Present Day // Nidavellir

The ship careered through space towards Thor, he merely stayed his place a safe distance from the Dwarven World. A sentry against an impending threat. Confusion coursed through him as the vessel got closer, he could see smoke billowing out into the dark void of space, a tear down the side of the ship as if someone had tried to gut it like an animal. He raised his hand as he deemed the vessel to be close enough, using the power granted to him through Odin and the All-speak his voice pierced the void where no sound should be possible. "HALT! In the name of Odin, Asgard and the Dwarves of Nidavellir. You are permitted to go no further, turn around now or I shall turn you around through force."

A slight grin crossed his face as the vessel did not stop, and instead continued to push on towards the planet. "Have it be known, that you were warned, fiend!" Thor directed Mjolnir towards the ship, having it pull him towards the ship. One of the objects on the bow of the ship turned, three cylinders pointed straight towards him. A red glow emanating from within before a beam of red energy lanced forth, Thor considered it a threat too late as it collided with him. Sending him spinning back in space, an explosion coming from where he flew. Grunting through the pain. "By Odin! What form of sorcery is this?" As two more shots lanced out he spun Mjolnir out before him, lightning coursing through the hammer and arching out into space intercepting the beams of red light.

Concentrating on the might of electricity, against all odds and known sciences there was a crack of thunder in the void as Mjolnir lit up with electrical energy as a powerful bolt of lightning lanced towards the part of the ship that had fired at him. The ship crackled as the energy spread through the hull, whatever protective plating it had trying to absorb and redirect the energy as it would conventional attacks, however it soon reached its limit as the turret buckled under the pressure and exploded. Leaving a gaping hole in the ship. Moving swiftly through the void to close the distance between himself and the vessel he planted his feet on the metallic hull. Walking along with it before jumping into the hole, the hallway was illuminated blood red. He held Mjolnir loose in his hand, ready to cast it towards anyone who stood against him or swing it into the skull of anyone who believed themselves capable of surprising him with a sneak attack.

Thor reached a door, slamming Mjolnir into it the door caved and he walked through the gap. He dropped Mjolnir on the floor. All around the room, there were bodies. Not just men, but women and children. Someone had already attacked this vessel and killed everyone aboard. There was no honor in this, whoever had attacked this vessel had been a beast. He continued to walk deeper, hammer forgotten. Pods lay into the side of the vessel, the bodies spilling from them as if insects from a cacoon. Some were cut directly in two, while others were gouged and some even appeared to be mauled by large fists. There was a chill in the air as he continued to push deeper, a sense of dread filling the pit of his stomach. He would slay whatever beast had done this. On that he would give his word, this threat would not strike again.

He heard ragged breathing and could see the shadow of someone at the end of the long hall. "Hail! Be you friend or be you foe? Are you a survivor or the one responsible for such destruction?"

Thor heard the being speak in a hoarse low tone as if struggling to grasp the words from his throat.^{"I'll kill you Demon!"}

Thor walked forward cautiously, not sure what the being had said. Wading forward carefully he held his hands out in a gesture that he was not armed. Realizing that he had left Mjolnir behind, though knowing that he could call it in a moment's notice. Suddenly the beast ran forward into the light, screaming. "DEMON! Arms raised aiming for Thor's throat, Thor put one hand behind him, open.

"MJOLNIR! TO ME!" Thor could feel the hammer coming towards him, however, it was not quick enough as the beast collided with him. Moving at speeds he did not expect off a mortal being. As the two went tumbling to the ground he heard as Mjolnir flew uselessly above his head, not finding his hand and instead of landing nearby. Still falling Thor allowed himself to fall into it, pulling his knees towards his chest he placed his feet on the stomach of his attacker and pushed as he rolled backward. Kicking his attacker off him and away past his head. It was as he pushed his foe into greater light that Thor noticed the similarity this beast had to the fallen. Was it some aberration that hated its own people? Or some form of a warrior to protect? "Stay your hands foul beast! I am no Demon, but instead-"

Thor's words were cut off as the beast lunged at him, Thor ducked under the grapple only to meet one of the beings fists. Being knocked back Thor rolled with it. Coming back around, grabbing one of the beings fists out of the air stopping the punch from landing. Then grabbing the other. The two became locked, grunting as each tried to gain ground. "I am no Demon! Tell me what happened here-"

The next thing he saw was the skull of his opponent come crashing towards him. He saw stars as the headbutt found purchase, throwing Thor back onto the ground. "Your fellow Demon killed my people! All of them! I fought him but could not stop the slaughter. I vow that I will destroy you and your kind demon." Jumping forward Thor rolled onto his front and outstretched his hand again for Mjolnir, the hammer raising from the ground and coming towards his hand. The beast jumped onto his back and slammed both his hands down onto Thor's head, his head slamming against the floor and yet he did not move. There was a crack of thunder as the hammer reached Thor's hand, spinning around the side of Mjolnir collided with the beasts head, sending him careening into a nearby wall as Thor followed through with the roll to stand on his feet.

"ENOUGH! Thor walked towards the beast that lay dazed. "If you did not cause this death and destruction, you are not my enemy." Thor threw Mjolnir down between them as a sign of good faith. Trying to push across the message that they were not foes in this endeavor. "If you are a victim in this, then you have my word I will find whoever is responsible. For that is why I am here, to eliminate a threat to all peoples of the nine realms. The beast stood up, unsteady on his feet as he eyed up Thor. Thor could still see the rage in his eyes, it was a rage he only knew too well. The rage of war. It was a rage he had seen in himself, and the ones he had fought many a time. There would be no reasoning with him, not yet.

The beast lunged for Mjolnir and Thor did not move, for only those Worthy could raise the mighty hammer. Pulling with two hands the hammer moved slightly, panic rising in the young Thunder God. However, as the hammer was raised past the beasts waist it was pulled back towards the ground, hitting it with a thud. The beast pulled and strained and yet Mjolnir did not move, even as the floor beneath the beast's feet began to cave. "You have proved yourself a worthy warrior, even lifting Mjolnir as high as you did shows you are true of heart, and a worthy ally. I beseech you. Stop this pointless fight, if you are the victim here then tell me what you know and I shall bring the culprit to their knees in your name and the name of Asgard." He meant these words, and yet they seemed hollow as he said them. Here he stood among the dead, did he really care for them, or for the righteous conquest? The thirst for battle? Did he truly wish for this fight to end? Or did he want to beat this beast and prove himself stronger?

Thor walked forward, his hand outstretched. "Come with me, come to Asgard. You will be safe there."

The beast stood and walked towards him. "All my people are dead-" He took hold of Thors hand, putting all his strength into it. The shock forcing the god to his knees. "DECEIVER! He pulled Thor and threw him around, into a nearby pile of dead bodies. Bone cracked and crumpled by the force of his landing. Standing up again Thor locked eyes with the beast. "I shall kill you and your ilk, or you shall send me to the afterlife to join my people. There are no other options. So says Beta-Ray Bill!

Unknown Planet
Unknown Sector

Jess paced the floors of her cell with her hands clasped behind her back. The small window provided a view of the harsh desert she’d traversed for so many untold days and nights. It was hard to keep track because night was so brief thanks to the planet’s three suns. She still had no idea where she was, but she knew it wasn’t friendly at all.

She’d come to after passing out and found weapons in her face. Rifles that were, surprisingly, still using gunpowder and bullets like they used back on Earth. Two soldiers and a commanding officer stared at her as she realized she was strapped to a metal chair. Her body armor and boots were gone and she'd been stripped to her skivvies. Her ring still remained, though. They would have to cut her finger off to remove that.

“Name, rank, serial number,” the CO demanded. “And what is your purpose on this planet?”

Jess found it odd that she could understand them perfectly. They were humanoid and pretty close to Earthlings, but with a few differences like a more prominent forehead ridge and bigger ears. But just because they looked similar didn’t mean they spoke the same language. She thought when her ring’s battery died the universal translator went with it. Maybe there was still enough of a charge to provide that?

“Jessica Cruz, Green Lantern, 2814.2. I crash landed on this planet and am seeking a way back to the planet Oa.”

She may as well have been speaking Greek from the way they looked at her. That took her back. Even in the most remote backwaters of space they still knew what the Corps was. With these low-level soldiers a Green Lantern may as well be the milkman. They kept asking the same questions over and over again. She waited for them to get violent and rough her up... or do something worse, but they never did. After what felt like hours of going back and forth and getting nowhere they moved her to this cell.

She went to the bars of the window and tugged on them. They were solid metal. Jess cursed and thought back to her training. Kilowog had taught them that their rings weren’t their true weapons. No, the rings were just a tool. It was their minds that were the true weapons. The rings were conduits for their creativity and willpower. Even if the ring was dead, they could still fight and survive. Jess leaned against the abode-like wall and sighed. With her left finger she traced along the engraved corps logo on her ring. Jess stopped and looked down at the ring. Nobody knew for sure, but the rings themselves were supposed to be made of some of the hardest metal in the known universe. Forged from ore that came to be around the time of the Big Bang. It was sure as hell more durable than the metal on the window’s bars. Jess made sure the coast was clear and went back to the window. She put her ring against the bars and pulled it back before punching the bar as hard as she could. She cursed and felt a shock of pain run up her arm. But nothing was broke and on the bar was a small indention of where her ring had smashed into it. Not much, but it was a start. She reeled back further this time and struck the bar as hard as she could.

---

Oa
Sector 0001

“Alright, poozers.”

Kilowog put his hands on his hips and looked at the half dozen Lantern cadets standing in front of him. Children, that was the best way to describe them all. The big Bolovax Vik towered over them, not a one of them would be a hundred chogats soaking wet. They all might as well have had signs on their forehead that blinked “KILL ME!” in bright neon.

“Anyone here know how you become a Green Lantern?”

A bald, pink-skinned Lantern with pointy ears raised a hand.

“Al-X, right?”

“Y-yes,” he said with a slight stutter. “When a Lantern falls in the line of duty… their ring departs the body and searches their home sector for a replacement, someone with immense willpower and the ability to overcome great fear…”

Kilowog crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“Well? Is he right?”

After an awkward silence Kilowog finally spoke.

“Yes, he’s right. Or he used to be. Until recently, at the time of a Lantern’s death or retirement the ring initiates what we call a legacy protocol. And like my eager friend said here, it searches their home sector for a sentient lifeform who can be a suitable replacement. That’s changed. Or at least we are experimenting with the idea of change.”

He narrowed his eyes and continued. “As a concession to the Galactic council, the Corps has launched its first full-fledged cadet program and you six are the first class of that program. And I will be honest with you: I do not want you here.”

He saw looks of horror flash on all six of their faces. He resisted the urge to smile at their discomfort.

“Each and every one of you were political appointees. Plain and simple. You may have qualities that we look for in a Lantern, but the rings did not pick you. You are here to see if the Corps can be ‘modernized’ into an organization with ‘standards.’ Which means some bureaucrat somewhere doesn’t understand what it means to be a real Lantern.”

Kilowog spat at his feet and wiped the spittle from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“But you, on the other hand, will find out very quickly what it means to become a real Lantern. You will suffer, you will be injured, you will have aches and pain, but you will learn, you will get better. You are not wanted here and I do not think any one of you is fit to carry a real Lantern’s jockstrap. I hope each and every one of you prove me wrong.”

He flashed them a smile that had a lot of teeth, but very little warmth.

“Let’s get started.”

---

Cromica C21
Sector 2814

Screams and the sound of blaster fire filled the air. People ran out the cantina as a drunken miner stumbled out, blaster clamped in his pudgy fist and green blood covering his shirt. He fired off shots into the air before spinning around with the gun.

“The sonofabitch shouldn’t have kept cheating. He was a dirty fucking cheat and he got what he deserved.”

“Stay where you are,” a harsh voice announced.

Four men in navy blue jumpsuits surrounded the drunk miner. They leveled blasters at him. The weapons whined as they warmed up and prepared to fire. The miner may have been drunk, but he wasn’t stupid. He dropped his weapon and put his hands in the air in surrender.

“You’re coming with us,” one of the men said.

“He’s coming with me,” a voice said from behind them.

Hal stood there with his power ringer glowing energy. Jelcs was at his side with his own weapon at the ready.

“Hal Jordan, Lantern 2814.1 and you gentlemen are?”

“Pax Mining security,” said one of the men. “This man is one of our employees.”

“And he committed a crime on a planet under my jurisdiction.”

The four security guards, because that’s what Hal thought of them as, didn’t flinch. They were rent-a-cops with nerve. They seemed quickly forgot about the miner as Hal approached them. They trained their blasters on him and ordered him to stay where he was.

“Four to one,” said one of the guards. "You think that's a smart move?"

“They don’t hire Green Lanterns for their smarts,” said Hal. “And while I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed,” an emerald war hammer formed in his hands. “I can tell you a sledgehammer does a hell of a lot more damage than garden shears.”

“Gentlemen, stand down right now!”

A Kree man steeped between Hal and the Pax security goons. The guards slowly lowered the weapons at his command. Hal noticed his clothing -- the fashionable Kree tunic and pants made out of the finest materials the empire had at it disposal -- and reckoned they cost more than what your average miner made in a year. The man flashed Hal an apologetic smile and extended a blue hand to him.

“Quin Del’vin,” he said. “Executive Vice President, Pax Mining Conglomerate.”

“Pleasure,” Hal said without shaking his hand. “Now, Mr. Del’vin if you don’t mind I have an arrest to make.”

“Now hear me out, Lantern…”

“Jordan,” said Hal.

“Lantern Jordan.” He said with another attempt at a charming smile. “Our employee here has committed a very serious crime, but we are more than capable of handling it. With us being so far away from civilization Pax has taken the burden of enforcing the laws in this system. I think to help with continuity we should take our employee into custody.”

“There’s a new sheriff in town,” Hal said with just the hint of a smile. He’d always wanted to say that. “And civilization is following with him. Your security people can go back to protecting your mines and drilling platforms, Mr. Del’vin. I’ll take it from here.”

Del’vin’s cheerful persona evaporated. The face that was left was cold and stony. He was a man who wasn't used to hearing no. For quite a while he'd been the only authority in this star system. And now it seemed he wasn't a fan of changing that up.

“You might want to ask your friend over there what happened to the last sheriff,” Del’vin snarled, jutting a finger towards Jelcs. “Lawmen on this planet have a bad habit of turning up dead.”

“Was that a threat?” Hal asked.

“And if it was?" He stepped forward with a finger pointed in Hal's face. "Are you going to hide behind your ring and--”

Before Del’vin could finish his insult, Hal deactivated his power ring and swung for the Kree’s head with his right hand. He caught Del’vin flush in the forehead and dropped him to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The thugs raised their blasters as Hal activated his shield and lashed out. An emerald bullwhip cracked through the air and knocked the blasters from their hands in one smooth arc. Three of them cried in pain and stepped backwards. But the fourth started back towards his fallen weapon. Before he could reach it, the bullwhip cracked in the air and lashed him across the face.

“Leave it,” Hal roared, rearing back with the whip again. “Or I will whip all of you within an inch of your life.”

“You’ve made a huge mistake,” Del’vin said as he got to his feet. His fine clothes were now covered in dust and dirt. “The worst goddamn mistake of your life.”

“If I had a one credit for every time I heard that,” said Hal. “Well... I'd be able to afford to dress like you. Get out of here and put some ice on that head of yours, Mr. Del’vin. It looks pretty nasty.”

Hal could see it was already bruising and swelling. Del’vin would have the symbol of the Green Lantern Corps impressed there for a while. The Kree stared daggers at him for a long moment before he turned and walked away without another word. His men followed in his wake. They left their blasters on the ground just like Hal had commanded.

“Constable Jelcs,” said Hal. “Please place our prisoner in custody.”

Jelcs nodded and pulled out a set of cuffs. The miner seemed to have sobered up some watching the drama play out. He went willingly when Jelcs slipped the compression cuffs on his wrist.

“Del’vin is the most powerful man on this planet,” said Jelcs. “Do you think it was a good idea to piss him off like that?”

“Yes,” said Hal. “When people around here see the planet’s most powerful man walking around with a GLC sigil cut into his forehead, they’ll know who did that to him and how serious they are about taming this whole damn system.”

They started back to the jail with the prisoner. The people on the street were eyeballing them as they walked. They gave them a wide berth, but Hal noticed that just as many people were looking on approvingly as those who looked on with either fear or anger.

“I don’t know,” said Jelcs. “Del’vin doesn’t like people telling him what to do. Doesn’t think the law applies to him and his company.”

“The law applies to everyone,” said Hal. “I’ve found if you apply something with enough force, it tends to stick. Some people just need a little more force than others.”

_{All The Rest Of Us}

Issue One: Departure

---

John Constantine’s room is a shithole.

Wall-to-wall, the floor is visible only in scraps, littered with garbage that feels like aggressive white noise in its hostile repetitiveness. Beer can, discarded food packet, dirty laundry, beer can, discarded food packet, dirty laundry, beer can, scrap of carpet. Foil sheet, emptied of pills. Beer can. Empty plastic bottle of six bob voddy. Beer can. Laundry. Beer can. Beer can. Beer ca-

John wakes up. His neck hurts, and he knows this is because he has no pillow, but he is inwardly angry anyway, resenting his body for being damaged by his own poor care taking. He rolls over onto his stomach, and the physical exertion makes him feel nauseous, and he reaches for a plastic carrier bag to vomit into. Nothing comes up, but John tastes bile in the back of his throat and spits thick saliva into the bag. He throws the bag away, another movement he immediately regrets, and while it lands atop one of the scarce few bits of carpet left, John tears rapidly through the closest pile of rubbish and fag-butts to find at least one smoke-able cigarette. He comes up empty, and now his hangover, a fetid miasma of migraine, nausea and muscle ache, begins to crash in waves against him, and his scorched throat begs for further lashings.

Ignoring both, or at least ignoring the ever-increasing urge to vomit, John sits up on his mattress. His duvet, thin with no sheets, falls off his torso quietly, the change in temperature barely noticeable. He splays his legs out in front of him, kicking aside empty cans and paper wrappers with his heels as he waits for the dizziness to subside. John rubs his eyes. He stands, legs cold and shaking, and then makes a quick trip to the bathroom across the hall, where the nausea overcomes him and he empties his stomach and his bladder in quick succession.

It is while John washes his hands, mouth, and face under the cold tap in the sink that he thinks of his stash. He finishes off, patting himself dry on a stained, ragged old towel that he scoops from the floor and then returns there, and crosses the hall again back to his room. His stash is hidden behind his chest of drawers, and he has to move a pile of dirty clothes before he can shift it, but when he does he can see the cracks in the wall almost instantly. He can't remember the last time he used his stash, but to his nicotine starved mind, behind that small section of pull-away wall hides John's earthly salvation: a small white box, adorned with a simple purple square.

John feverishly works his finger into the small hole carved into the wall and pulls at the section. It's stiff, but comes loose without much effort, and John quickly pushes his free hand into the compartment. His fingers find no box, but instead touch glossy paper. John seizes the object and pulls it out for inspection.

He barely glances at the old photograph before he drops it reflexively and casts his gaze away, his whole body flinching before going rigid. He is dumbfounded, all thought function seizing up and clattering to a halt. His vision swims and his heart-rate and breathing speed up involuntarily, as his surroundings seem to swell against him and push upon his skin. He places a hand on the chest of drawers to steady himself, and screws his eyes shut tight enough to hurt. His blood pounds in his ears, drowning out all other sound, and though John breathes he is asphyxiating, his chest feeling like a clockwork spring with its key being wound; tighter and tighter, twisting his innards into a tense ball that grows smaller with every turn, every gasp for air a new threat that it would burst and punch a hole clean through John's torso, killing him and letting loose every demon and insecurity, every bad thought he'd ever had, for everyone to see and point and judge and laugh and ostracize and -

And then it's over. The coil unwinds, quick but gentle, and John's breath and vision come back to him. He lets go of the drawers, his knuckles brilliant white and his hand aching, and carefully, slowly, picks up the two pill boxes that stand alone atop the unit, pulling a foil rack from each and pop-pop releasing the pills from their containers. John reads the words 'citalopram' and 'clozapine' with glazed-over eyes as he swallows the tablets dry, and then takes some deep, steady breaths as he bends down to retrieve the photograph, holding it with both hands as he stands back up.

The photo is of a young girl, center frame, water behind her and the light of the sun reflected off of it to illuminate the girl from behind, giving her an ethereal golden outline. John is almost moved to tears just looking at the picture.

Instead, he tears his eyes away from the smiling face of the girl and sets the photo down next to his pills. He looks around his room, allowing the true scope and meaning of the filth to sink in after so many days ignoring it, and then dresses himself in the least-smelly pair of jeans and top with the fewest stains. He pockets his pills, and then carefully folds and pockets the photo as well.

Downstairs, John pads quietly from the hallway to the kitchen in search of water and food. He drinks from the tap and takes a half-empty packet of digestives from the cupboard, and then makes his way to the front door. Behind him, through the hallway into the living room, he can see Thomas Constantine - a father to the letter of the law and no further - sound asleep on his worn and rotted old armchair. A can of lager has fallen from his hand and spilled across his lap and the floor. From here John can smell stale piss as well. He nervously eyes the small mound of empty cans beside Thomas, and can't help but bring to mind the cans on his bedroom floor upstairs.

John turns around. Thomas' jacket is hung beside the door and John does not hesitate to pilfer the wallet from the inside pocket and empty it of the cash within. He turns, putting a hand on the handle of the door, and hesitates only long enough for his other hand to touch a finger to the photograph of his sister in his pocket - and then he leaves.







John sits on his arse on the kerb outside of Leicester central station, staring at the creased photo of Cheryl he holds out in front of him. The cash in his father's wallet got him from Liverpool to Nottingham, and dodging the ticket man had gotten him from Nottingham to Leicester, and here he had been caught and summarily ejected when he was found unable to pay the fine, the police simply too busy to bother with a destitute fare dodger.

The sun he sits in is suddenly blocked by an approaching figure, who casts a large shadow across John as he stands watching. John looks up, squinting against the sun that shines behind the man.
"What do you want." John demands, his back bristling on habit alone. Liverpool didn't teach him to be friendly.
"You look lost."
"What's it to you, geez? Shove off."
The man chuckles, and this both irritates and disarms John.
"Thought you might need a hand."

John pauses, hesitant. This stranger's forward nature unsettles him. He is not used to kindness.
"I'm fine. Shove off." The man does not move. This annoys John. "You bored?"
"What's that photo?"
John stands up, and pockets the photo. The man is taller than John, and wider, and John is cold and hungry, but John has anger and a wild, nervous energy building inside him. John thinks he could take the man if he had to.
"None of your business." He responds, looking the stranger directly in the eyes and locking his jaw. He waits.

The man steps back, and without the sun behind his head John can see him clearly. He has a friendly face, and in his eyes is a look of genuine concern and empathy. The man holds both his hands up before putting them back in his jacket.
"Fair enough. Bad start.” He steps forward, only slightly, and extends a hand to shake. John does not take it. “Francis Chandler.”
John does not offer his name. Instead, he sits back down. Francis stays standing. After a long pause, John explains.
“I’ve come from Liverpool. Trying to get to London to visit an old friend. Cash ran out at Nottingham. Narcs caught me here. Now I’m stuck.”

Francis rubs the messy stubble of his chin and sits down next to John, taking off his flat cap.
“Well, that’s a fair bit of luck to get from Nottingham to here.” He days after a moment of deliberation. John murmurs an unenthusiastic agreement. “And I reckon you got chucked just in time too.”
John frowns and looks at Francis. He smiles, a wry little smirk that forces John to like him a little. “I’m leaving back to London today. Just escaped from a visit to my ogre of a ma. Car’s parked at the station. Saw you first, though. Lucky bugger, don’t you think?”

John stares at Francis, his face conveying all manner of emotion: incredulity; confusion; distrust; disbelief; hope. He doesn’t know how to respond, or whether he should. Most of him thinks Francis is playing a cruel joke.
“If you get your jollies being a cunt I reckon you’re done for the day with this one.” He finally says, and Francis laughs. John waits for a response, but Francis doesn’t reply. “Why?”

Francis shrugs.
“You look like you could use some help.”
“I could be about to take you for all you’re worth.”
Francis laughs again. “You’re welcome to, got fuck all anyway. I’d let you drive away with me in the boot if it got me away from my mother.”
“Why do you want to help me so bad?”

Francis stands up, John does the same. Francis stands across from John, regarding his skinny frame in the sunlight.
“I’ve got a nose for good hearts. Good people. You got an aura about you. I can tell. You just need a break.”
John could cry. Francis has compassion he hasn’t felt since...that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He clears his throat.
“I think you’re full of shit.” He pauses as Francis chuckles. “But I could do with a break.”
John extends his hand to shake. Francis takes it firmly.
“John Constantine. Nice to meet ya, Francis.”

The Bowery
12:21 AM

Tork rode in the backseat of the unmarked car while Corrigan drove and Drake rode shotgun. Drake was on her phone and currently on hold with someone at City Hall. Like them, Peter Thatcher was a city employee. Not exactly like them, Tork thought grimly. The City Planner's office might as well have been on Mars it was so far away from what they did. City Hall and his coworkers would have all the details about his employment and projects.

“I thought the planner’s office would be closed this time of night,” said Tork.

“I have a contact,” Drake said over her shoulder. “They tend to move heaven and earth when I ask. You give someone some winning lottery numbers from time to time and they go the extra mile for you-- Yeah, I’m still here.”

They left the crime scene and split up. Sister Justine and Dr. Tarr headed back to the 13th to begin research into who or what Goodewitch Young was. While the consultants did the research, the cops were… well, Tork didn’t know exactly. They pulled up across the street from a pub and got out. Corrigan put a sign on the dash marking it as a cop car to ward off any antsy tow trucks.

“Before you ask,” Corrigan said to Tork. “I know a guy and we’re meeting him here.”

“Kavanaugh’s has a reputation among certain people,” said Drake. “It wasn’t always an Irish pub. It’s one of the oldest standing buildings in Gotham. Been around since the 17th century. It's been a public house three times, a post office once, a gentleman's club -- that's 19th century gentleman get your mind out of the gutter -- once, and a crime scene fifteen times.”

“That kind of history,” said Corrigan. “That kind of residual psychic imprint. It attracts those that feed on things like that. Ghouls and ghosts and other Sighted people.”

“The Right Folk,” Drake added. “That’s what they call themselves. Occultist and magic users. They’re little more than hucksters and gypsies, though.”

Corrigan raised an eyebrow at Tork. “But what better place to cultivate a snitch?”

They crossed the street and went into the pub. To Tork it looked like the typical dive bar, same bad lighting and same sad regulars at the bar. Tork did notice a group of strange looking people at a nearby table. They looked to be dressed like hipsters with waistcoats and tophats and petticoats. But he also noticed their clothing was frayed and dirty. They gave the trio of cops a long look and huddled closely together. Tork flashed a crooked grin. He was learning a lot of strange stuff tonight, but he found it comforting that even these so-called Right Folk knew cops when they saw them and gave them a wide berth.

Corrigan and Drake walked to the bar and Tork followed behind them. The two men tending bar were both elderly, bald men in matching shirts and jeans. As they got closer Tork noticed they were identical twins. One of them saw the cops out of the corner of his eye and turned to face them. He crossed his arms and spoke with a heavily Irish brogue.

“Evenin' officers. ‘I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. What am I?’”

“A candle,” said Corrigan. “Is Craddick here?”

“Yes,” was the bartender’s reply. He turned his attention to Drake. “I shave every day, but my beard stays the same. What am I?”

“A barber,” she said. “Where is he?”

“The backroom.”

The man started to turn to Tork, but Corrigan cut him off.

“That’s all we need, thanks.”

“What was that?” Tork asked as they walked towards the back of the bar.

“That’s why you never ask a fae for anything,” said Drake. “We’re lucky the Kavanaugh Twins only barter in riddles. Some fairies trade exclusively in sacrifice.”

First witches and now fairies, thought Tork. Okay, whatever. He had to keep fighting it if he wanted to stay sane. It was all weird and completely out of his depth, but those glasses of Dr. Tarr’s proved that there was something. He was along for the ride, and thankfully his two guides seemed to know what they were doing. Or so he fucking hoped.

“So, what’s your thing?” Tork asked Corrigan.

“What’s that?”

“Your thing,” he repeated. “Drake here is obviously a psychic or something--”

“Clairvoyant-able,” said Drake. “I'm not reading palms and using a fake Jamaican accent. Please, sarge.”

“Right... she’s that. Sister Justine is some kind of exorcist, Dr. Tarr some kind of mad scientist. What’s your thing?”

“My thing?” Corrigan paused to look at Tork before shrugging. “I’m the normal one.”

They went through a door into a private drinking area. The space held tables and chair, but nobody else. Corrigan stepped forward and glanced around.

“Craddick,” he said. “We know you’re here. Come on out and talk to us. We’ve got a case and we can use your help.”

“Tell us all you know about local witches,” said Drake. “And maybe we can trade some information on certain cursed artifacts.”



Tork looked around for the owner of the voice. It reverberated around the round so it seemed there was no point of origin. It was deep and cultured, like a posh Englishman. Then it appeared in front of the three cops.

---

13th Precinct
1:02 AM

Sister Justine started down the stairs leading into the basement. The 13th was unlike every other precinct in almost every way, but the one way it was especially different was the library. Three long rows of shelving carried tomes and volumes of the written word. The musty smell of books greeted her as she walked through the rows to find what she was looking for.

Not long after joining the GCPD Sister Justine merged her own eclectic collection of books with Dr. Tarr’s. Corrigan had also amassed quite an interesting collection in his time so they stored them all down here for quick reference. Books on the occult, books on history, books on abnormal psychology, and even more abnormal practices of medicine. There was a booklet on how to o a lobotomy next to the Gospel of St. Damien, the only banned book of the Bible written by a devil-worshiper. And beside it was the book Sister Justine was looking for. The thick black binding had no words on it cover. The only labeling came on the spine. The words A Macabre History of Gothamby J. Peter Stowe were laid out in a harsh white text that was only amplified by the pitch black of the book’s cover.

She tucked the book under her arm and started back up the stairs. She passed by Dr. Tarr’s workstation. The doctor had three monitors on the surface of his table. One monitor showed grainy black and white footage of the wolf enclosure at the Gotham zoo, another monitor displayed footage of a colonoscopy in progress, and the third monitor played an episode of the sitcom Bosom Buddies at full blast. On the table before Tarr was an unfurled scroll of Latin text and a crude diagram of a person drawn beside the writing.

“The Romans apparently captured a witchcraft user in 55 BCE during Caesar’s campaign in Gaul" Tarr said as she walked by. "They tried to cut him open to see what gave him his magic… suffice to say they were unsuccessful.”

Sister Justine took a seat at her desk and cracked open the book. A Macabre History of Gotham had been printed fifty years earlier and immediately panned for being sensationalist garbage and soon fell out of print. For them the book was their Bible, the one book the taskforce relied on time and time again. That’s something the new sergeant would figure out soon enough. No doubt Corrigan and Drake were showing him all the sights of their underworld. But that was just one part of it. Their work involved as much reading as it did monster hunting. So much of what they did was tied to history.

She began to leaf through the book for anything involving witchcraft. She found the chapter on the East End Strangler, the curious case of Cyrus Gold’s murder, and…

“‘A Flight of Witchcraft: The Trial and Disappearance of Alice Young.’ Bingo.”

_{Season Three: Justice Rising}

---

_{Star City | Cemetery}



Footsteps crunching across the snow laced field interrupted the quiet of the cemetery. Oliver forced his attention away from the gravestones’ polished surfaces, suppressing a sniff and dabbing swiftly at his eyes. An older woman, bundled appropriately for the frosty temperatures made her way slowly towards him, hugging herself tight against the playful wind that tousled her greying hair. Ten paces away she halted her slow advance, removing her spectacles with a shaking hand as if she’d seen a ghost. She might as well have. Oliver was the spitting image of Robert, from the way he stood, to his ungloved hands clasped behind his back, to the flattened locks of golden hair. He even possessed the emerald eyes that sparkled mischievously despite the welling moisture the young man could not entirely repress. They stood in mutual, silent disbelief. Neither able to utter a word until the woman broke down, sinking to her knees, stuttering sobs so racked by guilt and grief that even Oliver felt his walls begin to crumble. He went to her, bringing the aging woman into an embrace that was accepted and returned in fierce abandon. Jean Loring pressed her thin face into his shoulder, shaking between the tears that stained his jacket.

“I – its not possible.” She achieved, taking several deep breaths to try and calm herself. She turned towards the gravestone, clearly labeled ‘Oliver Jonas Queen, Beloved Son’. “I didn’t believe it, I couldn’t. I thought it was some terrible prank and that I would find nothing. But when the test came back, and the notes and everything you couldn’t have known unless you were Oliver. Surely not, but it really is you, it must be. H – how? You’ve been gone for so long.” She could deny it no longer, even after the DNA tests came back positive she’d doubted, and every second of the car ride she’d contemplated turning back, calling the police against the note’s direct request and reporting the man attempting to impersonate a deceased child. The ocean claimed him all those years ago, and she moved on with her professional life. Robert Queen, his wife Moria and their son Oliver, a small but important chapter in her three-decade career. A book closed, and a conclusion signed by three empty graves. Except here stood evidence to the contrary very much alive.

“A long story Mrs. Loring.” Oliver answered once he wrestled back control over his own emotions. He maintained their embrace, partly in an unwillingness to part with a link to his childhood, and to maintain their cover. If anyone watching glanced their way, they would see only two people grieving for a departed loved one and nothing more. Jean did not hold any such concerns however, and pushed them apart, holding tight to his forearms as she looked him up and down.

“Then you can tell it to me and Joseph over dinner, he will be as thrilled as I am. You look thin Oliver; have you been eating well? I’ll have Joseph order something on the drive back.” She paused as Oliver bade her quiet, laying a finger across his lips.

“That would put you and Mr. Loring in unnecessary danger.” Oliver whispered taking the time to scan the surrounding area. He’d implored she maintain complete confidentiality in her work, and even then, he still was not certain he could trust her. Not that he suspected she would willfully betray him, but his known presence in Star City could cause any number of uncertain reactions. More than his own safety was at risk in such a scenario, and if long dead Oliver Queen returned and became center headline alongside the criminal Green Arrow, any number of intellectually inclined people would be quick to place two and two together. Fortunately, Oliver’s warning cast a sobering spell over Jean, her dark eyes widening at the implication.

“W-what? Why? Oliver you’re alive! This is good news isn’t it?” The look she gave him was pleading, and not for the first time Oliver considered how terrible his plan was, and how little he was prepared for the consequences. How long before she let slip the truth, and his father’s enemies turned their attention on the one place he’d considered himself invisible? Hiding in plain sight was what he’d been taught, but that only worked if your quarry suspects nothing.

“Do you remember what happened? What you were told about the night they – you know?” He took her hand in his wishing for all the world he could take back everything, let her continue her life in peace, without all the upset and hurt his reappearance would surely bring. But he needed Jean Loring, she was the only person he felt he could trust in his endeavors.

She nodded, her brow furrowing as she focused on news reports she’d read over a decade before. “There… There was a storm, and they said something must have damaged the emergency beacon and cut out radio communication because they never found anything, not even a piece of debris.” She shuddered at the memory, at the loss of so many friends and associates the freak accident claimed. “Forty-nine missing, including four children and some among them being of the most affluent names of the time. They called it the worst maritime disaster of the decade.” She trailed off as Oliver shook his head.

“Lies, or at least inaccurate.” He closed his eyes, wondering how much he should share, or even could without falling apart. Screams echoed in his ears, the wild cries and desperate gurgling of the slaughtered, the stench of piss and blood as men, women, and children were indiscriminately cut down one by one. He could still hear the thwack of his father’s body as it collapsed upon the crimson deck, his Hawaiian button up laid open by cruel steel that flashed in the darkness. The mask of orange and black that watched with indifference as Moria fell beside her husband, gasping out her final words, words Oliver would never hear. The mocking laughter as he and Tommy prepared to struggle for their very lives. Everything permanently carved into his mind in exquisite detail except the one thing he wished he could remember. “They will make you believe, whatever they want. Truth is a tool and a weapon, and a weakness to be exploited. Never a right. No one could ever know what they did, or who asked the deed to be done. Whether the others were also targets or mere witnesses I cannot say.”

“Oliver?” Jean whispered his name, horrified by what he was implying. “Who would do such a thing?”

She received no answer, and never would Oliver resolved. The League was a tool much like the truth. Their blades did not discriminate or hate, as his own arrows were when they flew to claim lives, indifferent to the target whether it be paint and straw or flesh and blood. No, the man responsible lived in Star City, thriving off his father’s work. His hands might be clean of any physical blood, but the stains were there, nonetheless.

“Let me worry about that Mrs. Loring.” Oliver assured her when a moment passed. “I need your help, but I don’t want you getting hurt or caught up in my battle, unnecessarily.”

The woman did not hesitate for even a moment, squeezing his hand in a show of dedication and courage. “Name it, anything Oliver. What can I do?”

Leading her over to a nearby stone bench Oliver dusted off the snow sitting Jean down before taking a seat beside her. It was a good spot. White fields stretched in every direction marked by neat rows of carven monuments to the deceased. They reclined beneath a gnarled oak as old as the cemetery itself. In the warmer months its boughs might provide shade for weary mourners, but now the branches hung barren, its only ornaments twinkling icicles and tiny snowdrifts that collected upon the twigs.

Deciding he had little time to spare Oliver began their discussion, glancing over his shoulder occasionally to ensure no one was near. The cemetery was deserted for now, but someone could easily conceal themselves behind one of the larger stones, or even the rises of the smaller berms could hold a would be. “Do you know Malcolm Merlyn?”

“Yes of course, he’s the CEO of Queen Industries – oh!” Jean raised a hand to her mouth. “That’s your company Oliver.”

He nodded. “I know, and how did Mr. Merlyn come to own and run the business?”

“I am not certain. I think the most likely path was from you to John Merlyn, your father’s Chief financial officer, and then to Malcolm. Since John was onboard during the… Well, he was unable to receive the inheritance like yourself and Malcolm would have been his next of kin... You’re not suggesting, Malcolm was responsible?” She shuddered at the thought of working for Robert’s killer, and not only that but defending him on a routine basis.

“No, I don’t think he did. Malcolm might be an opportunist, but he’s not someone who would murder his own brother on the hope the board of directors would pass control on too him. I hope. There are far more dangerous people in Star. Individuals who would not react well to my presence here and would do just about anything to see me isolated and gone. For good this time. Which is why for everyone’s safety counts on you not letting anyone know, no matter how tempting that I’ve returned. If they do find out, and someone saw us here speaking together, you know what they’ve already done, what they might do. No one can know, not even Joseph. Promise me that Mrs. Loring, please?”

“Oliver I’m so sorry.” Jean wept, her back pressing against the unforgiving wooden back of their chosen bench. “I didn’t realize, Joseph already knows, he’s waiting at the car. I was worried you might be someone else pretending to be you, I asked him to wait for a half hour, and if I didn’t come back, that he could call the police and come find me.”

Oliver flicked his hand over, checking the beat up yet reliable little watch that ticked away on his wrist. They’d been conversing for at least twenty minutes, and it was impossible to say how long Jean’s walk from her car had been. “Its alright Mrs. Loring, I should’ve realized how hard it would be to keep that from him. Its my own fault. Just swear him to secrecy as well.”

They both rose, dusting stray snow from their garments and readying themselves to depart. Jean seemed reluctant and pulled out her phone explaining as she did. “I’ll call him on my way back, so he doesn’t worry. And ensure sure he retains his silence on the matter, we’re good at keeping secrets. He’s married to a lawyer after all.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Loring.” Oliver said giving her one final hug. It’d been painful the last few weeks seeing all the links to his distant childhood, but meeting someone his father had considered a friend since his college days, and Oliver himself had known her almost as a member of the family, that’d struck a particularly sensitive chord. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this, but there was no one else who would have understood.” And I wanted to meet you and see a friendly familiar face. No matter the danger, he didn’t add. “If you can, could you recover some of the records concerning the inheritance, including my father’s final will?”

“Certainly.” Jean promised. She checked the time and grimaced. “I’ve got to hurry, Joseph’s patient but he did not approve of this meeting, said it was too crazy to be true. Frankly I partly believed him as much as I wanted it to be true, with you being so secretive he was right to worry. We had no way to contact you back, just waiting for your next note. Which begs the question, how will I find you once I’ve got the documents?”

Oliver gestured towards the triple gravestones that stood in eternal vigil over empty earth. “Leave them here, under some flowers or something. Mom will watch them until I stop by to collect.”

“I suppose she will.” Jean sighed as Oliver gave her a gentle smile and turned to leave. Reaching out she grasped his shoulder, stopping him before he could go another step. She felt a strength there and saw the determination in his eyes and knew there would be no stopping him. There would be no convincing him to bury the hatchet and forget the terrible wrong done. Nevertheless, she thought she might as well try. “Oliver, I don’t know what happened, or why, or who and I don’t think even you know for certain. Ambiguities aside if these people are so dangerous, maybe its best to let it go. We have the capability to get you on your feet, we can send you somewhere nice far from here and let you live a normal life. Please, I don’t want to attend your funeral again.”

“A normal life is impossible for me now.” Oliver took her hand and gently removed it from his shoulder. “Even if I wanted that. Star bleeds, and there are some things worth fighting for, and yes dying for if it comes to that.”

“I understand.” No, no. no! She wanted to scream, to force him to end whatever plans he was forming, and leave it all behind. Was she honoring Robert’s memory by letting him entangle himself in a struggle against cold blooded killers, or failing her old friend by letting his only son risk his life against appalling odds? After all, what could one man do against the corruption that infested Star City? She did not know, fifty years of life experience and she had nothing more insightful to impart. “Just, just promise me you’ll stay safe, alright?”

Oliver laughed despite everything, an easy grin supplanting the tears he wished to shed. “I’ll do my best, I swear.”

Leonardo sat transfixed by the television. He was laying on the front of his shell, sprawled out on the old, threadbare carpet that lay on the floor of the Den's living room. His head was resting on his hands, his elbows propped up on a pillow that had seen better days, its red, corduroy fabric faded to a dull pink. His feet kicked up and down as the scenes on the television reflected off his eyes, which were like saucers when watching his favorite show.

"Man, the old guy could totally beat down on this one," Raphael motioned towards the TV. "Picard is such a weenie. Can we go back to Kirk? At least that guy threw a karate chop now and again, even if his form was terrible."

Leonardo sighed, "Picard is a thinking man's captain, Raph. He examines and analyzes the situation before making precise decisions on how to diffuse a situation. He's a master of strategy and using the strengths of his crew to the best of their abilities."

"So he's a better leader then you then?" Raph chuckled. "Last time I checked he didn't create his worst enemy."

"Ohhhh burn!" Mikey called out, looking up from his GameBoy. He was laying over the two arms of the armchair, like a doll that had been thrown haphazardly down.

The eldest turtle ignored his brothers. He had been in his head enough about the situation with The Foot, he wasn't going to allow them to ruin one of the few things he still enjoyed without reservation. Star Trek spoke to him unlike anything he had ever found from the human world. The way they supported one another, rational thought, and didn't thin badly of those that looked different from them gave him hope that he too could work alongside humans like the aliens on the show. It was probably a childish hope, but it was something that he had to believe would be possible some day.

"Turn on the news!" Donnie's call came from his room. He flipped over the back of the couch, landing next to Raphael, knocking him aside. The red-banned Turtle elbowed his brother, who returned the favor. "Turn on the news, seriously."

Leonardo shrugged and changed the channel to one of the local channels.

On the screen, standing behind a podium set in front of the base of the Empire State building stood a tall, sharply dressed Japanese man. His jet-black hair was pulled into a traditional chonmage ponytail, displaying the sharp, keen features of his face. His strong cheekbones and dark eyes gave him a regal air. He was dressed in a slate grey suit with a striking red tie. On the front of the podium was the symbol of a red Japanese dragon.

"No way," Raph gasped.

"Please tell me I'm dreaming," Mike's game system fell to the floor.

Leonardo read the chyron, "Oroku Saki. Out in the open."

---

The cameras flashed as her grandfather stepped to the podium. He smiled slightly, an expression that was far more calculated than natural. He looked over the crowd, clearly pleased that a large crowd had amassed. As they should. It was not every day that a reclusive billionaire made his first public appearance ever. Especially when he was the latest in line of a family of billionaires.

It was a cover story the true believers of The Foot had crafted over the centuries of his disappearance, going as far as to infiltrate government agencies to forge identities and cover for shell corporations. The name of Oroku Saki had been passed down from unseen CEO to unseen CEO for decades in case The Foot had managed to revive the Shredder. Now it was finally paying off, and The Foot and near limitless resources to rebuild itself.

"Thank you for coming," Saki's voice in this setting was powerful and deliberate, like the beating of a war drum of an approaching army. "Many of you have heard the rumors, and yes, I am Oroku Saki."

A murmur rolled through the crowd and Karai smiled. They were buying it hook, line, and sinker. Good. Things always went so much easier when people believed the lies they were fed.

Saki continued, "For generations my family has been among the most successful business men in Japan, and recently, I have extended our reach globally. Up until recently, we have been content with amassing our wealth and running our business. Then, the Stryfe Incident happened, and I began to have a change of heart. I watched as New York, one of my adoptive cities, was torn apart by terrorists and madmen. I have done much soul searching, and have decided that we will no longer stand idle. Beginning immediately, I will be directing Dragon Construction's American branch towards the finishing of the Empire State rebuilding and any remaining damage from the Stryfe Incident."

Another roll of surprise went through the crowd, and Saki smiled naturally this time, "In addition, I will personally be funding all the work myself. The people of New York do not deserve to bear this burden. They have already been through so much, and I have so much to give. I truly just hope this allows the city to start to heal, and together we can move forward into the future."

The assembled media and surrounding citizens stood and cheered loudly.

---

"Wow," April mused as the news report ended and she polished off her dinner. Oroku Saki, reclusive billionaire, comes out of hiding to rebuild a broken city. It was like something out of a story or something. That would be one hell of an interview, if she could manage it.

Yea, right, April, the voice in her head laughed out loud. You're an intern for the Daily Bugle. You're never gonna get within ten feet of a guy like that.

A knock from the door came as she plopped the dirty dishes into the sink. She spun around to look at the clock, and cursed under her breath. The guy she was supposed to be tutoring was here. She had totally forgotten about that. At this point, she wondered why she kept her name in the tutor pool after she had gotten the internship. The easy answer was she had forgotten, and when they came to her with a desperate case she just couldn't say no.

Damn my bleeding heart.

She tried to clean the table as quickly as she could, giving at least the most feeble attempt at presenting an acceptable study area.

Another knock on the door, this time clearly more impatient.

"Coming!" she called out and rushed to fling open the entrance to the apartment.

There, standing on the other side, was not exactly what she expected. They told her one of the school's star hockey players needed to get his grades up ASAP or risk being kicked off the team and out of school along with it. But what stood in front of her looked like something off an old grunge album she saw in her dad's shop. He had long, black hair that hung partially in front of his face. A loose, green army-type jacket over a white t-shirt, and baggy jeans with combat boots. He stood almost a foot over April, and his build was the only thing that told her he was a hockey player. But his eyes...his eyes were a striking shade of green.

When their eyes locked, he rubbed the back of his neck with a large hand, "Hey, uh, you April? I'm Casey."

"Nice to meet you, Casey," she smiled, and felt a rush of warmth go through her face, shocking herself. He was a jock, and a grungy one at that. Not her type at all. She turned and motioned for him to take a seat at the table, shaking the feelings out of her head as soon as his back was to her, "They told me you needed help with calc one and bio one, right?"

"Uh, yea," he dropped his bag down and started filing through the books, pushing the hair out of his eyes as he did. April felt her cheeks flutter slightly again, and she focused on getting that under control. "Never been very good at the nerd stuff. Wait, I mean, ugh."

April chuckled lightly, "Relax, being a nerd is cool now, remember? It's a compliment."

"Heh, sure," he nodded. "So, I've been really strugglin' with integrals."

"Well, let's get down to business."

---

The obnoxiously bright, gleaming hallways of the Techno Cosmic Research Institute gave Agent John Bishop a headache. The place was so clean, so spotless. It was like when he went to Disneyland as a kid. Everything felt sanitized, all the sharp edges of history and fiction sanded off. It presented itself as the perfect, above board scientific research center. But Bishop knew better. There was something here that stunk. Something behind all the shining white and sanitary lab equipment.

Unfortunately, as it stood he needed their help to find the vile creatures that had invaded New York.

"Welcome back, Agent Bishop," Jordan Perry, the head of the think tank, said in his intolerably posh British accent. "I see you got my message."

"I sure hope it's worth my time on this occasion," Bishop grumbled from behind his sunglasses. The SWORD agent had been called a few times with promises of breakthroughs, only to be shown some obscure scientific process they thought would help with tracking the turtles. It had been infuriating. Bishop hated scientific types.

Perry lit up with excitement, his round spectacles nearly toppling off his rounded nose, and white hair swishing wildly, "Oh it will be. Please follow me to Doctor Stockman's lab."

Bishop followed the skinny scientist to the lift nearby. Perry swiped his security card across the reader, and an electronic, male voice announced, "Access granted. Doctor Jordan Perry."

"Thank you, Honeycutt," Perry smiled, "I'll be taking a guest down as well."

"Understood, Doctor," was the response as the lift began to head down.

Bishop eyed the elevator suspiciously, "An AI?"

Perry nodded, "The beginnings of one, yes. We haven't unlocked his full potential, but he helps keep track of the building and the goings on at TCRI. Invaluable to what we're doing here."

The lift glided silently down for quite a while, leaving Bishop to wonder just how far down the TCRI building went. As the thought crossed his mind, however, the elevator came to a stop. He stepped out into a giant lab, where large robotic arms were hard at work assembling something. In the middle of the large room was Baxter Stockman, the small, scrawny man's hands were flying over what Bishop assumed were the controls for all the machinery in the room.

"Baxter!" Perry called out. The black man looked up, his large glasses reflecting the bright light of the room. "Care to give Agent Bishop a demonstration!?"

Stockman merely waved, and the agent heard a new set of machinery whirring to life. Then, the sound of a stampede of metal feet clanging against the tiled floor. Bishop turned to find a battalion of small, bi-pedal robots staring up at him. They looked like robotic dodo birds, but with a red, cybernetic eye in the middle of their forehead. Their beaks were lined with large metal teeth, almost like a bear trap.

Perry waved over them, "Agent Bishop, allow me to present to you the Mutant Or Unidentified Sentient Eradication Robots...or MOUSERs for short. The MOUSERs have the ability to read any being's DNA and scan for abnormalities. They can then swarm and incapacitate their targets after we give them the green light. These little buggers are going to deliver you your turtles, Agent."

---

Raphael stuck his sais into his utility belt, and made sure that he had some smoke bombs in case he ran into more trouble than he would have liked. He was done waiting around while Fearless Leader and his brothers messed around and allowed the Purple Dragons and the Foot to continue staking more and more territory for themselves. Whatever the Dragons were up to, the human Casey Jones would know. He hated the gang about as much as Raphael did, and that meant Raph had to talk to him. Had to talk to someone sane.

Making his way to the exit of the Den, Leonardo called after him, "Where are you going?"

"Out," he called back trying his best to hide his anger. Leo was always questioning him. Always sure that Leo's way was the best way. "Gonna catch a movie. Need some time to decompress."

There was a theater close by that was easy for them to sneak into from the ventilation system. Sometimes it was too crowded for them to drop down into the theater, but it was still easy to watch from the vents. It was an easy cover story whenever he wanted to sneak out.

"That okay?" he added in.

"Sure," Leo shrugged. "See you in a few hours."

Raphael exited the Den, ready to find some Dragons and crack some skulls.

_{Location and Time: Hub City, Illinois - 6:02 PM}

Issue #3: Rust

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Night Driving Avenger

Stepping out of WWNN and onto the frigid streets of Hub City, I reach into my pockets to pluck a smoke in between my lips. Sparking my lighter and igniting the cigarette, I take a long drag and exhale the smoke with a heaving sigh. Ever since the transfer my work has felt more and more pointless. I once envisioned a career as a respected journalist who blew the lid off mob activities and corporate corruption in Chicago and the surrounding area, but now I'm stuck in the ass end of Illinois. No one here cares about corruption. This place is a nightmare, something out of my darkest thoughts: a world where everyone is either in on evil or willingly ignorant of it. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.

I flick the cigarette onto the sidewalk and hop into my car. I need a drive to think things over. Roscoe hasn't gotten back to me in the last few days so I've got nothing to do. Maybe I could see about patrolling the city, finding crimes in progress and foiling them. The way Hub City is, though, that wouldn't be too hard to do; can't take two steps without some local undesirable trying to rob you or kill you or rape you. If you're lucky, he'll try to do all three.

It only takes a couple of minutes of driving around slowly before I spy a young man holding a middle aged guy at gunpoint at the mouth of an alleyway. I park my car a block away and get out, not bothering to put on my mask. This is too small for me to need it. As I near the alley I hear the two of them speaking. "It's your money or your life, old man! I don't wanna kill you but I will!" the robber yells.

The other man snorts. "Please. You don't have the balls to shoot me." I almost laugh hearing that. This guy's either stupid as hell or confident as hell. Let's hope it's the latter.

"What did you just say to me you stupid fuck?" the kid shouts. I round the corner now, and see him pressing the barrel of the gun against the middle aged man's face.

"Didn't you hear him?" I say. The middle aged man's eyes glide towards me while the robber turns his whole body to face me. "He said you haven't got the balls."

"Who the fuck are you?" He levels the gun at me and I stare down the barrel. "I'll kill you too, man! Don't fuck with me!"

I catch a look in the old man's eyes that tell me he's about to do something stupid. I decide to back his play. "Come on, you pansy. I haven't got all night. Make it fast." I step forward slowly...

The old man makes his move, grabbing the robber's gun arm and yanking it upwards. He fires the gun, the shot piercing the quiet evening and flying high up into the clouds. I run forward and leap into a dropkick that lands square on the robber's chest. He and I fall to the ground in sync as the older man lets go of the robber's gun arm. His pistol goes flying down the alley and under a dumpster.

I grunt as I pick myself up, dusting myself off. I rub my hip with a wince, taking that awful landing into account. Maybe I should forgo dropkicks in the future. "Shit, that hurts..."

"Not as much as it hurt him," the old man chuckles, glancing at his would-be mugger as he rolls around on the ground in pain. He turns to me and extends a hand. "Aristotle Rodor. Friends call me Tot. Thanks for the help there, mister, uh..."

I take his hand and shake it firmly. "Sage. Victor Sage. Not a problem."

He gives a hum in agreement. Looking down at the robber who's still writhing about and groaning in pain, Rodor gives him a quick kick to the ribs and then begins to walk away. "Nice meeting you Vic, but I really ought to get going. Got a long walk ahead of me."

"Where are you heading, Rodor? I could probably give you a lift."

He stops and considers it. As if figuring "what the hell" he shrugs and nods. "Sure, if you're willing. I live outside of town, near the rail yard."

"Can't imagine living down there being very good for your sleep. All the noise and whatnot," I remark, gesturing for Rodor to follow me to my car.

"You get used to it."

I get into the driver's seat of my VW as Rodor hops into the passenger's seat. I pull another smoke out from my pack and light it up, taking a long drag. Rodor winces and rolls down his window. "Not a fan of smoking?" I ask, rolling mine down as well.

"Of course not. It kills, you know."

"As I've been told many times in my life."

With a purr the engine comes to life and I begin driving Rodor home.

Steve looked down at Charles Xavier with amazement, "The government let's you have this?"

In front of them, in a subterranean hangar below the school, sat an SR-71 Blackbird, a spy plane used the the US government. Steve had never seen one up close, but had read about them when he came out of the ice and Fury was trying to catch him up with modern military equipment of the modern age. The plane held the airspeed record to this day, and from the looks of this one, it's had heavy modifications. New, experimental looking jets had replaced the Lockheed engines, and the cabin looked like it had been enlarged slightly.

"What they don't know won't hurt them, Steven," Charles winked. "We needed a quick response vehicle when we found a mutant in need. This just happened to fall into our laps. And our Dr. McCoy has managed to upgrade it quite a bit. I think you're going to enjoy your trip."

Looking up from the wheelchair bound man, Steve saw Rogue on the ramp into the craft. She turned back to him, smiling, "Steve, can you believe this!?"

He chuckled and waved. At least she seemed to be in better spirits now. He had worried that she'd resent him forever for dropping her off here. But the idea of giving her last caretakers closure seemed to have given her at least a somewhat positive outlook on the whole thing.

"Don't be so sure of yourself, Steven," Xavier warned.

"I thought you didn't read minds without permission?" Rogers looked at the older man out of the corner of his eye.

"When one's thoughts are as powerful as yours, my friend," Charles laughed, "one cannot help one's self. The girl as well. She may agree to stay here, but she will not be happy about it. She wants to go with you."

"You know she can't," Steve shook his head. "Where I'm going, what I have to do, it's no place for a kid."

"I would prefer her to stay here, yes," Xavier agreed. "But I've found it's difficult to keep someone where they do not want to be."

Before Rogers could respond, the engines of the Blackbird began to fire up, and Scott Summers's voice came over the comms system, "Steve, we're about ready. Please board the jet."

Nomad nodded to the man known as Professor X, and made his way up the ramp as well. The inside of the Blackbird was just as impressive as the outside. On his way up to the front, he passed a small, field infirmary, a small galley, and a few bunk-bed-style cots for away missions. It was a veritable home away from home for Xavier's away teams. Rogers felt a pang of jealousy. Since his ouster from SHIELD and leaving Montana to rejoin "the life", he and Scout didn't have a home. Something like this wasn't the same, of course, but it would be better than living in the truck and roadside motels.

He patted Rogue on the shoulder as he made his way up to Summers's side, "Need a copilot?"

"Nope," Cyclops shook his head. "Hank's got this thing almost completely automated. You can sit wherever."

The disappointment welled up in Steve's stomach. It had been a while since he had flown anything, and was hoping he'd get the chance. But Summers seemed to be no nonsense when it came to the plane, so Rogers went back and sat next to Rogue.

"And people say I'm a stick in the mud," he said to her discretely.

"Oh, you are," she responded casually as she peered out the window, ready for take off. "Just cuz someone's worse than you don't make you any more fun, Steve."

"Thanks, Rogue," he laid his head back in the seat. "Thanks a lot."

The engines of the Blackbird began to whir even louder, and Steve felt the pressure of the sudden burst of speed press him into the seat. The acceleration was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and a broad, giddy smile was painted across his face as the aircraft sped through the underground tunnel and out into the setting sun.

He looked over the Rogue, and found her hands gripping her arm rests firmly. Leaning over, he asked, "First time flying, huh?"

"Uh, yea," she nodded, looking back and forth from the ground disappearing beneath them and back to him. "We're like, not gonna fall out of the sky or anything, right?"

He laughed reassuringly, "No. We'll be fine. You have a better chance getting in a car accident. Or getting struck by lightning. Just relax, and we'll be there before you know it."

"Okay...but if we die, I'm gonna kill you," she mumbled, staring out into the cool, clear air.

---

The Blackbird came down in the swamps outside of Gulfport, Mississippi, and Rogue finally let go of her arm rests. She was pretty sure that she had left marks on them, but she also figured Chuck had enough money to replace them. The plane's incredible vertical landing capabilities, which Cyclops explained their scientist had added, let them land silently in the night. She couldn't say she loved flying, but did have to admit it beat how long it would have taken to get here in the truck.

The three of them stepped out of the plane into the close, humid Mississippi air. This was one thing she definitely did not miss. Well, she didn't really miss anything about Mississippi. But the humidity, the humidity was the worst.

Cyclops pressed a button on his wrist and two motorcycles dropped out of the bottom of the plane. He motioned his head towards them, "You know how to ride, Steve?"

"Damn straight," Nomad nodded, fitting his shield on his back. He felt weird without a suit on as well. He didn't have one anymore. Just his old masked helmet. He'd have to get a new one. "I had one I loved during the war. Designed by Stark. Ton of fun. Lots of toys."

"Good," Scott nodded. "The orphanage is a few miles from here."

The ride over was quick, and surprisingly quiet. Rogue figured the motorcycles were electric, impressing her even more. Xavier had a lot going for him, even if she had no interest in stay at that house.

But if she was going to do that, she at least had to purge her memories of this place. She needed closure on this part of her life, and had to at least make sure everyone else at the orphanage knew she was alive. For all she knew they thought she had been abducted and killed. She didn't want that on anyone's conscience.

Pulling up to the gate of the orphanage, however, told Rogue that things weren't going to be that easy. The old, white building looked the same on the outside as it always had. A big white box in the middle with rectangular wings on each side, the black framed windows made the building look like a prison. The manicured lawns out front and the playground were deserted, as they always would be at this time of night, but the darkness and the swings swaying lightly in the wind gave it a creepy vibe that was hard to deny.

"Should there be no lights on in there?" Summers was skeptical. "Nine seems a little early for complete lights out."

"No," she confirmed, "there should definitely be lights on at this time."

They pushed through the gate and went into the building. The reception area brought back painful memories. She came here after she found out her parents died. There was no one else to take her. It wasn't that she loved her parents much. If they loved her they rarely showed as much. But knowing that she was all alone in the world still sucked big time. It didn't help that every other kid in the place was as miserable as she was. They were all fine, and it was nice to have people to talk to, but none of them ever considered each other friends.

"Girls were to the left," she explained to the two men. "Boys to the right."

"I'll check the boys dorm, then," Summers nodded. "I'll radio if I find anything."

"Be careful," Steve responded, taking the shield off his back.

"Don't worry," Scott tapped the side of the visor he had put on before they left the plane, "I can take care of myself."

Steve made his way through the door of the girls dormitory, and she followed close behind. He looked back at her, making sure he had her covered. For all his bluster about not wanting her around, he sure did a good job making sure nothing happened to her.

The hallways were as she had remembered them. Peeling, white paint on the floors and old linoleum flooring in a horrid green and blue checkerboard pattern. It was like something out of an eighties horror movie, when she thought about it. How they never realized that this was not the best look to cheer kids up was beyond her.

But the quiet was still so disturbing. It was like everyone in the place up and disappeared overnight. What the hell was going on here?

"There's my room," she motioned to Room 107.

Steve acknowledged, "Better check it out."

"I dunno...this is weird, Steve," her nerves were evident. "This feels like a trap."

"I know," he smiled back at her. "But we've already come inside. If something is waiting for us, we're not getting out of here without running into it."

Her eyes narrowed at him, "That makes a disturbing amount of sense."

"I have been doing this for like eighty years," Rogers winked.

The super soldier approached the door, smashing it in with his shield before rolling back. But nothing happened. He motioned, and the two of them stepped into her room. She was surprised to see that it was still full of her meager belongings. It still smelled of disappointment to her. Rogue guessed that she should probably gather up the clothes that were here. She barely had more than three outfits since being on the run. But she could't bring herself to do so. This was stuff from her old life. Before she was taken.

Turning, she found Rogers looking puzzled, "What is it, Steve?"

"Hm? Nothing. Nothing," he shook his head.

"You're a bad liar," Rogue rolled her eyes.

"We'll talk about it later, but it's just-"

"Steve, Rogue," Scott's voice came over the comms, "you're gonna want to see this."

---

As they made their way towards Scott's position, the oddity of everything about this place was driving Steve bonkers. There was absolutely no evidence of foul play in Rogue's room. In fact it looked as if it had been abandoned. If she had been abducted, there would have been some signs of struggle, or at the very least evidence of an investigation. But there was none. In fact, this entire facility looked like it was decades out of date.

Some dated facilities in an orphanage made sense, especially in Mississippi, but this place looked like it hadn't been updated since Steve went into the ice. Everything about it felt fishy, but what it all meant was still lost on him.

One thing he was sure of, though, was that there were no kids left here. And whoever Rogue had come back to talk to knew she was gone and never coming back. Steve was sure the entire operation was a part of whatever conspiracy had sent the girl to Montana in the first place. The thought of them using an innocent girl like that, tricking her into thinking she was somewhere relatively safe before pulling the rug from under her, had righteous anger bubbling up inside him.

When they reached Cyclops's position, Steve was nearly knocked over by the smell. It was like being at the zoo and falling face first into the monkey cage.

"Yea, wonderful, isn't it?" Summers gagged. "I dunno what this is...but it looks like a nest."

It was a good observation. The walls between the hallway and the rooms in this corner of the building had been clawed, almost chewed through, making passages between rooms. But they all led to the room furthest from the center of the building. The plywood and plaster chewed away had been formed into some sort of mound in that room, like some kind of giant cocoon.

"Ugh," Rogue herself gagged, "that is rank."

Before Steve could agree, a flurry of movement behind them drew his attention. He pushed the other two aside and raised his shield in the nick of time. A blur of fur slammed into the shield, driving Steve back into the wall. He dropped the shield slightly to attempt to get a look at the attacker, but had to raise it up quickly to defend himself against a swipe from a clawed hand. The long nails screeched along the vibranium shield. The creature's attack was unrelenting, and it was all Steve could do to keep it at bay.

A red flash of light emanated from beside Steve, and the creature was blasted back, through the outside wall of the orphanage. Nomad dropped the shield to see the concussive beam cease from Cyclops's visor. He spun and looked out the hole in the wall.

Outside, the creature had gotten back to its feet. It stood around five and a half feet. It had ripped, green pants on, but no shirt or shoes. Instead, fur covered its body and feel, both hands and feet featuring clawed appendages. In the pale light, its head had pointed ears and beady red eyes. Behind it, a pink, hairless tail swayed. It looked at the three intruders and hissed, before running towards the street. It smashed into a moving car, knocking it sideways. The creature, seemingly unharmed, made its way for the city.



"Was that...?' Summers started.

"That was a friggin' rat boy," Rogue was a shocked as the rest.

"You two, go back to the Blackbird," Steve affixed his shield to his back once again. "When that thing is incapacitated I'll circle back to you. Scott, you can't be wrapped up in this. And Rogue, you can't either."

Whatever that thing was, it was left here as a trap for Rogue and whoever brought her back. Steve was going to find out why, and then he was going to find whoever was responsible for all this nightmare and put a stop to it.

---

"He's here," the man on the roof of the building across from the orphanage said into the comms. "Must have scared the shit out of Vermin. The rat ran into the city, just like you predicted. Rogers is giving chase. Got the pictures you wanted."

"Good," the voice on the other side, thick with a German accent, responded. "Let them tear apart that American backwater for a time. Then call Vermin home, and destroy the orphanage."

"That won't kill Rogers," the man in Mississippi scoffed. "He's too good for that."

"More than likely," the German responded. "But sometimes, as you Americans say, it is better to be lucky than good."

_{Stark Mansion, Malibu, California - Present Day}

Issue 1.01.02: All or Nothing at All

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Issue 1.01.01: The Wee Small Hours of the Morning

The sound of sparks flying off welded steel filled the Armory in the basement, mixing well with the beats of AC/DC blaring in the background. Sweat was practically pouring through his black t-shirt, causing it to cling around the frame of the arc reactor emerging from the center of his chest. But the inventor took a step back to admire his work. The red and gold device sitting on the workbench seemed like a seamless metal briefcase. Suddenly, the music was cut short as a familiarly calm voice washed over the Armory. "Sir, Miss Potts is here to see you."

Stark sighed and lifted up the visor of his welding mask, taking a moment to acknowledge his drenched shirt just long enough to begin panicking. He ripped off his shirt and mask, tossing them aside so he could grab a towel to begin mopping up the lake of sweat attached to his skin from the combined lack of proper filtration and the welding. "Tell Pepper I'll be there in a minute."

"There's a slight problem with that, sir."

Just as Tony had managed to throw a graphic t-shirt on, a rapid knocking emanated from the glass door behind him. A woman with straight red hair wrapped up into a ponytail and wearing a white pantsuit was leaning to her right side with her arms folded, giving Stark Unlimited's Founder and CEO a glare that he was all too familiar with. Tony shook his head, forcing an awkward smile. "Why did you let her in?"

"She's still your emergency contact and on the permanent guest list, sir."

"Take her name off!" Tony continued his awkward smile while barking the order through grit teeth as he rushed towards the door, opening it to let the already irritated Pepper into the Armory. "Pepper, what brings-"

"Business." She walked right past Tony and out into the open floor space at the center of the Armory, her eyes seeming to examine in a mere moment all the tools, components, prototypes, and suits that were scattered or displayed throughout the place. "I see you haven't changed a bit."

Tony lifted his hand and opened his mouth to speak, only to fall slack as soon as Pepper's eyes met his again. It took him only a moment to shake off the nervousness he felt to mutter out a few words. "You look... great..."

Pepper rolled her eyes, readjusting the work bag on her shoulder. "Thank you. Can we just cut the small talk? I'm only here because you're ignoring my calls."

Tony raised an eyebrow for a moment, before walking past Pepper to the counter along the far wall. He picked up his phone, and shook his head a little at the information overload. The first realization is that Tony had been in the Armory for twenty seven hours, having only eaten whatever leftovers he had in the minifridge in the back and sleeping on the futon shoved in the corner like he was a freshman in college all over again. The second, of course, were the seven missed calls from Pepper over that period of time. The inventor turned on his heels to face his ex, the same old surprised and sarcastic look on his face that made her blood boil. "In my defense, I've been working."

"I noticed. What is it this time?"

Tony once again found that words wouldn't come from his lips as he was speechless under Pepper's cold gaze. Stark picked up a wrench lying on a bench next to him, tapping it against his hand nervously for a moment. "Just a... security breach. Trying to figure out who did it."

Pepper nodded, folding her arms once again and giving her foot a subconscious tap for a moment. "Well... do you think you'll be free in time for the Stark Next Conference? We... well, I was hoping you'd be the keynote speaker."

Tony tossed the wrench aside and scratched his goatee, his brow furrowing for a moment. "I thought you didn't want me around any Stark Industries events?"

"I want you at this one."

"Why?"

Pepper's grip around her own forearms tightened as she closed her eyes, her voice tightening up. "It's your name on the conference, Tony." Her grip and throat relaxed as she opened her eyes, her cold gaze replaced instead with a pleading look. "I might not like you getting in the suit of armor, but people still look up to you. A hero's endorsement would mean a lot. The biggest hospital networks are coming in for this conference, and we need them to know that we know what we're talking about when it comes to robotics."

Tony couldn't bear to look Pepper in the eye, his gaze instead intensifying on a small crack in the concrete a few inches from her feet. The spot in the Armory where he had first tested the Mark II. After a deep breath, he nodded. "Yeah, I'll be there."

Pepper too nodded in response, and the two stood there motionless for a moment. As the first female CEO of Stark Industries turned to walk back towards the glass staircase and leave, a million thoughts shot through Tony's mind. A year of unspoken thoughts and feelings. Thoughts that remained unspoken as Pepper left and Tony silently went back to inspecting his work.

Frank Castle grunted as he twisted his body and threw his right arm forward. The large saucer he loosed sailed forward before colliding with a wooden backboard a dozen meters away. The marine grit his teeth and cursed under his breath the moment it struck a solid two meters from his target.

A gravelly voice barked out, "again!"

Frank cast a glance over his shoulder towards the voice's owner. At nearly six foot five inches, Major George Washington Bridge was an imposing figure. Although his dark skin was beginning to show telltale signs of aging and his stomach was more pronounced, straining slightly against his fitted dress uniform, Bridge carried with him an air of intensity. A passerby witnessing the major's actions might ascribe to him the cliched no-nonsense, overly strict stereotype so often played out in Hollywood films. But Frank knew better.

Two months after having met the man, Frank understood that G.W. Bridge was far from the stereotype. Sure, he was gruff and loud. And, yes, Bridge wasn't one to tolerate the blatant ignorance of others. But the major was also a man who appreciated fun. Though, not in the wise-cracking, goofing around sense. No, Bridge found his amusement elsewhere. As was evident by the wolfish grin playing across his lips as he watched Sargeant Castle square his shoulders, recollect himself, and prepare to reattempt the maneuver.

For nearly the five hundredth time that day, Frank regathered and threw the metal saucer at the silhouetted target. And for nearly the ten-thousandth time that week, the saucer went wide and clattered to the ground.

Bridge's grin didn't falter, though. It hadn't disappeared since earlier that day when he first arrived at the facility to observe the progress of the candidates. He had taken the time to watch each of the dozen possible choices, men recruited from the elite of military and federal organizations, the best their country had to offer. Only intending to have stayed on-site for a couple of hours, Bridge had alotted about ten minutes of observation for each candidate. The twelve men were to spend the better part of two months training in how to properly wield and throw a replica shield, testing their accuracy with the object made famous by the former Captain America.

Of them, Bridge had witnessed a handful fail so miserably that he was sure they'd be washed out by the end of the month. Those who did manage to hurl the disc with any degree of skill all inevitably came short of their mark. And like watching a video on repeat, each of those who did wound up lashing out verbally or physically, letting their frustration best them as they tossed the shield away in anger or grew short with their discus instructors. All but one, that is.

Castle was the last on the major's observation list and the only one Bridge found himself partial to. The marine failed, of course, like everyone else. Over and over the man blundered and floundered in his attempts to strike the intended target. And Frank certainly was frustrated, the myriad of choice words the sergeant spewed from his mouth for the last several hours was no small thing. But, as G.W. Bridge was interested to note, Castle's frustrations were directed inwards. Among all of his colorful curses not one was directed at anyone but Frank. And when all other candidates had reached the end of the scheduled training day, Frank alone had stayed behind to continue practicing.

The sheer tenacity of Frank Castle brought G.W. more amusement than he had felt in months. Watching the marine carry on without hesitation, fueled by pure determination, had caused Bridge to stay for several hours past his intent. Of all the candidates he had personally recruited, this was the one the major felt was best suited for the role.

"Again," he called out once more. That wolfish grin continuing as he watched Frank Castle persevere, taking the frustration at both his shortcomings and the major's orders and using it to drive him further.

Willpower, Bridge mused. The man's got it in spades.

---

Castle fell quickly.

It took just four seconds for a man to reach the ground after dropping from a height of eighty meters. Though, from Frank's perspective, it appeared more like the ground was reaching up for him, eagerly pulling him down into a dangerously solid embrace.

In those four seconds, he had more than enough time to doubt whether or not this would work. To consider the possibilities of failure. To pray that this went as well as it had during the field tests - despite those tests having been performed at less than half the drop distance.

But in those four seconds, Frank had just one thought: eight ball, corner pocket.

He landed hard. His knees bent slightly just before boots contacted pavement. The impact that should have broken numerous bones if not outright killed him seemed to have little effect as he pushed forward, using his considerable momentum to rebound forward in a mighty leap. His right arm was already in the process of reaching behind his back. Gloved fingers grasped onto a loop as he pulled a metal saucer free from its hold. Before he had even touched back onto the street, the red and white shield launched forward in a well-rehearsed toss. The spinning disc arced slightly to the left as it made contact with its intended target in the same instant boots once more touched down on the pavement.

The shield clattered to the ground lightly, belying its heavily metallic appearance. It was followed shortly by the now unconscious form of a man in militaristic fatigues and body armor crumpling to the street. The black helmet the man had worn sporting a not insignificant dent along the left temple.

"Damn, Cap. Nice throw." A voice said through Frank's earpiece. "And to think I almost made a bet with Shelly that you'd miss."

Frank ignored the comment. Instead, he flexed and tensed his right arm and fist respectively. The shield twitched slightly on the ground before suddenly flipping over and flying the fifteen meters back to him. The specially designed magnetic strip along his gauntlet recalling the object to him. He effortlessly caught it and slotted the shield back onto the similarly designed magnetic holster situated at his mid-back.

"Hey, tell me, Cap. Were you shitting yourself at all on the way down? C'mon, you can tell me. I'll erase the records, no one else will hear." The voice continued. "You just jumped two hundred and fifty freaking feet without a parachute. Okay, I mean, I guess one could argue you have a parachute of sorts, we all knew the suit would protect you, but still! That would have earned me a change of shorts had I been the one."

"Cut the chatter, Leiberman." Castle finally said. "You're meant to be on overwatch, not providing color commentary."

The suit Leiberman mentioned was, like the strips enabling him to retrieve the shield, one of several improvements made over the previous Captain America's gear. Unlike his predecessor, the jarhead was not boasting near-superhuman abilities. So, to compensate and allow Castle to go toe-to-toe in the field with those who were possessed of such traits, the engineers at DARPA had heavily modified the suit.

Like the shield, it utilized a precious material known as vibranium which is capable of absorbing kinetic energy and either dispersing it harmlessly or redirecting it in beneficial manners. While the shield was a blend of this unique alloy and steel, the suit sported a nano weave of vibranium with traditional kevlar. This, along with joint braces for improved support, provided not only a considerable defensive boost compared to pure kevlar, but also allowed Frank in his new role as Captain America to perform a multitude of incredible feats without any major risk of injury.

Furthermore, any absorbed kinetic energy could be immediately utilized, in the scant seconds before dissipation, to enhance physical performance. The suit was so well designed that even the kinetic energy generated upon the soles of his boots from running or jumping could be redirected, dramatically increasing his speed with nearly zero effort.

All-in-all, the suit was an incredible marvel of engineering. Frank had little doubt that in it he wasn't virtually identical to his predecessor in every physical way.

"Right, right. On it," David Leiberman responded.

There was a brief moment before he chimed back in, "alright, infrared shows you're clear on the outside. Looks like there was just the one guard on lookout. Pretty shitty job of a lookout, though. I've got a bunch of signatures on the first floor. About two dozen of those are huddled in the Northeast corner furthest from the entrance, so their proximity makes it a little difficult to determine exactly how many hostages. Looks to be two more mercenaries guarding them, though."

"You sure about that?" Frank asked as he finished disarming the subdued mercenary, zip-tying their hands together. "The mission briefing showed this crew to be highly skilled and very smart. Posting a single lookout on the outside of the building screams the opposite."

"I'm just telling you what I'm seeing on the scans, Cap. There are no other heat signatures on the immediate outskirts of the premises aside from yourself," Leiberman added. "Definitely not any gun-toting bogies. Bogies? No, wait. I know this. Tangos? Tangos."

Frank sighed internally. Civilians. Putting a civilian contractor in a crucial role for field missions was a disaster waiting to happen as far as he was concerned. Major Bridge, however, had overruled him on the matter.

The captain predicted it wouldn't be the last time Leiberman would get on his nerves.

"Any other targets on the first floor?" Frank asked as he readied himself for entry.

"Negatory, Cap. I do make out four others but they appear to all be in the basement," responded Leiberman. "You're good to go here. Breach... or whatever it is you do."

Castle tuned out the voice in his ear as he focused on the mission at hand. Cautiously, he opened the glass door and stepped into the lobby of the Roxxon Energy Corporation's research facility.

100 Years since the Dawn of Man // Jotunheim

Odin feared for his brothers, Vili and Ve. Together the three of them had fought many battles, against Ymir and his race of Giants before the birth of the Aesir. Yet this was no battle that they now faced, this was war. He raised his trusty weapon Gugnir, thrusting the tip towards a Jotun. As the tip of the spear made contact he pushed harder as the blade worked to pierce the skin. Pulling back once the blade slid deeper into the giant cutting into the heart of the beast. Pulling it out he spun the spear around in one hand, slicing through he throats of several Jotuns who sought to sneak up behind him. He shouted as a beam of solid light spat forth from the end of the spear, lancing several Jotuns that stood farther away. Using the powers granted to him from his father Bor, and the rewards from the battle with Ymir. Composing himself he walked with a purpose to where he could sense the great magical energies coming from within a nearby structure. If you could call it as such.

He paused as he looked up with a trio of Jotuns jumping down towards him. The blade Skofnung appeared as if out of nowhere, lancing through the air and piercing straight through the one on the left. While from his left he saw his youngest brother Ve jump and gave a minor cut with his blade Dainslief. The Jotun grinned at Ve thinking the Asgardian failed before all life disappeared from the Jotuns eyes. Odin stood, head bowed with the tip of his spear pointed into the air, with no support the final Jotun landed on the spear, sliding down it. Throwing the dead body to the side Odin nodded at his two brothers. "ᚡᛁᛚᛁ, ᚡᛖ, ᛁ ᛒᛖᛏᚺᛟᚢᚷᚺᛏ ᚠᚨᛏᚺ'ᚱ ᚹᛟᚢᛚᛞᛋᛏ ᚺᚨᛋ'ᛏ ᚺᚨᛏᚺ ᛋᛖᚾᛏ ᛏᚺᛖᛖ ᛖᛚᛋᛖᚺᚹ'ᚱᛖ*"

Odin turned to his brother Vili as he recalled his sword to his hand, wiping the blood off it on the tunic of a dead Jotun. "ᛏᚺᛖ ᚨᛚᛚ-ᚠᚨᛏᚺ'ᚱ ᛁᚾᛋᛁᛋᛏ'ᛞ ᚤᛟᚾᛞ ᛏᚺᛖᛖ ᚹᛟᚢᛚᛞᛋᛏ ᚾᛖᛖᛞᛖᛏᚺ ᛗ'ᚱᛖ ᚺᛟᛚᛈ ᛏᚺᚨᚾ ᛏᚺᚨᛏ ᚷᛖᚾᛏ, ᛏᚺᚨᛏ ᚷᛖᚾᛏ ᛁᛋ ᛈᚢᛋᚺᛁᚾᚷ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛃᛟᛏᚢᚾᛋ ᛒᚨᚲᚴᛖᛏᚺ. ᛏᚺᛖᛁᚱ ᛟᚾᛚᚤ ᛞᛖᛋᛁᚱᛖ ᚹᚺᚨᛏᛖᚡ'ᚱ ᛋ'ᚱᚲ'ᚱᚤ ᛖᚾᛞᚢᛖᛋ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛒᛁᛏᛏᛖᚱ ᚲᛟᛚᛞ ᚹᛁᚾᛞᛋ*"

"ᛏᚺᛖᚾ ᚨᛚᛚᛟᚹᛖᛏᚺ ᚢᛋ ᛗᚨᚴᛖᛏᚺ ᛋᚺ'ᚱᛏ ᚹ'ᚱᚴ ᛟᚠ ᛏ" The two other brothers nodded their agreement.

"ᚨᚤᛖ""ᚨᚤᛖ"

The three ran forward into the building as the doors opened and a group of giants ran forth in a bid to rush them. The brothers aiming their weapons at their foes as they continued to charge, Vili threw the blade Skofnung, the blade finding a target before returning to his hand. As ve rolled he focused on getting the smallest off wounds on the Jotuns as they charged, the magical blade killing them no matter how small the wound appeared to be. As Vili and Ve engaged the Jotuns that remained close, several of the frost giants started throwing large chunks of ice from the door. Odin stood back, firing beams of energy from Gugnir shattering the ice into a million harmless pieces.

---

Present Day // Nidavellir

Thor dodged to the left as Beta Ray Bill charged him. "Stay your hand fool!" He swung the hammer in his right hand around his torso aiming for the back of the alien creature. Tempering his blow so that he didn't break his back. Bill let loose a gasp of air as Mjolnir made contact, knocking the wind out of him. Though he was soon turning back around, grasping Thor's right wrist. Using the speed and strength of the quick attack Bill forced the butt of Mjolnir into Thor's face, he stumbled slightly. The alien warrior capitalizing on the attack pushing him into his back.

Thor brought his left hand up, aiming for the gut off Bill as the warriors free hand clasped around his throat. Bill straddled Thor, using his weight to keep the Asgardian pinned to the ground. The beasts left hand kept Mjolnir pinned while his right tried to choke the life out of Thor. There was a crunching sound as Thor landed blow after blow on the beast's gut, though the alien's grip did not lessen. If Beta-Ray-Bill had his way this would truly be a fight to the death. Thor could imagine no more honorable end.

His hand tightening around Mjolnir there was a slight flash as it started to call energy towards itself using its magics. In a bid to break his concentration the gigantic skull of the alien came crashing down on Thor's face. Seeing stars Thor dropped Mjolnir. As his vision straightened itself Thor roared into the face of the beast, spinning his right hand up he grabbed the beast by the nape of his neck and ripped him off. Tossing him aside. "You wish for a glorious death? THEN SO BE IT!"

Running towards the beast Thor left Mjolnir where it lay, he had fought in a thousand battles and needed no help to finish this fiend. He had been holding back so far, trying to reason with the beast. Obviously, it could not be reasoned with, and only understood a show of strength and he had that in spades. Pushing himself into the air with his left foot, aiming in a bid to come crashing down with his left fist first the beast twisted and rolled at the last second. A clang reverberating down the hall as Thor's fist made contact with the floor of the hallway. The metal caving to the pressure. Using the momentum he pushed himself into a roll, right fist groin level as it collided with the beast. He could see a wince of pain on Bills face, and a coy grin crossed the God of Thunders face. The beast could feel pain. Using his left hand to push him too his feet Thor rushed the beast with his shoulders bent down in a tackle.

As he collided with him he pulled his arms together around Beta Ray Bills back, pulling him over his back and headfirst into the ground. Twisting and capitalizing on the movement, Thor lay atop Bill. One hand grasping the monster's throat, the other pounding down against his thick skull. [color=0076a3]"You wish to join your people in Valhalla?" The beast's hands pushed, clawed, pounded at Thor. Though all he saw was red. His punches eliciting blood from the beast, warming, bruising and breaking the creature's face. Thor would be the victor, he would fight against the destiny of whatever threat was predicted to come this way and he would prove himself victorious.

As the beast went limp beneath him, Thor suddenly felt thrown back against a nearby wall. A green light flashed as the figure of Loki appeared. "Thor! That is enough." A look of anger was on his elder brother's face, though also an element of fear as the God of Mischief leaned down to inspect the body of the alien. Beta-Ray-Bill gasped, as air re-entered its lungs. It's breathing ragged and hard, much like Thors own.

Thor could feel the blood pounding in his ears, as it calmed he slowly regained his senses. "Brother I..."

"Save it for Odin." Loki waved a hand and Beta-Ray-Bill disappeared in green light.

"Wait, was this all a trick? Did you fabricate him?" Loki looked at his younger brother with a scowl, that when Thor was younger would have easily have silenced the young God. Instead, it just made his blood boil more. His elder brother had a knack for politics, but he had always been a trickster. Was this just another one of his games?

"Don't be a fool Thor. I have merely used my magic to help me take him back to Asgard, where he will be healed and interrogated. After all, I doubt you have discovered much of the threat here."

"The beast attacked me-"

"-and instead of talking him down, or subduing him you decided to beat him to death. A mortal who may very well be the last of his people." Loki interrupted, the ire obvious in his voice.

"I tried to reason with him, but he would not hear it. The beast only saw rage, a lust for battle and a warriors death or to kill all those who stood in its path to revenge."

Loki scoffed. "So you judged it your place to be the one to grant him death? You are a fool Thor, goaded by your pride, fear of the Aesir and people of Asgard knowing that the mighty Thor struggled to fight a mortal in unarmed combat. Do not try to veil your actions as noble, you are as cruel as you are vain. Let us return to Asgard, we can discuss this matter more when not surrounded by the dead. " Thor outstretched his hand, still seething with rage. Calling Mjolnir to his hand the hammer moved only slightly. Turning all his attention too it the hammer finally came to his hand. He saw the faintest of smirks on Loki's face. "Trouble getting it up brother?"

Instead of justifying him with an answer Thor raised the hammer in the air. "Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!

Unnamed Moon
Cromica System
Space Sector 2814

“Run! Run! It’s going to collapse!”

The ground and walls of the mine shook and vibrated violently. Rocks fell from above. The miners dropped their tools and started to run back up the shaft. The low gravity gave them longer strides and jumps, but their bulky space suits inside the tight space nullified that advantage. It was slow going back up for the pack of two dozen. They were all pressed together and going as fast as they could, but the vibrating increased and the rocks that began to fall were growing larger and jagged. One miner screamed as a chunk of ceiling smacked against his helmet. The blow cracked the visor in a large spider-web patter. The miners around him held their breath and waited for the glass to burst, but it held.

They were a half kilometer below the moon’s surface and it would take them far too long to get back up. Two dozen men all packed in together under this moon’s surface. This would be where they would die and be buried. The rumbling intensified and several of the miners bowed their heads and prayed to their gods for safe passage to whatever was waiting on the other side.

Green light poured in from the entrance and snaked through the shaft. Emerald support beams formed and took the weight of the collapsing ceiling and walls. The miners looked on in awe as the collapse stabilized.

"Stop gawking and start moving," one of the miners shouted.

The pack hurried out of the shaft and found Hal waiting for them at the mouth. His face was screwed up in concentration as tendrils of energy oozed from his power ring and down the mine.

“You load sixteen tons, what do you get?” He sang. “Another day older and deeper in debt.”

He broke the connection and the energy disappeared. The ground shook violently and the now empty mine collapsed. He looked at the miners and winked before he started to fly away, still singing.

“Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go. I owe my soul to the company store.”

---

The two masked robbers hurried out the bank towards the waiting hovercraft. Someone somewhere was screaming Probably from inside the bank, one of the robbers thought. They’d been a little too rough with the clerk. But if he’d just listened and handed over the credits they wouldn’t had to beat him so bad. They’d gotten an okay score from the robbery, nearly ten thousand credits, but not what they’d hoped for. The miners must have come to town early and cashed their payslips.

They were almost to the hovercar when a shot rang out. They stopped in their tracks and spun around with their blasters aimed. Hal was there with a green shotgun in his hands.

“Fellas,” he said. “Gonna need you to drop those weapons and surrender nice and slowly. Sudden moves have been known to result in a sudden loss of life.”

---

Hal and Jelcs stood outside the jail and watched the construction crew work. They were working because the little two cell jail was now in dire need of expansion. The cells were packed to the brim with criminals yet to be processed. The provisional government was busy creating a criminal justice system with judges and lawyers, but that took time. At least Jelcs had more help. Three people came forward to volunteer as deputies not long after Hal started working and more were asking to be considered for auxiliary support. Hal remembered when he first arrived Jelcs couldn't pay someone to join him. How times changed.

Hall saw Del’vin walking down the street with his usual pack of gun thugs protecting his flanks. A thick bandage on his forehead covered the nasty wound Hal inflicted a few weeks earlier. He waved Del’vin’s way and saw the executive frown and keep walking as if he hadn’t seen Hal at all. The Kree’s foul mood disappeared when Ergol came into his view. Del’vin towered over the short little green-skinned man with the round belly. Del’vin seemed to be using every bit of his charm as he talked to the head of the provisional government.

“Ergol better not make any sudden turns,” said Jelcs. “Del’vin’s head is so far up his ass, a sudden move is apt to break his neck.”

Hal chuckled and shook his head. He had very little doubt as to what Del’vin was talking about. Two days earlier the Kree Empire officially offered the provisional government the choice of annexation into the empire. Pax Mining was a private company, but nobody could question where their loyalties lay. Kree who went abroad were expected to represent the Empire and further its goals. It made Hal wonder if someone like Del’vin would moonlight for Imperial Intelligence. Soft hands and a mouth that spewed bullshit. He seemed the government type. Ergol managed to pull himself away from Del’vin and make their way to them. The little alien held a plump hand out to Hal. Hal took it and was careful not to go too hard with the grip.

“Lantern Jordan," he squeaked. "I just want to thank you for what you’ve done here. It’s not perfect, but Cromica is getting back to that peaceful little planet it was before the mining companies came.”

“I’ve had help,” said Hal. “Jelcs has been doing a fine job. I know he’ll do a great job once I’m done here.”

“Speaking of, I want to invite you both to the meeting tomorrow night,” Ergol said with a smile. ”We’re going to have the vote. I don’t foresee things getting too heated, but… just in case.”

“Of course,” said Jelcs. “I’d be there even if there wasn’t going to be a problem.”

Ergol repeated his thanks and waddled off. Hal and Jelcs watched him go.

“Are you going to keep on with this chief constable thing after I’m gone?” Hal asked.

“I really don’t want to,” Jelcs sighed. “But I may not have a choice. If the Kree absorb us there’s no way in hell they’ll let a non-Kree like me enforce their laws.”

“But what if the system stays independent?” asked Hal.

“Until a better candidate comes along... sure. You know, a real lawman.”

“Don't sell yourself short,” said Hal. “Lawmen aren't born, they're made. You're a chunk of coal, Jelcs. Little polish and some pressure and I think we could turn you into a diamond.”

“I’m no Melm.”

“Yeah…,” said Hal. He looked down the street. Del’vin was back watching them from the front of Pax's office building. He felt something niggling at the back of his mind, something his subconscious was trying to tell him. What it was he wasn’t sure of just yet.

“About Melm…,” he said to Jelcs “Can you tell me all what all you know about him, and all you know about his murder?”

---

Hala
Space Sector Unassigned

Sinestro and Salaak flew towards the Kree homeworld with their escorts on both sides. Per their orders, the two Lanterns journeyed to the very edge of Kree space and waited for the rendezvous. Two battle cruisers jumped out of hyperspeed and instructed them to follow the ships all the way to Hala.

This was how it was any time a Lantern ventured into Kree space. Sinestro didn’t know the whole story. No one really did at this point. The Kree had originally been part of the original great galactic powers who signed the treaty bringing the Green Lantern Corps to life. But hundreds of years before they’d opted out of the agreement and cast the Corps from the Empire. An organization known as Starforce acted as the chief law enforcement agency within their borders.

The cruisers veered away from them as they approached Hala’s upper atmosphere. A pair of fighters escorted them down towards the surface. Their HUD’s pinged a scan. Some invisible eye in the sky had identified the and allowed them access to the planet. Hala had the distinction of being the only homeworld not invaded during the great war billions of years ago. It was a fortress back then and had only become more fortified as the years passed. They flew past massive planetary guns the size of skyscrapers. They were capable of destroying spaceships before they even came within hundreds of miles of Hala airspace.

The two Lanterns were directed to a landing platform where a small party greeted them. Six of the largest, monst intimidatingStarforce officers in their finest armor stood in a semi-circle behind their boss. The chief executive of the Kree Empire, second only to the Supreme Intelligence gave them curt nods.

“Lanterns…”



“Welcome to Hala.”

Ronan the Accuser looked at the two Lanterns. Sinestro stared impassively at him with his arms crossed

“Thank you,” Salaak said with a slight bow. “Thank you for your welcome, Ronan, and thanks to the noble people of Kree for hosting this summit.”

Sinestro continued to stare. He finally nodded.

“Thank you.”

“Follow me please,” Ronan said curtly.

Ronan and the Starforce officers formed a neat little box around the two Lanterns as the group progressed down the halls. To Sinestro it felt more like they were prisoners being led to court than dignitaries given an escort. The notion of this being for their protection was a lie everyone decided to go along with. They were the two people on the planet who needed protection the least. The guards and Ronan were there to protect the planet from them.

They were led into the Accuser chambers. From the way it appeared they were the last ones to show. The premier of Rann and his small entourage were already gathered at one of the two tables facing the dais. The Galactic Security Council sat behind the dais and looked down at them. Representatives from the Skrull, Shi'ar, Thanagar, and Coulan governments were there. Ronan took his place as Kree representative and chairman of the council.

“We are gathered here on very unique circumstances,” said Ronan. “The New Men of Rann have made an accusation that the Green Lantern Corps have threatened and intimidated them, and the Green Lanterns claim that the Rannians are hiding details of an incident between their navy and a Lantern who is missing in action. We will hear evidence and make a resolution. Are both sides ready?”

“We are ready,” said the premier.

“Lanterns?”

“Yes,” said Salaak. “We are prepared to begin.

“Let’s get started.”

---

Unknown Planet
Unknown Sector

Jessica’s hand was swollen and her finger may have been fractured from repeated blows, but she had to keep going. Hours of slamming into the bar had produced results. About half of the bar’s bottom base was gone. She stepped away when she heard the sound of footsteps. Jess leaned against the wall and slid down it. She tucked her right hand behind her back and remained silent as a guard came in with a plate of food. The man said nothing as he let a metal plate of slop fall to the floor.

She waited until he was out of sight. And then a few minutes more until she was sure the coast was clear. She stood up and started to examine the bar she’d been wailing on with her ring. She gingerly tugged on the bar and saw it would bend, ever so slightly. Jess pulled herself up by the bar and planted her feet on the wall between the windows and pulled. The bar let out a groan as it started to bend upwards. She bared her teeth and pulled harder, her arms and shoulders screaming in pain and begging her to stop. She’d bent it up further and further until it made just enough space for a hole.

She fell to the floor and wiped sweat from her brow. As tired as she was, she had to get up. It was only a matter of time before a guard came back and saw either the hole in the window, or the missing prisoner. She had to wriggle out that window and find some way to put distance between these people and herself.

“Let’s go Cruz,” she rasped. “Up and at ‘em. Once more unto the breach.”

Jess got to her feet and started to push herself through the hole. She grunted and groaned as her body squeezed against the metal bars. She popped out the other side and fell down into the sand. It was twilight now. Two suns had disappeared over the horizon and the third was preparing to follow soon after. She could use the cover of darkness to go… where exactly? At the moment she was surrounded by near identical adobe buildings. She had no idea which way to go and what lay out there. She just knew she couldn’t go back out into the desert. Not again.

The sound of shouting drew her attention. She then heard bursts of gunfire from somewhere distant but drawing closer. More gunfire, explosions following it. Jess started to run across the sand barefoot, but stopped when a vehicle roared around the corner. An armored dune-buggy with a machine gun mounted on the top of it. Both the gunner and driver wore helmets, goggles, and bandanas to cover their faces.

They skidded to a stop in front of Jess. She kept her hands up and tried to figure out how to fight her way out of this one. The gunner pulled down their bandana. The face that looked back at her was feminine. Hard and as sunburnt as Jess’ face, but still a woman.

“A... female,” she said surprised.

The driver pulled down their own bandanna. She too was a woman.

“She looks like a prisoner,” said the driver.

“She sure as hell doesn’t look like one of them,” said the gunner. She looked at Jess and slightly raised an eyebrow. “Come with us if you want to live.”

"Took you long enough."

Raphael's words from the fire escape outside the bedroom window nearly knocked Casey Jones on his ass with surprise, spilling the books out of the bag on his back. The turtle chuckled, trying to keep his volume down in order not to draw any unwanted attention. He didn't know who else would be around, and the last thing he needed was Leonardo lording it over him that he got ambushed for being too lough. Not very ninja-like to get caught off guard due to laughing too loud.

"What the hell, man!?" Casey responded, opening the window then scooping the scattered books up. "You could have called."

Raph dropped down next to the young man, "You didn't give me your number, remember? Besides, the phone is just so impersonal, ya know?"

Casey's eyes narrowed at the turtle, "You serious?"

"No, I'm not friggin' serious," Raph flicked the human's forehead with a thick, green finger. "Now come on, I wasted enough time waitin' around for ya. We gotta go find the Dragons."

Motioning for the turtle to enter the apartment, Casey shook his head, "Not really the ideal time for that, man. I got a lot of homework. Besides, shouldn't you be with your brothers doing that? That's what you guys do right? Beat up the bad guys."

"Yea, we've been doing that," Raphael shrugged and flopped down on the bed, noting how much more comfortable it was than his. Then again, that made sense. The humans didn't need to dumpster dive for basically everything they owned. The perks of not being a giant, mutated reptile, he guessed. "Problem is we still have little-to-no idea what they're after, and who they're working for. Considerin' the last time we ran into you you said you'd do whatever to take them down, I figured you were the guy I needed."

The long sigh that escaped Casey Jones told Raphael this wasn't going to be as easy of an ask. It didn't make sense to Raph. When Don, Mike, and him had met the vigilante, Casey seemed as gungho as he was when it came to cracking skulls. Now there was something holding him back.

"Listen," Jones started, "I just got a lot goin' on...and things have changed with the Dragons. Hun, he's got a new boss. Whoever it is, they're a big deal. A deal I ain't got no shot of takin' down. Better to let that go. I don't need to end up dead."

Fear? That's what was in his head? Raphael couldn't deny that he was disappointed. Casey wasn't a superhuman like a lot of the people running around the city. He wasn't trained like Raph and his brothers. Yet he was still out in New York fighting the good fight. That alone was worthy of some measure of respect. But folding up when the going got tough was cowardly.

"Listen, you're my only lead," Rap came short of pleading. [color=ed1c24]"You don't have to fight with me. But you need to help me find out what they're up to, at the very least. You offered your help with the Dragons. At least give me that much."/color]

Jones grunted, "Great. Me running my big mouth again. Gettin' in over my head. Fine. Let me get my mask. I'll take you somewhere you can get some information. but then? I'm out. I'm not losing my head over this."

---

"So why aren't your brothers here?" Casey asked as they traversed the shadows of New York's alleys. He was wearing his mask now, and he couldn't deny that it felt good. With so much going on with school and the team, not to mention other, more personal matters, he hadn't really done much crime busting since before the holidays.

"Well, we got backstabbed by a girl ninja, and then she raised an ancient, evil ninja master from the dead," Raphael responded nonchalantly. "So my brother kinda forbidden outside help."

"Oh yea, sure, that makes sense. I mean, I'm talkin' to a giant, talkin' turtle, so rising from the dead totally makes sense," Casey shook his head. The world was getting weirder by the day, so there was no reason not to believe his new ally.

They came to the end of an ally and Casey motioned for the turtle to stay in the shadows, "See that bar over there?"

Across the street was an unremarkable dive bar named McNally's. The drapes were hung tightly behind dingy windows, not allowing anyone see inside. The light above the sign flickered intermittently. It was honestly so cliched it hurt Casey to look at.

"That's where Hun meets his lieutenants once a week," Jones explained. "There's an apartment they clear our above where they meet. But their security is terrible. We can listen in. Used to do it all the time."

They made their way up the fire escape of the building next to the bar, and then jumped to the target building. Raph silently opened the window, and stepped gingerly into the musty-smelling space. Old, unkempt apartments like this meant creaky floorboards, and he couldn't risk getting caught. He looked at Casey in the window, "Step exactly where I step."

Once they were in position, Casey moved the rug, and then pulled up a floorboard, revealing a small hole that looked down where the Purple Dragon leadership was meeting.

"I don't care if the only people we've lost so far is new blood, Hun," a Dragon with a Russian accent was saying. "At some point, if we keep the profile we've been keeping the past months, the freaks are gonna take one of us out. Or Tombstone will. You keep telling us our new partner is going to make sure we're taken care of. But so far it seems like you're the only one reaping the benefits."

Hun, the large, imposing leader of the Dragons, sighed, "Anton, I understand your frustration. New York has been a powder keg the past year. From the Spider-Man, to the Kingpin biting it, to the ninjas, and the freaks showing up, we've been caught in a damn whirlwind. But now, working for the new boss, I've ensured that we're going to be protected. That Tombstone or Kingpin or the Hand will never give us trouble again. And all we gotta do is run jobs now and again. Personally, I think that's a damn good trade."

"Hehe," another voice, deeper than the Hun's or the Russian's, "whateva you say, boss. I've been havin' fun crackin' more skulls. That bein' said, we'd like ta know who we're dealin' with. You can at least give us that."

"Agreed," a new voice said that sent a shiver down the spine of Raphael.

"Oh no."

"What?"

"I am the Shredder," the new voice announced to the Purple Dragon leadership. "And we, are The Foot."

---

The sound of traffic was faint here in the junkyard on the west side of town. All around Leonardo piles of the humans' old property lay like a graveyard of memories. He remembered when he and Donatello first found this place. It was a treasure trove of parts and furniture they had used to build the Den. Don was a whiz at utilizing and refurbishing old tech to do something incredible, and Leo and Splinter had spend many nights restoring old furniture to something beautiful. Raph got his favorite heavy bag here, and Mikey his prized skateboard.

It was also the place they had found their adoptive sister Alopex all those years ago, and it was she who had helped her new family set up shop here. Splinter didn't argue with her much. Leo never understood why Splinter had let her go with Old Hob so willingly, but he trusted his master's judgement. Plus, the old rat had always said he believed Alopex would come back to them, in the end.

"Hi! I'm Pete!" the squawk from above him on a pile of garbage caught him off guard.

He spun, looking up to find a squat, mutated pigeon looking down to him with a crooked smile. Its yellow and black eyes were pointed in opposite directions, and its tongue hung slightly out of its mouth. It wore a pair of ratty jean shorts. Pigeon Pete was one of Hob's "Mutanimal Liberation Army". In reality, it was little more than a small group of mutants trying to survive and stay hidden from the outside world. Pete was their lookout, for lack of a better term.

"Hey, Pete. How you doin, buddy?" Leo smiled, knowing that another "Hi! I'm Pete!", was on the way.

"Good!" Pete screeched.

"Whoa! New word, buddy! Thirty-three percent improvement!" Leo chuckled as he approached the Mutanimal's hut.

Before he could open the door, however, Alopex burst outside first, calling back, "Yea, I know you don't want them around, Hob. But you can't keep them out all the time. They are still my family, more or less."

His adoptive sister was an arctic fox, and stood a good foot taller than him. Her white fur was splotched with black around her eyes, almost like the turtles' masks. She wasn't as strong as any of them, but she was faster than them by a good bit.

"They're dangerous," the orange alley cat called back with a snarl from the doorway. His one eye, the other lost who-knows-when was covered by a patch, flared towards Leonardo with anger. "The more they play around in the human's world, the more likely they are to bring it down on us. And until we're ready, that means our death, and the death of all our kind."

"Yea, yea, whatever," she flipped him off as he slammed the door shut. She turned to Leo, "So...what's up?"

"Trouble in the commune?" he asked. Leonardo may have not been the most hurt at Al leaving, that would have been Raph, but he sure as hell wasn't happy about it. Especially when she ended up joining Hob's little band. Hob was unstable and dangerous, not to mention prone to violent outbursts. Al always said that she never felt fully a part of their family after joining it later in life, but coming here always felt like a desperation move to Leo.

"You know how he gets," she shrugged. "Seems to be a bit more paranoid lately. But the city...it's changing."

"Seriously, it's crazy," he nodded. "We've been up to our shells in gang members."

"That why you're here?" she asked. "The Dragons' new partner?"

"Wait," Leo was amazed, "you know who they are?"

She laughed, "Honestly, Leo, you need to pay more attention. Dragons happen to get more aggressive the same time that your Shredder comes back? It's not a coincidence."

"But if it was the Foot, why haven't they come forward yet? Why let the Dragons take the fight to Tombstone and the other gangsters of the city?"

"Who knows?" she shrugged. "Maybe they're not strong enough to come forward yet."

The thought made sense. If the Foot was a smaller organization during the Shredder's absence, it would be logical that they weren't ready to change the power balance of the city overnight. They'd have to be working to boost their numbers somehow before then. Meaning recruiting. Meaning another thing he and his brothers had to look out for.

He shook these thoughts from his head. It's not why he was here, "But honestly, I was here to ask if Raph had stopped by. He said he was gonna go to the movies...but he was definitely lying."

"Raph?" she laughed loudly. "Are you serious?"

It was a gamble to even think it, and Leonardo knew it. Raphael had taken Al's departure from the Den seriously. As far as Leo know, he had never forgiven her, though Raphael rarely ever talked about his feelings. Still, Raph often did headstrong things when he thought he was right and no one else was, so Leo figured maybe he'd come ask Al.

"Yea, it was a total stretch," he shook his head. "Just figured...do you hear that?"

Alopex's sensitive ears perked up, twitching to and fro like radar dishes attempting to find their quarry. Leo concentrated too, but had that broken by a loud, sharp screech from Pigeon Pete who fluttered off his perch and landed next to the turtle. He waddled on his stubby legs and dove through the shack's closest open window.

The sound was like the low rumble of a heavy truck going over a New York street that needed repaving. A constant growl with the occasional rattle of gravel or glass in the wheels. But this was louder, and the crashing of things was growing louder by the moment. Leo drew his swords just in time as the mound Pete had just been sitting on began to warp and shift. From inside burst a trio of gnashing pairs of metal teeth. As they soared towards him, Leonardo cut through them with his blades, removing the heads of two, and cutting the third straight down the middle.

"What the hell were those!?" Al yelled in surprise.

"I don't know," Leo shook his head but could hear more of them on their way. "But we can't stay here. Better go warn Hob and the others."

Reed stood on one side of his cold, temporary lab, his finger stroking his chin in quiet contemplation.

“What could it all mean?”

Across the room, the display on his new device showed the anomaly. A white entity, amongst the vast crowds at Times Square celebrating New Year’s Eve. The people were oblivious to its presence.

“What is it?”

Sue had let herself in to check on him, as she would every several hours. Particularly when things go quiet. She spoke with a hushed tone as if her question would distract others despite the fact that they were alone.

“Did it follow us here?”

Reed shot her an expression which revealed far too many pangs of guilt, before he recovered and answered truthfully.

“I don’t know. I hope not. I have no reason to believe that it did… but I also have no evidence to say that it didn’t.”

“So what is it?”

Reed took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before he could unload a concise summary of his extrapolation from what the raw data told him…

---

---

“Unbelievable!” Hank Pym exclaimed. “Assuming I’ve got this right. It’s approximately six feet tall, appears to be mostly white and takes a form that is at least mimicking humanoid shape!”

Ted was hunched over, leaning into the display of a similar device over Hank and Janet’s shoulders. The married couple sat side by side in front of him watching the screen.

“So it’s a person?”

“Or mimicking a person.” Hank corrected.

“Well, if it’s sentient enough to mimic a person, it would have to qualify for personhood, yeah?” Ted said, explaining his logic.

Hank furrowed his brow.

“Not necessarily, I could build a robot for example that is designed to mimic a person. Doesn’t mean it qualifies for personhood. I’m assuming you’re judging ‘personhood’ down Kantian philosophical lines?”

“Yeah, but if it’s organic…” Janet added.

“I didn’t say it was. And even then, you’re assuming it wasn’t created by a species capable of bioengineering a robot from organic mass. Which would be an inefficient way to construct a device… unless, I suppose, you were doing it for the express purpose of mimicking human anatomy… In which case…” Hank shrugged and gestured at the display.

“So what you’re saying is that we don’t know what it is.” Ted clarified.

“We know that it’s about six feet tall, appears to be mostly white and is currently in a shape resembling humanoid.” Hank repeated.

“And you’re sure this is the same kind of device that Sue Storm and Reed Richar--”

“When Sue Storm announced that they had discovered a fourth dimension and a probable fifth? Well, this is how I think they would have devised a machine capable of monitoring, and providing the means of perceiving things down those imperceptible dimensional lines. It’s an extrapolation on holding that theory as true, yes.”

“So, is that thing located where the poor Richards family were lost for all those years?” Asked Janet.

“No. They were so far away down the hypothetical ‘H’ Dimension’s lines that they were in another ‘Zone’ entirely. Whatever ‘this’ is… It’s positioned itself just out of phase, in such a way that we can’t perceive it, but presumably close enough that it can still view us if it has evolved to see some way down dimensional lines.”

“Evolved? So you DO believe it’s a person.” Ted jumped in.

“...or designed.” Hank quickly corrected. “For all we know, it could be a probe.”

“Hey WAIT--! Did it just?!”

---

---

“--It pivoted. On the ‘Z’ axis. About 8 microns, or a sixth of the thickness of a piece of paper.” Reed uttered.

“It just brushed against that guy’s hair. It’s actually affected our world!” Sue exclaimed.

“Technically, it’s all our world. It’s merely affected something that would be naturally observable with our own senses. Albeit in an extremely minor fashion that would likely be overlooked.”

“How many of these things are there out there?”

---

---

“It’s the only one I’ve found so far, but then I only just finished working on the machine.” Hank said to the others.

“So do you think Sue and Reed are seeing this?” Ted asked.

“I doubt it. There’s no scientific reason to be using this to target Times Square on New Years. I’M only looking here because that’s where the pair of you asked me to look.”

“You’re welcome.” Said Janet.

“Maybe they’re ‘Ghosts’?” Suggested Ted.

“Ghosts aren’t real.” Hank gruffly shot the question down.

“Exactly. Maybe what this is, you know, maybe this explains some of those claims of paranormal activity. One of these things... turning and interfering with observable planes of existence.” Ted supposed.

Hank held an ambivalent expression. On the one hand he’d have liked to see science once again debunk such ridiculous claims of the supernatural, but on the other…

“I think you’re doing a lot of speculation based off of a single sighting.” He countered, before going back to looking at the display.

“So… probe or organic, looks like we have at least one unexpected new visitor.” Janet said. The others turned their heads to look at her.

“Let’s just hope they’re friendly…”

---

---

A glowing sigil precedes the green cloaked visage of DOOM. It dulls and dissipates as quickly as it had appeared, and his heavy armoured footfalls traverse the path to the front door.

The ring of a doorbell deflated all of the pomp and ceremony - the grandeur that could possibly reflect the magnitude of the presence of a Nation’s leader. DOOM seethed but did not lower himself to give voice to his disdain.

“What now??? Oh--” Came the crass welcome from an uncouth Ben Grimm, who opened the door.

“DOOM is owed an explanation. And he has come to collect.”

The cloaked figure swiftly crossed the threshold before the stone faced greeter could even pass comment.

“--kay…”

Willie Lumpkin looked skeptically at Grimm as the two crossed paths, whilst Doom pushed further into the house.

“Is that..?”

“Yep. Find the kids, gather ‘em up and shut all three of yerselves in the Panic Room. Victor’s always been… intense at the best of times and I’m not real sure how he’s gunna take what we have ta tell him...”

The Government handler nodded and swiftly made his way to the kids’ room to retrieve Franklin and Valeria.

---

---

“So, do you think we should get in touch with Doctors Storm and Richards, then?” Ted asked. “Show them what we’ve found? Compare notes?”

Hank turned and gave a considered response.

“That assumes he doesn’t know about this in the first place.”

“Well, no. First, you said there’s no scientific reason for him to be looking at Times Square, so if anything YOU implied that. And second, the phrase ‘Compare notes’ suggests he knows something about… something. Maybe he saw another one of these. Or maybe he saw THIS one earlier.”

“Maybe they chased this one back here…” Janet added. “They have been gone for years, and just suddenly came back now.”

That thought gave the other two pause.

“But again, that’s a lot of extrapolation from only one sighting…” Janet added, her own thought clearly having put her ill-at-ease as well.

“So yeah. I think you should go and show your findings to the Storm-Richards Scientific Society tomorrow. Once we gather everything we can on this tonight.”

Janet turned around and put her hand on Hank’s arm, before he could reply.

“Really… ‘WE’ should? This seems very unlike you to miss the opportunity to rub shoulders with great minds and prestigious scientists like the pair of them.” Janet inquisited, raising a very skeptical eyebrow.

“Well, the Great Hank Pym…” Ted started.

“Uh-huh…”

“I mean, this would all be far more impressive coming from someone as incredibly credible and thoughtful and-- and respected as the Head of RedAnt…”

“Uh-huh…” The eyebrow stayed raised. Janet wasn’t buying a word of it.

“...” Ted remained tight lipped, then his shoulders slumped.

“There was some unpleasantness… I can never go back.”

“Really?” She wasn’t letting go.

“A funny little mishap. Some loud bangs… chemical spillage. They won’t want to speak with me.”

“Yes, but that was ‘The Great Ted Kord’” She replied. “This is the Blue Beetle.”

“...”

“Wow…” Janet looked impressed. “That bad, huh?”

“...Catalyzed decomposition of Hydrogen peroxide. And blasting caps.” Ted dropped his head.

Janet threw her head back and laughed broadly. “You slimed him?!?”

“No, his friend… with Boston Celtics green Silly String foam…” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Well, as bad as that is, I’m sure he doesn’t even rememb--”

"Yeah, there was another thing…”

The pair turned and looked at him.

---

---

DOOM swept into the laboratory, with Ben Grimm and Johnny Storm racing rapidly in tow.

“Victor?!” Sue and Reed called out in surprise.

“Ehhh… let me present, His Highness Victor Von Doom of Latveria.” Ben announced. The rest turned and looked at him.

“Well, ya are used to being announced on entry these days, arencha Lord Tin-Pants?”

“DOOM is owed--”

“He wants to know what happened on the day of the Marvel-1 Mission.” Johnny explained.

Doom seethed. Not used to being interrupted, spoken for or the overall crass off-hand kind of treatment he was experiencing.

“Oh…” Sue replied. Her voice laced with sympathy for the man who had lost family once before, presumably only to lose her again for a second time with news of the rest of the family’s return.

“Once we had cleared our atmosphere, we set automatic settings on the engine as per protocol.” Reed explained. “On route to the target coordinates for deployment of the aperture we passed through a cloud of cosmic radiation…”

Sue interrupted. “Unfortunately that cloud also contained pockets of nitrous oxide. Which the instruments didn’t manage to pick up until we were in the cloud itself. The engine automatically looked to vent as the fission reactor started running hot, which then belched in oxygenated nitrous. It overwhelmed the gamma converter, which couldn’t handle the vast quantities of strange radiation as the engines went critical from basically injecting oxygen into the already running hot core.”

“Heh.” Ben Grimm chuckled. “Funny thing is, it happened pretty much exactly like that kid said.”

“A child was able to predict your failure?” Doom spat, unable to withhold his disdain any longer.

“Well, almost… I mean, I think he said it’d happen before we even hit space… Little punk that he was. Heh.”

“Ben…” Sue urged him to be quiet.

A creaking could be heard as Doom clenched his gauntlet into a fist. It stood in stark contrast to the silence of the laboratory.

“What was that kid’s name again? Covered me in gunk…”

---

---

"Yeah... I may have called the Marvel-1 spacecraft a ‘death trap’. And after everything. I don’t think they’re really going to want to hear anything from me… ever again.” Ted said.

“All things given. I wouldn’t exactly blame them.”

“Well, you were right.” Said Hank.

“Not exactly the point…” He replied. “There’s a sort of tact to these things, Hank. And just seeing me, they’re going to get a sense of some kind of ‘I told you so’ from my presence. Even if it goes unsaid.”

“Huh…” Hank shrugged, accepting this explanation as some other kind of social irrationality he wouldn’t understand.

“It’d probably start some kind of fight that nobody really wants…”

---

---

“THEODORE KORD!”

DOOM barked, the windows rattled, the very air seemed to be charged with some sort of electricity and the faint scent of ozone.

“You were told about the shortcomings of your fatuous design by the pre-eminent mind in astronomical engineering!?!”

_{“Huh… Whaddya know. Tubby little punk made good…”} Grimm muttered to Johnny Storm.

DOOM re-gathered himself, through sheer force of his indomitable will.

“So if all of this happened, then how are you all here? And where is Valeria?”

The four looked at the floor, unsure how to proceed with the next part.

---

---

“But they should still hear this.” Janet said. “It’s a big deal.”

“They should.” Agreed Ted.

“We need to find out more about whatever this is. And the choices are pretty much go to them, or take it public. And going public could cause a panic.”

“Especially with the last big happening in this city. There’s already less people than normal at the ball dropping, they speculate out of metahuman terrorist fears. Do we really want to tell people there’s something ELSE out there in this climate?”

“We could be dealing with a nation aflame… A country, maybe, even a world tearing itself apart…”

---

---

“Well, as the ship was starting to burn up and tear itself apart…” Sue started. “Johnny very quickly, and - it should be said - very selflessly, put Valeria in a radiation shielded airlock.”

“Then why is she not here?” Came Doom’s pointed response.

“Because, unfortunately, as the gamma converter became overloaded and incapable of dealing with the quantity of strange radiation, it seeped into the primary quarters and began to change the physiology of everyone aboard. The four of us developed powers! Powers that allowed the four of us to survive the disaster intact and continue our momentum into the ejected aperture.”

“I’m sorry,” Said Johnny with clear contrition and sadness, once again reliving the horrible day he saw his fiance burn to a crisp. “The airlock that was meant to keep her safe only protected her from the radiation… I saw-- I had to watch as she burnt up and her remains were flung out into space as the ship finally broke apart.”

Reed interrupted with excitement, moving perhaps too swiftly past the loss of life. “We survived because it worked Victor! In fact it more than just worked. The aperture didn’t just allow us to view this strange sub-space dimension, it allowed us to go there! That’s where we’ve been this entire time! In this strange Negative Zone!”

“Of course it worked!” Doom spat his distaste. “That was the part of this mission that was designed entirely by DOOM’S hand!”

His words hung in the silence thereafter, silence which encapsulated the rage of the guest in their temporary home.

“So the mission’s failure… Valeria’s death… and the survival of ALL of you unworthy cretins... Were the result of a series of stupid mistakes on your part, and the mercy gifted by DOOM’S genius?”

“Well, I suppose if you put it like--”

“NOT ANOTHER WORD!” The windows rattled, the air seemed to crackle and the ozone once again became thicker.

“We shall never cross paths again.” Doom spoke to them all, facing no-one.

“Your dull-witted rudeness on this day,” He pointed to Ben Grimm.

“...and your idiotic tendency to act without thought. Which has brought an end to ONE so far beyond your station... you were never worthy of in the first place!” His voice and bloodshot glare soaked in malice as he pointed a metallic finger squarely at Johnny.

“...and you Richards. You are the worst of them all. Your arrogance. Your overestimated, outstated intelligence. You have wrought this upon us all. If you or Johnathan Storm ever stand in my way... If either of you ever set foot in my country… If my name ever comes out of your mouths in any context other than praise that DOOM’S grace and mercy allowed you to live…”

“I will end you in a fashion that would make you wish you shared my sister’s fate.” These final words seemed to come out in a hiss.

With that the sigil reformed, a light show commenced and Doom was gone, whisked away by forces unknown.

“Hey, Suzie… I think you and me got off pretty light…” Ben said, waving his hand through the light where DOOM once was.

---

---

Hank was hard at work recording data on the anomaly, whilst the other two decided to get to their own tasks. Namely they were informing the rest of the team, and notifying the self-named Fantastic Four in order to discuss an exchange of information. The former being Ted’s responsibility whilst the latter would fall squarely on Janet’s shoulders.

The pair walked through the Embassy together thinking about everything they had just seen, and everything they would say to the people they had to talk to.

When all of a sudden Ted Kord stopped. Something had drifted into his vision out of the corner of his eye. Janet stopped once she sensed that Ted had, and wondered what he was doing.

Ted walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up an object he’d seen there. Some kind of display case of sorts. He turned and showed what he’d seen to Janet with a stunned expression on his face.

Her jaw dropped as he turned so that the could see what he was holding; a blue Egyptian artifact, a beetle in a perspex box.

“Is that--? Did you--?” Janet started to ask, and Ted slowly shook his head. His eyes spoke volumes.

“Hey! Nobody mentioned we could make side money doing that…” Scott Lang interrupted the pair from the other room, where some of the rest of the team were watching TV.

He immediately knew something was wrong the minute he walked into the room. Scott looked incensed, like things had been kept from him. Tora was looking up at him with a big disappointed doe-eyed expression. Bea had fortunately gone out, or the expression he put on Ice’s face might have got him burnt to a crisp. Maxwell Lord was elsewhere, presumably in his office. And Roberto DaCosta, who was not part of the team but was staying in his half-sister’s care, was looking at his phone and completely disinterested with whatever was supposedly taking place.

“The silent CJO Anti-Car theft device by Kord Omniversal…” The Blue Beetle faced the camera with a finger to his lips, urging the viewers to keep quiet.



“...because when your car has super defenses like these, who can blame it for wanting to keep quiet about it?” The televised hero drew his BB gun and twirled it a few times, before re-holstering it and winking at the camera.

Scott, Janet and Tora all stared at Ted, mouths agape.

“What. The. FUUUUUUUU--”