent Toyboy to face him. “Shit.”

“Commissioner?”

“I’ll call you back,” Dick replied, hanging up. Digging through his pocket, the man snatched the phone out. Unlocking it, the man began to cycle through the calls to find the burner that he’d given Toyboy.

A sound caused Dick to stop, his finger poised over the call button.

It was a car engine.

Several car engines.

He turned his head just in time to see headlights shining through the corn stalks, as several cars wound their way toward the farm.

Blocking the road that could take him to I-12. And, more importantly, headed toward the so-called abandoned farm. Where the smell told him everything he needed to know.

He’d just stumbled across a meth lab.

“God... fuck.”

---

Draaga and Thor sized one another up. The alien gladiator had a hideous, gap-toothed, fanged smile on his face as he did so, and Thor knew exactly why. The creature had his old weapon, the battle ax Jarnbjorn, and intended to kill the God of Thunder with it. The weapon was what he sought when Quill took him to the dead planet with the Asgardian cache on it, yet here it was in the hands of a mortal unworthy to hold it. It made Thor's blood boil at the thought of being cleaved in two by his own blade.

"I have no quarrel with you, Draaga of Warworld!" the Asgardian called out to his foe. "Let me pass. It is your master I would have words with."

Talking usually wasn't Thor's thing. He was a being of action, not of discussion. But he needed to keep all the eyes of Warworld on himself for as long as he could. Heimdall and the rest needed the opportunity to get to the spaceport. As long as that happened, he would do what was needed of him.

The gladiator laughed loudly. He was clearly putting on a show for Mongul, "Do not make me laugh! You are not worthy enough for my master to leave his gilded seat and crush you like the insect your are. He has sent me, one who needs to earn his freedom, on this task!"

Freedom? So Mongul has offered Draaga out of the Warworld game in exchange for killing Thor. That made sense. But the way he talked about Mongul, it was like he thought the tyrant was a god.

"Come, cretin!" Draaga called to Thor. "Face your end with honor!"

"Aye!' Thor called back. "An end it shall be. But not mine, gladiator! You have brought the wrath of Thor, and thou shalt rue the day thy did!"

The two combatants rushed at one another. Thor was surprised to see how fast Draaga was. The video highlights that Mongul played night after night of the gladiator killing others were misleading. Thor had assumed that his foes were just normal, which was why he seemed so unstoppable. But here, face to face, Thor realized that the warrior merely was incredible. He was the planet's champion for a reason.

Draaga swung Jarnbjorn with ferocious strength, missing Thor by a hair. He rolled beneath it and drove his fist up into the chin of Draaga. The blow was usually enough to send a mortal dozens of feet into the air, but instead Draaga merely stumbled back a few feet. He growled at the God of Thunder, and swung the ax again in a horizontal, circular sweep that almost disemboweled the Asgardian.

Thor tried to close the gap between the two of them, knowing that if he could stop Draaga from swinging Jarnbjorn with his full strength, he could win this fight. He delivered a few body blows to Draaga's exposed midsection, and the gladiator panicked and swung the blunt end of the ax around, catching Thor below the chin. The blow sent stars flying through his vision, and his body flying through the air.

He landed a few yards from Draaga, and had to roll out of the way of another axe swing that would have cleaved him in half. He felt something, deep inside, that he had not felt in a long time during a fight.

Fear. It was just the smallest flicker, but it was there.

He pushed it down and stood, "You want to kill me, warrior!? Then come and kill me!"



Quill took a giant, relieved breath as he climbed out of the manhole and into an alley of Mongul's imperial capital city. Sure, it still smelled of piss, but at least he wasn't wading through it any more. He looked down and saw a strand of...something hanging from his boot, and gagged for the millionth time in the past half hour.

"Okay, that is the last time I ever let you come up with a plan," he said to the raccoon that had been sitting on his back the entire time. "Seriously that was disgusting."

"Oh I don't think it was all that bad," Rocket chuckled to himself and hopped to the ground. "Just a little smelly."

"Easy for you to say when you're a trash panda," Quill gagged again. "That's probably like a five course meal for you."

"What the hell is a panda?" Rocket's nose scrunched up.

"Would you two shut up?" Hawk grumbled as she climbed out as well. "Might as well alert the whole damn city we're here."

She was right of course. The whole idea of coming through the sewers was so they could enter the city unseen. Squabbling amongst one another would do nothing to help.

Still, Quill looked around and saw that there seemed to be no one out on the street next to them. In fact, the entire city seemed quiet.

Silently, he siddled up to the side of the house closest to him. Peering into the window, he saw that the inhabitants were all huddled around their view screens, watching some kind of fight.

"Mongul must be pushing some big pay per view fight or something," he hissed in a whisper. "Looks like everyone in town is preoccupied."

"Well then it's our lucky day," Rocket grinned broadly, which looked wholly unnatural coming from a raccoon. "Should give us less to worry about in the city."

They started to move in a single file, keeping to the alleys when they could. What little guard presence they saw seemed to be just as distracted by the prize fight as the citizens were. They were all looking down at their personal, hand-held screens rather than paying attention to their patrol routes. Whatever had possessed Mongul to do this today had clearly worked in their favor.

They snaked their way through the city, keeping an eye on the tyrant's palace in the distance as it continued to get closer and closer.

Suddenly, they turned a corner and came to a huge crowd, all watching a gigantic view screen. While Rocket and Hawk kept moving, what Quill saw stopped him in his tracks. There was Thor, his new traveling partner, going toe-to-toe with Draaga, the champion of Warworld. From the looks of it, both fighters had gotten their licks in on one another, but Thor certainly seemed to be taking the worst of it so far. And that wasn't surprising considering Quill could see that the gladiator was wielding a gnarly-looking battle ax.

"Peter," Hawk half-whispered, half-yelled. "What are you doing!?"

He motioned up to the screen, "That's my...friend? I dunno. But he's my meal ticket. I gotta go help him."

"Are you crazy! We're getting so close!" Rocket protested.

"You guys can keep going if you want," he shrugged. "I'm going back there."

"No way," Hawk grabbed him. "I'm at least getting the bounty on one of you."

"Would you two stop it!" Rocket pleaded. "You're gonna draw too much attention!"

"Hey you!"

The three of them froze and looked up to see five of Mongul's guards coming towards them through the crowd. They were clad in purple and yellow riot gear, and to Quill they looked like what Prince's secret police would look like if he became a Nazi. The thought brought a smile to his face right before he ran, with Hawk and Rocket on his tail.

"Freakin' humies!" Rocket yelled. "Always messin' up my plans!"

Another pack of guards cut off their escape, but were shredded by fire from Quill's Element Guns and the pistols Rocket was packing. The two gunslingers looked at one another with wry smiles.

"Okay, not bad," Rocket had to admit.

They turned to find Hawk engaging the first group of guards. Her mace made short work of them, and before long there were no guards standing.

But Quill noticed something off. As the sun poked through the clouds above, a glint on a rooftop drew his attention, "Hawk get down!"

His warning came out just in time. The Thanagarian hit the ground as a blast sailed right past her shoulder. Quill responded with a shot of his own, and a dead sniper fell from a third story window down the block.

From the ground, Hawk looked up, "You...saved me."

"Yea, well, you're good in a fight," he helped her up. "Come on, we need to get to cover."

The three of them headed back into the alleys of the city, hoping to get towards the main gate where Thor was fighting for his life. Unfortunately, they found themselves face to face with a whole battalion of troops. They turned to retreat, but found their way back had been cut off by another group.

"You think you can walk into Mongul's city undetected!?" the leader of the guards called to them. "He knows all! He is the god of Warwo-"

Before he could finish, his head became a smoking crater, courtesy of Rocket Raccoon. Without another word, the guards charged towards the three fighters, who all looked at one another before starting the fight. They knew this was the end for them, but they would go down fighting.

The guards were on them quickly, and even Hawk's sweeping flight couldn't keep them off. Quill took down a few, but before long he was dogpiled, and was being beaten and kicked repeatedly. He would surely die here, on the ground, being pummeled by these glorified backup dancers. This was not how he ever thought he would go out.

Then, suddenly, the kicks and punches lessened, and he heard the guards yelling. He managed to get to his knees. What he saw made him sure he had suffered brain damage. A tree, a pile of rocks, a bug, and another dang space Viking were tearing through the guards' rear flank. Quill managed to pick up his guns and rejoin the fray, taking revenge for the beating, and Rocket and Hawk did the same. Before long, the two groups of off worlders met in the middle.

"Groot! Buddy! You're okay!" Rocket said to the tree, with genuine happiness in his voice.

"I am Groot," the tree responded.

"No, my flying did not get us into this," Rocket snapped back. "How dare you."

"I am Groot!"

Quill approached the new Viking warrior, "You have to know Thor."

"Aye," he smiled warmly. "The God of Thunder is a very old friend."

"Well we need to go help him," Peter motioned to the large screen. "He's getting his ass kicked out there."

The new friend just smiled, and pointed to the sky, "For now. Thor can take care of himself. We need to get to the hangar. He will meet us there."

As the newly assembled group started off, Quill noticed the clouds in the sky were thickening quickly, swirling into an inky black layer.

In the distance, thunder rumbled.



With every strike Draaga landed, Thor could feel himself losing the fight. He had been too overconfident coming in. He was sure of that now. The gladiator was a formidable opponent, but he believed the mortal did not stand a true threat to him. His over confidence had always been his downfall. It was why he couldn't see Ragnarok coming. It was why he could not stop it. It was why his family was now dead along with most of his people. Thor, the God of Stupidity was more like it.

Quit your self pity.

The voice was so distant, but so familiar. His father's voice had echoed into his ears. He was not sure if it was a hallucination from the pain, or if his father was truly reaching out yet again through some ancient magic that could pierce the veil of death. In truth, it did not matter which one it was. It was right. He was the God of Thunder. This rock would not be his grave.

Draaga missed with another potential death blow with Jarnbjorn as he had the entire battle. But he let go of the ax with one hand and back handed Thor with it as the Asgardian dodged the blade. The blow did nothing but harden Thor's resolve.

The gladiator brought the hand back around, but Thor caught it. The two warriors snarled at one another, and Draaga kicked out, catching Thor in the midsection. The god rolled back, and regained his footing with a smile. He did not know how, but he felt the electricity rolling through him as if he held Mjolnir in his hand once more. Every blow now seemed to energize him, more than cause pain.

"You have fought well, Draaga," Thor admitted. "But now is the time for you to surrender. Or die."

Draaga laughed, "You have not been paying attention to this fight. But one of is is about to die."

The gladiator rushed at Thor, holding Jarnbjorn above his head, sure that this would be it.

Thor felt the lighting coming. He couldn't control it as well as he could when he had Mjolnir, but in the moments since it started calling to him once again, he knew he could call it down. Every footfall of Draaga's sprint brought him closer, and with each one Thor waited. That is until he could not wait any longer.

With a blinding flash of light and a deafening crack, Draaga of Warworld was no more.

Jarnbjorn clattered to the ground, before it was picked up by a hand, glowing blue.



The new, motley crew of Warworld rebels stood in the hangar of Mongul. The seven of them stood shoulder to shoulder. On the other side of them, blocking their path, was ever last guard that remained in the city.

At their head stood Mongul himself. His large, imposing frame dwarfed everyone in the room.

"Impressive," the tyrant admitted. "No one has ever made it here before. But here is where it ends."

"No," Heimdall assured him. "This is where your empire ends."

"Fool," Mongul seethed. "I am Warworld."

He waved his hand, and the guards charged. The escapees charged as well.

Before the two groups could meet, however, a bolt of lightning crashed through the ceiling of the monstrous hangar. It struck directly between the two groups, but exploded out towards the guards. The seven tired fighters covered their eyes as the energy dissipated, revealing Thor, cloaked in arcs of electricity and holding the battle ax that Draaga had wielded. In front of him, all of Mongul's army lay motionless, with only the leader of Warworld still standing.

"Bad. Ass," Quill smiled broadly.

Thor strolled confidently towards Mognul, his ax jumping with energy. The alien warlord fired his weapon, but every shot was deflected by Thor. When he reached his enemy, he cleaved the gun in two, and grabbed him by the throat. Thor lifted Mongul off the ground by his neck, "Mongul of Warworld, you have angered the God of Thunder. For that, I leave you to the people you force to kill one another for sport."

With that, he raised his ax and called down another bolt of lightning. He directed it with the ax towards Mongul's chest, and the alien, seemingly shot from a canon, flew from Thor's grasp and through the ceiling once more. The group watched as his body disappeared over the horizon.

Thor turned to the rag tag group and smiled, "Shall we get off this rock now?"

And with that, the God of Thunder passed out from the exhaustion, and hit the ground hard.

---

“ Hey. I made your favourite cup of tea. I know it’s been a while but a lot of things have happened since you….......we last met. ” A pause. “ I broke my arm. I found out that my chemistry teacher was a retired burglar. I shoot electricity out of my hands now because I, uh, touched some weird, funky tear gas. I wish I could tell you everything. If you were still here. ”

He sets the cup gently onto the beaten, mossy headstone. The taste of the chamomile is like that of a warm fireplace.

“ You once told me everybody has a choice in Dakota City. I don’t tell this to everyone but….I’m scared. I’m scared that I’m not making the right choices. And believe me, the hardest part is having to live with them. When I first got these powers, I thought I could do nothing wrong. Now? I’m not so sure anymore. ”

He sips more slowly.

“ I wonder about him sometimes. He’s either proud, disappointed, angry, happy or all of those things at the same time. It seems...weird, doesn’t it? That my first instinct with my powers was to go out and fight crime. Just like him. …..Maybe, Lightning Junior is a good name for me.”

The sun is setting quickly now, the Dakotan sky darkening into a lush purple.

“ D-do you believe that he’ll see the both of us again? That he’s looking out for me in secret? Not that I’ve forgiven him…..I wonder if you would have after what he did. ” Silence is his only reply. “ Well, wherever he is, if I see him again, I’ll make sure he’ll come visit you first.”

By the time he stands up, there’s dirt staining his pants.

“ I’ve gotta go now, but don’t worry. I’ve got more visits planned in the future. Just for you especially. You’re the real superhero of Dakota City, not me.” An awkward shuffle. “ Well, bye then. I’ll always be here for you. ”

---

The doctors had taken him off painkillers after a day, despite his complaints. Herman had preferred being lucid instead of having to deal with the annoyances of reality. One of those annoyances was his student who was also the crime-fighting vigilante known as Static. The teenage superhero was out of costume, currently bombarding him with chemistry questions. He’d claimed that his excuse was that he’d happened upon his hospital during his patrol but Herman suspected it was more likely due to an upcoming test.

“ See? I’m telling you right now, Mr Schultz, this question straight up doesn’t make sense!"

“ I’m surprised the school managed to find a substitute teacher so quickly.” Herman speaks casually whilst scanning through the question vexing Virgil, mind working at breakneck speeds. “ By the way, you forgot to take into account the fact the london dispersion forces generated by that long hydrocarbon chain. That’s why it’s B instead of C.”

Herman gives the question back. Virgil’s mind lacks a certain intuition, one honed from years of experience, but his mind eventually reaches the same conclusion at a slower pace. He wordlessly scribbles the correction without a verbal complaint. Minutes pass, Herman offering a few scant words of assistance every now and then. Virgil pays with rapt attention to every question, his hands no longer skittish with the jitteriness of caffeine. The pallor in his brown skin has returned. His eyes are no longer bloodshot and ringed with dark circles. His shoulders are more loose and relaxed as if a weight has been lifted.

He guessed even superhero vigilantes needed leaves once in a while. That or he took his advice literally to heart.

“ Did you really have to give yourself up to the police?” asks Virgil, out of the blue in the middle of solving a particularly difficult question on nucleomagnetic resonance analysis.

Herman’s mood becomes sour. He pulls at the handcuff stapling him to the bed. It would be so easy to lockpick and free himself but it would only make him look worse in the end. The two police officers guarding the entrance to his hospital room wouldn’t help matters. He remembers the moment when he offers himself up to Dakota PD, cuffs slamming on both of his wrists, during the day when Static beats Buchinsky to a pulp. The person who should have no reason to ally with him, the antithesis of who he was, defended his right to a fair trial, in spite of his numerous crimes. Witness reports helped turned the tide in his favour.

“ Not giving myself up would raise more questions than answer them. “ Herman then smiles. “ Besides, we can’t have our local town hero openly fraternizing with a bank robber, can we?”

Virgil snorts at the thought of the media capturing him in the act. He’d had enough of the hordes of hungry journalists and reporters begging to interview him after the live incident with the Electrocutioner.

“ That’ll be a headline.”

They continued in silence for a while. Virgil casually summons a metal ruler over towards him, a web of electricity attracting it to his hand. The one security camera focused on the two of them is currently glitching out from static interference, hospital workers waiting for the repairman to arrive and hoping dearly that the career criminal would escape in the mess. It’s not like the cause of the issue would be a teenager abusing his control of one of the four fundamental forces of the universe.

Herman picks up a folded newspaper from a reputable gazette, flipping through the pages. “ So, you’ve been taking it slow? Nice and easy like I told you yesterday?”

“ Yes, granny Schultz. ” Virgil relents slightly under Herman’s pointed stare from behind his paper. Ever since he’d collapsed in exhaustion from a long midnight patrol in Sadler during History, Richie and Herman were looking over him like mother hens. Besides, he’d improved to 3 hours of sleep everyday. It was an improvement over the half-hour naps he’d managed when he first patrolled Dakota City.

“ Maybe, you should go up to Washington Avenue sometime next month.” Virgil doesn’t get the chance to ask what he exactly means; a thrown newspaper with a folded page is explanation enough.

By Augustus Freeman

“ Anyone you know?” Herman remarks as Virgil reads through the rest of the article before giving it back.

“ It’s probably just some rabid dog that attacked them. The local animal shelters have been flooded since the Big Bang anyway.” Virgil returns back to his work, although, Herman can see that the seeds of curiosity have been planted in his mind. Herman finds it amusing that a teenager who can make metal move with his mind finds the idea of another vigilante to be improbable.

“ I’ve heard down the grapevine that the Kilowatt Kid will attending a charity basketball match tomorrow hosted by Freeman Community Center.” Herman raises an eyebrow in concern “ Aren’t you worried about your Dad or sister finding out about…..?”

He doesn’t need to complete the sentence for Virgil to fully understand. Virgil stops writing, setting the pen down. It zips to the railing of Herman's hospital bed with a clang, magnetized by the build-up of static in Virgil's palm.

“ I’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” He replies, looking unsure of himself. The hands on the clock then strike to four in the afternoon. Virgil begins to collects his books. “ I should go now. Me and Richie are gonna have to be at 8-Bit Central early before Maximum Radical 4 is sold out. ”

Herman tries not to cringe at the title. Taste was something that the newer generations lacked in compared to the old ones. Just as Virgil begins to leave, Herman's mouth moves open but no words come out at first, muscle and mind uncoordinated.

“ W-WAIT! I just remembered. I called up a few reliable contacts through a secure line. Since you lost your costume a couple of days ago and I’m partially responsible for the tech Buchinsky used against it, I figured I’d owe you one….”

Herman took out a cardboard box from underneath his bed. It’d taken days for Melvin to fufill his requests but the former criminal now turned professional clothier insisted he needed time. He offers the box towards Virgil who slowly opens and peeks into it, taking the entire costume piece by piece for him to see.

It's an urban evolution of the dingy thrift shop apparel that Virgil has worn in his current tenure as Static. Strips of sea blue and bright yellow run across glossy black fabric, that when rubbed between Virgil's fingers, brings memories of rainy days and ponchos in Herman's mind. Whenever Virgil runs his static-laced hand through the contours of the costume, blue and yellow fabric become neon for a few seconds before fading away.

Herman concludes that Melvin Potter does good work.

“ You like it?”

Virgil smile lights up like a Christmas tree when he lifts up the inner shirt, a golden lightning bolt surrounded by a circlet emblazoned in the center.

“ Like it? I love it!”

---

It's been 3 months since she last visited the surface. Gale misses the kiss of the sun on her now permanent alabaster skin.The moon is an eternal vigil above him, assuaging her fears of boiling to death when the sun comes up. Her fellow night-breed follow behind her, guarded, tense because Paris Island is a land frozen in time. Houses have been evacuated, ships have been left to dry on the dock where sea-water batters endlessly against them and grass has eaten through the concrete. They approach a chain-linked fence, a hastily taped sign saying "WARNING: HAZARD" to the main gate.

There’s a screech in the air as the wind rustles, a indistinct large shadow flying down towards them . Her lieutenant, Tech, pulled out an umbrella and twists the grip, transforming it into Gale isn’t sure of how enhanced intelligence translates to holding a man-sized cannon without being crushed under its weight. She could fit her head in the bore of the barrel.

“ Give the word, boss, and I’ll smoke her.”

“ Wait.” Gale lifts up her hand. “ She’s not here to hurt us.”

“ Who is she, then?” Tech asks.

“ The greeter.”

She recognizes the winged meta-human from her actions during the Week of Terror. Talon. The enforcer of the Meta-Breed's leader from what she heard. Beady eyes stare at her like a hawk as Talon perches on top of a crane. The one-inch long daggers that are responsible for her namesake clack on the rusting steel. Gale is almost expecting her to caw when she opens her beak-like mouth to speak.

" He's coming. Wait for him and don't even think about leaving."

Talon swoops off into the night, the moon illuminating her feathered figure before she disappears into the clouds. Gale only has to wait a few minutes before various bang babies come out of the shipping containers like termites. They’re surrounded. Is this supposed to be some sort of indirect threat? A show of strength? One of them, a red-headed caucasian, looks at her with an arrogance born of a person who's used to getting what they want. She almost mistakes him for being normal until she sees the sphere of fire bouncing up and down his hand like a baseball. Itching for a fight.

There's a yelp at the back of her group, Gale turning around to see what the commotion was all about. Their shadows are bleeding. The darkness clots together to form a weeping tear in reality. A foot step through the portal. Then, another. She's only heard rumours about the entity that walks out of the portal, sealing shut the moment he exits out. The Night-Breed have roamed around in the dark tunnels and sewers of Dakota for a month. They are familiar with the concept of darkness. They are the dark. But her fellow Night-Breed step away from the He is the Shadow-Man. A slick voice reminds her that what she's meeting is not an abomination but a meta like her.

" You must be Nightingale. We've never had the chance to meet before. My name's Ebon, master of shadows." His suave voice is calm yet utterly commanding, oddly inflecting the end of each syllable. " So, I’m assuming the only reason you stepped onto our turf is because you want to discuss 'bout something.”

Ebon leans languidly on the side of a shipping container, waiting for her reply.

Gale doesn't know why she's thinking twice as she begin to form the pre-planned words in her mouth. Even if he’s a ruthless gang lord, power is what the Night-Breed right now. Power is what they need to find a cure. What difference would there be between allying with a surface dweller or the Shadow Man? Gale makes an imperceptible nod.

“ Times are desperate. The Night-Breed believe that an alliance with the Meta-Breed is necessary in these conditions.”

There’s the hint of a smile the way Ebon’s eyes tilt upwards. Gale briefly wonders if she’s made a mistake, Ebon’s void-like arm reaching over her neck and giving her a reassuring clap on the shouder.

“ Wrong answer. Times are changing. Welcome to the future of this city.”

---

The taxi fare wasn’t cheap. It was lucky that he’d kept a roll of dollars on hand whenever he made trips like this. There was a silent courtesy between him and the driver before they zoomed off into the midnight, leaving him to ponder the sights of Dakota City. The land where lightning always strike twice. The chirping of the crickets kept him company, a dimly lit bus-stop on the other side of the road.

He looked back towards the interstate highway. Maybe, he should have stayed in New York instead of coming all the way here.

A shower of electric sparks sprays out from the nearest streetlight. He reigns in the doubt and comes to a single decision.

No. Too late for regrets now when Dakota City was a town of regrets for him. He came to fix his mistakes, not dwell on it until it consumed him from the inside out.

He adjusted his shades, clouds rumbling morosely with thunder and lightning above him.

He had a son to meet after all.

---

B L Ü D H A V E N

---

Most people tried to be as unobtrusive as possible when robbing a bank.

Others rolled out the fanfare.

The marionettes marched through the doors. Trumpeters heralded the two column approach of life-sized nutcrackers and toy soldiers, as a little drummer boy danced and spun in the center of the formation with a jovial giggle as he beat a happy tune against the small marching drum that he carried.

The wooden toy soldiers split off into a firing line, rifles held out toward the row of bank tellers. The people inside the bank were screaming and scurrying out of the path of the nutcrackers, whose jaws snapped back and forth while they brandished wicked looking scimitars.

With a jaunty step, the little drummer boy did a pirouette and then flipped over the partition that separated the customers from the tellers. Beating out a melody on his drum, the Toyboy sauntered over to the safe that was recessed into the back part of the bank. Unslinging his drum, the child-like doll set the drum against the front of the safe. Then, executing a series of backflips, vaulted away from the safe.

An explosion ripped through the air, sending tremors through the building that brought everyone inside down onto their hands on their knees. The automatic fire extinguishers kicked in, spraying water through the interior of the bank.

Through the rain, the smoke, and the haze, a childish laughter trickled with bubbly mirth. “The Toyman’s toys aren’t just expensive, you might say they break the bank!”

The movement was almost imperceptible.

The toy soldiers went down first, bowled down like pins that were scattered as they rolled around on the floor. The nutcrackers were next, flashes of a dark attired figure cast as a silhouette among the smoke.

A scimitar rattled as it slid across the floor toward the little drummer boy’s feet. “What?” Toyboy chirped, still holding onto his drum sticks, as he looked down, then around to his left and right. He seemed to have significantly fewer toys now than he thought that he ought to. “Hey!” the doll exclaimed, snapping his head up as he said firmly, “I was playing with those!”


Twirling a pair of batons, the former Boy Wonder stood in the center of the bank. Attired in varying shades of blue and gold, the dark haired man in the mask merely looked out at the pouting child-like figure and noted, “The psychopaths just keep getting younger.”

“That’s okay,” the doll chirped. With a surprising dexterity that would have belonged inside the family of the Flying Graysons, the child-like figure executed a cartwheel toward Dick. Holding out his batons in a defensive posture, the man was surprised when the drum sticks struck against his guard with sufficient force to push him backward. “I can just play with you instead!” the doll boasted in the same sing-song voice.

Holding up his block, Dick dropped his center of gravity. He performed a leg sweep, but the nimbly nymph jumped out of the way.

Something wasn’t quite right, though as Dick found himself getting into a game of back-and-forth, trading blows, between batons and drum sticks... he found he was having a hard time placing a finger on what was nagging at him.

Then it hit him. The boy -- if it even was a boy -- wasn’t looking at Dick. Not his face anyway. Instead, it almost seemed like it was studying him. Evaluating? As Dick moved, the child-like figure seemed to respond and anticipate how that movement would guide Dick’s next move.

He was being analyzed.

That didn’t seem human. Was this... another toy?

“Hey, Mister, what’s your name?” the drummer boy remarked. Vaulting over Dick’s head, the doll landed atop the teller window and continued sparring with Dick from there.

Dick was definitely starting to get the feeling that he was being toyed with. “I’m not ‘sposed to talk to strangers,” the doll continued, babbling on like a real child might have. “But, if you tell me your name then we won’t be strangers anymore!”

Dick tried a feint, snapping out with a sweep of his arm that he’d hoped would have struck the legs out from under the doll. Instead, Dick felt a kid-sized foot land on his face, as the doll nimbly sprang across to the other side of the bank lobby. A bubbly, giggling laughter seemed to accompany his movement.

The man grit his teeth. Now, he was starting to get irritated. “I think you need a nice long talk with a judge down in juvenile hall,” Nightwing snapped, as he spun to turn and face the little hellspawn.

The little drummer boy just shot a Dick a devil-may-care grin. Then, the doll craned his head toward the door to the bank. A second later, the sound of police sirens reached Dick’s ears.

“This playground’s starting to get crowded,” the drummer boy stated, before vaulting back toward the exit. As he cartwheeled out onto the steps, the doll gave Nightwing a jaunty salute as he added, “Hey, mister, let’s play again sometime!”

Standing there, water pooling around his ankles, Dick waded through giant wooden toy soldiers and knife-wielding nutcrackers. And may have just fenced Pinocchio. “Just when I thought that I’d seen it all,” he muttered under his breath.

Gotham Corridor Self Storage
Gotham County, New Jersey | Present Day

The bubbly giggle echoed faintly. Glimpses of a small shadow seemed to play along the peripheral as the costumed doll ventured through the self storage yard. The place had been shuttered for the last six years, the units weathered but seemingly shut tight. Upon cursory review, Toyboy would have estimated that the facility was well and truly defunct.

That was before he’d turned a corner and seen the bus.

It was the type of short school bus that was known as an A-type frame. The underlying drivetrain was a Ford E-450. The wheelbase was precisely 138 inches, with a curb weight of approximately 5,000 pounds. The precise details that he had observed at the crime scene on Route 16.

Popping open the side door, the Toy Wonder slipped inside of the bus for a closer inspection. Visual inspection in the ultraviolet spectrum revealed traces of blood.

The trail led him to a nearby storage unit. The garage-style rolling door was not secured. Tugging at the underside of door, Toyboy rolled the door up part way. The interior was spartan, with a hole cut into the floor.

There was something underneath the storage facility.

He likely had enough observations to report back to Mister Grayson now. As he started to lower the door, the Toyboy stopped. Holding perfectly still, the doll waited as he listened.

There was a sound. The decibel level was extremely low. But the pitch was in the range of normal child vocalization. Holding himself like a statue, Toyboy remained that way until he had determined that the sound was that of a child sobbing.

Dick’s directive that he should observe and report was immediately rescinded.

Once upon a time, Toyboy had hesitated to do something when a child had been sobbing, because an authority figure had told him to stand down.

It had been a mistake.

It was a mistake that did not bear repeating. Rising up to his feet, Toyboy cast the door to the storage facility open. Approaching the hole in the floor, the doll was aware that this was precisely the jumping into something half-assed that Mister Grayson had specifically warned again.

He’d jumped into something half-assed one other time before, and saved five lives. Even if he saved only one then he was willing to accept the repercussions for his decision. “Hero time,” the boy uttered, as he jumped down into the hole.

He descended into Hell.

Shifting between different bandwidths of the visual and electromagnetic spectrum, the Toy Wonder peered through near perfect darkness and found himself in a room filled with large cages. It was like a kennel.

Only the animals shacked inside of them were children.

There was movement in all but two of the cages. The sound of the sobbing brought the Toyboy over to where a girl in pigtails was rocking herself in a fetal position. “Can you hear me?” the boy whispered. He was analyzing the door to the cage. “It’s going to be okay...”

“Your... worried... about the little ones?”

The boy’s short cape furled about, as Toyboy reared up and turned to face the direction of the voice. The lights were switched on, momentarily flooding the android’s visual cameras. Blinking, the robot was blind as he re-calibrated for brightness.

“Don’t be.”

The same voice. Audio recorders were starting to dissect and analyze for identifying characteristics. Speech pattern. Voice onset time. As the Toy Wonder opened his eyes, the lenses focused on the figure on a man wearing the face of a porcelain doll as a mask. “You see, I love them. More than you could ever know,” the man stated.

Recognition triggered as the pattern of speech found a near match. “Anton?” Toyboy uttered aloud.

Advancing toward where the Toy Wonder stood in the center of the kennel, the doll-faced man said, “Anton Schott died when he was a boy. When the monster took away his innocence.”

As the man stepped forward, Toyboy found that he began taking steps back. As the man spoke of lost innocence, the toy’s memories of Hinkley Creek were triggered. A litany of mistakes played back with perfect clarity.

Holding out his arms, the son of the Toyman declared, “I’m not Anton. I am the Dollmaker.”

---

The shriek of metal ripping sounded through the chop shop.

Gerald Duggar resisted the budding urge to shiver from the bead of sweat caressing the curve of his nose. It plinked onto his exposed thigh, the sound deafening to him in this din of silence. His leg still ached from almost being broken. Light filtered down on him, coming from the circular pane of slightly translucent grime that had once been a window. The stale air inside the chop shop mixed with dust particles, along with the smell of oil and ozone.

It had been about a minute sense that crack of thunder outside. Since the light had pulsed under the flaked and rusted bottom of the metal door. Why was it so goddamn quiet? Gerald shook his head. Kept his eyes trained on the shed door. Strained those eyes to ignore the dust. “Don’t blink, just breathe.”

The sliding door gave one last screech of metal admitting defeat, before it was taken from its track and tossed aside.

“Hold the steel steady. Look a bull square between the eyes,” his father would say. “Look ‘em dead
center, and fire true.” That’s all it took.

But, Gerald couldn’t fully look at the eye’s of the man in the doorway. Knew he would have preferred a bull. Mud splatter covered his red suit like it was a painter’s smock, and yet there was a lack of concern for it.[BI] No grit in this guy’s dark jaw nor clench in his fist. The way Gerald saw the guy[?], faint sparks fritzing across his body—the set of his eyes, leveled and dull—he appeared irritated.
The way the man considered the chop shop, noting the grayed and splitting support beams, patchwork of metal panels, the work of his Pa over years? The slight upturn of his lip? The dismissal of all Gerald knew? It was enough to send Gerald’s hand down the pump of his rifle, breaking the silence. Punctuating it with the clatter of a copper shell on concrete.

Baal was brought back to the present by the clang. His eyes rested on the boy with yet another firearm was leveled at him. This pattern was becoming too familiar. The insolence. Then the boy spoke.

“You.” The word, made an accusation. A whisper resonating into a growl.

Baal tasted real rage, none of the pomp from the mortals outside. Finally, something genuine. Small bolts leapt from his eyes. He took a slow step forward. There was only the grinding sway of rusted chains for a moment.

The humidity and sweat slicked Gerald’s grip, but he tried to ignore it. Tried to mask the shudder in his breathing. Focused on those dark eyes cracked with blue sparks. Uppity smile and that smell of burnt skin. “You. You killed ‘em, didntja?”

Baal flicked his wrist, checking his watch. A gold flash glinted that made the mortal blink. Baal was officially late. “Check for yourself.”

The sharp inhale and contraction of his eyes betrayed Gerald, but he took a quick step toward Baal, his voice raising. “Fucker, I’ll kill you right here n’ now.”

The scratched black of the rifle’s metal was leveled at Baal’s chest. He stared at Gerald.

“Fuckin’ answer me!”

Baal stepped into the muzzle. It pressed against his suit. He recognized this one as the mortal whose leg he considered breaking before the other 8 mortals surrounded him. Then that false king. This boy had heard those sounds outside. He could taste the air. Yet here he was, breath steadying. A square in his shoulders. Muscles taut and the muzzle of his rifle lifted up. Baal knew madness. Had woven it into mortals for years. But this wasn’t it. Back on his Earth, he hadn’t interacted with the mortals in this way for some time. Had nearly forgotten this side of mortals. Countless incarnations since he’d seen it. This mortal was ready to die. He had a warrior’s resolve.
Baal shrugged. “You probably fancy this your last stand. You, the narrator of your story—strengthened by indignation, rage and revenge. Avenging your Pa, or whatever the term is. Your own personal war. But you kid yourself, Backwoods.” Baal grabbed the muzzle and directed it toward his forehead. The boy stumbled back, slipping on a pool of oil. “I started war eons before you drew your first of many unnoticed breaths.”

Baal gestured around him. He let sparks jolt from his eyes and fingertips. “You smell that all around? How even a deep inhale buzzes your nose? That’s me. That’s Power. Consider it the new fragrance.”

Baal crossed over to the mortal, gripping the sweat-stained collar of his shirt. The sparks almost danced in his eyes now. “Your life—based on what you do here, or anywhere really, won’t matter.” The sparks died down and his tone leveled. “The only difference is how much of it you see.”

He dropped the boy. “You won’t kill me. But you can work for me.” Baal finally noticed his car and made his way toward it.
Gerald slumped to the ground. The puddle of oil now soaked into his dirt crusted jeans. “Work for you? You come in here, kill the folks I love, an’ you want me to work for you? You ain’t never loved someone. Have you!?”

Baal paused as he was opening his door. His muscles tensed again, tightened with memories of pleasure he would never experience again. “In that simplistic way you love? No.” He let his shoulders relax once more. “And they ‘ain’t’ dead outside. Scraped it, yes. But not dead. Even though, you lot stole my car and tried to prevent me from getting it back. 3 of them will never walk again, and your father won’t speak anymore. I made sure of it.”

Baal opened the car door. “Fire the gun. Or don’t. My patience is gone and your father is the one who took it. He had 8 armed men under his belt. You are barely one.” Baal looked back at him, “But I can make you more than one.”
He slid into the driver’s seat and the sharp tone of leather filled his nostrils. Even in this new Earth, certain comforts could bring him back. He found his phone glinting in the center console. It was long dead, but that wasn’t a problem for Baal. Tapping a spark onto the screen with his finger, it was a few minutes before the screen lit up, the phone booting up. After a moment, his fingers set to work dialing a number and he placed the phone to his ear. Before he stepped out of the car, he grabbed something from the glovebox. He gestured to Gerald to come over as a voice picked up.

“Yeah. It’s me. Yes, apologies. A…situation came up that kept me from my phone. Do you still have time?...I didn’t ask if you had other clients. Do you still have time? Right then, be there in 5.”

He turned to Gerald again. “Backwoods. Got a job you can do.” The keys shown in the light as Baal tossed them to Gerald. “Get this up to New York. Onboard nav’ll have the addy. You’ve got until tomorrow. 15 sound good?”

Gerald stared at Baal, stuttering almost-words before finally: “You tryna get me to chauffeur you up the east coast for 1500? Fucker who do you think—”

“You’ve got one more pass, with this ‘fucker’ nonsense,” Baal told him, cracking his fist. He added a sizzle of electricity for emphasis. “And 15 thousand, Backwoods. The hell do you think I am?”

Baal walked outside of the shed to the clearing, Backwoods (Gerald) in tow. The men were still unconscious and the cicadas were buzzing again. “Just run the car for me. There’s 400 in the console, it’ll get you there. I might even have a follow up job for you if you do this right. You do it wrong, I’ll show you what happens when you piss me off.” He now stood in the center of the clearing, hands outstretched, considering the sunset sky.

“But waita—hold on! How you getting up to N.Y.?”

Baal smiled at his new assistant, letting sparks fill his eyes and cast a glow. The power jumped from his veins and began drying out the air. “As I said,” Baal started, above the growing hum in the air. “I’ll show you why you don’t want to piss me off.”

There was a slash of light cutting through the dusk of the sky. It struck Baal, followed by Boom! and the sky god was gone.

_{Location: Central City}

Post #1.08: Smoke and Mirrors

---

Snart and Rory were taken into custody, but before Thawne could even get back to Eddie’s apartment, he heard a new wave of sirens and police come down the street, heading onto the highway. Another criminal undertaking. Perhaps a grand theft auto. Thawne figured he would head over there and get it sorted before refueling his calorie reserves. That was before he heard the sound of sirens... Again. In a different direction than the bank.

He blasted past the Police Cruisers, heading after the modified pickup that was speeding down the highway, a plow was attached to the front of the car, pushing all the other vehicles out of its way. A primitive but effective way of getting a leg up over the police. But truly, it would not achieve much when it came to outrunning the human lightning bolt.

Thawne would quickly come up on the side of the pickup, as he was reaching for the door, he was hit in the chest with a projectile, so small he hadn’t caught it in his peripheral, small explosive charge, enough to knock him off balance, and go skidding to the pavement, leaving the vehicle with opportunity to pull off the highway down the freeway.

Thawne quickly regained his composure and retook his pursuit, he felt like the blast had actually hurt him - more than it should’ve. He felt a little winded, he wasn’t able to run quite as fast as before.

He was feeling... Tired. He hadn’t felt that way in centuries, not like this. Well, that’s perhaps not the entire truth. He was exhausted after his victory over Barry Allen. But then the speedforce was leaving his body. Now he’s feeling human exhaustion. Hunger. Thirst.

The Speedforce would have to sustain him. He could not let these criminals get away. The truth of the matter was that Barry wouldn’t have let hunger stop him and there was simply no way in hell Eobard Thawne was gonna let Barry beat him. Not ever again. His feet pushed off the pavement, lightning flaring around him, cloaking him. The car pulled down into the docks as Eobard caught up with them.
A Wicked lightning bolt was tossed from the speedster, as he skidded to a halt, his friction shielding powers were veining due to exhaustion. The lightning struck the back wheel of the car, exploding the back axis, making the vehicle flip. The modified pickup truck skidded on the asphalt, Thawne was panting as he looked onto the thugs crawling out of the car. One in blue, the other wearing green, balaclavas over their faces. The man in blue wore a trench coat, the man in green had a leather jacket, Thawne identified what looked like pistol holsters in both of their jackets.

He would have to pace himself. He walked towards them. As the man in green climbed out of the car, he picked him up by the collar and pressed him towards the upside-down car, a projectile flew past him, thrown by the man in blue. Thawne could easily identify the projectile as a boomerang.

“Four Rogues in one day?” He asked rhetorically and the man in green looked puzzled, his eyes following the boomerang as it was coming back to strike the seemingly unaware Hero.

The boomerang came back and Thawne caught it with very little effort.
“Digger, Now!” The man in Green shouted, and the one whom would call himself Captain Boomerang pressed a button in his hand, and the boomerang exploded as Thawne realized what was happening attempting to hurl the boomerang away at super speed, but the projectile never left his hand before it went off, sending him to the ground, wounding his right side arm.

“Mirror mirror on the wall..” The man in the green spoke, softly as Thawne quickly came attacking. Pulling the piece of glass from his coat, Thawne quickly realized his error, but it was too late, he was too tired and too slow to change direction. He was quickly sucked into the glass piece, trapped into the mirror dimension - exactly where The Mirror Master would want him.

“Snart was right, after all. Turns out this so-called Flash wasn’t fast enough to stop all four of us.” Scudder spoke with a loud laugh.

“He was right fucked,” Harkins added.

“But mate, so might we be.” He continued, the sirens appearing in the distance. They would grab the valuables from the truck and take up shelter in the closest warehouse.

_{Location: Central City}

Post #1.09: Nora

---

“Stuck in a mirror,” Thawne said, sitting down in the empty space. In front of him was a blurry, clear window. One he knew full well he could not break through. While he had never himself gotten caught in a stupid trap like this, he had used the technology before against The Flash. Perhaps this was some kind of irony. The sick revenge from the universe. Another trick from the strings of destiny. A turn of fate.

No, that was defeatist. He can escape. He always could. He was smarter than Mirror Master. Hell, he was smarter than everyone. How did Allen escape? He had friends on the other side. Kid Flash had gotten him out by vibrating on the outside at the same frequency as Barry did, creating a portal through. That was not gonna work. He didn’t have a partner nor was he strong enough for that exertion of power. His energy reserves were depleted. He sat down in the empty, dark void, the only source of light being the blurry mirror in front.

He tapped his arm. Gideon was alert to his touch.
“Gideon. Show me records of Flash defeating Mirror Master.” Thawne ordered and Gideon showed the newspapers exclaiming The Flash’s victory over the Rogues. How Kid Flash saved The Flash in his first outing as a sidekick. Thawne swept past that clip, he already knew everything about that.
How the first mirror master met his untimely death at the hands of Captain Cold, and how the second mirror master was lost in the mirror world - only to return with greater power.

Nothing was useful to him. He was angry. He wanted to smash the mirror that had trapped him - but that was his only way out. Instead, he did something that once upon a time was a completely foreign concept to him, but now was something he had learned a few centuries ago, in the 1960s during the peak of the Hippy movement.

Meditation. Max Mercury always preached about the powers of the mind over the speed force. How aligning your beliefs with the speed force was how you got more powerful. Thawne believed in hard science. Power of conviction. Bending the force to his will, rather than following it like a current. It had provided him with advantages - and it even made him the conduit of the negative speed force upon his first death. When Barry snapped his neck after Thawne had murdered his wife and unborn children.

That was a weird Tuesday.

He focused on his breathing. Clearing his mind of the problem in front of him. The isolation of the mirror dimension did help with this. There were no outside stimuli. Nothing. For others, perhaps this solitude would’ve been maddening, but for a man who’s seen everything, nothing was a change of scenery.

It brought him back. Not back to his past - the future. The memory of him murdering his brother when he tried to stop him from recreating the experiment that connected Barry Allen to the speed force. He saw and felt everything he felt at the time. From the weight of the microscope in his hand to the warm sensation of his brothers' blood splashing across his face. To the yellow blur cleaning up the mess when he was done.

But he remembers more. He remembered feeling pride in the young boy who had just bludgeoned his brother. He remembered grabbing the body and feeling nothing but disgust for the young man whom he had once called brother. It had been a weird sensation to remember being in two places at once. But at this point, it was one he was most comfortable with. Perhaps, even craved. The problem was that he was in uncharted territory now. He was the Pathfinder now. The oldest of his being. Yet... He felt lost.

He had honestly felt lost since he lost her.

The woman he loved. The one who told him what he had to do after he had finally defeated Barry. Whenever he slowed down, his thoughts always returned to her. Thompson... Nora Thompson. The love of his lifetime. Of all his lifetimes. Ever since he first learned The Flash’s real name. Ever since he first laid eyes on her. Her blond hair, her soft smile. The way she treated him with kindness when everyone else only saw a monster. The way she was perfect - there were no imperfections to scrub away. There was nothing wrong with her.

And he would always come back to her. Come running back to her. More times than Barry ever learned. But she would always end up choosing another for him. She would always choose Henry. She would always choose the life of an Allen. Because destiny had already decided that Thawne would not win. Not ever.

But he did. When his own hands murdered Barry Allen, he severed the connection to the speed force. The universe was falling apart for a brief moment. As if he had beheaded gravity and limb split the strong and weak forces. There were no rules anymore, and at that moment, he thought he was free. He would steal Barry’s lightning - the last hope Allen had. And then he would go find his Nora. Once and for all.

But he doesn’t get that win. And somehow, he knew that, so many years ago when he for the first time was driven to finally finding his way into her heart. With a kitchen knife chalked full of her husbands' fingerprints. Before she died, she saw his face. She saw the man who she at one point had tried to love. Thawne knew she tried. She tried as hard as she could.

But there was not enough left of him to love. And for that, he had to kill her. It wasn’t just because he knew it would destroy Barry. It was because he knew he couldn’t live in a world where she wasn’t his.

The speed force reminded him of the man he had been when he was with her. Someone who had seen a glimpse of hope. Of compassion. Of belonging. Perhaps even love. It had left him with an ultimatum. Cease to exist, or take on the burden of being The Flash, which at one point in his life, lifetimes ago, had been everything he ever wanted. But now, he only wanted her back.

But just like Barry Allen had done the first time he went back in time, the universe spits in his face. He couldn’t have her. If he wanted to truly become The Flash, he would have to tap into this grief. This anger, this true sadness. Not the hatred that had fueled him for so long. He would have to not only think like The Flash. He would have to learn how to feel like The Flash.

Nora was his lightning rod. And everything he would do, he would have to do for her.
A sense of tranquility swept over him. He was at ease, and he could think clearly. The world slowed down, he felt more powerful than before. The speed force did agree with his state of mind. And he had an idea for getting out.

A feedback loop of energy. Barry had used Kid Flash as an anchor. Thawne was gonna use someone else. He got onto his feet and walked towards the mirror, putting out his hand, his hand resonating against the glass as he touched it. He found the correct frequency, the correct speed to move his atoms, and he sent energy from his body. Pure speed force energy.

A tether. A line to pull him back into the real world. Scudder would feel the mirror getting hot in his pocket, and as he looked at it, the yellow energy would grab him, pulling him into the mirror, the mirror falling to the ground as Harkins got interrupted in the middle of his sentence. And as the mirror crashed to the floor, the red shade of the crimson comet appeared before him.

“Ah what the fuck?!” Harkins exclaimed as Thawne was flexing his hand, feeling his physical body in the real world again.
“I did not enjoy that. Not one bit.” He said, more for his benefit than Harkins, putting his boot on the somewhat cracked mirror, breaking it into smaller pieces. Janking himself out had drained almost all the energy, and the hunger was back, worse even.

Harkins was armed with the boomerang in his hand. Twirling it in his hand, charging at Flash while The Flash seems disoriented. A desperate attack against the far faster opponent.

Except, he wasn’t. The boomerang barely graced Eobard as he weaved to the side, putting his guard up.
“Ay, not so fucking fast after all are ya?” Harkins taunted as he charged Eobard, who quickly jabbed at him, which while no longer at super speed was exploiting Harkins unguarded window.
“Ow, fucking crickey. Maybe you’re a lil bit fast after all, bastard.”

He charged again and Thawne parried, blocked, dodged, sideswiped and counter-attacked. With every move, Thawne learned how to be more efficient. Harkins caught him once, in the shoulder, a surface wound, but a blow to Thawne’s pride. Thawne ducked under the swipe of the boomerang, delivering a body hit to the stomach, making Harkins bend over. Thawne felt the world take him over again, and while he had only been able to think of the feelings he had once felt for Nora, he felt his mind slipping back to the same hatred he was used to feeling.

Less of his thoughts were occupied with the days in the park, the kissing in the rain or her laugh and smile. Instead, his mind drifted towards the crying. The screaming. The begging. Her taking Henry as her husband, and finally her raising and loving Barry Allen.

He approached Harkins who was getting back up, grappling him, elbowing him in the face to knock him off balance, his arm found its way around his neck, and the other one locked the arm in place, choking him.

“I’m tired of you, Harkins,” Flash spoke and Harkins struggled.

“Put a sock in it mate.” Harkins struggled to speak under the pressure of Thawne’s grip. But Thawne could not hear him. His mind was occupied remembering him pulling the knife out of the drawer. Walking towards Nora as she was crying on the floor. Hearing Young Barry running down the stairs.

“Gideon. Relevance to the timeline?” He asked the computer on his arm and the computer quickly blurted out a holographic file on Harkins, before chiming in with “Mr. George Harkins is non-essential to the timeline.” Harkins tried to speak but his ‘what the fuck’ was stifled.

“Music to my ears,” Thawne spoke, almost as if in a trance, his voice calm, but his mind occupied with raising the knife and aiming it at Nora’s heart.

His grip loosened and Harkins spoke. The knife pierced Nora’s heart and asher heart stopped, Thawne knew that his would never beat the same way again.

“You fucking cun-” and then his neck snapped in a spark of lightning. Harkins' body falling to the ground.

Thawne knew he was never gonna become Barry Allen. He wasn't the man Nora could ever love. He would never become a good man. But he knew he had to do this. He had to be The Flash. Because it was the only play left on the board.