---

_{Location: New York City, United States - Day of Crisis}

Issue #1.09: Crisis Averted/ Crisis Event Epilogue

---

As it turned out Supergirl actually didn’t need to dispose of all the bombs as before she could smash the last obelisks someone had managed to shut them down. It was quite the relief after the initial panic of not being able to hear that humming anymore but while the attack itself was thwarted and thankfully none of the bombs went off, there was a LOT of cleanup to do. There were plenty of hurt and trapped people to rescue, especially around the remains of the Empire State Building.

When Supergirl had first seen the destruction her first thought was that one of the bombs had been inside the building, but a quick look revealed that it was no explosion that had toppled the skyscraper but blunt force. While she helped with the extraction of survivors she found herself listening to reporters and citizens, which revealed the astounding truth that it was the fight between Wonder Woman and Stryfe that brought the impressive tower to the ground.

Wonder Woman was an absolute legend, heck Kara even idolized her quite a bit, so to hear that her hero had helped cause such a massive amount of collateral damage was quite a shock. Kara was certain that Stryfe had been the one to orchestrate the disaster but no matter how much she wanted to defend her, the fact was that through her actions, many innocent civilians had lost their lives in the process of subduing the villain. It was a very grim reminder to Kara just how much damage someone with excessive amounts of strength could cause, if she wasn’t careful, Supergirl could just as easily cause such a similar disaster.

During her recovery efforts Kara found herself ambushed by several reporters, who of course had some very hard questions for her.

“Supergirl, thank you so much for your efforts to save as many lives as possible.”

“Of course, it’s really the least I can do.”

“Now if you had been the one to fight the Metahuman Supremacy Front leader Stryfe, could you have prevented this tragedy from occurring?”

Supergirl couldn’t help but flinch a little at the question, these reporters certainly didn’t hold back with their questions. Supergirl tried desperately to think of a way to answer without making Wonder Woman look bad but, well her experience with the press was still a bit underdeveloped. Supergirl thought for a second longer before responding as best she could.

“So, I can’t say one way or the other as it completely depends on the context of the fight so I don’t know if I could have prevented it. The one thing I can say is that I always try to put people’s lives before whomping the bad guy. That’s why I was out there trying to dispose of all the bombs out there rather than fighting for the most part. Errr…anyway I need to concentrate on rescuing everyone possible, so talk to ya later!”

Not wanted to potentially make anything worst Supergirl flew away to the next area of rubble to continue the search.
“I hope you knew what you were doing Wonder Woman.” Kara whispered to herself as she located another survivor.

---

---

_{Location: Metrapolis, Lex Corp - Week after Crisis}

Lex Luthor's Office

---

At this point Lex Luthor had enough of Gordon’s drama and shut off the screen. While he did not particularly enjoy the dribble that came out of Galaxy Communications he had made it a habit to keep up on the latest topics. There was something about Galaxy Communications’ unabashed style of reporting and commentary that kept people’s attention. It could be overblown at times and outrageous, but that fact that it was not the traditional media made it watched and consumed by millions of viewers daily.

Society had once again reached that point where they distrusted the legacy media and general distrust of the government was at an all time high. It was the usual pattern that happened as in the course of any civilization. The people were right to question what they watched but it also made it even easier to manipulate people, humans tended to want to believe in something and often that something would just be whatever was the opposite of what they hated at the time.

Galaxy Communications had tapped quite readily into that source and despite not having a regular station now dominated the internet and streaming services. Cable news and TV stations were almost a thing of the past of this point, but it was Galaxy Communications currently that had really jumped on the new trends. G. Gordon Godfrey was the prize star of the company at the moment and really sold his product with this somewhat outrageous personality, a lot of people watched the calmer voices later but Gordon often was the first of the crew viewers listened to.

“I don’t know how you can stand listening to that man.” Mercy complained to Lex after he shut off the stream. Lex Luthor couldn’t help but smirk just a bit at Mercy's gripe.

“Say what you like about the man, but G. Gordon Godfrey is a man of the people and can often be an echo of what normal citizens are thinking at the time. Of course he’s been wrong on many occasions but it’s less about his actual facts as it is tapping into his mindset. It is quite clear that this incident will be hyped up enough to be the straw to break some government backs.”

Lex Luthor looked at a report about the goings on in Washington and smiled, it was just as he suspected. Movement was being made and soon there would be a Department of Metahuman Affairs in the United States government to join the various ABC departments. Of course Lex Luthor had been counting on such an outcome, the creation of such a department would severely limit the influence of metahumans in the community which in turn would make it easier for Lex Luthor’s plans to go on unimpeded.

Of course it would take time, put Lex Luthor knew how to play 4-D chess when others were stuck thinking in terms of checkers. In the meantime, he would still have to be cautious of those whose powers would not easily be curbed by a few politicians such as Supergirl.

“By the way Mercy, what has Stagg Enterprises been up to these days?” In reality Lex was already up to speed on the issue but there was the off chance some new bit of information could prove useful.

“From the engineers working on reverse engineering the samples we procured from the Metahuman Supremacy Front, they have determined that a rather advanced intelligence was behind the creation of the mind control drones. This was confirmed by our mole in A.R.G.U.S. who reported that Simon Stagg was in fact working with an alien life form.”

Lex Luthor scoffed, “Of course someone like Stagg would botch up working with an alien species. Well this will be a good opportunity to take over some of Stagg Enterprises’ holdings, shouldn’t take more than an hour or so. In the meantime Mercy, please set up an appointment with some senators, they will of course need my guidance if they want their D.M.A. to succeed.”

“Of course Mr. Luthor.” The future of Metropolis and humanity would be bright indeed, as long as Lex Luthor was there to help guide it.

---

---

I woke up unable to recall my own name.

The room was cold and damp, with no decorations to speak of. A small window behind me, a ray of pale moonlight seeping through the glass and onto the brick walls. The only exit was a door dead ahead. I tried to push myself up but found my hands tied behind my back with rope, my legs also tied up, and I was unable to move too much without chafing my wrists and ankles. How long had I been here, passed out and tied up?

I needed to think... What can I remember?



It was raining, the sky above me the color of a television tuned to a dead channel. An informant of mine, an old drunkard named Roscoe, had provided me with a tip. He said that there were shady things going on at this address, something a man of my talents would be able to bust no problem. The address led to an old shack, tucked cozily into a back alley in The Wedge. I waited outside, pressed up against the wall of the shack and peeking in through the window at a group of men playing poker.

"Yo Johnny, you got any sixes?" one man asked, looking intently at another man, Johnny.

"Go fish," Johnny replied, and the other man grumbled and pulled another card from the deck.

Well never mind, then. They were playing Go Fish. I suppose poker would have been too stereotypical.

I watched on as they played, getting bored and cold and wet. The seconds ticked by into minutes, then an hour. Part of me thought that Roscoe was pulling my leg sending me here. So far it seemed I was just spying on a group of thugs having game night. Hell, maybe the old wineo was going senile, misheard something. I wouldn't put it beneath him.

It was two hours into my stakeout that it finally started to show promise. The men started making small talk while playing, having stayed silent most of the time, and one of them asked the question I was waiting to hear.

"Ain't boss gonna be coming tonight?"

"Yeah, he's on his way. Got in a bit of a jam, had to clean up a mess. Should be here soon."

Interesting... Maybe this is what Roscoe was talking about.



A stakeout. One that somehow ended with me bound up in some empty room. But who would want to keep me alive? If they had such a problem with me, it would have been much easier to shoot me in the head when they had me beat. There had to be something I was missing... What was I missing?

... Try as I might, no sudden spark of memory ran through my mind. Shit. Must've gotten a pretty sharp crack on the head for my mind to be so scattered like this. It felt like my brain was a hamster on a running wheel, constantly working but ultimately ending up nowhere at all. This was pointless. I'd have time enough for piecing my circumstances together once I got out of here. Needed to be able to at least stand up.

My hands were tied behind my back. Grunting, I used my hands to lift myself up a bit, enough to get them under my thighs. After a moment, I managed it, and from there it was as easy as... Pulling my legs through my bound up hands... Damn, too tired to even come up with a witty metaphor. Need to keep going.

With my hands now in front of me, I flopped over onto my front and pushed myself up. I stood for a moment, struggling to keep my balance with my feet bound so closely together, but after laying my hands against the wall I was steady again. The window I had noticed earlier was just within reach; I couldn't slip through it, it was too small and cold steel bars prevented anyone from slipping in, but I could use it to my advantage in another way.

Clasping my hands together, I raised them up high and slammed them across the window pane. There was a small crack, and a smear of blood from a cut I had just gotten. Another smack, more cracks, bigger smear. Third smack, the window shattered, and my hands were freely bleeding. Slowly, I retrieved a sizeable shard, and slipped it between my hands to saw at the ropes. I pondered on just how stupid this was, sticking a jagged and sharp piece of glass in between my wrists, but my desire to get my Goddamn hands free overpowered any fear I had...

Bingo. I let the ropes fall from my wrists, then flopped onto my behind to undo the ropes on my feet. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth... I sawed through the rope without much of a problem. I stood up and dropped the shard onto the ground, the blood stained glass shattering upon impact with the cold concrete floor. I rubbed at my wrists a bit to relieve the chafing, then reached up to rub the exhaustion out of my eyes...

My hands met flesh where my eyes should be. I glided my hands down to my mouth. Nothing there either. Did they... Take my face? No no, that was too crazy. That sort of stuff couldn't happen. I had to have been wearing a mask of some sort. Something to hide my identity. But from who? That, I suppose, was the question I should be asking.

I walked over to the door leading out of the room, finding it locked. Of course, it couldn't be simple. I placed a finger against the door itself; wooden, rotting from years of water damage, nearly caving to the pressure if you pushed hard enough. I backed up a few paces, then slammed my shoulder into the door and heard a loud crack. I backed up and did it again once, twice, three times, and knocked the door clean off the hinges.

I landed on the cold hard ground with a grunt of pain, rolling off the door and looking up. I was in a long hallway, barely lit by a dim yellow, almost green lightbulb above me. The walls looked like they would have been white once upon a time, but were now yellow and marred with water stains, a sign of how decrepit this place was. I needed to get out of here...

... And I couldn't have thought that at a worse time, as I heard shouting from behind another doorway not far from me. I looked around the hall, trying to find an exit; there were three other doors aside from the one I heard the shouting from and the one I had come out of. One of the doors, probably leading out of here, was at the very end of the hallway past the room full of thugs. If I was in better condition, I might've been able to make it, but no. Right now I needed to hide. Acting quickly, I pushed myself off the ground and scrambled into one of the other rooms, closing the door behind me.

As I caught my breath, I looked around the room, half expecting it to be full of other criminals. But as luck would have it, it seemed to be devoid of other people; from the looks of it I had wound up in a bathroom, stalls and urinals lining the walls. After making sure I was alone, checking all the stalls, I rushed back to the door and pressed an ear against it, listening for any sign that they were approaching.

A door opening...

Footsteps, from the sounds of it about seven men...

Then, shouting.

"Shit, Question got out! Look around, he can't have gone far!"

Question, huh? Must have been an alias of mine. Wonder how I got it? Wait, no. I shook my head, now wasn't the time for this. It didn't matter. All that mattered right now was figuring a way out of here...

_{Washington D.C. - 1 Month Post-Crisis}

Issue 1.02.04: Sure Shot (Season 1 Epilogue)

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Crisis Tie-In

Roy looked down on the sheet of paper in his hands. It had been some time since he had done this cloak and dagger shit… but whoever managed to sneak a sheet of paper without getting noticed into his quarters at the Triskellion. The message had printed simply a time, an address for an apartment complex in D.C., a request to meet on the roof, and a single name. Oliver. To be safe, of course, Roy was dressed in his tactical gear and had his weapon drawn as he slowly began climbing the stairs. That is, until he heard an explosion from outside. Harper’s pace quickened as he rocketed upstairs and out of the roof access door. On the roof was nothing… except for a single arrow of Roy’s own design lying near the precipice. A look over the ledge revealed a terrible sight: on the streets below was a burnt and charred car, and lying on his back in the middle of the street was SHIELD Director Jeffrey Mace.

Roy took a moment to watch on in shock, before everything began to click in his head. Across the street was a nondescript antiques store, with apartments above. It was a SHIELD safehouse. Though, of course… whoever had just assassinated Jeffrey Mace knew that. And the assassin must have also stolen some of his supplies. Of course, before Roy could do anything more, he heard shouting from below. A few SHIELD agents had gathered around Mace’s corpse, checking for a sign of life. The other agents had easily noticed the red clad figure standing on the rooftop up above, and immediately began opening fire.

Roy made the only decision he could at this point: he ran. He managed to vault over the other side of the building and down the fire escape of the apartments he was perched upon with ease. He used the alleyway to quickly slip out onto the street, and noticed an empty cab waiting at the red light at the intersection. Roy sighed as he could practically hear the SHIELD agents shouting as they were moving in to intercept. The scarlet archer unholstered his sidearm as he reached for the handle of the back passenger door: to his luck, it was unlocked. He threw the door open, got in quickly, and pointed the gun towards the driver. ”Drive casually. I need to get to East Potomac Park. Now!”

As if on cue, the light turned green and the cab eased into normal traffic as SHIELD agents looked around, confused. Roy holstered his sidearm and quickly pulled out a small flip phone, pressing number 1 for speed dial. The phone rang three times, before a familiar voice picked up on the other end. ”Roy? What the Hell? It’s been years! Oliver’s miss-“

”John, I don’t have time to explain. I need a cloaked quadjet at East Potomac Park ASAP, you should be able to ping my location using the old Arrow protocols.” Roy paused for a moment to breath and to clear his head for a second. ”I’m fucked, John. Ollie’s alive… and the people who know where he is are trying to wipe me out. So for the love of God, hurry the fuck up!”

_{Washington D.C. - 24 Hours Later}

---

Fury gripped the podium and looked out over the crowd gathered in the Triskellion briefing room. The murmurings were intense, but silenced as soon as Nick Fury opened his mouth to speak. ”24 hours ago, Director Jeffrey Mace was visiting a now defunct SHIELD safehouse here in the capitol. The purpose of his visit was classified.” Nick paused as the reporters in the room began murmuring again, impatient with the lack of answers and information. When he continued, the room fell silent. ”I am here to publicly announce that Jeffrey Mace was assassinated as of 3:14 PM yesterday afternoon while exiting the safehouse.” Fury again paused, but no one dared to speak. ”The assassination was carried out by an individual who fired a single explosive projectile at the motorcade awaiting Jeffrey Mace. A thorough autopsy this morning confirmed that Director… Former Director Mace died on impact.”

The reporters went wild at this. They began shouting over each other, until a grizzled older reporter managed to shout over all the others. ”Do you have any suspects?”

Fury gave a thoughtful nod at this, and ignored the barrage of other questions being slung in his direction. He reached towards a small remote on the podium and pressed a single button, which turned on two screens to either side of the small stage Fury was standing on. The screens seemed to show a bodycam still image taken from one of the SHIELD agents on the scene. The image showed a figure on a nearby rooftop. With another tap on the remote, the slide transitioned to a close-up shot of a figure clad in red with a quiver strapped to his back. ”Our preliminary findings suggest that the assassin was a former SHIELD agent of ours and temporary contractor who used the codename ‘Arsenal’ while in our employ. This individual fought in the Middle East as a contracted Mercenary for the United States government before being recruited by SHIELD. He had a spotless record, and earned an honorable discharge after surviving the incident on-board the UNN Aeneid some months ago in Italian air-space. He was recruited temporarily as an engineering contractor, before being mobilized to New York City during the Mutant Supremacy Front attacks.”

The reporters seemed just as dumbfounded as Fury, given by their silence when he paused. But Nick pushed ahead, and tapped the remote once more to reveal the suspect’s former SHIELD headshot.

”The suspect’s real name is Roy Harper. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous.”

Seattle

My fingers slowly glided across the ivory keys of the piano. I was playing “Skating in Central Park” by Bill Evans. The crowd in Staccato’s that night seemed to be half-paying attention to me as they had their drinks and carried on conversations. That was how I liked it. I saw myself as part of the decoration of the place, the piano player that made the piano bar legitimate. Despite the seeming lack of interest, the tip jar on the end of the piano had a nice wad in it.. The crowd broke out into a smattering of applause as I finished the Bill Evans tune. I was preparing to go into “Angel Eyes” when I saw him watching me from the bar.

Floyd Bowron, ten years and almost twenty pounds since I last saw him. The blotchy skin around his nose and cheeks let me know how his battle with sobriety was going. He had already taken out half an old-fashioned in between the time he sat down and the moment I saw him. I cleared my throat and stood.

“I’m going to take a short break, folks, but I’ll be back shortly.”

I made eye contact with Bowron as I passed his table. I heard his chair scrape and heavy footfalls behind me. We were on the far end of the bar, all alone, before I turned to look at Bowron. He flashed a smile as he took a seat at the bar.

“Hi, John. Didn’t know about your gig here until I started to ask around.”

“It pays the bills,” I said coolly. “Seattle PD never saw fit to grant me a pension, so I have to make ends meet.”

“I’m sure you’re okay, I’m sure you’re getting something from LAPD, right? If not a pension or a settlement, at least some hush money…”

I sighed. “Are you here for a reason, sergeant, or do you have nothing better to do than to harass your former partner?”

“I have a reason,” said Bowron, before pulling his ID and badge out of his jacket pocket. He flashed the gold badge. “And it’s captain now.”

“I have to get back to work soon, captain, so if you could get to it, I w--”

“I need your help.”

Bowron downed the rest of his drink before catching the bartender’s eye and pointing to his empty glass. I waited patiently as Bowron got his refill and took a slug from it before speaking.

“It's not easy, okay? The way we left things I'm swallowing a lot of pride to come in here."

"Swallowing a lot of booze too," I said. "But some things never change."

"Caleb Maddox is missing.”

I knew it. Since seeing Bowron’s ruddy face in the crowd, I knew he was here to talk about Celeste. I ordered a drink from the bar and took my own Bowronesque gulps to prepare myself for what came next.

"He's nineteen now," said Bowron.

"Nineteen," I said softly. "Hard to believe."

"Yep, and nobody gives a shit when a legal adult disappears. Just another runaway as far as missing persons is concerned."

“Last Tuesday was the tenth anniversary of her disappearance,” I said. “Were you aware of that?”

“Of course, John,” Bowron said with a cocked finger. “You act like you’re the only one who suffered. It was a fucking nightmare for all of us, me included.”

“Whatever you say… captain.”

“I made a huge fucking mistake asking you for help.” Bowron finished his second old-fashioned off and pulled cash from his pocket. “I thought maybe there would be a trace of the old you still left. But I was wrong.”

“Wait.”

Bowron froze, cash still clenched in his pudgy fist. I thought back to that time. It was a little over ten years ago, but an entire lifetime had seemed to transpire. Looking back, I suppose it had. Pianoman John Jones was the current me, Detective Jones was the old me. But was it someone I could be again? Especially since the damage that the case had done to me. J’onn J’onnz was dead, as dead as the red planet he came for. But maybe I could bring the old manhunter back.

“Give me all the information you have,” I said after a long pause. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The wind ran through Booster Gold's hair like a whirlwind as she flew over the streets of New York, barely skimming over the honking, cursing traffic below her. She smiled as the sun hit her armor, reflecting the gold in a brilliant way that caused everyone on the street to look up in awe. It felt good for them to look up to her with hope. She had to admit that. After how jarring everything had been since coming to the past, not to mention the new view on super heroics that the government had, it was refreshing to have people actually want her around.

All she had in this world was Skeets, and he wasn't necessarily the most enjoyable of company. Not that he didn't have a ton to say, of course. In fact it was kind of impossible to get him to shut up. He was always rattling off some figure about the past or another. He knew too much, probably. He kept telling her that she couldn't mess with the timeline too much, or it'd break.

Still, he was having more and more glitches. She wasn't sure why. She never was a technical person. At least she didn't think she was. She couldn't really remember. But either way, Booster had no idea who she could even take him to to get checked out. It's kind of hard to have someone understand future technology, no matter how smart they were.

"Ma'am," the robot's voice echoed through her comms over the din of the rushing air, "we need to take a right in two blocks. The robbery should be happening at any moment!"

"Okay, okay, Skeets," she tried to call the robot down. He got way too excited too often. "I can fly. The traffic isn't going to be an issue."

She banked hard into the turn, corkscrewing a bit to show off for the people below, who applauded in return, painting a sly smile across her face. It was cheap, sure. But she liked some applause now and again.

As Booster made her way towards the bank, the front door exploded outwards in a cloud of smoke. A guard was tossed out at a high velocity, and Booster sped herself up to intercept him before all his bones were crushed by a hard impact with the building across the street from the bank. She swept in, passing right between a tractor trailer and a UPS truck by the skin of her teeth. She managed to swoop between the guard and the building, catching him in the nick of time.

"Wow! Thanks!" he exclaimed in surprise.

"Don't mention it. When you're celebrating your non-death later, make sure to do it with some Bud Light!" she exclaimed and shot some finger guns his way. "Dilly dilly!"

Bud Light was swill, that much she knew. But they paid her more money than she could count to say that every once in a while after she saved someone. It was worth it. Who needed self respect when you had a guaranteed five-figure paycheck roll in each month?

From the smoking hole that had once been the front entrance of the bank stepped a huge, imposing man in a suit of gleaming, onyx armor. Her heads up display showed his armor wasn't all that different from hers, even if it was technologically inferior.

"Ma'am," Skeets's voice echoed through her ear, "looks like he can produce energy weapons from his gauntlets. Best disable them quickly."

"Thanks, bud," she responded to the small bot. "Any idea who this guy is?"

"Records say his name is 'B-b-b-lackguard'," Skeets seemed to stutter for a moment. "My records say he is of little note, but a villain is a villain, Booster."

"You're damn right, Skeets," she smirked to herself and sped off towards the bank robber.

---

Roxxon Headquarters

Dario Agger took a seat at the head of the long table, and folded his hands, smiling at the men assembled in front of him. Being the CEO of the largest oil company in the world wasn't always the most popular position in the world. Environmentalists wanted his head even though he had overseen Roxxon's foray into the solar energy sector. All because a few birds got covered in some oil after an idiotic shipping captain decided to have a few too many beers. Politicians wanted his money...his company's money all because they had the audacity to make a lot of it.

But among his fellow captains of industry, gathered here at his building, he was a god. The youngest CEO Roxxon had ever seen, and he was the one leading them into the future. That felt good.

Today's meeting, however, was not about oil, or solar panels, or fuel cells. No, this was about what was playing behind him. Booster Gold, his newest investment, was about to take down some form of ridiculous criminal or another. Agger had to admit the world he lived in was odd, but the potential for profits were still there. Booster would bring them in. He was sure of it, and no one else was even thinking about tapping into this kind of market.

"Gentlemen," he smiled and motioned towards the live feed, "you see behind me a feed of our in-house super hero, Booster Gold. Some of you probably think I'm insane. Hiring a superhero in the current climate? It's suicide. But, gentlemen, you would be wrong. While it is true the nanny state, the ever present hand in all of our lives, has put into motion the mechanism to shackle superheroics, our internal polling shows a silent majority backs the heroes. In the weeks since Booster has been our public face, our favorability rating as jumped fifteen points. And, may I remind you, we're an oil company."

A murmur of laughter rolled through the meeting as Agger paused, "So I come to you with the next wave in advertising. The Metahuman Media Movement! Now you can get in on the ground floor of this exciting new opportunity, with Roxxon and Booster Gold."

---

Blackgaurd swung his energy mace in a large, circular motion towards Booster, who slipped deftly under the blow before it ever came close to finding its mark. He had quite a bit of power behind those swings, that much was obvious. But he was as slow as molasses in that big, clunky, suit. He couldn't come close to hitting her, and she was making sure to rub that fact in.

"Aren't you supposed to be, you know, fast? At least when trying to get away from robbing a bank?" she asked as she flipped away from another attempted slam of the energy weapon. "I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be fast."

"You don't need to be fast when you can do this!" the large, hulking crook growled and turned to pick up a wrecked car. He lifted it over his head, and Booster prepared herself for the car to come flying towards her. Instead, he turned and flung it at the assembled crowd, who screamed in terror.

It never came close to hitting them. Instead, it stopped in midair ten feet off the ground, snagged by one of Booster's force fields.

"No need to fear, citizens!" she smiled and waved. "Booster Gold is here to protect you!"

With that, she flung the car back at the would-be bank robber. He tried to deflect it away, but he wasn't quick enough. The metal slammed into his arm, knocking him down to one knee, which was the only opening that Booster needed.

She pushed off the ground, closing the gap between the two of them in a blink. He swung around wildly to try and bat her away, but she caught his arm using one hand and her heightened reflexes, which drew an ooh and an ahh from the crowd. With her other hand she blasted the gauntlet off his arm with an energy blast.

"The energy source of his suit is that glowing orb on his belt, Booster," Skeets advised, and she quickly fired another shot at the circle, destroying it and powering him down.

"RRRRAAAAAAAAA!" he growled at her, unable to move in his dead suit. "I'll get you for this!"

"What are you gonna do? Fall over on me?" she chuckled back at him. "I'll make sure not to be directly underneath you. Like ever."

She strolled over to the crowd, a huge smile painted across their face as they applauded wildly, "Thank you! Thank you! I don't do it for the applause, everyone...but it sure helps!"

The crowd laughed and she continued, "But I can't do it without the power from Roxxon Energy, and the great taste of Vitamin Water!"

With that, she took off and headed for home, certain that a villain had been stopped, and her bank account would be going up by a few zeroes.

M A N H A T T A N , N E W Y O R K

---

^{Less Than A Week Later | I Really Don’t Know How Much More Plainly I Can Put It… Manhattan, New York}

Ted looked to his left at the two people by his side, he looked to his right at the other four.

So this was it, huh? This was the next level of insanity in his life.

New York state senator Henry Knight was almost finished delivering his speech, to his left Max Lord was starting to get antsy, stepping back and forth from the line in anticipation of giving his own speech. It was starting to become more difficult to find a politician to put his reputation on the line for such an announcement, they had been very lucky to find Senator Knight.

Senator Knight finished talking and the crowd started to applaud. Maxwell Lord stepped forward, shook the Senator by the hand and smiled for a photo op, before taking to the podium himself. In the crowd, Senator Knight’s daughter applauded and beamed with enthusiasm. Mainly for the women standing to his right, it had been a common reaction which Ted had found – women thrilled for more positive role models in the hero community in light of accusations towards Wonder Woman and the subsequent investigation. Janet and Bea basked in the limelight as was to be expected, and even Tora enjoyed the more intimate moments when she’d meet with a young fan. Ted couldn’t help but feel pride over the fact he’d been able to help make all of this happen.

The investigation into the MSF Crisis in New York had brought some of his actions to light. They connected him to his message which had been sent out to all towers across New York City, his swift action which had diverted the signal to a single tower to help limit damage, and that he was behind the towers ultimately being shut down at the end. It took him some time to realise what was happening, but he began to discover that certain political elements were trying to publicly attribute as much positive action on that day to the very human Blue Beetle, whilst negative acts seemed to be deflected onto Wonder Woman, Captain America and metahuman elements on the day.

They had wheeled out the small girl whom he had helped save, and made a public spectacle of her. Very little was made of the words she had to say about the Spider-Man and the X-Men member known as Nightcrawler, substantially more was made of the fact that she was returned to her family in his Bug, by him personally. It had taken the Blue Beetle going to the media himself to mention the heroic endeavours of Nightcrawler and Spider-Man which were responsible for her safely getting to the Bug in the first place, but even then, networks often tried to twist the narrative in editorials.

It disgusted him. He was riding high on a wave of popularity, generated by those looking to use him as a blade to carve up a segment of the community that they didn’t like. It had only furthered his conviction for this. Steeled his resolve. Proved how necessary this idea really was.

“—which is why, in light of recent events, Super Buddies Inc are proud to bring you ‘The Embassy’ and can finally announce that we are OPEN FOR BUSINESS!”

Maxwell Lord used a large novelty pair of scissors to cut a large red ribbon in front of the gate. The other 6 didn’t miss their cue and stepped forward to wave to the crowd.

“So, would you lovely ladies like me to show you around the compound?” Max asked.

“Ted already showed us around earlier in the week, once construction was completed.” Tora replied.

“Let me put it this way… Would you lovely ladies like me to show you around the compound and make realistic surprised reaction-shots, whilst this camera crew from MTV’s Cribs follows us around?”

Bea and Janet rushed forward in front of Tora and peeled off two or three different surprised or stunned expressions.

“Yes! …Yes! …mmm—maybe next time.” Max Lord said, pointing from Janet, to Bea and finally wincing before turning down Tora who had made no effort to pose.

The three rushed forward with the camera crew as the gates opened. Ted turned and watched the man in red pick up a small girl onto his shoulders. Hank awkwardly turned and walked towards the gates, Ted threw an arm around his friend – he was clearly struggling with the very public nature of all of this – and took Tora by the hand as they stepped through to their new lives.

---

T H E A B O D E O F T E D K O R D

---

^{Months Ago, Just After the Conclusion of the Crisis | Boston, Massachusetts}

Ted staggered around his Boston home, picking up comics and action figures, the detritus of an obsolete metamorphosis. The Beetle was dead, it’s limbs in the telltale death throes within its shell.

He’d shot him. Right in front of the world.

And Ted had seen an angle the cameras and reporters hadn’t.

Just before the shot heard around the world he saw murder in the Princess’ eyes.

As bad as Captain America’s action was, he could see it for what it was. Saving their kind from a worse fate.

A sacrifice play of its own kind. But that couldn’t justify the act, surely? That-- That wasn’t what they were. All they could be.

He dumped the books, the toys; the paper, the plastic into a cardboard box. He kicked the box around his house, filling it with the dreams of a naïve little boy. The kid who didn’t understand how the world worked.

The box was getting heavy with hopes, too heavy to toe-poke around carpeted floor anymore. Now he had to lug it. He carried it to his lounge room, next to his TV. He quickly flicked an assortment of superhero DVDs in the box, picking them out expertly, as only one who spends far too much time perfectly organizing his collection can. Then he moved on to the mantle. The two perspex display boxes.

A model car, and a perfectly azure Egyptian artefact.

The two scarabs left to him by his uncle.

---

T H E K O R D R E S I D E N C E

---

^{Years Earlier, Christmas Day | Boston, Massachusetts}

It was a white Christmas in Boston, which was rarer than you might think. The Kord boys were preparing for a visit from Ted’s favourite uncle. Dan Garrett.

TV and movie superstar Dan Garrett. Jet-setting archaeologist Dan Garrett. Professor and former police officer Dan Garrett.

Basically, the coolest guy in the world.

“Ted! Get the table set! I can’t get everything done myself!”

Ted had zoned out in front of the TV, he was watching an old episode of the Blue Beetle Power Hour. The tape had been played so often static formed on the edges of the television when he played it.

“Ted! Earth to Ted!” Ted snapped back to reality. “Come on, Ted, shut that off. David’s coming too, you know how he got when you played that last time he came down…”

“Oh. OK. Why’d he get like that last time?” The young boy asked, picking up the remote.

“I don’t know. But that’s exactly the kind of question you’re not going to ask when he comes over. They’re family, we’re having Christmas, and we’re going to make sure everybody is welcome. Right?”

“Yes, Dad.” Ted said, waiting for the final Blue Beetle punch and miming a punch of his own, as the onomatopoeic cue card flashed across the screen, followed by the poor late 60’s “frozen” visual effects of cheap plastic wrapping. As the Blue Beetle’s sidekick, the brightly coloured Nature Boy, put the knocked out goons on ice. Ted stopped the tape and turned off the TV. He walked to the kitchen and picked up the plates to set up the dinner table just as the doorbell rang.

His father answered the door, whilst Ted quickly hurried to set the table.

“Hello Dan, and Merry Christmas, David!” He heard his father greet them at the door.

“Uncle Dan!”

“Heeeeey Sparky! How’ve you been, Ted?” He picked the younger Kord up after he reached out for his uncle once he’d come running.

“Great! School’s out, I’ve been working on a go-cart, but it’s been too cold out to test. Oh, and a potato gun that can fire right over the house!” Once Ted was put down he used hand gestures to mime the projectile flying past overhead.

Blood runs down a metal confined face. Reporters gasp.

“Which you will not be using again!” Said Thomas Kord. “After the neighbourhood came to an accord, and forgave Mr Nicholas’ window…”

“Which I will not be using again…” Ted said, dropping his head, before peeking up and giving a cheeky smirk to his uncle.

“Ah-huh…” Said Dan, not believing for a second that it would be the last he heard about the potato gun.

“Ted, how about you go play with David?”

Ted masked his disappointment at not getting to keep talking with his uncle. He’d just put out a new movie, Karl LaFrey and the Plunderers of the Ark of the Covenant, which Ted had begged and scrounged enough money together to see 9 times at the cinema, including the two occasions he’d successfully managed to beg out of his father. It was considerably more successful than the tv series, had sequels planned and was even generating Academy Awards buzz. It had been Dan’s attempt to drag himself out of being seen as a typecast camp tv star, into an even more typecast tv and film star. Which is what tends to happen when you choose to play a character of the same name across both mediums. Ted had ample questions. “Where was Nature Boy?”, “Why no Bee-tle-si dance?”, “Where did the bright costumes go?” amongst others. But he knew David was sensitive about these things, particularly about asking the Nature Boy question, so Ted grabbed him by the hand and led him off to his room.

“Come on, David. Let’s go play!” Ted led the quiet young boy away.

“Egg nog?” Asked Thomas.

“Please. Pass the brandy.” Dan slumped into a recliner.

“That kind of a year, huh?”

Dan flashed his eyes as if to respond with “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Running around shoots, playing to studio heads schedules, PR work, dragging the kid around whilst I’m doing it… I figured when I’d be producing my own movie I’d be able to set my own hours which work better for me, but the extra hours work counter all of that.”

“You think it’s good for him? David, I mean.” Thomas asked, giving him a tall mug.

Dan took a long draw. “I’m starting to wonder. I mean, first I thought, ‘Sure. Why wouldn’t it be? Ted would love that kind of stuff.’ He can’t get enough of it. Great kid. But then, with some of how he was handling the show. I mean that’s why I didn’t push him into the movie stuff. It was too big an ask for him. But you’ve seen him. He’s sad all of the time. Morose. And I can’t get him to break out of that funk. Teacher’s say he can be moody sometimes. And then there’s the episodes…”

Thomas nodded, slowly working on his own drink.

“Still. It’ll be better this year. It’s one of my mandated gap-years. No shoots. I can trickle through PR work here and there. I’ve got a dig planned out south of Cairo this year. There’ll be more down time. I’m bringing his tutor and nanny, and the four of us are going to trek around Northern Africa on holiday for about a month and a half as well.”

“So to a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, then?” Thomas held out his mug, to clink, which Dan obliged and then checked the contents.

“Oh… I’ve finished mine.”

“It’s alright. There’s plenty more.” Thomas grabbed the empty mug and started walking to the kitchen, when they heard yelling and a brewing commotion coming from Ted’s room. The two adults rushed over.

“Alright, alright, wot’s all this going on in here, then?” The worldly Garrett asked, poking his head around the door and nailing a stereotypical British bobby accent.

“I don’t know. We were playing, and then he went up to some of my figures and started wigging out and breaking stuff!” Ted called back.

David was quiet, sullen, and had two figurines in balled up fists as he sat on the bed.

“Ah Hell. Sorry Tom. I think we’d better be heading home…”

“No!” Ted cried. “You barely got here!”

“I’ll tell you what, Sparky. You can get your present early, just give me a moment to go get it.”

Dan worked on gently trying to get David to respond, let go of the figures and get off of the bed. After a while he asked Thomas if he would have any better luck whilst he went and got Ted his present.

“Sorry we’ve got to duck out so soon, Ted. But I had to see the look on your face when you cracked this open.” He reached down and grabbed a box from under the tree, one handed but gently holding it longwise.

Ted looked at it, and then looked up at his uncle. The box was about handspan width and breadth, and just over a foot long in length. The wrapped box held boundless promise. It could have been anything.

“Well? Go on, Sparky.”

He tore at the paper, giving that boundless promise a singular form, as the box’s reality took shape.

“It’s… the Scarab! Oh man! Oh, this is awesome!”

“I got told it’s a 1:20 replica of the real thing I drove around in.” Dan smiled, seeing the joy in Ted’s eyes.

“Crazy. We used to call these things ‘toy cars’, now it’s all ‘collectible replica models’. Now you have fun with that thing, yeah?”

“Oh-ho, you bet!” Ted replied.

Dan tussled the shaggy bed of auburn hair on Ted’s head, which made him flinch and close his eyes, perfectly setting him up for the sleight of hand which came next. Dan brought his hand up behind the small child and dropped a fedora on the young boy’s head. He stepped back with a smile.

Ted felt the strange weight on his head, and the far too big hat dropped over his eyes. He took it off to reveal the obstruction and gasped.

“Costuming had three. I asked and they let me have this one. Merry Christmas, Sparky.” He said with a wink.

“So did you see it?”

Thomas started to walk young David Crandall back through this house, having started to settle.

“Did I see it? I saw it nin--” Ted stopped as he saw his father. “I saw it two or three times. You know, a sensible number of times.”

“Ah-huh…” Dan replied, knowing full well what that really meant. “And what did you think?”

“What did I think?” Ted had a hundred questions, but seeing his cousin David and his state, made the young boy censor himself for a question he felt would be somewhat appropriate to ask. “I thought it was great! I did have one question though…”

“Shoot, kiddo. What did you want to know?”

The sound of a single shot. Blood runs down a metal confined face. Reporters gasp.

“You know that scene, where Karl was running from all those guys in Tunisia, and that one guy with the sword came out, and he was waving his sword all around, showing off like, and then Karl just pulled out a gun and shot him. Why’d he do that? Karl was never shooting people in the tv series.”

“Ah!” Dan said, taking a knee to get himself closer to Ted’s height. “That came about because the studio heads wanted to make sure the movie audience knew ‘This was not your father’s Karl LaFrey’. That he wasn’t going to behave exactly the same as the Blue Beetle in the TV series. It’s the same reason they use his given name instead of Blue Beetle in the title.”

“But I love the tv series!”

“I know you do, kiddo. But the studio heads felt they had to make a statement early in the series. They mandated it. Good news is though, writers can do just about anything now though, with the success of the first one. Maybe one day you can write us a way to take down the bad guys without killing them.” He winked as he got back to his feet and was about tl leave. Ted waved.

He looked up.

---

T H E A B O D E O F T E D K O R D

---

^{Back to Only a Few Months Ago, Just After the Conclusion of the Crisis | Boston, Massachusetts}

Ted looked up from the car and the blue artefact. Two scarabs of a Beetle past.

He put them back on the mantle. Tears had been streaming down his face.

As he snapped back to reality he could hear the television was on. He looked down to his hip. He drew his B.B. gun.

The television was playing earlier footage from Wonder Woman’s hearing at Washington D.C. Minutes before she’d dropped everything to engage the Crisis.

"The real purpose of this committee is to control heroes and metahumans. Your country's attempts on the previous generations have failed. Now, they have decided to set up this committee to make all of you find the answer. However, this generation of heroes is unlike any that I have ever seen. I've read the writing on the wall. They'll resist your country's attempts at controlling their lives. They'll band together and show the entire world that their powers are meant to protect and defend. Instead of giving in to your hatred, this new generation will only become stronger."

Diana turned around and looked at the people, some of them had their phones out to film her. "I know that I haven't been a perfect role model for them or the whole world. And I have disappointed many of them recently. That's how I know the heroes of today and tomorrow will make me proud. They'll be better than me. They'll become everything the heroes of the past stood for. Now, I have a city to save."

Be better. Be more.

The writers can do just about anything. Maybe one day... take down the bad guys without killing them.

He looked down at his B.B gun. He’d done it. He’d found a way to make a difference without ever needing to kill.

And then when he lost it, he was able to do it again with nothing but a circuit board, a soldering iron, a hotel hairdryer and a shitload of caulk.

Tears dried on his cheeks within the cowl. He sniffed deeply.

“Ah shit… what the Hell am I even doing here?” He chuckled at himself over how ridiculous this all was.

He’d found a way to better the world and he was going to drop everything because the people before him had made mistakes?

No. We’ve got a new Blue Beetle and the writing’s fixed.

Using his glove he remote-started the engines to the Bug. Within fifteen minutes he was amongst the relief effort digging through the debris of the Empire State Building.

December 22nd, 1946
Western District Station
11:38 PM

The fat pervert spat blood. Slam sapped him across the face with a blackjack. Slam had his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up past the elbow. The interrogation room sweltered even at Christmastime. Fatty handcuffed to the bolted down chair weeped. He screamed. Two-Gun Jack Grogan sat in the far corner and peeled an orange with a switchblade.

Grogan said, "Chester York. You're a disgusting pervert."

Slam worked the fat man's ribs with the blackjack. He squealed like a pig. Grogan haw-hawed and bit into an orange slice. Slam's arms felt numb. Sweat stung his face. Going on twelve hours since they started their perv hunt. GCPD wanted the Snapshot Killer found post haste regardless of innocence. Pin it on a major creep, preferably one far enough off the deep end to not protest.

Grogan popped another orange slice and sang, "Chester, Chester, the child molester. You know, I ain't never met a boy named Chester who wasn't some kind of fiend. But you, son, you take the cake. All them women you killed, and for what exactly? Did it get you off?"

York spat teeth. "I didn't kill nobody! I like kids! Grown women it ain't my thing! Killing ain't my thing!"

Grogan touched the tip of his stetson. It meant GO HARD. Slam backhanded York with the sap. Slam worked arms and legs with the sap. York screamed loud. Bones snapped over the yells.

Fatty York gasped for air. He coughed up blood and teeth and said, "I'll... do whatever you tell me, I'll say what... whatever you want. Just stop hitting me."

SLam stepped back. Grogan spat pulp on the floor and smiled.

"Excellent. We're gonna get the DA in here and you're gonna confess. Now, let Detective Bradley coach you on exactly what to say."



Gotham Central
12:19 AM

Max swigged booze from a coffee cup and got back to work. Max, Fields, and Corrigan were a three man cold case squad. They were sequestered in Max and Field’s Homicide cubicles. Stacks and stacks of old sex crimes on the desk. Fields thumbed through it with Corrigan's help. Max had a list of perp sheets in front of him, searching for known criminals who were white men with dark hair who owned a white sedan.

Fields sucked on a cigar and blew smoke. "This sex offender shit is strictly from hunger, Max. If our guy was a rape-o or a pervert, why didn't he poke any of the girls?"

Charlie's bitching struck a nerve. Max rode a brainwave. The search for a diddler or panty-sniffer played wrong. HIS guy was a voyeur. He was passive up until the point of the killings. He was a peeper.

Fields sighed and said, "To hell with this. I know this is important, but I need a goddamn break. Anybody want some sandwiches?"

Charlie took orders and headed out to the deli across the street. Max looked at Corrigan. He kept working the case files. His shoulders sagged and his fingers twitched. Max knew the look. Corrigan was coming down hard. He'd need a fix sooner rather than later. Max turned back to the files. H rode his brainwave to the files, narrowed his search for white, dark haired men who owned white sedans AND who had some kind of peeping rap sheet.

Thirty minutes later he hit paydirt. Durfee, Chris NMI. DOB: 3/10/24. White male, black hair and brown eyes. He got popped with peeping tom beefs in '39, '41, '43, two in late '45. The last string of offenses sent him to prison for six months. His release date sent skin prickles down Max's spine: 8/21/46. Three weeks before the first Snapshot Killer victim.

Max stood up. His legs wobbled. He held on to the desk to right himself. He looked over at Corrigan. "I think I've found our guy. We need to go, right now."

Corrigan looked around. "What about Fields? What about backup?"

Max could feel the case's solving on his fingertips. Eight murders solved. His glory case drew nigh. His reputation cemented.

"Not enough time, let's go!"

---

Western Gotham City
1:10 AM

Max pulled the unmarked up to the curb. Snow fell in flurries across the street. Durfee's listed address: A flophouse that was easy driving distance to all of the murders. It coalesced into theory. It gave Max goosebumps. He popped the trunk. Corrigan got out. Max got out and opened the trunk. A pump shotgun sitting in the back. He picked it up and racked a round into the chamber.

Max said, "Cover the back while I go in the front."

Corrigan scampered towards the flop's rear entrance. Max's feet crunched on snow as he went to the front door. Christmastime in Gotham. Snow flurries flecked his hair. Red, numbing hands on cold gunmetal. His ambition coalesced with absolute justice, opportunity sprung forth. Bold dreams required bold action. Eight women were dead. Heinous crimes required swift resolution.

Max said a Hail Mary and kicked the door in. There's Durfee, on a tattered couch in soiled tighty whities. Max tried to say 'Police' and 'You're under arrest.' Nothing came out. THERE: Durfee moves for something. Max squeezes the trigger on the shotgun. It kicked back. Durfee's chest caved in. Max screamed and fired again. A second shot blew his face off. Durfee flopped backwards on the floor twitching.

He dropped the shotgun. Blood spatter on his glasses. He shuffled to Durfee. Saw he was going for a marijuana cigarette on the table. Max let out a dry sob. He stepped over Durfee's body. He stumbled into the kitchen. He upended the table. A box flopped on to its side. Pictures spilled out. Shots of all eight women killed by the Snapshot Killer. Max's ears rang. Meaty hands on his shoulder. Corrigan's. He heard the sirens. Cops on the scene. They gawked. They cheered and gave Max pats on the back.

One of them said, "It's down. The whole goddamn case is down.

One of them laughed and said, "Eckhardt, who would have thought?"

Someone said, "Shotgun Max."

---

---

An earth-shattering boom rouses him from his dream. Storms are like monsters under the bed. A moment later, rainfall ruins his hopes of trying to sleep again. A yawning Virgil slowly crawls out of his bed. It's dark but navigating the corners of his house is second nature to him. He climbs down the stairs, one step at a time, stomach growling for a bowl of cereal.

By the time he makes it down to the living room, he notices that the front door is open. For a moment, he thinks a thief has broken into their house. He snorts at the thought. A thief tried to break into Black Lightning’s house. The silhouette of a person is standing in the doorway, looking out towards the streets with drenched gutters of rainwater. His dad freezes, caught like a deer in headlights. Worry begins to worm and nestle inside Virgil’s gut. It's not because he’s carrying an overstuffed suitcase, bursting at the seams. It's not the fact that his right cheek is stamped with a red mark that looks suspiciously like a hand.

It's the fact that his dad, the Black Lightning, is scared that makes Virgil so nervous.

Black Lightning shouldn’t be scared. What could a superhero be afraid of anyway?

His face is a muddled mess of anger, sadness and regret. He flinches away from Virgil's confused face and says two words that stick with him forever.

“ I- I’m sorry.”

For what? He doesn’t have the chance to reply back as his dad disappears in a blinding flash of light, leaving him with only the pitter-patter of raindrops for company.

His mom came down a minute later, something strange on her face. Virgil hugs her because that's the only thing he knows how to do. Something wet drops onto his pajamas.

It must be the rain.

---

Warmth.

Lights overhead.

Where was he?

No, he's not in Dakota City, nor is he five years old anymore. His mind scrambles to remember where he currently is right now. New York. The tower. He blew it up. It’s hard to make out the surrounding details. He tries to move his right leg...and it doesn’t want to budge. Left leg….no luck. Negotiating with his right arm resulted in a spike of pain that makes him shout a few curse words out loud that would have earned him an ear-pinching from his father.

He hears the sounds of graphite snapping against something hard. He looks up and sees an adult woman in white garb, black circles around her shocked eyes. She waves and motions towards someone out of sight. Moments later, a bespectacled sandy-haired man wearing a coat comes into view. He makes out a badge that reads ‘ CAMPBELL’. It’s seeing the stethoscope around his neck that makes Virgil realises that he’s in a hospital.

“ Easy there. You’ve been out for at least several hours and your body’s still recovering.’ The person begins pulling out instruments, poking and prodding at him.

“ Am...am I dead?” His throat feels like waxy sandpaper, gargling out each syllable in a pained grimace.

“ If that’s your first question after waking up, then, I’d be more worried about your choice in career, son.” The doctor replies testily to his question as he flashes a light in front of Virgil’s eyes like an annoying fly. The hazy fog of fatigue disappears over time throughout the impromptu examination. Craning his neck slowly from side to side, he can make out the disinfected white walls of a hospital building, with droves of patients flooding in from all over the city. Doctors and nurses rush to and fro, ushering new arrivals down towards operation rooms and medical bays.

“ W-” His dry throat makes it hard for him to enunciate properly. The doctor offers a paper cup of water in his hand. He takes it and sips it slowly. “ W-where am I?”

“ Columbia Hospital. One of our emergency team found you unconscious on Staten Island. You could imagine the shock we got when you still had a pulse. I’d be more worried about long-term symptomatic damage in your right arm. Third degree electrical burns aren’t exactly something that you can just brush off.”

The doctor stares pointedly towards Virgil’s right arm. He looks down and the sight is enough to make Virgil retch. The EKG on his right briefly fizzes and shakes in spastic seizures. Burned was an understatement to Virgil. Barbecued would be more appropriate. Blisters lined his cherry-red palms, scar-skin zig-zagging all the way up to his elbow like a demented tattoo. His fingerprints had been sanded away by high-voltage current into the texture of baby-skin. The feeling of numbness prickled in his nerves with every tug he forced into his fingers. It was less a question of how he survived and more why he wasn't lying in the morgue right now.

The only silver lining in this whole mess is that at least he didn’t break his right arm again. He notices a mess of papers stacked loosely on top of a tabletop beside him. There are multiple cards by his bedside. Hastily scrawled binder notes of one-word expressions of gratitude in ink. Pastel crayon doodles of him on the bridge. Get well cards. A box of chocolates (He’s allergic to hazelnut, but he doesn’t bother to tell the doctor).

He then looks back at the scene of chaos around him. It feels like a hollow victory.

“ Thank you. For everything." Virgil whispered " But, I just need some time alone to myself.”

" Of course."

Virgil lets his head rest on top of the pillow and lets out a sign of unbearable exhaustion that has been building up within him ever since the start of the attack.

How was he going to explain this to Dad?

---

It’s a Monday midnight by the time he arrives back at Dakota. His house is located in the outer boroughs of Hemingway. The sound of chirping crickets fill the air as he slowly opens the door and closes it. He hears the click of a light switch. His dad is sitting on his couch, eyes bloodshot and glaring at Virgil with as much anger he can muster.

" Sorry for not calling..." Virgil lifted up a broken phone from his pocket. " I think I still have warranty."

“ Never-mind that!" His dad stands up. " Young man, do you know how much you had me worried - “

He ambushes his dad with a silent hug that says more than a thousand excuses. A moment later, arms wrap around his shoulder in a fatherly embrace. He pushes his face into his chest and exhales slowly.

“ I need to tell you something, Dad.”

" We'll talk about it over on the dinner table." There's a gentle pat on his back. " Now, come on in. There's a plate of ricotta I've been saving for you in the fridge...."

_{Malibu, California - During Season 1's Crisis}

Issue 1.01.01: Has he Lost his Mind?

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: None

"I'll just be straight with you, Count... Xylophone? Xenomorph?"

Tony had a familiar smug grin as he leaned backwards on the couch, staring at the leader of the revolutionary government in Vlatava. He was savoring a glass of whiskey in the living room of his luxurious Malibu mansion, while his guest stiffened in his chair. "Zytle. Werner Zytle."

Tony rolled his eyes, waving his glass of whiskey as he continued. "Right, Zytle. Look, I'm a busy man, so let's keep this simple. I know someone is selling you Stark tech. And even if I'm not the CEO, you must be really dense if you thought I'm going to sit here while you use weapons that don't belong to you." Zytle did not appear to be amused or intimidated, and instead stared blankly as Tony took a sip of his whiskey before continuing. "So here's what we are going to do: You are going to tell me who is selling you and your rebels my tech, and I won't send Iron Man to kill you and your zealots."

Werner nodded his head, as if to weigh his options. He readjusted the ring on his left ring finger slightly, a smile forming on his lips. "I don't believe you understand the situation you are in, Mr. Stark. I came here to California because I knew you would want to speak with me and threaten me. Your arrogance, however... that will be your downfall."

Tony wasn't in a mood for threats. He set the glass down, smiling slightly as he opened his mouth. But as Tony tried to call out to JARVIS, he found he couldn't speak. And he found he couldn't move. Tony's eyes focused in on Werner, who was smiling as he continued twisting his ring. He moved from the chair to take a seat next to Stark, and whispered. "JARVIS, disable all security protocols."

Without a single moment of hesitation, Tony repeated him. "JARVIS, disable all security protocols." Werner smiled at this and stood up, walking out of view. Tony struggled, his heartbeat picking up as he found he had no control over his body or words. All he could do was sit there and listen to the door to his workshop open. After quite a bit of silence, the thunking of heavy footsteps could be heard coming from the downstairs workshop.

Tony watched in disbelief as Werner approached in the Mark Seven, with the helmut open and a smile on his face. The Mark Seven was by far the largest suit of armor, as it was built to be more of a strong tank than an agile weapon system. Werner smiled for a moment as he whispered something and the suit opened, allowing the revolutionary to step closer to Tony and chuckle. "I'm sorry that it needs to end this way, Tony. But I need to borrow this, and I can't have you hunting me down." Werner slowly unbuttoned Tony's shirt until his chest was exposed. Glowing in the center of his chest was an arc reactor, which the Count gripped on to and twisted. With a swift yank, the arc reactor was unplugged from the circuitry in Tony's chest. Werner gave a small nod as he placed it in his pocket and stepped back into the Mark Seven suit.

Tony didn't remember seeing Werner walk out of his house, or bash his way out of the front door. Tony's vision was practically all dark as breath didn't come easily. His chest was on fire, and he couldn't get enough breath to actually speak as he felt himself regain control over his body. Tony simply cradled his hands over the hole in his chest where the arc reactor used to be as he felt the small pieces of shrapnel in his chest moving with every attempt to breath. The last thing he heard was the sound of jets flying overhead and the rotors of a helicopter whirring nearby. Then, the world went dark.

---

_{Location: Metropolis, United States - Normal Metropolis Day}

Issue #2.01: Steps Toward the Future

---

About two months had passed since that day, quite a lot had changed. Kara found herself enrolled in Metropolis University with an emphasis on biology. Considering her own biology she found the topic quite intriguing with how life reacted and adapted to various circumstances. Now sure, everything she had at the ancient secret Kryptonian laboratory was way beyond anything Met-U had access to but starting from the ground up would probably be a lot more useful in the long run than just relying on whatever Kryptonian tech she had access too. Also, if she ever wanted to make herself something of note in the biology world she would need to rely on human technology as she was certainly not willing to give up her normal life as Kara Danvers.

School certainly ate into her supering hours but ever since the creation of the Department of Metahuman Affairs she had been trying not to appear too often, just in case. Sure the DMA hadn’t really gotten on her case much, but that was probably mostly due to the fact Metropolis seemed to love her and she had yet to cause any real extreme demolition. Ever since she had learned that Wonder Woman had been denaturalized from the United States, Kara couldn’t help but feel at least some rising pressure as Supergirl. Someone she had admired as a kid was now an enemy of the United States; it was a bitter pill to swallow.

But now was not the time to think about such things as today, she was just going to enjoy herself. Kara looked at a small, gold-colored wrist-watch to check the time. Sure she could just look at her phone, but a wrist-watch was just a lot classier. Fashion did make one pay a bit more but it was totally worth it.

Glancing up from her watch she noticed the person she was meeting coming her way, she almost started to wave but then realized she was a little too far away to be noticed by a normal person. Kara pretended not to notice her until she got closer before getting her attention. The dark brunette waved back and soon they were walking side by side.

“Sorry Kara! You wouldn’t believe the trouble I had on the city bus! Almost didn’t get off at the right stop!”

The young woman was Kara’s newest friend, Lucy Lane. She was also a student at Met U and they had met during English 101 where Kara quickly learned that Lucy was a bit of a fire brand that was not afraid to butt heads with her teachers. While Kara was a bit more, physically confrontational on a normal day, Lucy knew how to fight with words. Kara could quip when she wanted to but an actual argument was a bit different from exchanging witty banter with a villain.

“Just glad you could make it! Us university students have quite the schedules after all. Getting away from it all, even for a few hours is totally worth the hassle!”

“I know what you mean Kara! I sensed a kindred spirit in you when we first met! I do believe my instinct was right on the money! So where exactly is this musical gathering we’ll be swinging by for some fun?”

“They picked out a venue at the north side of Centennial Park. I heard a lot of the newer bands in town will be there to strut off their stuff.”

“I hope the Lostboys are there, have you heard any of their latest songs? They really know how to make a beat that gets you going!”
Kara and Lucy chatted excitedly together about what bands they hoped to see and listen to, when a television report caught Kara’s eye in one of the store fronts they passed.



“Ok, we have to cross here to get to the venue right?” Lucy’s question snapped Kara back to full attention at the fun they were about to have, wouldn’t do to have them take the wrong crosswalk.

“Ya, I think this one should do, this is going to be so much fun!”

Kara put the story in the back on her mind to concentrate on living the University dream, at least for a few precious hours.

---

The Hasslehoff hung over the planet silently, as the distress call from it plays on a loop inside the cabin. The assembled Guardians listened again as the panicked settlers below pleaded for help to protect them from the "monsters" that had appeared a few days ago. The Guardians had gotten to the planet after a few jumps, only a few hours after Heimdall had let them know about the distress call. Using that timeframe, the settlers had been under attack for at least two days. Most of them were probably dead. That almost wasn't a question. But someone of them were still bound to be down there. And Thor was going to make sure he got them out of there.

What worried him, though, was the sounds coming from the background of the distress call. The snarls and growls coming from whatever was attacking the people were clearly the same mindless devourers that Thor had encountered inside the old Asgardian cache he and Peter had found.

"So it's a trap," Rocket said what they were all thinking. "Listen, I feel bad for the people down there, but they're probably dead, and I don't think we should be too. Let's find some other, more profitable rescuing to do."

"We are not doing this because of profits," Thor reminded the small mammal.

"No, we're doing this because you went and got us all marked for death," Hawk rolled her eyes. "We're here to draw this guy out so we can get rid of that, then we can all go on our separate ways."

"Well how do we draw him out without stopping things he's trying to do?" Thor motioned towards the planet. "Clearly whatever this world was offered him an opportunity. He could have set a trap for us somewhere less remote. Why here? Maybe there's a clue."

"And maybe I don't care," Rocket laughed. "Just because we're looking for the guy doesn't mean we have to spring every trap. Especially when this one is seemingly more deadly than others."

"I am Groot."

"Thank you, Groot," Rocket smiled. "I am incredibly reasonable."

Quill, who had been uncharacteristically quiet up until this point, stood up out of the pilot's chair and shook his head, "We're gonna help those people. Thor's right. We can't just be doin' this for ourselves. We have a chance to do some real good, and we should take it."

"Yea, chance to do some real good dyin'," Hawk grunted. "I'm only here so I don't die. I'm not here to help some yokels who are probably already dead, or to help blondie over there feel better about himself because he's been a worthless drunken asshole for the better part of a few millennia."

Thor felt the muscles in his arm tense as anger took hold of him. She wasn't wrong about him being worthless for eons. But he wasn't doing this to make up for past wrongs. It may have been becoming unworthy of Mjolnir, the great hammer that was still resting on some rock thousands of lightyears away, but he now knew it was his duty to protect those that needed it. That such a lesson was being taught to him after the death of all that he knew and loved was not lost on him, and it made his sense of failure run deeper.

"What I may have failed to do in the past is of no concern to the present," he responded to the Thanagarian. "But the longer we bicker up here, the less chance the people below have of surviving. I intend to land. If thoust wants, thou may stay on the ship. But I am going to find out what happened on this planet. If you wish to join me, thoust may."

"How would thoust like thou funeral done up?" Rocket shot back at Thor, mocking his manner of speech.

"It should not be my funeral to be planned, but our enemy's," Thor chuckled at the furry creature and motioned for Quill to bring the ship down towards the surface of the planet.

---

The ship settled down quietly on the landing pad of the settlement, with nothing but the harsh wind of the planet to greet them. The steel, prefab structures that made up the modest little village. A plastic, formerly-transparent sheet covering some cargo on the landing pad snapped off and floated like a ghost down the main street of the town. When it reached the end of the thoroughfare, it snagged on the top of the metal stairs that led into the mouth of a cave. The cave had been hastily fortified, but little

"Computer says this place was built as kind of a mining sharecrop for the Tivan Corporation," Rocket explained. "The settlers were given all the land they wanted as long as they mined the nuclear material below. Not a bad deal from the looks of it."

"The settlers would have hidden in the mine, then," Thor said, picking up Jarnbjorn and heading for the ship's exit. He turned to find Quill already checking his Element Guns and suiting up to head out with him. "If any are still alive, that's where they'll be."

"Yea, running off into the dark, scary cave," Rocket shook his head. "I knew you two had a deathwish, but I dind't know it was this bad."

"I am Groot," the tree said, flabbergasting the small mammal.

"What do you mean you're going too!? Not ten minutes ago you said it was a terrible idea!"

"I am Groot."

"You changed your mind!? What made you do that? Seeing the terrible death cave!?"

"I am Groot."

The raccoon rubbed between his eyes with this thumb and forefinger in frustration, before picking up his guns, "Fine. Fine. Fine. If you want to die, I'm coming with. That way we can all die like idiots. At least then I won't have to listen to any of you any more."

The four of them made their way to the airlock, and turned to Hawk, who was lounging on a chair in the galley, sipping a drink, with her feet up on the table. She shrugged at their glances, "What? I'm not getting killed. I'll give you guys a few hours. If you're not back in that time, I'm getting out of here for sure. Just fair warning."

"How generous of you," Peter grimaced at her. "I can't believe you're just going to let people die in there."

"They're already dead, Peter," she shot back. "All of you know that. And if you go in there, you're going to be dead as well."

"Well, better to die trying to save people than die as a coward," he shrugged.

"Better just not to die," she smiled and waved as the four of them left the ship.