F I N D I N G F U R Y# 1: A N E W D A Y

Helicarrier 'Lady Liberty' // Turtle Bay NY

Steve sat at his desk across from the Deputy Director of Argus. The Deputy Director. Amanda Waller hadn't even bothered to come herself, and instead had sent Maria Hill. That's how beneath her she considered this whole thing. He wasn't overly surprised, he and Waller tended to butt heads on a variety of issues and she had been trying to convince the international oversight advisory to send him into retirement for years now. So far with little support, he still had more friends with favours than she had people with dirt on them. He sighed as he rubbed his hand across his face, the stubble on his face unnatural and course. Not that he had much time to shave anymore.

"The Director is denying your request to take over the investigation into Fury’s disappearance-"

Steve chuckled as he interrupted her. "That's no reason for you to come out here, Maria." Once upon a time, he had considered Maria a friend. Protege to Fury, the logical successor. Instead, she found S.H.I.E.L.D too half measure, going to work for Argus, a considerably more shady organisation. Steve had no time for a peacekeeping organisation that wouldn't operate in the light of day. Espionage had its uses, but there were limits.

She stood up, anger crossing her face. "You know damn well that isn't why I'm here. I'm here because this is the third time that you've requested to takeover, and despite being told no every time you're still trying to find a lead. I'm here as a courtesy, stop this now before we have to take it any higher."

Steve waited her out. "I understand, and will not impede your investigation in any way shape or form. Though you're wildly overstepping to assume you can walk in here and give me orders Maria. I answer to the United Nations, Argus answers to the President. Feel free to work the pipeline to get me ordered to stop, but at the end of the day he's our man and I have some damn good people working on this."

"You're right, you do work for the United Nations. So don't think you have enough on your plate? Or have you forgotten that every lunatic with a costume is currently causing havoc all over the world? I'm sure I heard about it on the news today, that there has been a 79% increase in supervillain sightings in the past two months, not to mention the mutants and metahumans disappearing."

"Yes, I'm well aware of the statistics, and is it not also your responsibility to liaise with Shield to tackle this domestically? So perhaps you should get back to work and out of my office so I can do something important." Saying nothing else Maria Hill stood up and walked to the door, there she paused and turned back to look at him.

"I hope we find him, Steve, I do. I'd hate for this job to turn you bitter." Without a further word, she walked out the door and he leaned back in his chair, both hands running over his face as he let out a deep sigh. She wasn't entirely wrong, he had been in the game a long time. Before Fury went missing he lead S.H.I.E.L.Ds strategic response unit, he worked with the Avengers but that was still a far cry from what he was doing now as the top-dog. Fury had been gone for over a year now and they were still no closer to figuring out his whereabouts.

This meant it was time for outside help, leaning down to push the call button on his intercom. It buzzed. The joys of being Director, the job was never done. "Yes?"

"Sir, Banner is reporting in from Gamma Base. He's reporting strange readings coming from Las Vegas, requesting to investigate." Steve thought over it for a second.

"What's Spider-man doing?"

"Not currently on assignment." Steve nodded to himself.

"Give him a call and send a quinjet to take him over to Gamma Base, and prepare a jet for me too. I'll fill in the paperwork on the way."

"Right away sir."

It never stopped.

---

The room was a fairly spacious and open one, plenty of space to move around freely in, it was also for the most part empty. The roof was white, squares of lights shone down in two symmetrical rows along it's length. The walls were a similar shade of white as the roof, and the floor was a shade of light grey. It felt firm to stand on but not particularly hard, there was some cushion or support to it so to speak. This simple room was not unique, it was simply one of many private training facilities that was available to any and all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents aboard the 'Lady Liberty'. One could prepare it for whatever sort of exercise one wished for, firearms, blades, martial arts. It was up to the individual. Today Natasha just wanted something to hit. And so before her stood what looked to be nothing more than a very standard training dummy. For the most part it was, there was slight modifications and reinforcements to it. This was to be not so much a training session, more of a simple release of pent up energy, with some frustration mixed in there for good measure. It was not the first time.

As of recent, Natasha had been finding herself increasingly restless, agitated even, emotions that she was rather irritated over the fact that she was struggling with them. Lately she even had to make sure she didn't grind her teeth together so much. Perhaps she had spent too much time off the field? After all most of her life has been one mission after the other, so of course if suddenly has to hang about some facility it is going to be hard to adapt to. But it wasn't just that. Fury was missing. He had been missing for a year. No one knew where he was or what might have happened to him, at least as far as Natasha was aware of. A whole year and nothing. Natasha herself had not been able to do anything.

Fury, just where on earth did you go damn it? Natasha slowly began to strike the training dummy, opening with a simple combination of jabs. Just how much have you done for me over these years? Gave me my place here in S.H.I.E.L.D, even gave me a place on the Avengers. Just where would I be if it was not for you? Still an assassin? A mindless drone carrying out orders? Dead? Prison? She progressively increased the speed of her jabs, and started to introduce more of a variety of strikes. Hooks, uppercuts, backfists, open palm strikes, and elbows. A mix of combinations built on top of each other surfaced and developed with every contact on the training dummy. As did the power behind each strike.

And what have I done in return? You go missing for a year and what do I do? Natasha was putting her anger behind her strikes now, the training dummy it seems would really be tested in just how durable it was. Nothing. I wait around and do nothing. But what can I do? S.H.I.E.L.Ds hands are tied, all I can do is follow orders. Natasha took a step back from the training dummy and planted a front kick straight to its core. Following up that she delivers a heel kick, quickly transitioning into a side kick and a back kick. A powerful spinning round house causes the training dummy to be sent across the room, rolling on the floor. Breathing deeply Natasha centered herself and collected the training dummy, placing it back where it was before continuing with her combinations, this time mixing strikes with her fists, palms, elbows, knees, and legs. Each combination getting increasingly complex and difficult to carry out. However every single move was executed flawlessly by the Black Widow, as one would expect.

Over the past year she had this conversation with herself regularly. Fury could be dead. He could be worse than dead, held somewhere being put through any kind of hell one could think of. On the other hand he could be completely fine. Not knowing was the problem. Why should I even care? If anyone can take care of themselves it's Fury. Natasha would try and convince herself of that. That really what happened to Fury didn't matter to her, that she really could not care less in truth. She started to almost dance around the training dummy, with elegant acrobatic maneuvers delivering swift strikes to the dummies front, back, and sides. Each strike was delivered with intent to debilitate the opponent.

After a period of time Natasha naturally brought her exercise to an end. There was only so much use one could get out of wailing on a lifeless unmoving target. If it was not for her current state of mind then perhaps she would have asked someone to spar? Perhaps one of the Avengers? But she had learned long ago to not let anyone have a chance at seeing any kind of weakness in her, this sentimentality, this frustration, Natasha certainly considered that to be a weakness. She knew that she had to wait patiently on this Helicarrier, the time to act will come eventually. Stoically, Natasha silently returned to her quarters waiting for the chance to act.

Air Force One
45,000 Feet Above Colorado

President Calvin Ellis leaned back in his office chair and stretched his hands behind his head. This particular part of Air Force One contained a mini-replica of the Oval Office. He’d tossed his suit jacket off and loosened his tie as he settled in to watch the live TV coverage. He was alone for the first time since he woke up this morning. He’d requested Pete and the Secret Service wait outside the door for just a little while. Not long after inauguration Calvin spoke to one previous president over the phone. The ex-president had jokingly called the office “the bubble”, but to Calvin it was more like a fishbowl. He had eyes on him at almost every moment of his day, be they waking moments or otherwise. Every movement was accounted for, every interaction planned in advance. His days of spontaneously meeting people were over. He’d gone from The White House to Andrews Air Force Base in a convoy guided by Secret Service and police. From there he boarded Air Force One, the world’s safest aircraft, and took off with an escort of two F-16’s. Like many presidents before him, Calvin Ellis was the world’s most protected man.

And it was utterly pointless. Millions, hundreds of millions, of taxpayer money going to secure an indestructible man. Calvin was sure there was some underlying message about the redundancy of government there, but the footage on the TV pushed those thoughts away.

“Breaking news here. It appears that the Lexcorp spacecraft Lillian is having difficulty re-entering the Earth’s atmosphere. It’s hard to see the footage, but what looks like the spacecraft is beginning to spin out of control as it descends from its maiden voyage. Four crewmembers on the ship, Lexcorp CEO Lex Luthor among them--”

Calvin stood from the chair and undid his tie fully. He began to unbutton his dress shirt, revealing the blue suit underneath. There was a slight buckle and shake from Air Force One as the president of the United States disappeared from his office..

“Just some minor turbulence,” the pilot reassured the passengers. “We are still on course to land in Denver in the next half hour. So please sit back and relax

---

LCSS Lillian
15 Miles Above Earth

Lex Luthor began to make peace with his impending death. He’d closed his eyes a few minutes ago to help with the motion sickness. His best bet on what happened was that the pressure of the reentry popped some circuit in the ship’s flight stabilizer. The thing designed to keep the craft steady on the hardest part of its flight had failed. Colonel Graves was trying her best to right the Lillian, but G-force weighing down on them meant the control yoke was almost impossible for them to move. Lex could hear the warning alarms as this ship -- over a decade of personal work and sacrifice -- free-falled through the sky towards the ground. They knew the chances of something like this happening were pretty remote, though never zero. All that hard work and it was sheer chance that would kill him and his crew.

The feeling of finally breaking free of the Earth’s gravity had been one of the best moments of his life. The number of people who’d gone to space was rare. For Lex to have managed it with nothing but hard work and his company’s capital was an achievement of what one man could accomplish on his own. No government, no superpowers. An orphan from Suicide Slums had become an astronaut. Just a man with a dream.

And now the dream was over.

Or it would be in just a few short minutes. He heard Professor Hamilton mumbling some sort of prayer while Colonel Graves continued to fight until the very end. That was Mercy, thought Lex. Rage in the dying of the light. Lex didn't know what awaited them on the other side. He didn't believe in God. Not with all the things he'd seen could he in good faith believe in some divine creator with a plan. But whatever came next he would be ready to face it. Even if it was oblivion.

“Wait…,” Colonel Graves said suddenly.

Lex’s eyes opened as the alarms stopped and the ship came to a shuddering halt. He could see the continent of Australia ten or so miles below from the starboard window. Graves quickly grabbed the yoke and activated the ship’s side thrusters to began a slow, careful descent down towards the ground. Lex looked out the front window of the ship and narrowed his eyes. Floating there in front of his ship, the very ship Lex had named after his mother, was him.



Lex stared straight ahead at Superman. And he stared right back at him with some sort of smug aloofness Lex knew all too well.

“Colonel Graves,” Lex said softly. “Get us to the ground and away from that man as quick as possible.”

---

Denver

Calvin Ellis adjusted his glasses as he prepared to step off Air Force One and start down the stairs. The few White House corps reporters who tagged along on the flight were already gathering with phones and notebooks to grab some comments.

“Mr. President, what do you think about the breaking news?”

“Once again, our nation owes a debt to Superman,” Calvin said with a slow nod. “What could have been a day of mourning, instead turns into one of celebration. Also my congratulations to Lex Luthor on his successful launch. He serves as an inspiration to all of America as to what we can all achieve with drive and talent.”

Calvin paused when he saw the confused looks on the reporter’s faces.

“I meant Justice Hartwell… he died.”

Calvin adjusted the knot in his tie and tried to compose his thoughts. Herbert Hartwell, a grubby little man who never met a piece of progressive legislation he wouldn't strike down. A Nixon appointee still clinging on to the high court well into his 90's. He cited health reasons as to why he couldn't attend Calvin's inauguration. The only Supreme Court member to do so. Calvin thought at the time it was Hartwell's petty protest. But maybe there was a reason behind his absence.

“Well… Justice Hartwell was a dedicated jurist and a champion for the US Constitution and its strict interpretation.”

“Any thoughts on replacing him?”

“That's enough,” said Pete Ross. “We'll have a more formal statement and take questions at a later time.”

Calvin and Pete walked down the stairway towards the tarmac with Secret Service agents flanking them on both sides. Both men remained quiet until the finally climbed into the back of the presidential limo. Calvin looked at his oldest friend and chief of staff and raised an eyebrow.

“Less than a year in and we already have a chance to appoint a justice,” Pete said with a slight smile. "And with Hartwell gone the court is pretty much at an even 4-4 ideologically. Whoever we appoint will be a swing vote."

“We need to find the right candidate,” said Calvin. "One we can trust... and one we can get through the Senate. No way Edge is not going to let our nominee waltz through confirmation without turning it into a knife fight."

“If only appointing justices were as easy as catching falling spaceships, right?” Pete said with a wink. “You almost flubbed it back there with the reporters.”

“I'm the president, Pete... I'm supposed to know things before other people.”

Calvin glanced out the window while his armor-plated limo raced through the streets of Denver with police escorts flanking it on all sides. After a few minutes of freedom in the skies he was back safely in the bubble. His bubble. But that was okay, he thought to himself. As Superman he had done so much to help the world. But as President Calvin Ellis? Who knew how much more he could do.

“Is he always like this?”

“When is he going to leave?”

The intern and his corporate manager of Wayne Biotech of Wayne Enterprises were frozen onto their seats by the dreaded freeze ray of Mr. Freeze. Everything below the abdomen was encased in a block of ice, which would’ve been fine if it weren’t for the fact the intern had an itch at the back of his neck. It was driving him insane. Although, to make him feel better, the rest of his coworkers weren’t having a fun time either.

Having blasted his way into the facility with each cavernous opening lined with frost and icicles, Mr. Freeze shot his weapon to put the security guards, doctors, nurses, and scientists under layers of ice and snow, gluing them to their chairs, desks, and walls. One poor fellow had his entire upper body frozen as if he was sneezed on by a snow giant and was attached in the doorway of the bathroom as a result. This left his pants warm and wet throughout this whole ordeal.

Monologuing in German, the supervillain looked on to the love of his life floating gracefully in her capsule. He brushed his gloved hand across the glass plane as softly as if it would shatter at the slightest touch. So far, his beloved wife looks...undisturbed. That is good for the people of Biotech. He’ll be merciful today for their diligent handling of his love. Of course, as a good husband and scientist, he will need to examine their research of his wife’s disease to ensure they didn’t cock up whatever process they were concocting to cure that cantankerous cancer of an illness.

While Mr. Freeze seized whatever documents and computer files that had any possible information on his patient, his hired muscle were sporting ski masks and goggles to disguise their identity and they had begun the process of transporting the massive container into a commercial truck advertising frozen ice cream. There was no telling when Batman would arrive to send him back to Arkham Asylum so the men would have to make it quick. Mr. Freeze had already had enough of the visits from that Dr. Gordon-

“Hey, uhhh….” The intern spoke up to draw the supervillain’s attention. Two red glowing eyes turned to stare right back at him. The freckled boy shrunk by two sizes under his steel gaze. “Since you got what you wanted here, can you…’unfreeze’ us?”

“Unnecessary.” Mr. Freeze retorted coldly, looking away as he made his escape. “Batman will do it in my stead.”

“But what if he doesn’t show up?!” the young man shouted in desperation.

“Unlikely.” The criminal cryo scientist disputed, “However, four hours I estimate until the ice fully melts.” On that last note, he raised his freeze ray once more and shot out an ice wall to cover the icy entrance as he exited out of the facility.

---

“So...boss, I mean, Mr. Freeze.” The goon quickly corrected himself as he approached his employer while snacking on a chocolate ice cream bar. Given the villain’s lair is an abandoned ice cream factory, there was some machinery around that could still churn up a few frozen treats. “Now that you have a ‘marriage reunion’, are you gonna...umm..you know?”

“No. I’m not opening up an ice cream store as a front for future criminal endeavors. Were the machines not enough?” Mr. Freeze quickly shot down the idea as he dined on an ice cream sundae complete with chocolate syrup next to a file of medical documents. “My focus is the cure to my wife’s disease, understand? I shall not waste any more time pursuing a false career selling cold gluttony packaged in a box! Nora, my dear beloved snow angel Nora, is at stake here! I am a scientist of cryogenics, not a glorified ice cream parlor!”

“Right, wherever you say, Mr. Freeze.” The henchman was visibly saddened at the news. “So what do we do now?”

“I will review these findings done by Wayne Biotech to see if they have stumbled upon a breakthrough.” he explained, opening up the files. There were names, places, and other descriptions sounding too foreign for the henchman to comprehend but something Mr. Freeze would understand completely given enough time. “They better hope they haven't desecrated my wife’s perfect body nor botched her beauty while I was locked up in that terrible prison...,.And why are you still here? I told you your services are no longer required. I already paid you!”

“Well, I...wanted...to”

“Sorry, right away!”

Bruce Banner stood hunched over his desk, complex equations ran over the screens as he stood inspecting over an object. In theory it would be able to purify water from any intoxicants, eliminating waterborne diseases and illnesses across the world. It wasn't quite there yet, there were still some kinks to work out. He had only been working with S.H.I.E.L.D and by extension the Avengers for little over two years, but he had submitted hundreds of theories and dozens of new inventions. The motto was. Hulk Breaks, Banner Builds. The door hissed open, the strong scent of coffee drifted lazily towards him. He turned to face Doctor McGowan as she entered, smiling as he did so. Biometric scanners in his eyes registered everything instantly.

She smiled politely back at him as she handed him a mug of coffee, before pulling a tablet out from underneath her arm. "We've got a spike in Las Vegas."

Bruce frowned as he took the tablet from McGowan. Looking over it, the initial data was correct, and troubling. S.H.I.E.L.D had satellites all over the world that were finely tuned to detect spikes in Gamma Radiation. Bruce had tweaked them specifically to target the frequency of radiation that was commonly detected in the 'Hulks'. In the US alone there were three. Two in Gamma Base, himself and Jennifer, and the third was Amadeus Cho. A teenager who had willingly exposed himself, the fool. There would always be those who viewed the Hulk as something good. A Hero even. He never believed that someone would be smart, or foolish, enough to try and emulate him.

Jennifer being infected was bad enough, and that had been done to save her life.

Still, she seemed to be in control of her faculties. So much so she rarely reverted, if she could help it. Whatever dosage Cho and Jennifer had received appeared to be just right to ensure transformation without any apparent ill side-effects.

Still, a third spot had appeared on the map. It was light, barely above background levels yet it was still a worrying development. If Bruce was a betting man, he'd bet that someone was experimenting with gamma radiation in Las Vegas. Possibly to try and recreate the Hulk, which never ended well for anybody. "McGowan get in touch with Director Rogers. Send him the data and tell him I want to go to Las Vegas to investigate."

"Right away Doctor."

Standing up himself he walked out of the door and in the opposite direction. Aiming to go find out what Jen was up too, Green Team had a job to do.

IN DREAMS
CHAPTER 1

New York City
October, 1938

NYPD Captain Larry Belmont gnawed at his cigar as he waited for his contact to arrive. He shoved his chubby hands into the pockets of his coat and bounced on the balls of his feet. The night air had a chilly nip in it, a declaration that fall in New York had begun earnestly. Belmont stood near the USS Maine monument in Central Park. This time of night the place was deserted, especially since the Yankees were in the series. Game 3 against the Chicago Cubs was going on in the Bronx tonight and those not there seeing it in person were at homes and in bars glued to their radios. Belmont caught a bit of the game on his way out of the offices of the 19th precinct. It was a scoreless game going into the fourth inning.

He heard a rustling somewhere nearby and turned, expelling cigar smoke as he saw a thick layer of fog roll in across Columbus Circle. Belmont frowned at the sight. He knew what was coming next. It always happened the same way. The fog thickened until nothing could be seen through it. Then it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. And his contact emerged out of the fog.



“Good evening, Captain Belmont.”

The voice was amplified and distorted thanks to some kind of contraption the Sandman had in that gasmask of his. Belmont grunted a greeting as the masked hero walked towards him. Belmont kept an eye on the gas gun in the Sandman’s hands and watched as he holstered it somewhere around the small of his back. This was far from the first meeting of the two men, but even still Belmont was uneasy around him. Despite his worth, the Sandman was still some guy who decided to play dress up and run around the streets of New York fighting criminals. Nobody completely sane did that.

“Our guy struck again,” said Belmont.

Belmont wedged the tip of his stogie into the corner of his mouth and pulled photos from the inside breast pocket of his coat. He passed them to the gloved hands of the Sandman. They were grainy black and white crime scene photos from a murder two days earlier.

“This one was in Hell’s Kitchen,” said Belmont. “All the classic signs of the other six killings. Same strangulation pattern, same victim type, same calling card.”

The Sandman wordlessly looked over the pictures. Belmont had seen them enough to know he’d never forget them. They showed a blonde woman, nude from the waist up, with a belt wrapped firmly around her neck. Placed on the body was a paper card with a drawing of a spider on it. A tarantula specifically.

“It’s been six months since the last killings,” said the Sandman. He looked up at Belmont. The gasmask prevented Belmont from reading any kind of emotion into what he said next. “This is the first of a new series. If the pattern continues we can expect two more in the next week.”

“And then… poof.” Belmont waved his hand. “Gone for another six months. Then the cycle begins again.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the Sandman said, handing the pictures back to Belmont. “I would suggest the NYPD stick to the Upper West Side in their search for the Tarantula Killer.”

Belmont furrowed his brow.

“Why?”

“Because I saw that’s where he’ll be captured….”

“Where did you see it?”

The masked hero started to silently retreat as a fresh wave of fog rolled in.

“Where did you see it?” Belmont asked again.

“In my dreams,” the Sandman said before he disappeared through the fog.

“Fucking lunatic,” Belmont muttered under his breath. "'In my dreams' the fuck does that mean?"

---

New York City
Now

Wesley Dodds gasped himself awake. He sat upright and gasped for air. It felt like something was wrapped around his throat. His weathered hands reached for whatever it was, but found nothing there. Wesley caught his breath and sighed. He wiped sweat from his brow and checked the clock on the nightstand. 3:44 AM.

It was a dream, more like a nightmare, that woke him up. Wesley hoped that it was just a nightmare and nothing more. He kicked the covers off and padded across his bedroom towards the bathroom. This was only his second trip to the bathroom that night, an unusually low number for someone of his advanced age. He finished urinating and paused from washing his hands to look at himself in the mirror. His bald, gaunt face was weathered… but to Wesley it looked the same as it had for the past forty years. He was one of about one hundred so-called “supercentenarians” alive in the United States today; he'd gotten a nice plaque a few years ago when he turned the big 110. But yet… to Wesley he still looked and felt no different than when he turned 80 decades ago. Every year his doctor said he was as fit as a fiddle, in better shape than most people far younger than he was. What in the hell was going on?

Wesley ran his hands under the sink and splashed water on his face. He started back towards bed but stopped when he heard the chiming of his phone somewhere in the apartment. He shuffled across the hardwood floors of his little one-bedroom home until he found the flip phone charging on his coffee table. The number that flashed on the screen wasn’t one programmed into the phone, yet he recognized the number. He felt a cold sensation in the pit of his stomach as he reached for the phone.

“Sandy?” Wesley asked softly, his voice still thick with sleep.

When he heard the crying on the other end of the line he knew his dream had been something more more deeper and sinister than a simple nightmare. He closed his eyes and sighed even before he heard the news.

“Wesley? It’s… Frankie… Sandy’s dead.”

"Barry Allen," Detective Eddie Thawne says with an exasperated sigh as he walks into the computer lab, steaming hot cup of coffee in his hand and a look on his face like he's got half a mind to throw it at me, "You have got to be the slowest man alive."

If there was a camera nearby, this is where I'd look at it with a knowing grin and wink. But even if he understood the dramatic irony of what he just said, I doubt Thawne would be in any mood to appreciate it.

"You've been sitting on that fingerprint for a week, Allen," he says with annoyance.

"I know, I know," I say sheepishly.

"Captain West wanted a decision on whether it's a match for Garcia three days ago."

"I know....I know...."

"So is it?"

"I.....don't know," I answer, shrinking in on myself as I slump forward at my computer desk.

They've got me looking at latent ridgeline prints-- fingerprints if you're a layperson-- left behind at the scene of a recent double homicide. The victim was a suspected narcotics dealer named Ricardo Nuñez and his girlfriend Sofia Lawson. Right now the primary suspect is a man named Frankie Garcia, leader of a local branch of the larger Escabedo Cartel. CCPD has been dying for enough evidence to make their move and take him down. And a partial fingerprint found at Nuñez's house the night of the shooting has several characteristics that seem to match the contours of Garcia's right ring finger.

Open and shut case, Garcia took out Nuñez to get rid of the competition, right? Well, about that....

"You don't know?" Eddie asks, incredulously. "It's your job to know, Barry. That's the whole reason we have you and the rest of the geek squad back here."

"It's....it's not that simple," I start, already knowing I'm fighting a lost battle, because I've had this conversation every day this week.

The thing about the forensic sciences is that everyone seems to think that they work the way they do on TV. If something's a match, then that's clear-cut, 100% foolproof evidence that our suspect did it. But the truth is, it's not that simple. You almost never get a full print, especially not one clean enough to say "yes sir, that's an exact match"-- though that certainly doesn't stop prosecution attorneys from doing just that at trial. This sort of work is muddy, and unclear, and takes forever. You have to make as informed a decision as you can, and pray that you're right.

"It's like I told the Captain," I explain, pulling up a pair of side-by-side prints, one the partial print found at the crime scene, the other Garcia's prints in our database, "The partial print has enough similar qualities with Garcia's prints that I'd say there's about an 85% to 90% chance that it's a match."

"Okay, so--"

"Buuuuut," I cut him off so he doesn't talk all over me, "There's also another potential match. Sofia's ex-husband Dennis Clay has loop patterns on his left pinkie finger that share similar qualities with the partial print. I'd say there's a good 60% to 70% chance that the print matches his as well."

"So it's less than the chance that it's Garcia's," Thawne concludes.

"Yes, but--"

"So what's the hold-up?"

"I-it--it's still within the margin of error," I start to stammer. "I st-still need to clean up the crime scene print more to make the call. And I don't want to shape the facts just to get the answer you want."

"Seriously?" Eddie scoffs, "Like Garcia's some saint, you can't believe he'd do this?"

"That's not the point," I answer, my hackles starting to raise a bit. "You're looking at this from the perspective of crime and punishment- bad guys that need taking down. I'm looking at this as a question in need of an answer. Because I want to make sure that we take down the right bad guy! Or a completely different bad guy that we don't even know about yet! Because the whole point of what I'm doing here is making sure we don't put people in jail for things they didn't do!"

I didn't even realize I had been raising my voice until it cracks. I didn't even realize I'd been standing up until I'm right in Eddie Thawne's face. I didn't even realize my hands were balled up into fists until I feel them shaking.

There's a long, uncomfortable silence in the room, before Eddie takes a step back, his hands up in mock surrender.

"Okay, hey, I get it," he concedes. "We're all on the same side here, Barry. I read your file, and I get where you're coming from. I get that sometimes things aren't as simple as they seem."

He takes a long sip of his coffee, not taking his eyes off me.

"Sometimes, though, things really are that simple," he continues. "It's easy to overthink something, see twists that aren't there. Like you said, we don't want to shape the facts just to get the answer we want."

The dig is subtle-- at least by his standards-- but it's definitely there. I glare at him, not sure if I want to say something to his face, report him to Captain West, or just break his nose.

It'd be so easy, too. He'd literally never see it coming. I could break his nose, pants him, replace his coffee with water from the urinal, and pick him up and drop him off in the middle of a cornfield a hundred miles from here before he's done blinking. And everyone would think he's crazy-- and maybe it'd serve him right. See how he likes it.

But, y'know, petty violence is definitely more of a villain thing than a hero thing, even if Eddie's a prick. And using my powers to protect people includes people I happen to think are pricks.

So I unclench my fists, swallow my pride, and shrink back down into myself.

Eddie takes another sip of his coffee, before turning to leave.

"We're moving forward with a warrant on Garcia," Thawne remarks as he walks out the door. "Half the department's champing at the bit to finally put that rat bastard away. You wanna speed up the process, Barry? Our do you wanna slow us all down?"

As the door starts to close behind him, I stare holes in the back of his head. It's a really good thing I don't have heat vision.

Sitting back down at my desk, I look at the partial print from the crime scene. Then at Garcia's fingerprint. Then at Clay's. And back to the partial print again. Back and forth.

Is Thawne right? Am I making this more complicated than it needs to be? The evidence definitely leans toward Garcia.

But my gut's saying something else is going on here.

But the whole point of science is that you don't go with your gut, you go with the evidence.

But it's still within the margin of error, which means the CCPD could be going after the wrong guy.

But Clay's print is even further in the margin of error, meaning there's an even bigger chance it's not him.

But--

"Heyyy, Barry?" A voice chimes in on the earbud I keep in my right ear, ostensibly because "music really helps me focus," but actually because it's a tight-beam laser receiver that allows for wireless communication without the chance of people listening in. "You, uh, you got a minute?"

On the other end of the line is Cisco Ramon, one of the mechanical engineers at S.T.A.R. Labs, and Dr. Wells' right hand guy.

"I'm here, what's up?" I answer, keeping my voice down. Even though I'm by myself in the computer lab, I don't need people overhearing me while passing by.

"Well, we're picking up a pretty massive storm cell brewing over the downtown financial district," Cisco continues, "And some pretty significant thermal fluctuations of intense heat and cold. And there's reports of, ummm....boomerangs."

A big stupid grin starts to spread across my face.

"Oh-ho-ho, man, Cisco," I chuckle as I start fidgeting with the ring on my right hand, "Thanks for the good news."

"How could the Rogues being back in town possibly be good news?"

"Because," I explain, popping open the hidden compartment on the ring, "I'm having a bad day...."



"....and I really feel like breaking someone's nose right now."

Sometimes things really are as simple as they seem. And, well, the Rogues are about simple as they get.

---

For once, the sun was shining in Gotham City. Languid clouds floated in the blue sky, occasionally casting large circles of shade as they passed between the sun and the earth. Broken streets were filled in and made new again, be it concrete or weeds that filled the cracks. Old buildings were smooshed against the buildings that counted as 'new' only by relativity. Gargoyles loomed over many rooftop corners, but no literal creatures of demon lore. This area was much too practical and down to earth to have paid for some fancy shmancy statue mounted one vertex, let alone four. The new buildings, squat, flat, grey, constructed in the brutalist era of the 70's. Most likely crushing the corpses of whatever crumbling gothic hut came before them. All of them were bedazzled with unblinking, unlit neon signs. Glowing eyes, waiting for night time to open. Cars were parked, many of them the retro kind. Not outdated, not obsolete, just...classic. Here, in the sprawling metropolis of Gotham, the cluster of steel, stone, and glass towers that made up the endless labryninth of Downtown seemed a million miles away.

A burly man, a thin layer of blonde hair growing on his head, calloused hands in the pockets of a leather jacket, lumbered his way down the street. Happy, but, a bit sheepish, perhaps. For at his side, trailing a few steps, was a shorter but perhaps significantly more intimidating female figure. Dressed in all black armor and fabric with dim gold highlights. A hood over her head, and a black mask around her eyes. Strands of hair hung from the hood, and the small smile she wore on her face was obvious. On her back was the golden symbol of the bat. Some people blinked, looking at her, and she smiled and waved. But no one asked for an autograph. There was an unapproachable aura about her.

The burly man, Bruno, came to a stop infront of a tattoo shop. "This is it, Bats."

Batgirl nodded. Bruno shook some nervous energy out of his hands and then smiled at her. "I just- you didn't have to-"

Closing her eyes, the girl dismissed his concerns with a wave of her gauntleted hand.

"All right. Well, this is it. In I go." Wood clacked against ringing bronze as he pushed the door into the tattoo parlor. Nobody was inside, save for the tattoo artist herself. A redhead with the name 'Leonie' on her nametag. Defying the usual image a tattoo artist, she didn't have very many tattoos on her at all. At least from what Batgirl could see.

"Hiya, Bruno. Ready to finish the job?"

"Yes, ma'am." Bruno gave a little salute. Slipping off his leather jacket, he set it on a coat rack. Next, off came his tank top. Splayed across his muscular chest was a black and white outline of a serpentine demon, engulfed in wrathful flames. Beneath that, buried among the fiery imagery, were two stagnant black swastikas.

Exhaling, the large man sat back in the chair. "Let's finish this."

Leoni nodded, fired up her righteous needle, and got to work. Baleful oranges and reds consumed his skin, and in a matter of hours, conqeur the past once and for all. As the tip pushed in and Bruno stared up at the ceiling, Batgirl saw a little drop of blood get forced out. A little drop of crimson.

(Take the needle.)

Stop.

(Jam into his throat. Swipe away carotid. Too fast. Slam her head into granite table corner.)

Stop it. Bruno's happy. He's got his second chance. A new life, for his son. She's focused. Look how much she cares. Look at the art she's created. This is good.

(Alternatively. Snap her neck. Burst his liver with elbow. It's unhealthy. Too much alcohol.)

Please let me have this.

(Footsteps outside. Audible to no one else. Someone behind you in four seconds. Light footsteps. Female. Knife. Into. Heart.)

Bell rang. Another customer, right on queue.

(Behind. You. Hear that? Purse. Smell that? Pleather. Plastic. Pepper spray inside. Weapon, dangerous.)

I have to go.

Cassandra turned and began to make her way out.

"Uh, hey, wait, Batgirl." Bruno raised his hand, arm on the rest. "Before you go?" Batgirl paused. The female customer blinked in surprise at seeing such a figure. Smiling nervously she took a seat.

"Check inside my right coat pocket." Batgirl didn't turn around. But she did edge her way over to the leather article on the coat rack and reach inside. A slip of paper. She took it out: an envelope.

"You don't have too. But, if you want...he's a good kid, really. Thank you, Bats." The hooded figure nodded and pulled the door open. Somehow, the bell didn't ring.

---

Rooftops. Blue skies above were impervious and invincible to people like her. Impassive and unjudgemental. Thirty feet up, with only the air condition units to keep her company. Crouching low so the wind didn't take it, Batgirl unfolded the envelope. Though she detected the cellulose before she saw it, on the inside was a picture. A scrawny black-haired kid, trying his best to not act scared of the pistol in his hands. Written across the white border of the photo was...something.

Accompanying this was a small, handwritten note from Bruno. Finally, there was a dollar bill. A twenty, from the recognizable stern look of the old guy printed on it. A gift. Batgirl pouted happily, endeared. If only he knew where she got her funding. She placed it back in the envelope and set it on the ground. Retrieving a reinforced, black smartphone from her utility belt, she aimed it at the picture and the note. With a tap of her thumb the screen came to life. There was a multitude of buttons for her to press, but she went for the icon of an analog camera. Once in photo mode, she pressed the big red button. There was an authentic replication of a photographic snap. A good noise, pleasing to her keen ears.

Now the photograph and the note were frozen on the screen. All that was left was to once again put to use something the techies in the Batcave had helped whip up for her. Or maybe just installed the app on her phone from online? All that stuff was over her head. In the top right corner of the still image was a little speech bubble. Upon being tapped, a little grid went over the photo and a green bar started from empty and filled all the way up. Batgirl held the phone right next to her ear. Blinking in surprise, she quickly moved it away as the stilted sounding man began to read aloud:

"Batgirl. You gave me a second chance. Please give him one, too." Followed by two separate addresses. "You'll find him here. Take him to meet my parole officer, Becky. You know her, right? Thanks. It's not much, but please buy yourself a pizza on me. Joey's is good."

The word on the photo was a name: "Trent."

Navigating Gotham wasn't going to be an issue, now that she had heard the address. Doubt could be dissuaded by matching the symbols of the address to the symbols on the green signs around down. Besides, one of the first things she'd ever learned was the layout of the massive city. Vital importance was placed on knowing how to get around town without relying on a GPS. The city had to be her playground.

So Batgirl set off. It didn't take her long to get where she wanted to be. An abandoned warehouse, used for storing and distributing contraband. One knot in a long line of illicit activity. Criminal infrastructure almost matched the complexity and effeciency of legal infrastructure. But they could be pushed back, and out, one cut string at a time. Several exits and entrances. Spotting a stealthy way in would be easy. But today she wasn't after the bad guys. Her only goal here was one single person.

Trent. Him and a thug twice as wide as him exited the building after about an hour of waiting. Baggy clothes hid the weapons they no doubt had. Together they were patrolling the outside, acting like any normal citizen. When they passed into an alleyway and Batgirl knew no one would come out to check on them for a bit, she descended.

Trent kept walking for a few feet, having not noticed Batgirl standing ontop of his unconscious fellow gang member. Batgirl cleared her throat. Trent jumped, turned around, surveyed the situation, and reached inside his jacket pocket.

(Knife into eye. Don't let him draw.)

He won't shoot me.

(He's so slow. He's soooo slow. Rush forward, break elbow.)

He's not a killer.

(Not yet. But you are. You can stop a killer from coming into existence right now.)

I don't think that's how that works.

Trent, finally, pulled the gun and aimed it at Batgirl. Standing there quietly, the vigilante made no movements. Fear coursed through his body, threatening to wrestle the gun from his hands before Batgirl even got the chance. Iron sights only occasionally passed over her center of mass as they trembled from spot to spot.

"Wh-wha-what? What are you...if I..." Trent managed, as she waited. Clearly he had expected something to have happened by now.

"If I...if I kill you. I'll be a l-legend. They'll respect me." Trent said. Batgirl gestured down to the unconscious guy.

"Well, yeah, him too. I mean, he's way tougher than me but- I mean- why didn't you?" Trent focused up, pointing the gun directly at Batgirl's head. "...move! Dodge! Do something!" He pleaded. Give him an excuse to fire, he asks.

"...damn it!" Shoulders sagging, his handgun drops to the floor. "What do you want with me? I- I can't tell you anything."

(As if he would have a choice.)

Shh.

Batgirl reached into her utility belt, took a step forward, and produced an envelope. She wasn't worried about him getting jumpy because the movements seemed to happen while he was blinking. Trent flinched, and then carefully accepted the letter. Opening it up, he read it.

"...Bruno paid you a pizza to come get me out of here?" Trent said, deadpan. Batgirl nodded. "His parole officer?" Another nod.

"So now what? I just leave? You really think it'll be that easy?"

Batgirl shrugged, palms up. Isn't it?

Trent blinked. "Shit, you're right. I don't wanna kill anyone." I know. Glancing up, he saw her hand was extended again. Into her palm he placed her handgun, and she dismantled it whole. Walking past him, she took his hand in hers and darted down the alleyway away from the warehouse and into the street.

(On. Your. Right.)

Emerging from a metal green door, a pipe wielding bad guy took a look to his left and then fell over. Don't worry, Trent missed it too. "What the..?" He said, stepping over the sleeping six foot thug that had routinely bullied him.

They were away. Batgirl lead Trent down the street and to a manhole. "Oh no, I am not going down there-" The manhole was open, he was in her arms, and she jumped down into the sewers. "Wah!" He was set down, and when he turned around to give Batgirl his best offended glare, she was already gone to close the manhole cover behind them. Underneath the streets was a tunnel, ten feet in diameter, some green water pooling at the bottom. Grimacing, Trent kept to the dryer sides.

"Is this really necessary?!" Trent asked. Batgirl nodded. Best as few people as possible saw him with her. Just in case.

They travelled through the tunnel for a long while. Trent started huffing and puffing. "I thought you said this would be easy!"

Batgirl glanced over her shoulder at him as he jogged behind her.

"...I thought your shrug implied this would be easy." Trent clarified. Batgirl tilted her head to the side.

"Easy for you, maybe!"

Despite all nearby complainers, they eventually used a grapple hook to navigate out of another manhole cover. A block or two later and they were at an inconspicuous brown building. Batgirl knocked on the door, turned around, and then karete chopped Trent on the shoulder.

"Ow! Hey!" Trent flinched back. Jumping up on the roof, she vanished over the edge.

Moments later, a plainclothes police officer opened the door. Squinting at Trent, she asked. "Name?"

"Err...Trent Kilroy? Bruno sent me. I'm looking for someone named Becky? Officer Becky?" He glanced around.

Becky's face softened. "Bruno, huh? What happened?"

"Well. I was," Trent finished piecing things together. "At this suspicious warehouse. And then a fight happened. And then some costumed weirdo attacked me."

"Guess we'll have to check out this warehouse, then." Becky replied.

"Yeah. Guess so."

"It's never too late to just take a step back and reevaluate things." Becky said. "Come on inside. You've been through a harrowing experience- we'll take care of you." She stepped aside, and Trent stepped over the threshold.

---

As the GCPD surveyed the scene of the assault from the outside, they soon realised that this was indeed a place of regular criminal activity. Entering the building revealed a dozen men, bound together in the middle of the warehouse with a carbon fiber rope.

"We're gonna need a van." An officer sighed, adjusting his cap. Stepping outside to get some air, a shadow caught his eye. Boots dangling beneath her, Batgirl sat on the edge of an opposite rooftop. Though he couldn't make out her face, he knew they were making eye contact with each other. A cute little wave, and the hooded figure back rolled out of view.

"Why the hell are we working with criminals?" The officer asked his subordinate in the building behind him chuckling.

The other officer was gathering evidence in a bag. Without looking, he replied. "Sarge, if we didn't work with criminals, we wouldn't get to work with anyone."

She-Hulk #0.1 - Sweet Home California
Location - Los Angeles, California.

---

2 Months Ago...
Many years had passed since Jennifer had last given her old stomping grounds a visit. It really had been far too long, but if she was being fair to herself, she had been rather busy on several fronts. However, her fathers birthday was coming up, as was the 20th anniversary of her mothers passing, there was not much aside from an Avengers emergency that would stop her from taking a break to spend some time with her father. And anyways, she couldn't recall the last time that she had truly taken some time off for herself, there was always something or another that needed doing whether that be reading, writing, punching, or lawyering. It was a good thing that she thrived in that sort of environment or else burnout would have been almost unavoidable. Time spent faffing about could have been time spent saving lives.

The hot Californian sun beamed down happily from the cloudless clear blue sky. The rhythmic sound of the calm waves washing up against the sandy beach from the deep blue sea filled the ears of the beachgoers, as did the smell of the sea salt. Some families had even broken out barbecues which added a rather intoxicating scent of steaks and hot dogs into the air too. Jennifer and her father sat on a bench on the sidewalk just above and behind the sand. Both of them had ice cream in hand. With a peaceful smile Jennifer really took in the moment of relaxation. Moments like these made her think that she really should take more time out of her schedules to really slow down and enjoy some things.

The beach was not the busiest of places today, there was still a fair amount of people but usually it would have been quite packed. That might of had something to do with the 6'10 musclebound green goliath of a woman who was sitting and licking at her ice cream like a child. Beachgoers and passerby's on the street would give her a variety of looks. Ranging from looks of curiosity, surprise, fear, and many in-between. Although it should be said there was some looks of awe and amazement in there too. And some more creepy looks... Back in the day when Jennifer had been first finding her feet as She-Hulk the reactions of the public had bothered her to her core, but over the years she had developed a nifty skill of blocking it out. Ok, maybe that nifty skill was still in development and being tinkered with because it still bothered her a fair amount, but she was good at pretending it didn't for the most part. As soon as they had arrived there had been a fairly consistent stream of people who either started to leave, or began to look about and preparing themselves for some superpowered villain to jump out of nowhere and start causing chaos.

Her father tilted his head up to look at her with a slightly concerned look in his warm brown eyes. He was a tall man himself around maybe 6'3 and for his age he was fairly well built still. He had a short beard that was a darker grey mixed with some shades of lighter grey and even some white. His hair was a short and professional cut and was majority white at this point. "Jen... Listen sweetheart I know you insisted on going out like this but, do you think that maybe you could come down back to your usual self? Might be more comfortable you know?"

If it was not for the fact that her skin was green, there would be a fair chance that a nervous blush of pinkish red would have been visible on her cheeks. "W-well uh... I think it is a bit late for that now. Everyone would see it and y'know and well..." She scratched the back of her head anxiously. Dad this is my usual self...

Jennifer nervously bit her bottom lip, a habit that she had carried with her out of her childhood. "A-anyway. Maybe if we are lucky we could clear out the beach and have it to ourselves huh? I bet not many families can manage that." She grinned pleasantly although could sense worry in her fathers kind weathered face. "Uh, next time for sure dad. I promise ok?"

Shaking his head he placed a hand on her shoulder, the fact that he had to reach up to do it made it rather awkward and silly looking especially from a sitting position, but it was the feelings behind it that mattered. "Jen... It is fine. Whether you are Jennifer Walters or She-Hulk, just spending time with you is enough okay?" There was no masking the embarrassment on her face this time.

Her father chuckled "Well how is the ice cream then? Taste as good as you remember?"

"It's perfect actually... Takes me back to when I would badger you for some money so Bruce and I could go get some." She smiled down at her cone of one scoop vanilla and one scoop strawberry. That was always how she had it, as far as she was concerned there was no other way to. Fondly she remembered one time that someone had asked her 'what about chocolate?', clearly she recalled her response of an enthusiastic 'EWWWW!' If she was honest with herself, mint chocolate chip was actually quite a nice flavour. But, when she was She-Hulk Jennifer always tried her best to avoid green coloured foods. Now nobody had ever said anything to her about it but she felt like whenever she ate something green and there was others around, people thinking of various jokes and quips to say about it. She did not want to give anyone the opportunity to deliver on that... Not that anyone other than herself was even thinking about it.

There was groups of people playing volleyball on the sands of the beach. Further out in the waters there was surfers, closer in there was families splashing about. Children made sand castles and dogs were sprinting around up and down all over the place wagging their tails. Jennifer was half tempted to drag her father down there, but he was not the best dressed for that sort of thing. He had a light shirt on and a pair of trousers from his work, a police radio and gun holster hung at his hip. Her father was always on the job even when off the job. Maybe it was something in the family?

A playful smirk creeped across her face. "So old man. You haven't been thinking of retirement lately have you?" She asked the question in a jovial tone. It was something that they had talked back and forth with each other on a few occasions about. Ever since Jennifer had joined the Avengers she had made several offers to pay for whatever her father needed, or wanted. However, the answer was always the same. That he planned on continuing working on the force for as long as he could. She had never been left wondering where she had gotten her heroic streak from growing up between her father and her cousin.

Her father let out a grumble but not in ill-temper, and waved his free hand dismissively. "Oh come on Jen don't start on that again! I'm the old man here if anyone is to keep bringing up talking of retirement it should be me." He shook his head as he thought about it. "Just what would I do with myself anyway huh? Sit at home on a couch growing a big belly? Watching old westerns and tv all day? Falling in and out of naps as I grow senile? No thank you miss, that isn't for me."

Jennifer raised an eyebrow "Really? That sounds like the life to me. Plus you could get a dog!"

Her father snorted "Oh please, you wouldn't be able to cope with that anymore than I could Jen. We are both busy bodies and always have been. You wouldn't know what to do with yourself. Plus, you haven't aged a day in years."

She feigned surprise at his last comment "Oh dad come on now, you don't have to flatter me like that, I'm not that old yet." Although there was truth to what he said, as far as she or anyone else could tell she really hadn't aged a day since the blood transfusion that gave birth to She-Hulk... Maybe one day that was something that should be looked into?

"It wasn't flattery sweetheart. I am just saying that you might not even reach retirement age for a loooong looong time yet. Who knows in a hundred years when I am long gone you might still be walking about down here just as you are today."

That had Jennifer thinking for a moment. If that was true just what would that mean?

Before Jennifer could get to pondering that point seriously, the police radio on suddenly cracked to life on her fathers waisy. "Requesting back up at the Union Bank. I repeat. I repeat. Requesting back up at the Union Bank. Meta-human perpretrator at the Union Bank, all officers on or off duty requested for back up!"

Jennifer spoke up before her father did, after gobbling down the rest of her ice cream greedily, cone and all. The cold of it hit quite hard and she somewhat regretted having just done that. But standing up she said "Well, we better get going then shouldn't we partner?" A toothy grin beamed on her face as she enthusiastically offered a hand to her father.

Her father took it and stood up, he rather disappointedly put his ice cream in the trash next to him. "Yeah, retirement just suits you perfectly doesn't it?" he commented sarcastically. He took out the police radio from his waist and pushed a button as he brought it up to his mouth to speak into. "Officer Walters en route."

---

Gamma World - She Hulk Tie In #1
Location - Gamma Base

---

Present Day...
Loud snoring could be heard from the room of She-Hulk. If one were to look inside they would see a rather messy room, clothes lay spread out across the floor, as well as several mugs, bowls, and plates making a little collection on a coffee table. At least they were all empty. On the couch lay Jennifer Walters, who had reverted out of her She Hulk form while she was sleeping. Her body was covered from huge pieces of clothing that were far to large to her now in comparison rather petite body. She was not particularly small though, around 5'4 but compared to 6'10...? The contrast was made even greater by the fact that she was had a slim athletic build as opposed to the huge musclebound frame of She Hulk.

A pillow lay over the top half of her face, covering her eyes from the lights above. It would seem like she had felt particularly lazy the night before and instead of getting up to turn of the lights she instead improvised. 'A Fist Full of Dollars' was playing on the TV in her room. On repeat it seemed. She had picked up a love for Westerns from her father, ones starring Clint Eastwood were particularly interesting to her. She had lost count how many times she had watched 'The Outlaw Josey Wales'.

Upon awakening she jolted up into an upright sitting position, the pillow was sent soaring over the edge of the couch and bounced onto the floor. Jennifer rubbed her head. Always waking up with a headache... she twisted her body to sit on the couch as it was intended to be sat on and planted her feet on the floor. So thirsty too. She swallowed, her saliva feeling rather irritating in her dry throat. She picked up one of the empty mugs assuming there was going to be water in it. The feeling she experienced when attempting to take a deep gulp and finding nothing there could only be described as extreme and sincere disappointment. She squeezed the mug angrily in her hand, a mood characteristic of her mornings. It was the fact that it did not instantly shatter in her hand that made her realize the obvious.

"Argh, not again!" She exclaimed to herself in an empty room in frustration. Unfortunately there was a chance that in her sleep Jennifer would be unconsciously shifted out of her She-Hulk form. The fact that nothing she tried to stop it would have any effect made it even more irritating for her. "Just the perfect start of the day..." She slumped her head forward as she spoke to herself grumpily. Standing up she held onto the clothes as good as she could and shuffled over to the sink where she filled up the mug with some cold water. After a few swigs she once more shuffled over to her wardrobe and opened it, looking for some casual clothes that were her current size. Of course she could have shifted back into She-Hulk but... There was always the feeling that her cousin much preferred being around her like this. Like it used to be.

Jennifer bore great sympathy for her cousin and his struggles with his alter-ego. The Hulk for him seemed to be something scary, forbidden, painful. An uncontrollable beast of rage and destruction that he had to engage in battle with constantly, an eternal struggle to keep himself under control. Meanwhile for Jen... It was one of the best things that had happened to her in all her life. There was no pain, it was quite the opposite. One day she wished that her cousin could experience it as she did. If they could somehow switch places for a while... She knew that was a silly thought, Bruce would never agree to such a thing, there was no way he would let anyone else shoulder the burden he bore in his place. In fact, even if somehow, someway, the possibility for such a thing did come to pass. Jennifer sincerely doubted that she had the strength of will and character that was needed to withstand such a thing. The amount of respect and admiration she held for her cousin had grown exponentially from when she was a child, and even back then she was looking up to him.

She made herself presentable, brushed her teeth and began to clean up the room a little bit. Stacking the plates and bowls to carry out later, putting the clothes away, putting the pillow back on the bed where it belonged. Simple things like that. Suddenly she heard a knock on her door, which sent a jolt of surprise up her spine. Hastily she rushed across the room and opened it to find her cousin Bruce standing there, and she was just thinking about him too... Speak of the devil and well you know...

"Hello! Goodmorning, how are you... I-it is morning right?" One thing that Jennifer had not done was draw the blinds and it looked as if Bruce had already been working on something before he came to her room...

"Please tell me it is at least afternoon." Jennifer rubbed her forehead hoping that she had not slept through to the night again. She hated it when that happened.

"Interesting, very interesting. I muttered, taking my eyes off his computer for only a few seconds to eat before returning my attention to the page I was on.

It appears I was corrects about the existence of the Demon... even if it wasn't the way I was planning to learn. I quickly saved the picture of the demon sticking up his middle finger to my private file, although whether it was a demon or not was still up to debate, after all it was blue, had wings, and one massive horn sticking out the front of it's forehead. But still, it was a start.

"What's this about a demon? I thought we were looking for hulks." Asked my sister, Maddy from the video call, on the tab behind the tab behind the tab the picture of the demon was on.

"We are, but I have many other projects running along side it, I though by now you had decoded the hidden file.

"Oh, I have, and the one that has all the pictures of cheeseburgers-"

"We don't speak of the cheeseburger file, I was hungry and had just finished a complex equation and I was very- I turned to see the massive green beast struggle to pull itself through the door frame. Like myself, Kirby also changed forms when excited, and at about three years old the meant whenever he saw, smelled, or heard anything. "Hungry... Wait a minute Maddy... I think I found something."

* * *

The Cho family private jet was hidden away as usual. I had learned to fly it when he was twelve, and even after all this time he still got a shock of excitement when he saw it. This shock often caused a large amount of excitement, and as you know excitement causes Brawn.

"Shoot, this is going to keep happening isn't it." Growled the large green version of myself, stepping into the highly modified Learjet 60. I had rigged the auto-pilot to take him to the location showed on his laptop, тыਨਹੀਂአግኝში. "The made this to easy." I thought, quickly figuring out it meant you can't get in in a mix of Russian, Punjabi, Amharic, and Georgian, of course, if anyone could get in, it would be the seventh smartest human in the world, also known as Amedues Cho, literally the Brains and the Brawn.

I ran some tests on a computer program I had designed under the false name of Mo Chew, then sold the rights of it to myself for thirty thousand dollars. It had payed itself off as now the elite of the world had started to purchase program for thousands more then I had bought it from myself for. Eventually the diagnostics would reveal the location was called "Gamma Base," which to me sounded improper. At least call it The Gamma Base, or Gamma Base 15, or something. Anyhow, the Learjet would continue it's flight until it reached the destination, where I thought I would come across not just one Hulk, but two. Although in this day and age, there were plenty of gamma mutated people who weren't Bruce Banner or Jennifer Walters, the ones who he had hoped to find.

Red Robin #1 - New Cowl, New Case
Location - Gotham City, New Jersey.

---

Ramon Bach was one of the managing directors at Gotham's F.E.A.S.T. centre. The man had dedicated his entire life to helping those in need, spending the majority of his free time volunteering in soup kitchens, and taking part in various disaster relief efforts. Many like-minded people in the hellscape that is Gotham City would've had their spirit broken years ago as a result of the constant terror of Gotham's underworld, but not Ramon. He was one of the good ones, which is what made his tragic demise even more of a tragedy. He had just discovered that one of his co-workers at F.E.A.S.T had been skimming money from their donations, using it to fund one of the city's various crime lords.

Believing his co-worker would rectify his actions, Ramon had given him 48 hours to return the money he had stolen. Not even 24 hours later, Ramon Bach found himself lying in a pool of his own blood in his lowly apartment in the Narrows.

Years ago such a story would've come as a shock to Tim Drake, but after years of watching countless lives be lost in this city, he was sad to say he was unsurprised by the whole ordeal. He let out a small sigh from under his cowl, as he rose back to his feet and away from the corpse. Deciding to leave his personal question of when he had become so cynical until later, Tim set to work. If anyone was going to solve this case, it was the Red Robin.

He had arrived on the scene mere minutes after GCPD had received reports of gunfire coming from this apartment. The killer had been long gone by that point. It seemed they had left the same way that Tim had entered, through the ajar glass door leading to the apartment's cluttered balcony. That at least offered some clue into the culprit's identity. Given how high up this place was, it was clear that whoever the culprit was, either knew how to scale a six-story building or had come from the air. Adding how clean the shot was, it was clear that they knew what they were doing.

As Tim's mind pondered over Gotham's usual subjects, his index finger moved to the side of his cowl, activating its HUD. The graphical interface erupted into life around his eye line, as he scanned the room. The advanced forensics examination device had been one of Tim's more recent projects, and while nothing could beat the fine eye of a detective, it did a damn good job. That said, from that brief scan, a damn good job wasn't going to be good enough today. It seemed that the killer had also covered their tracks well. They were good.

The make of the bullet however was easy to discover. An experimental round from Kilgore Arms. Rare enough not to have been used by your common Gotham thug, yet common enough not to truly narrow down the exact user. But then there was the angle of the bullet wound itself. That was the real giveaway here. Using the angle, Tim could calculate the trajectory. Whoever fired it was around 5'6″ or 5′7″. They were shorter than Tim expected. That helped things though. He could definitely work with that.

The nearing sound of voices from the apartment building's corridor was the sign Tim needed to draw his forensic investigation to a close. That wasn't a problem though. He had all he needed. Quicking off his cowl's HUD, with a quick flick of his finger, the cape crusader slunk back into the shadows of the room. The apartment's door began to rattle as he moved, as the cops outside banged their fists against it loudly, shouting for the occupant to open up as they did so.

Earlier in his career as Robin, Tim may have been inclined to do so. He had believed in the system at that point. Now, after years of practice, Tim knew that it was best to just disappear instead. It was easier that way, just like his mentor had always said.

Plenty had changed since those early days as Robin. Previously he would've been here simply following the lead of his partner. Now, one new alias, and a significantly darker costume later, he was doing it all by himself. That meant finding his next lead all by himself. That was progress, right? Wasn't that what he wanted?

The banging on the door grew louder, shaking Tim out of his brooding.

Red Robin moved silently back out onto the balcony, rappelling away into the city skyline after a single shot from his grappling gun.

Cambridge, England
August 14th, 1665

“Cheese and crackers,” Jimmy Olsen said as he looked at the big blackboard in front of him. “I don’t think I can do this!”

“You have to, Jimmy,” the gruff voice of Rip Hunter said from across the room.

Jimmy looked over his shoulder. The trenchcoat clad time traveler had two pieces of chalk in his left hand. At Hunter’s feet was the unconscious body of Sir Issac Newton, though at this point still a young student here at Cambridge University.

“Jimmy, you have to invent calculus or the universe will implode in on itself!”

“But Mr. Hunter,” Jimmy sputtered. “I gotta be at work in a half hour! Cal is going to be steamed at me if I show up late to the press briefing!”

“Time is irrelevant, Jimmy,” Hunter said sternly. “Presidents are replaced. But the universe? That is infinite. Now compute, Jimmy, compute and calculate like all of existence depends on it. Because it does!”

“Aww, nuts…. That’s what I get for being a communications major! Are you happy now, dad?”

Jimmy took a deep breath and began to frantically mark the chalkboard with mathematical equations.

---

The White House
6:00 AM

Lois’ eyes fluttered open just seconds before the alarm on her nightstand went off. At this point in her life her body was trained to wake up at six no matter what. It made vacations kind of a bummer. She stretched and sat up in the four poster bed. Of course it was no surprise Cal’s side of the bed was empty.

She’d never realized he didn’t need sleep until they began sharing a bed many years ago. He always said he liked sleep, he said made him more human, but she always held a suspicion he only did it because of her. She did admit it always felt good to wake in the middle of the night and find him there within arm's reach. But as his responsibilities as both Calvin Ellis and Superman mounted it seemed sleep was a ritual he was sacrificing for more hours in the day.

Lois threw back the sheets of the bed and stood up as a gust of air rushed through the room. Cal stood at the foot of the bed still clad in his supersuit.

“Good morning,” he said with a soft smile. Lois walked over to her husband and they embraced and shared a good morning kiss.

“You smell like smoke.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Last thing I did tonight was a fly-by over those California wildfires. I was able to put a dent in it with my arctic breath, but there’s still work to be done. I noticed Diana’s vitals as I flew through the area. I’m sure if she’s on the scene it’ll get taken care of.”

“I hope she’s doing alright,” Lois said softly. “I haven’t seen her in so long. Not since before the campaign.”

Cal flashed a smile at her. “I’m sure with her profile it would totally be reasonable for the First Lady to invite her to the White House. I'm sure you wouldn’t be the first to do so.”

Both Lois and Cal looked towards the door when they heard a creaking outside. In another blur of motion Cal swapped his Superman suit for pajamas. Marie, one of the domestic members of the White House staff, wheeled in breakfast. A mainstay at 1600 Penn, the Ellis-Lanes were Marie’s seventh presidential couple in her long career.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully. “For FLOTUS we got bacon, eggs, and oatmeal. For POTUS, a poached egg and grapefruit. Gotta watch your cholesterol, Mr. President.”

Lois shot Cal a look. Food, like sleep, was something he never had to worry about but he did. He and Lois had found out first hand just how much of the job of campaigning for, and being the country’s first couple, involved eating. From hot dogs at the Iowa State Fair, to country fried steak in South Carolina, to the so-so quality of a $500 a plate fundraiser dinner, Lois had eaten her way across the country. It was really the only time she found herself envious of Calvin’s abilities. She had to work hard to make sure she didn’t let all that food get to her, while Cal could just burn all those calories off by saving some airliner from crashing into the ocean.

“What’s on the agenda today?” Lois asked once Marie had left them with their breakfast.

“Most of the same, but I’m working on my speech to Congress today and meeting with members of the Senate Judiciary to figure out who to appoint to the court.”

“When will you announce your nominee?”

“During the speech,” Cal said after a bite of egg. “Just one of the things that’s got me nervous about it.”

“You’ve done speeches. How many million came to the inauguration?”

Cal waved his hand. “That was different. Candidate Ellis was a different person than President Ellis. This is my first official address to Congress, the campaign is over and now I’m settled in the job. I can’t talk about what I want to do, I have to talk about what I’m doing. And on top of that, half of Congress want me to fail.”

“Well,” Lois said with a grin. “Pull an FDR. Welcome their hate. Dedicate your speech to all the haters out there.”

“Not very presidential.”

“No… but very cool.”

---

The Oval Office
8:45 AM

“And finally we had an attempted terrorist attack in Mali overnight.”

Cal sat on one of the two couches in the Oval Office. Gathered around him were Chief of Staff Pete Ross, Secretary of Defense Perry White, and Vice-President Ron Troupe. On the other couch was Sargent Steel, the old spymaster with one fake hand, looking over a pair of reading glasses as he delivered the president’s daily briefing. The national intelligence community had boiled down the events across the world over the last 24 hours and brought the president's attention to those most pressing.

“We say it was attempted because it is believed we had a metahuman foil it. Our best guess it’s the Flash given that, shortly before a suicide bomber detonated in a busy marketplace, the bomb dismantled in pieces at the bomber’s feet and the metahuman in question gave the bomber an atomic wedgie...you know, that thing where you pull the waistband of the underwear up over the person’s head…”

Steel pantomimed the act as best he could. Everyone laughed, including Calvin. Yep, he thought, sounds like Barry.

“The group who are responsible for it, they call themselves Al-Jihad, sent out a tape claiming the attack. Only problem was it appeared to be pre-taped so it made them look even more ridiculous.”

Steel removed his glasses with his good hand and looked around at the group.

“And that’s all DNI has today. Any questions?”

“Just one,” Calvin said before clearing his throat. “Those wildfires in California, are we tracking them?”

“Umm… intelligence community isn’t,” said Steel. “We deal with more of the metaphorical fires, sir.”

Another round of polite laughter before Calvin continued.

“I think it’s a good idea to have some kind of climate brief as well, honestly. We spend all this money on national security, but our nation isn’t that secure if half of the west coast is burning down and the other half is underwater. Thoughts?”

“Well, we’re not equipped for the weather,” said Steel.

“But DoD is,” chimed Perry. He looked at Steel. “We have our own meteorological department. If you’d like, we can work with DNI on some kind of climate briefing? Any sort of serious issue.”

“Anyway we can pledge any more FEMA money to those wildfires?”

“We’ve done a lot already,” said Pete. “And with hurricane season along the gulf and eastern seaboard ramping up we have to make sure something is left over.”

“Pete’s right,” said Troupe. “Houston was put underwater a few years ago and I hate to see that happen again.”

Calvin nodded without comment. Troupe, a Texan, was in a lot of ways the complete opposite of Calvin. White, older, and more conservative. He was the textbook picture of a Washington insider. He’d been a congressman, senator, and governor of his home state along with serving in the cabinets of two former presidents. In political terms he balanced the ticket very well along with Cal. They made for a good photo op, for sure, and they played that up in the campaign. But that didn’t mean they were particularly close or friendly.

“You’re right,” Calvin finally said. “Pete, see if we can get Secretary Carlson to send some Forestry Service firefighters out to California to help.”

Calvin also made a mental note to take yet another pass through the wildfires tonight after Lois went to bed. He was just very thankful that the Secret Service never put their best team on duty for the late shift.

_{Help me...}

Calvin could hear someone off in the distance screaming for help. What sounded like an explosion followed afterwards.

“Gentlemen, if that’s all I need to excuse myself,” he said as he stood. “See you tomorrow, Sarge. Ron, Pete, I’ll be back shortly for our meeting with the senators. Perry, keep me in the loop on the NSC meeting.”

With that Calvin disappeared through one of the many doors in the Oval Office that was built into the wall.

“He does that,” said Pete. “Umm… I think he had a lot of coffee this morning.”

The men shared a laugh. Pete saw movement out the corner of his eye, just enough to catch a glimpse of something very fast streaking over the Rose Garden and flying higher into the air.