The drive to Winnipeg is long and dull, but even taking back roads to stay off of the more heavily patrolled Trans-Canada Highway, we’re making good time. Veering north to go around Calgary added more time than I’d like, but we made up for it once we crossed into Saskatchewan. The pace of our little road trip is gonna be a difficult one to manage. Try to go too fast, and we draw too much attention to ourselves. But we’ve only got four days now to get to Westchester. If we’re still out here on day five, and he catches up with us…

"So those guys on the radio,” Kitty begins yet another attempt at getting a conversation going, "talking about what’s been going on with the super-heroes? That got me thinking.”

"’Super-heroes?’” I ask, scoffing a little at the corny-sounding term.

"Yeah, you know,” she continues, "after Superman, that guy in Metropolis? There’s a few more of them running around now– the Flash in Central City, the Spider-Man in New York, that fire guy they’re calling The Human Torch. Haven’t you been paying attention to the news?”

"Kid, I live alone in the middle of a forest,” I tell her. "I go out of my way not to pay attention to the news.”

"Right, yeah, sorry,” she nods. "But it got me thinking. These super-hero people, maybe they’re Mutants like us. Or even if they’re not, they do a lot of the same things we can do. And people aren’t nearly as scared of them as they are of us. So….why don’t we just, y’know, be super-heroes?”

"You mean Mutants in general, or you an’ me in particular?”

"Either, both, I don’t know,” Kitty says, "but think about it! There are so many of us who feel like we have to hide who we are, act like we’re ‘normal,’ because everyone will freak out if they see us use our abilities. But then here comes a guy in a big red cape lifting an overpass over his head, and half the world wants to throw him a parade! So what if, like, we just change the presentation? People aren’t afraid of Superman because he’s out in the open, where everyone can see him, he’s not hiding who and what he is. So why don’t we do that?”

I sigh. "It’s a nice thought,” I tell her, "and I know there’s more than a few Mutants who’d agree with ya. Big flashy costumes, masks, code-names, give the public something friendly to cheer for and maybe they’ll trust you. But I’ll guarantee ya, that Superman guy, that Flash, that Spider-Man? They’re out in the open right now because they don’t know what kinda people are gonna notice them. The people after you, I’ll bet you good money they’re already workin’ on ways to bring in every one of them and make them into…well, someone like me. And for every super-type who puts on a mask so they can pull cats outta trees, there’s ten more who’ll put on a mask to do things they’d never show their face doing. I oughta know.”

"What do you mean by….ohmygod, do you have your own costume?!” Kitty’s eyes light up. "That’s so cool! Why didn’t you tell me you were already a super-hero?”

"Because I’m not,” I grunt. "I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly built for helpin’ old ladies across the street. I was a soldier, not a boy scout.”

There’s a long pause while Kitty thinks, then finally counters "You can be both. Ever read the old comics about Captain America?”

"Hate you break it to ya, kid, but comic books are just comic books,” I tell her. "Captain America’s just a story, Steve wasn’t….” I trail off, wondering where the hell I pulled that name from.

”’Steve?’” Kitty raises an eyebrow. ”Who’s Steve?”

”...I don’t know,” I say.

The air smells like spent gunpowder, churned earth, and fresh blood….

Between the angry snarls of the machine guns, there are voices shouting…some in English, some in German…

My blood is pumping as we charge up the ridge line, only stumbling as I take a stray round that catches me in the chest. I stagger to my knees…and a hand grabs me by the shoulder, pulling me to my feet.

The man in blue gives me a reassuring nod, then he takes his place at the front of the line.

Every one of us, we’d gladly die for that man. Even those of us who can’t…

As we charge towards the enemy, I hear joyous laughter at my side. The man in blue, I’d follow to the gates of Hell. But the man running side-by-side with me, he’d be the first in line, and the last to leave, and then he’d convince me to go back with him…

"Logan? You…you all right there?” Kitty nervously nudges my shoulder. "You, uh, you kinda spaced out.”

I blink a few times, shake my head, and I realize my claws are out. "Yeah, I’m…I’m all right,” I say as I retract them.

"Gotcha,” she says, looking at me skeptically. "I’ve, erm, I’ve been driving for a while. Think we should pull over for the night?”

"Yeah, think so,” I nod. "Find us somewhere with a land-line phone. I’ll get in touch with Forge and let him know we’ll meet him in the morning.”

"Forge? That’s your contact?”

"Yeah, he’s the one that’ll get us what we need to get you back into the States,” I answer. "He’s another Mutant, has a knack for making things. A couple of fake IDs and a new set of wheels should be a walk in the park for him.”

"And he’s got a cool code-name,” Kitty says. "It tells you everything you need to know about the guy in just a word. See what I mean about how useful that is?”

I grunt.

"Sooo, you said you’ve got a costume,” she keeps prodding me. "and you said you’ve got a mask. So what’s your code-name?”

---

"Wolverine,” said Colonel Rick Flag, displaying the face of a hard-faced man with wild hair and thick stubble, "I’m sure many of you have already heard the name in your particular line of work, and any stories you’ve heard about him are very likely true.”

Floyd Lawton felt a lump in his throat, taking his first look at the face of a man he’d only heard about in legend. Anyone who’d spent any amount of time doing wet-work had heard of the Wolverine, and even though most of the campfire stories surrounding him were decades old, most still considered him the standard by which professional killers measured themselves.

"Birth name unknown, age unknown,” Flag read off the target’s statistics, "Five foot three, approximately 300 pounds. S.H.I.E.L.D. classifies him as an Alpha-level Mutant. His primary offensive capabilities are with a set of retractable claws, making him extremely dangerous in hand-to-hand combat. Highly enhanced senses means he can see, hear, even smell most targets just as well as state-of-the-art detection equipment, if not better. He can also regenerate damaged tissue near instantaneously. It’s believed this regeneration has extended his lifespan significantly, giving him decades–if not centuries– of combat experience. Field reports also suggest surgical enhancements, including lacing his skeletal system with an advanced meta-material armor resistant to any known weapons.”

"Five foot three? Really?” scoffed the red-haired man Flag had identified as Clint Barton, alias ‘Hawkeye.’ "You’re telling me the scariest Mutie alive is a half-pint?”

"That’s what you’re focused on?” asked Abner Jenkins, the scrawny, nerdy-looking man that Flag ID’ed as the techno-criminal ‘Beetle.’ "They’re sending us against a bloodthirsty wildman who’s impossible to kill, and you’re cracking short jokes?”

Barton shrugged. "If we can’t kill the guy, I’ll settle for hurting his feelings.”

"No one’s ‘impossible to kill,’” growled Benjamin Turner, the assassin known as ‘Bronze Tiger,’ "especially not an unskilled beast. He must have a weakness that we can exploit.”

"He’s got armor, enhanced senses, and retractable claws,” listed Eric Needham, the contract killer who went by ‘Black Spider.’ "My combat suit has all that shit and more.”

"Any weapon your suit doesn’t have,” added Paul Norbert Ebersol, aka ‘Fixer,’ a skinhead whose face was criss-crossed with surgical lines from cybernetic implants, "I’ve got covered.”

"I didn’t hear him say anything about not needing to breathe,” sneered Christopher Weiss, aka Slipknot. "All the regenerating meat and unbreakable bones in the world won’t mean a damn thing if I choke him out.”

"Not if I fry the bastard first,” said Lester Buchinski, aka ‘Electrocutioner,’ his voice filled with bravado he very clearly wasn’t actually feeling.

"You won’t have the chanssssse,” hissed the short-haired tattooed woman identified as ‘Copperhead.’ "My toxinsss can kill even the ssstrongesst prey…”

"Is that hissing a speech impediment thing, or do you just do it for effect?” Hawkeye smirked.

"Enhanced senses,” mused Melissa Gold, the pink-haired metahuman killer who went by ‘Songbird,’ "Probably means he’s vulnerable to sonic attacks. I can have some fun with that.”

"An I ‘ave yet to meet ze man who can come back from being blown into ze smizzereens,” grinned Bette Sans Souci, the French-Canadian terrorist who simply went by Plastique.

"That’s all well and good,” Deadshot spoke up, "but I don’t think we’re addressing the elephant in the room here.”

"Forget the elephant,” scoffed Hawkeye, "How about we address the giant goddamn shark-man in the room first?”

"KING SHARK,” said the enormous, hulking form with the head of a great white, "IS A SHARK.”

"Yes, great, thank you,” Lawton nodded, "but the question is: if the Wolverine has been running around unaccounted for all this time, why are we going after him now?”

"Good question,” Flag responded, "and the answer is you’re not. The Wolverine isn’t the target; he’s just the obstacle. There’s a significant chance you’ll have to engage him, but ultimately all you have to do is keep him busy long enough to apprehend the real target.”

The screen showing Wolverine’s face switched to a different image: the face of a skinny brunette girl with a bright smile and her fingers making a peace sign.

"Katherine Anne Pryde,” Flag introduced the target, "Age eighteen, freshman student at the Massachusetts Academy. Began displaying signs of Mutation at age thirteen, and has dabbled with Mutant Rights activism, including possible contact with radical elements. She’s displayed the ability to make her body physically intangible, occupying the same space as solid matter. This also appears to include objects on her person. S.H.I.E.L.D. currently classifies her as a Beta Level Mutant, but it’s suspected that with further development, she would classify much higher.”

"I don’t get it,” Slipknot said, "Why send us after some schoolgirl who can walk through walls?”

"The combat applications for someone like that are tremendous,” Bronze Tiger mused. "There would be no fortification in the world she couldn’t infiltrate, and no prison she couldn’t escape. If she can extend that ability to a weapon, she could penetrate any armor in the world….or any metahuman. They say the Superman in Metropolis is impenetrable to bullets. With the right training and psychological conditioning, that girl could reach through his invincible skin and pull out his heart.”

"Okay, so to recap,” Deadshot said, "We’re all being pulled out of our holes in the wall to go fight an unkillable assassin, hoping we can distract him long enough to capture an untouchable girl, so the shadow-government can use her to kill demigods. And if we try to run, you blow our heads off.”

"A bit reductive,” Colonel Flag nodded, "But more or less, yeah, that’s right. You’ll be granted access to all of the equipment and weaponry you were captured with, and authorization to use whatever means necessary to bring Pryde in alive and in one piece. Any questions?”

The enormous shark-man raised a meaty finned hand.

"Yes, King Shark?”

"KING SHARK IS A SHARK!”

"Very good. The chopper takes off in sixty. Til then, make whatever preparations you need.”

As the members of Colonel Flag’s suicide squad stood and were shuffled to the prison yard where their gear awaited them, Hawkeye nudged Deadshot.

"So,” he said, "how dead do you think we are?”

"Scale of one to ten?” Deadshot did a quick head-count. "I’d say twelve.”

Sinestro and Hal stood outside of the door of the house and rang the door bell. They were both wearing black suits. May was at the house of the other victim. A woman answered the door. Hal took out the Interpol Badge that S.H.I.E.L.D. used for overt operations like this. "Ohayo Gozaimasu, my name is Agent Green, this is Agent Gold, we need to come in and ask your son, Kamina a few questions about a recent incident he experienced?" The woman nodded.

"Yes, yes of course." When she talked it looked weird to Hal, her lips were moving, but the wrong sounds were coming out. It was like a badly dubbed movie from the 1960's. As they entered, Hal took his shoes off and motioned to Sinestro to do the same, before Mrs Hideyoshi lead them to another room and sat them down. "Would you like some refreshments? Tea?" Sinestro looked at Hal, who subtly nodded to him.

"Yes, i will have some Tea." He said, somewhat confused by all of these Earth drinks. Hal also nodded to her with a smile. A minute later, Kamina entered and his mother brought the drinks to them. Hal took out his phone and placed it on the table, pressing Record for everyone to see.

"This is Agent Green and Agent Gold, the time is... He checked his watch "17:07 JST, please can you state your names for the official recording?" He asked.

"Mrs Hideyoshi Yuki" The mother said.

"Hideyoshi Kamina" The son responded.

"Thank you. Now, the incident, 3 day ago, can you please give me an official record of what happened?" Kamina swallowed, then looked at his mother who looked back reassuringly.

"I had gone to school. It was a fairly uneventful day. After school, i met with Morita Burai."

"Mr Morita Burai. Is this a friend? A colleague?" Kamina looked at his mothers disapproving stare.

"He is... Was... My..." Kamina looked down.

"Your lover." Sinestro said, recognizing the fidgety look of explaining forbidden love in front of a disapproving parent. Hal was taken aback a little, having sudden flashbacks to the looks of several of his colleagues back in the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" classes when he first joined the academy. Kamina nodded.

"Please..." Hal was going to ask him to confirm, but he could see this was difficult enough as is, so better to just move on. "Mr Hideyoshi has nodded to confirm that Mr Morita Burai was his lover. Please continue."

"I had met with Burai in order to go to town to the Arcade. There was a brand new Undead Rampage machine going there, but Burai showed me 500,000 yen. He had been working a part time job and saving up the money. It was enough to get us down to Tokyo and maybe rent an apartment for long enough for us to get jobs and support ourselves." His mother looked on the verge of tears. Hal looked back and forth between them for a second.

"Would you feel more comfortable if your mother wasn't in the room?" He asked. Kamina looked at his mother, he had a look that said he had brought her enough pain that he would not ask her to bare the indignity of being dismissed.

"No, i am perfectly fine, thank you. I would rather she stayed." He replied. "Burai and I argued. I was..." He looked at his mother again. "I was very tempted by his offer. I have always dreamed of moving to the big city to explore a career in train operation. Whereas Burai was looking to become an Actor. But i also thought of my parents. My Father would be very disapproving and Mother would be heartbroken by such an action. I decided that we should save some more and wait for the end of the school year. But Burai was... Burai's parents were less understanding." Hal was taken aback by that. This woman looked ready to disown him from what he was saying. Whatever Burai's parents were doing had to be a lot worse. "Burai wanted to go now... Then... He was insistent on leaving immediately. I suggested that he go down by himself. His money would support himself far longer than both of us anyway and i would join him at the end of the school year. That's when he..." He looked at his mother who looked back in shame. He made a kissing motion with his lips.

"He embraced you?" Hal asked.

"Yes. And as i did, i saw him... Change..." Kamina looked a little uncomfortable. "His clothes changed into a pink... revealing outfit..."

"Did he say something? A rhythmic chant?" Hal asked. Kamina nodded.

"Yes... He said something... I can't remember quite. It was something about a long lost heart. Maybe joining a fight?

“For hearts long lost and full of fright,

For those alone in Blackest Night,

Accept our ring and join our fight.

Love conquers all with Violet Light...” Sinestro recited.

"Yes, that was it, how did you-" Kamina began, but Hal butted in.

"It doesn't matter, please, is there anything else you remember?"

"Burai started glowing brilliantly and then i saw a joy in him i had never felt before. He looked at me, there was a ring on his finger. It... It split into two rings, not down the middle or anything, it just... Became two, full rings and it floated towards my finger. I wanted to run or scream or anything, but... I heard that chant... And then it all goes fuzzy." He was definitely trying to remember something. Hal had seen the reports. They had trashed a whole street, including an office block. But they were stopped just after people reported a blue light.

"There were a number of reports that your... Episode... Finished just after a blue light appeared around the area. Is there anything you remember about this blue light?" Sinestro asked. Sinestro had been the one to insist on putting the Blue ring on the backburner, but any information about him would be useful. So far, everyone elses brains had been too scrambled by the experience to remember anything of any real value apart from him being big and wearing blue. Kamina seemed to wrack his brain, before he looked at Hal.

"I think... Wait a second, i saw him in class today." Hal and Sinestro both looked shocked. A good bit of luck. If the Blue Lantern were in the area, he could be either recruited or at least made to surrender the Ring so they could find the true champion. Either way, they were moving closer. Kamina ran out to his bedroom, before running back with his rucksack and beginning to pull books out. Finally getting a Religious Studies book out, he flicked through the pages and stopped on a page, before turning the book to Hal and Sinestro. It was on the Shinto deities that had been adopted from other religions and there, center stage was him. Kangiten in Shinto, he was more commonly known as Ganesh in the Hindu faith. "That's him, that's the one who was in blue." Hal and Sinestro looked at each other. "Could it be that the gods are returning? I saw someone talking about on a forum that someone had seen the Norse god Thor battling monsters in America. Perhaps Kangiten is here to help us as well?" Hal looked sceptical, but Sinestro's poker-face hadn't changed even slightly.

"Was there anything else? Something he said? Any information you can provide would be much appreciated." Kamina was looking a lot more chipper since he thought he had been saved by a god.

"Yes, i remember, after that warm, fuzzy feeling left me, he said to us...

"All Will Be Well" Kamina and Sinestro said in unison. Sinestro leaned over to Hal and whispered in his ear.

"It's a phrase the Blue Lantern is known for. It was definitely him." Sinestro finished his drink and got up. "Thank you very much for he drink." Hal also got up.

"Yes. Uhhh... Mrs Hideyoshi, do not worry about the damage, we are satisfied that your son was not in control of his actions and consider the matter regarding your son closed. If you have any further information that helps us, please call us." He handed her a small business card. He bowed to her before walking back to the foyer and putting his shoes back on with Sinestro in tow. As soon as they were outside, he uploaded the recording to S.H.I.E.L.D. "And now we play the waiting game." He said. Sinestro started walking back to the car. "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, where are you going, buddy?" Hal asked. Sinestro looked at him, confused. "This is Sapporo, the Beer capitol of Japan. We are now waiting for the nerds back at base to analyze what's going on. You and me, on the otherhand, have a few hours." He smiled. "We are going to go and enjoy ourselves." Sinestro turned and continued to go to the car.

"Green Lantern, we have bigger problems to deal with right now." Sinestro replied dismissively.

"Yeah we've got bigger problems. Ever since this INSANITY began, i have had a week in a holding cell being the only time i have not been chasing these things is when i'm sleeping after a long day of chasing these things. I need to sit down, have a beer in a stationary place without having to worry about the weight of the world being on my shoulders." He stormed up to Sinestro and grabbed him by the collar of his suit. "We are going out, we are getting minted and we are going to have FUN. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR!?!?!" Sinestro looked Hal up and down. Yes, this was most certainly a man on the edge. Better take the opportunity before he finally snaps.

"Ok." Sinestro relented.

It has been awhile since Slade has been to New York City, the city that never sleeps. The last time he was here, he was a teenager on vacation with his adoptive parents. Those were the times, and it seems like the city has not changed much since his last visit. But unlike last time, when it was for fun. This time, his reason for coming back to the city is for personal business.

It did take some time for Slade, and with help from Wintergreen, to figure out which boat had the shipment that he discovered on his last mission. Now, while he was late in finding the ship at the docks, he did manage to figure out where the shipment was going. It was at a warehouse, and after doing some subtle recon during the day of the warehouse. It was time to see what was in it.

It was about midnight in New York City when Slade, wearing his armor, got through a locked gate, a back entrance to the warehouse, and proceeded to the main storage area. He navigated past the guards and cameras, and once he was inside, he began his search.

Luckily, Slade had the shipment information and had just had to locate the right shipping container. Still, in a warehouse full of shipping containers. It took some time to find it as he walked past container after container before finally stopping at the right one. "There you are," Slade said under his breath, and he slowly opened the shipping container and he discovered where long wooden crates. Seeing how the crates were sealed shut, he looked around and found a crowbar, which he used to open one of the crates.

What Slade found were weapons, specifically rifles, he put the crowbar aside and picked one of them up. It was a type that he was not familiar with, which is surprising considering his military background. But it did look somewhat advanced, "now, what are you?" He wondered as he gazed at it. Slade would put it back in the crate and took out a device. A small but expensive device, a tracking device that Slade had bought just for this occasion. He placed it deep within the open crate and closed it.

It should be small enough that it would be hard to find, but the fact the crate was clearly opened at one point would draw attention, and people would know that something was up. But Slade does not have much choice in finding out where these weapons are heading, so he does the best he can. After leaving the container and closing it shut. Did he leave the warehouse quietly, and now it was the time for the waiting game.

On the Road // USA

It took Iris nearly a minute to get to the edge of the city, heading west for Illinois following signs for Chicago. She allowed the speed to take her, breathing deeply and calmly as the lightning flowed through her veins. She was in a world of her own as she crossed into Indiana.

Feeling a familiar pang in her stomach she hopped up and over the barrier of the interstate and off to the side of the road. Searching her pockets for anything to eat she only found a rather melted and disgusting chocolate bar. She attempted to open it, purely for energy. Barry had explained to her that due to her speed and metabolism, she had to have a far greater calorie intake. On the bright side, she wouldn't need to diet for summer next year.

Sighing and placing the bar of disappointment back in her pocket Iris pulled her phone out of her other pocket. Then frowned after pressing the button to unlock it, and all she was met was a black screen that read [NOT AVAILABLE].

Holding the button, the screen went black as it turned off. Holding it again the Trask logo briefly appeared, before displaying nothing but [NOT AVAILABLE]. Perplexed, confused and a little bit lost - well, she knew what led to Springfield and back to Central City. Iris decided that the best thing she could do was to push on a little bit farther to a town, or a rest stop. Somewhere she could find out what was happening, get something to eat and figure out what was happening.

Just a passing car slowed to take a look at her, she took off again. Leaving nothing but a trail of dust as she once again sped down the motorway. As she got closer and closer to Springfield, she surmised that whatever was going on with her phone wasn't an isolated incident. Iris had passed several electric cars that had seemingly just stopped in the middle of the carriageway, thankfully nobody had been hurt but the resulting traffic jam and people milling around did make travelling more awkward. Making her way into the city she tried to remember her way, coming to a stop to try and get her bearings she turned when she heard a scream.

"Somebody do something!"

"Oh my God the train is coming!"

"They can't get out!"

Sat on the level crossing was the latest Trask EV. It had stopped in the middle of a crossing, its occupants trying to beat open the windows as in the distance a train could be seen gaining speed heading straight for it. Without a second, or more accurately without a nanosecond, of hesitation, she jumped into action. A nearby garage had its shutters open and she ran in, grabbed the first heavy looking tool she could find - not entirely sure what it was called, but it was heavy and made of metal, and went towards the car.

The panic and fear in the occupant's faces and eyes burned their way into her brain. "Cover your faces!" When they didn't react fast enough she took a deep breath, trying to slow herself down. Very consciously slowing her speech. "Cover, your, faces."

As soon as they had ducked down she struck the window, it slowly bent in before bouncing back. A second strike, third, fourth, tenth, fifteenth, thirty-fourth, sixtieth. It was a crash-resistant crash but everything had its breaking point as her arm became a blur, and eventually, the glass caved. Disappearing again in an instant she returned the slightly warped, and possibly broken, tool to the garage and grabbed a pile of rags and brought them back to the car. Covering the broken glass to allow the occupants to climb out without shredding their hands. As she was reaching in to help pull the people out she felt a tap on her shoulder, turning to see a man there with a very concerned look on his face.

"Hey I'm just trying-"

He interrupted her pointing at the train. "The people on the train!"

Iris turned to look at it before turning back, not quite getting what he meant. Surely they would be fine. It was just one little car - that's when she noticed he was pointing down the track now in the opposite direction. at an oncoming freight train.

"Oh hell."

---

“Jesus FUCK.”

“Can you keep it down? This is a library.”

Rachel didn’t even look up from her tome as the woman who gave birth to her came into their home’s private study. The shock faded from the older woman’s face before being replaced with anger, then apathy. Angela Roth demanded: “What are you doing back here?”

Rachel mused, “We haven’t said more than a sentence to each other in over four years. I don’t have a problem keeping it that way.” Out of the corner of her eye she looked over her mother’s slovenly appearance: long unkempt hair, a once beautiful face locked in permanent scowl, skin paler even than Rachel’s, a T-shirt in need of cleaning and sweat pants even in the middle of the day. To think this pitiful shell had once found Trigon’s embrace…

“Shouldn’t you be out dooming us all? You know that doing what he wants is just going to leave you dead.”

“I know, and I don’t care. You’re the one who abandoned me in spirit: why should you care who picked me up? Or are you just mad that I haven’t ended your pitiful life yet?” Angela’s scowl was etched more deeply onto her face. “Blessed with a greater purpose and you just spat on it.”

“Greater purpose? Greater purpose?! He’s a termite. An oversized bug acting out. There’s no depth, no secret, no greater meaning.” The room darkened. Rachel’s cloak drew across her body. “He just does whatever he wants because he has the power to do it. You’re just another fucking pawn in his game.” Rachel’s form seemed to swell, the shadows consuming all. Tendrils drew up from beneath her cloak as she turned on Angela, who backed away. Her venom still spewed out. “You think you matter to him? You’re a speck of dust. He’ll forget you long before he leaves this universe a graveyard.” Rachel loomed over Angela. Her eyes glowed red, and two more appeared, then another two. Angela’s scowl broke, fear evident in the trembling of her legs. She backed against the next bookshelf as Rachel drew ever closer. “I’d have killed you if I could. I should’ve, but I didn’t have a choice.” Rachel reached her arm out, and Angela flinched, dropping to the ground. She grabbed a book that had been a little outside of her reach and floated back, Angela collapsing to the ground as the room returned to normal light. Her breath came too fast for her to get any air, tears rimming her eyes. Some trauma resurfacing, Rachel assumed, but she didn’t care.

She flipped through the pages. “Did you think I was going to kill you? No. I’m going to let you live to see dear father again. I’ll just have to imagine your horrific death until then. Maybe I’ll have him tell me what he plans on doing to you so I won’t have to imagine it.” While Angela started to gather herself, a handful of books flashed dark, Rachel pulling them close and stacking them up. Some magic tomes, some normal literature, all of interest to her and her mission.

Starting for the same window she entered in, her mother spoke from her spot on the floor, her voice still weak. “I didn’t have a choice. You still do.”

Rachel scoffed. “The illusion of meaningful choice runs deep, doesn’t it?”

---

Approaching the hotel, ducking from building to building, phasing through structures, and floating over vacant streets to avoid any annoyances, as she approached she realized that Garfield’s emotional presence was gone. On one hand that meant her trip had been partly wasted, unless she stumbled across another familiar candidate later. On the other hand: good riddance.

Floating into her window, she plopped her books down before using her magic to scoop up the remote, uninterested in whatever news program Garfield had rudely left on before ghosting her. Or at least, that’s what she thought as she moved to the power button, stopping to watch the coverage of a live superhero situation elsewhere in town, the streets soaked from a collapsed water tower. A familiar green animal shifter was in the think of it, one of three unidentified agents of the situation’s chaos. Finger hitting the red power button, even when the TV was off, she couldn’t stop staring into the black reflection of the room on screen. She looked to the pile of books, then back to the screen, unable to run from the high probability that Garfield hadn’t run away from her at all, but run into that situation as soon as he noticed it. Nails digging into her palm, that thought irritated her to no end. Throwing her hood back over her head, she floated right out the window from which she came and streaked through the sky into the day.

Volume 1 - Beggar Knight

---

Duncan hit the ground with a roll, tumbling over his shoulder and up to his feet, mace in hand as he scanned the area for any Ghul. Mehdi and Omar weren't far behind him, weapons in hand as they attempted to make out any shapes in the darkness. The thick, stale air echoed with the noise of horrific, pale monsters clawing their way up the walls and out into the desert. The only light that seeped into the pit was from the moon, only illuminating a small circle around the trio.

Mehdi held his rifle in one hand, kneeling down and patting around in the darkness for anything that could give them some light. His hand finally brushed against a torch that had seemingly been sucked in by the moving maw. He tossed it to Duncan, who picked up a stone from the ground, glancing briefly at its jagged edge, and struck it against the head of his mace. The spark flicked off, igniting the torch with a sudden, fierce blaze.

The room flared to life, shadows leaping away from the walls as the torchlight revealed ancient stone walls etched with strange, indecipherable symbols and carvings, marks of a long-forgotten civilization. The pit felt older than the sands above them, a remnant of a time that even the desert had tried to bury. The carvings seemed to pulse in the torchlight, as if reacting to their presence. But there was no time to study them, the Ghul were ascending, their vile shrieks growing more distant as they neared the surface.

"The camp can't hold on much longer." Omar said, his voice tense, eyes fixed on the walls. "We need to hurry."

Duncan nodded, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Since descending into the pit his body had felt strange, like he was being pulled forwards deeper into the cavern. A pain shot through his heart, and he fell to one knee clutching at his chest. The agony was sudden and sharp, radiating from his core and spreading outwards like sharp claws gripping his ribcage. He gasped for breath, the torchlight flickering as his grip on it faltered.

"Duncan!" Mehdi rushed to his side, eyes wide with alarm. "What's happening? Are you alright?" He said as he held his arm and pulled him to his feet.

Duncan struggled to speak, the pain twisting through him, but he forced himself to nod. "I'm fine" he managed to say through gritted teeth. "Just...give me a moment." But even as he spoke, he knew something was terribly wrong. It wasn't just the physical pain, it was as if something within him was being drawn toward the center of the pit, to the very heart of whatever dark power lay here.

He stood up straight, steeling himself against the pain emanating from within, waving Mehdi off as he spoke. "Let's start looking, we don't have time to wait around."

His two companions looked at each other, obviously concerned for Duncan. Omar cast him a worried glance but didn't argue. Instead, he moved to one side of the chamber, examining the carvings on the walls, while Mehdi did the same on the other side. Duncan took a shaky breath, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the pull in his chest was growing stronger, almost unbearable. It was as if the very air in the pit was alive, thrumming with energy, and it was calling to him.

He lumbered forward, his eyes drawn to a giant circular stone at the far end of the pit. The pain in his chest intensified with each step he took toward it, but he couldn't stop himself. It was as if his body was acting on its own, driven by an unseen force. As he got closer he held the torch high, illuminating it.

It was a door. It had to be, he still felt his body pulling him beyond it. It was an imposing presence in the dimly lit chamber, standing nearly twice the height of a man and carved from a single slab of dark stone. Its surface was adorned with intricate patterns and symbols that spiraled outward from a central point, each groove filled with dust from centuries of stillness. The stone itself was weathered, its edges smoothed by time, yet the craftsmanship was undeniable, every line and curve had been etched with purpose and precision.

At the center of the door was a massive relief of a serpent, coiled around itself, its head and tail meeting in an eternal cycle. The serpent's eyes were set with small, glinting stones that seemed to flicker in the torchlight, making it look almost alive. Around the serpent, ancient runes were arranged in a circular pattern, their meanings lost to time but their presence ominous, as if they held a warning or a spell to keep something contained.

The door had no visible handle or hinges, appearing as an immovable part of the cavern itself. It was as though it was designed not to be opened but to be a barrier between two worlds. The surface of the stone was cold and unyielding to the touch, and a faint vibration could be felt when Duncan pressed against it.

He felt along the face of the stone, reaching the edge with his fingertips he ran them around the curve, wiping off dust as he did. As his fingers traced the stone's edge, Duncan's heart skipped a beat, there was a section where the dust was conspicuously absent. His mind raced, realizing that someone had already moved the stone before them. His brow furrowed. It could only have been Mordred.

"Found something!" Mehdi's voice called out from across the chamber, breaking his trance. Duncan turned sharply, nearly dropping the torch as he did. His eyes were drawn away from the door, the strange pull weakening but not disappearing entirely. He forced himself to focus on Mehdi, who was crouched near one of the walls, his rifle slung over his shoulder. "There's some kind of...inscription here. I think it might be a clue."

Duncan moved over to him, each step feeling heavy as the draw of whatever was behind the gate tried to prevent him from walking away. He knelt beside Mehdi and leaned in to examine the inscription. The carvings were intricate, etched into the stone with a precision that belied their age. The symbols were unfamiliar, twisted and complex, but there was something about them that felt disturbingly familiar, as if they were tugging at the edges of his memory.

"What do you make of it?" Mehdi asked, his voice hushed as if the very walls were listening.

Duncan traced a finger over the symbols, his touch hesitant. The moment his skin made contact with the cold stone, a spark of energy surged through him, his fingers felt like they were burning as he brushed over them. Somehow he felt like he knew what the inscriptions meant, like the meaning was already present in his mind despite not knowing the cipher for this strange language.

"It's...a warning," Duncan said slowly, the words forming in his mind. "This place was meant to be sealed, to keep something from escaping."

Omar joined them, his face pale in the torchlight. "The Ghul," he said, his voice edged with fear. "They're what was sealed, aren't they? Whatever this place was built to contain, it's getting out."

Duncan rose to his feet. "Whatever the source of this is, it's behind that door. I can feel it, dragging me towards it."

Duncan’s gaze locked onto the massive stone door once again, the pain in his chest intensifying with every moment. The strange force pulling him toward it was growing stronger, and it felt as though the air itself was suffocating, thick with ancient energy.

"We have to open it." Mehdi spoke, standing up next to Duncan. "But how? It looks far too big for us to move, even with Omar." The three moved towards the giant stone, each examining its intricate carvings silently.

"There has to be some kind of mechanism, this was meant to seal these things inside, brute force won't open the way." Duncan studied the carvings closer, raising his hand to trace them once more and yet again feeling the burning sensation against his skin. Once more, the answer was given to him. "These symbols, they're not just a warning, they're instructions. A way to unlock the door."

Mehdi raise a hand to his chin as he stepped closer to the door. “The serpent... Ouroboros it’s a symbol of cycles. Life, death, rebirth. We need to turn it, align it with the right symbols.”

Omar nodded. “Then let’s do it. No time to waste.”

Without hesitation, Duncan placed both hands on the serpent’s head, feeling the stone’s cold resistance beneath his palms. Together, Omar and Mehdi moved to help him, their hands pressing against the ancient carving. Slowly, with a low grinding noise, the serpent’s body began to shift, rotating along the carved lines in the stone.

“Keep going,” Mehdi urged, his voice strained with effort.

The serpent’s body twisted in a slow, deliberate motion, the symbols around it beginning to pulse with light. As the serpent moved into place, the ancient markings glowed brighter, filling the room with a dim, eerie glow.

Suddenly, there was a deep, resonant click. The entire door shuddered, and the ground beneath them trembled, sending dust and small stones raining down from the ceiling. The carvings glowed brighter, their light casting long shadows across the pit. The door began to move on it's own, slowly rolling out of the way with a loud deep groan.

Mehdi stood back, rifle at the ready, his eyes locked on the widening space. “It’s opening.”

Cold mist seeped through the gap, swirling around their feet. A low, ominous sound echoed from beyond the door, like a distant, mournful wail.

Omar, eyes fixed on the opening, took a step forward, his voice steady but edged with urgency. “Whatever’s back there, it’s what’s causing all of this. We need to face it.”

Duncan’s chest throbbed with that familiar pull, stronger than ever. The pain was almost unbearable, but he forced himself to stand tall, the torch still flickering in his hand. He moved closer to the door, readying his mace as he peered through the gap and into the darkness. Preparing himself for what was drawing him deeper into the void.

FORMER SOVIET PRISON // UNKNOWN LOCATION

0817HRS The change from the comfort of his usual routine was meant to be another form of punishment for the little stunt he pulled the day before. The fact that the Red Guardian came passed his door and knocked every hour through the night was a clear indication that the super soldier may be holding a grudge about both the blow to his ego, and the loss of the shield. Not just a Soviet Trophy, but also a sign of status and authority.

Steve had already heard a couple of his fellow inmates calling after Krylenko with, from their tone, taunts and jabs. With any luck Steve would be out of here before there was any true retribution. If the scientists were confident on the stability of Krylenko and his serum, there was every chance that Steve may be just about outliving his usefulness. Which is why the questioning was a bit odd.

As Steve sat upright on the bed, the man sat before him was an unassuming man. He was certainly not military and clearly uncomfortable, which implied he wasn't prison staff. His long and unkept hair hung loose and free, which further supported Steve's theory that the Warden was a meticulous man who believed in everything being well kept and neat.

The two men sat in awkward silence, the man rubbing his hands together.

"Did you -" Steve stopped himself and offered the man his hand. "Steve Rogers."

The man shook his hand, his grip weak and palms sweaty. Clearing his throat as he shook Steves hand. "Stikk." Finishing the handshake he sat back down in his chair, and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket before handing it to Steve who recognised the service photo of Jim Hammond instantly.

Jim had went by the alias 'The Human Torch' during the second world war, and as such was part of the Invaders. A top secret team of enhanced individuals who, like Steves own Howling Commandos, completed impossible missions in the face of impossible odds behind the Axis front lines. Steve had worked with Jm on numerous occasions, and had even been part of a search and rescue party the winter of '44 when Jim had went missing.

He had later learned that Jim had been taken prisoner by the Nazis and experimented on, and Steve had been questioned about him before as it turned out that when the Russians had 'liberated' the prison they had been selective on who they released. During one of Steves escape attempts he had gotten caught as he had found papers suggesting Jim was somewhere in the very same prison that held Steve, and he had decided to look for him. Once he had been caught the Warden had taken great pleasure in telling him of the Human Torches death.

So why this man was bringing a picture of a dead man, was a mystery.

"Did you know Jim Hammond?"

"I did, but I'm afraid you'll get no more out of me than the Russians did."

"You misunderstand me, I don't care about what happened during the war. My employer has records that indicate you were involved in the search and rescue effort for Jim Hammond - any luck?"

Steve arched an eyebrow and then shook his head. "What does it matter, this is ancient history?"

Stikk obviously knew something Steve didn't, and he took pride in it. His entire posture changed as the younger man repositioned himself. "My employer has recently acquired something for the Russians, in exchange for something we want. With the added exchange of information, part of that information is asking you why Jim Hammond failed. Both his hardware and software were state of the art especially in the forties. There's no reason-"

The man trailed on, while the wheels in Steves brain were turning. He had little experience with computers, or the technological world but he knew some of the terminology.

"Are you implying Jim was some form of... robotic man?" The smile on Stikks face grew into a grin as thunder rumbled outside the window.

"More bionic really, didn't you know?" From meek to smug, while the young inquisitor was able to refrain himself from laughing, Steve knew that it was there. "My employers first prototype, he's since made improvements on the design obviously-" Obviously. "-but there are just some important questions about the prototype that need answered before we can begin the next phase. Think of Jim as the Alpha Test, and this would be the Beta. We hope to have most the bugs worked out-"

Steve shook his head, in one part disbelief and two parts confusion.

"I don't understand what you're saying, let alone what you want from me-" A crash of thunder, a flicker of lightning. "-I didn't even know."

Stikk stood up and walked to the door, knocking once. The door opened momentarily, a bag was passed through. Stikk took it, placed it on the table and opened it before stepping back, revealing the detached head of one Jim Hammond. If there was ever any doubt and about what he was before, that was quashed. His eyes looked slightly duller than normal, but he could have been staring into the distance from the look on his ace. No signs of pain or distress, if his head hadn't been in a box with wires coming out of the bottom he would have looked perfectly healthy.

KRRRRAAAAAAAAKOOOOOOOOOOOOM

The lights flickered and flashed, what felt like the entire prison shook. The smugness and confidence on Stikks face vanished, a sly smirk on Steves face. He placed a hand on the other mans shoulder, who flinched but by the grip put on him understood that now wasn't the time to scream, shout, or move away. Steve spoke quietly, and with purpose.

Gunshots could be heard farther away in the facility. "I don't want to hurt you-" Stikk let go an involuntary wimper. "-I'm going to take this head with me, and I'm going to leave. You don't want to get hurt though do you?"

Stikk didn't speak for fear that his words would betray him, instead he merely shook his head.

"Good. I need you, to call for help. No matter what the guards are doing, young Miss Sokov is going to be outside this door, and lets just say I don't really have time for a prolonged engagement."

"S...s...s...so just yell?"

Steve nodded. "I'm going to fall on the floor, you'll shout for help. When she comes in tell her I've had a fit, and that I'm not breathing. Do you understand?

Stikk nodded meekly.

"Now remember, we have a deal - you do this for me and I'll leave you alone." to drive his point home Steve jabbed a finger into Stikks chest. As the man nodded, Steve let his body go limp falling to the floor with a satisfying thunk. It hurt, but he had endured worse.

Closing his eyes, he tried to tune out the sounds of gunfire, alarm and the various symphony of voices from both inmates and guards alike.

"Guards! Help!"

The door opened, followed by heavy bootsteps and the thick Russian accent of his personal shadow - as Stikk knelt beside Steve. Two fingers on his throat checking for a pulse, his cheek down near Steves mouth to check for breath.

"What is wrong?"

The first part of his plan was going so well, or so the storm raging outside would seem to suggest anyway, he just needed her to take the bait.

One step, two step, three steps. He just needed her to get a little bit closer. Four, five, six. That was her at the foot of the bed.

"We were talking and he just collapsed when the lights flickered, I think it was a fit please he's not breathing!"

Swearing in Russian the next steps were more hurried, she might have been well trained but there was still some naivety to take advantage off.

Seven, eight, nine.

Steve swept her legs, as she barely got out a yelp. Stikk screamed, grabbed the head and bolted for the still open door. Steve swore but he didn't have time to grab for the man, instead he sprung up onto his feet and then twisted elbow first to follow Sokov on her downward fall.

A Crimson light emanated from her before her head slammed down on the floor. He followed her landing with his elbow into her ribcage, but where he hoped to come into contact with flesh he came into contact with something hard. As he rolled with his momentum he was suddenly catapulted on a beam of red energy, crashing through the door, and rolling down the hallway. He tucked himself in, making himself as small as possible as he bounced along.

Other than the gunfire and alarms blaring farther down the hall, all the prisoners who could see this wing suddenly went quiet. Looking between Steve Rogers and the door to his cell. Sokov walked through the door as a woman with purpose, her military fatigues burning away to reveal a sleek black costume beneath. Red lines spread out from a central point, a circle with a Crimson Flame in the middle of it.

As Steve pushed himself to his feet a glimmer of recognition crossed his face, he was sure he had someone with that emblem emblazened upon his chest before. He just couldn't quite place it, and now wasn't really the time.

Sokov lowered her hands to her waist and opened her hands, palm out. Red energy started to glow and coalesce in her hands as she walked towards him like a predator stalking her prey. Steve raised his fists toward her.

"You know I've never hit a woman, I'd rather not fight you. If you just let me go, I promise I won't hurt - HOLY -" Steve ducked, dropping to the floor as twin streams of energy lanced out from her hands, twisting along the floor before propelling himself back onto his feet to stay away from the sustained beam. Turning to look at the trail of burn marks along the floor he winced. Regretting sending the shield to another realm as a cry for help.

---

Krylenko walked passed the soldiers who stood at either side of the door, rifles at the ready. They had already heard the talk on the radio, fear on their faces. Someone was attacking the prison, someone who laughed in the face of their guns and their bullets. No matter how many of them there seemed to be. This prison held its fair share of mutants, however all of them were on a derivation of the mutant suppressing formula that the Americans had given to the world. At a high cost.

Krylenko kicked the doors opened just as the long haired interloper held up his shield, demanding to be taken to the whomever the shield belonged to. Krylenkos blood boiled, his noise still aching from earlier. A hint of excitement coursed through his body with the adrenaline, if this intruder was as strong as the radio calls suggested then he would be a perfect test for his physical limits. No holding back.

"I think you will find that the shield is mine, comrade. It would do you well to surrender it, and yourself, to me.