[IC] Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

[Bounce]

T H E F O R B I D D E N A S T E R O I D S

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^{The Andromeda Galaxy}

The young horse lord was seated in mid-air.

It was a floating meditation. A practical exercise in the application of physics that defined the fundamental principles of Kymellian technomancy. His three-fingered hands held out, the boy concentrated on understanding the present exercise. To understand his place in the universe. To reflect on what forces were acting on him. To appreciate how he affected the kinetic potential around him…

He was interrupted by a chime.

Looking up, the young Kymellian spoke to the air as he answered, “Yes?”

“Lord Whitemane, you’d requested to be contacted when we had contact from the human.”

The horse-boy’s ears immediately perked up. “Billy?” he uttered wistfully, hopping from out of the lotus position. In a shimmery flash, the world surrounding him was displaced. Gone were his spartan quarters. In their place, he had returned to central assembly.

“Captain... og, star... whatever point...”

It was unmistakably Billy Batson. The sound of his voice brought a smile to Kofi’s long face, his imagination already running away with flights of fantasy that sought to speculate on what adventure that Billy might have found waiting for him on Tolmeria.

G’Kar and Aelfyre were already present, the two figures pouring over different monitors. “The Galladorians have an exploratory vessel that received this transmission,” Aelfyre offered, casually taking note of his young cousin’s arrival.

“I’ve arrived... Tolmeria. Surface search is... ning up any signs of life... definitely been a... something here. Maybe a...”

The sound of Billy’s voice was becoming distorted, crackling in and out amid bursts of static. After a moment, Aelfyre looked up and noted, “That was as much of the signal that they were able to decipher.”

Kofi looked down toward the floor, then raised his eyes again. It was more news than they’d had. And now they knew that Billy had arrived at Tolmeria.

“The vessel was able to capture several scans of the Tolmeria System,” G’Kar intoned, in his booming voice. Lowering his tone slightly, the Okaaran warlord noted, “The energy readings are concerning.”

An Okaaran who expressed anything resembling fear was cause for a double take.

Aelfyre moved over toward the monitor where G’Kar had been standing. Reviewing the data there, the elder Kymellian remarked, “This electromagnetic signature is consistent with Billy’s power. But I don’t think we’ve seen him hold such a high output for any extended period of time.”

G’Kar just gave a solemn nod. “Whatever he’s fighting, Billy’s at his limit.”

Kofi just blinked at that suggestion. Billy had a limit? Everything that Kofi had seen had caused him to believe that Billy was unstoppable.

So, the Kymellian boy could hardly believe the question that he was posing, as he opened his mouth and asked, “He’s in trouble?”

Aelfyre didn’t answer.

“We may all be in trouble,” G’Kar murmured darkly.

The two adults just stood there, arms crossed and brooding as they cast dark glances at the monitors in the room.

Looking up at the pair, Kofi was quiet for only a moment before he reached up to tap his communicator. “Friday, please prepare for launch.”

Aelfyre’s head snapped up. “Kofi, what are you doing?”

What was he doing? What should he be doing?

What would Billy do?

Standing his ground, the horse-lord looked up at his uncle and said, “Well, for starters, I’m not standing around.”

+ - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +

Space was an infinite vacuum that was expanding infinitely in all directions.

So how was it possible to be out of breath in space? Well, beyond the notion of being out of breath all the time. Because of the no air thing.

But, seriously, Billy ordinarily moved about in deep space with no problem. Now, he and this Terrax guy had been going at it for long enough that they’d moved from the planet into orbit and then beyond.

For his part, Billy was pretty winded. Which was remarkable, because he’d forgotten just what this felt like. The last time he’d felt this way, it was the Second World War and Billy still had no ideas just what his powers even did.

And Terrax the Pants-less?

Dude still seemed the same as when Billy first met him. He took everything that Billy could dish out and then came back without so much as a scratch. The transition from terrestrial planet to the interstellar medium allowing Billy a luxury of being able to cut loose without worrying about doing some serious damage to the environment. Even still, none of his blasts seemed to faze Terrax.

They were fighting to a stand-still, but it wouldn’t last. Terrax was wearing Billy down. At this rate, Billy would exhaust himself and then Terrax would return to Tolmeria to continue the conquest and enslavement of the planet.

Unfortunately, punching things repeatedly wasn’t looking like it was going to carry the day for this one. And Billy was running out of other ideas.

There was a warbling chirp in his right ear.

His communicator had just paired with another. Did that mean..? “Friday, I need something to trap this guy. Quick!”

“Trap?” Kofi’s voice came back through the open channel. “What trap?”

“I dunno,” Billy tossed back, ducking and weaving as he continued to try and press his attack. “Something!”

Trading a series of blows, Billy fought to try and get a word out. “I just do the punching, you’re ‘sposed to do the thinking.”

Friday’s voice came back a moment later. “There is a neutron star at approximately two-eight-seven mark twelve, distance forty astronomical units.”

Glancing around, Billy finally stared down at his feet and oriented himself to the location that Friday had mentioned. He could feel the gravity from here. Getting close to that was going to be a day time…

“Kofi, I hope you got a bodyslide in you,” Billy noted softly. Bracing himself, he deflected a punch along his forearm, before angling himself so that Terrax was between himself and the neutron star. “‘Cuz I think I’m gonna need one…”

“You’re not actually flying into a neutron star, are you?”

“See you in a bit,” Billy quipped, before rocketing forward in an explosion of nuclear energies. He slammed into Terrax, grabbing hold of him even as the two accelerated rapidly to the speed of light, and then beyond.

Letting go of Terrax, Billy flipped around to kick away from the pants-less dictator.

He didn’t get very far.

He could feel himself falling backward into the star’s gravity. It was possible that this was a bad idea.

Pressing against the edge of forever, he blacked out.

[mickilennial]

---

_{Location: Metropolis, DE, United States - Present}

Issue #1.01: Don't Flinch

---

Word of mouth traveled fast.

Kara had thought she had taken up a “low profile” when she arrived in Metropolis, but the nature of her powers kind of made skulking in the shadows a little difficult. From the Fortress to the present, everything was a blur. She wondered if other superheroes had trouble processing their past encounters.

As she flipped her finger across her phone she explored the twitter feed while the sounds of the world screamed at her at a million miles-per-hour. Sounds in Gotham. Sounds in California. Sounds in England and in Transia. Of all of her weird space powers she had gotten used to, the super hearing was the worst of it; and filtering out the noise was still rather difficult despite the fact it was very close to being a year since she first spoke to Kelex. A few months since Johnathan Corben of the Daily Planet called her “Supergirl” and Magaret Tempest began giving her all the free press she could ever want on twitter.

She wasn’t sure how much press she wanted. Some of the comments were pretty nasty.

But the world was pretty nasty these days.

“Well, lunch break’s over.” Kara uttered under her breath putting her phone away in an instant. Maybe faster than an instant.

As Kara bolted into the sky like a rocket, she kept her eyes on the vast expanse of the city below. Her first term in college was to begin in the fall – at the University of Metropolis – and she still wasn’t sure where this was going to lead to. Between digging into Kryptonian culture and the whole superhero thing, the smaller things that were important had slipped her mind for a moment. As the daughter of two worlds, it almost felt like she was juggling far more than two. Sometimes it felt like four or five; and that wasn’t getting into the fact she was still getting used to her powers. She wasn’t even old enough to drink beer, so how could she contemplate policing the world, applying for college, keeping an eye on the news, and coming to terms with the fact there had been no traces of Kal or his pod on the entire planet?

Honestly, she should’ve just taken the superhero thing slow and not jumped into it like a bat out of hell. That had been a mistake. But it was a little late to reconsider her approach now.

There was only going forward from now on.

[Supermaxx]

L O N G I S L A N D

---

^{Night | Queens Borough, New York City}
“You better take your boyfriend and leave, lady, because I’m Spider-Man, and you just made me mad. I’m summoning the spiders. Thousands of them, hundreds of thousands of them! Because I’m Spider-Man!”

"He is not my- shit, that's a lot of spiders-"

The crash left Scott's head pounding. Every sound he heard was amplified a thousand fold, echoing like thunder over and over in the front of his skull. Painful, obnoxious, hard to ignore. Made it difficult to know what was going on just from sound alone, and it wasn't like he could see anything. It took a great deal of effort to keep his eyes clamped shut to avoid accidentally pasting the Spider guy all over the road with a sidelong glance.

It sounded like Jean and the other mutant were squaring off, now. She was threatening to tear him open like a tin can if he didn't surrender, and he was planning to...swarm them with spiders, which was apparently something he could do. 'Spider-Man' made some sense in that case. Summers wasn't sure which of them would win that fight. He'd like to think Jean could pull it off, though he was understandably a little biased.

But that wasn't the point.

"Wait!" Scott called, holding out a hand in the general direction of their voices. This whole bein' blind thing was really inconvenient. "Jean, can you get me my-"

He didn't have to finish before he heard his ruby-red visors skid across the asphalt and smack up against his free hand. Shaky fingers wrapped around the glasses and slipped them back onto his mask and around his head until he heard the two back pieces click together. He was finally able to see again- red filter or no, it was better than nothing. "Thanks."

And he could see that they'd done a number on this street already. Xavier's old convertible was laying in a heap on some poor family's frontyard, and Jean had decided to make matters worse by tearing up their fence to use as projectiles. Not the best look for the team after that disaster in Bayville.

"Alright, listen," Summers sighed, trying to drag himself to his feet while he talked, "you don't know us. We don't know you. I figure you've got some issues if you're attacking police stations in the dead of night. But so far as I know you didn't kill anybody in there, so...you're not fully gone. But you hear that, right?" He motioned to the air, cocking his head to the side. The roar of sirens was creeping a little close for comfort. "That's the sound of a lot of really angry cops coming this way. Guys with guns who probably won't stop to talk, if you catch my drift."

"But we can help you. We're the X-Men. Helping mutants out of tough spots is sort of our thing."

Jean didn't drop her guard. She still kept her barrage of fence pickets floating right above her head, ready to throw them into Spider-Man's face if he so much as twitched wrong. "I don't know about this." She muttered to Scott, bouncing anxiously on the balls of her feet. "This guy, I don't think he's-"

Summers held a hand out toward her. He knew she'd give him hell for it later, but right now wasn't the time to argue about it. "I'd rather not have to knock you out to save your life. Don't make this harder than it already is."

[Ceta de Cloyes]

V A L O R

M O N - E L , M I K E M A T H E W S

---

_{Location: Underground, Jump City - Present Day}

Familiar #1.03: Quartine

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Familiar #1.02: Celerity

There was a slam, a resounding metallic echo immediately followed by breathy chatter. It startled him awake, hands yanking free from... they were cuffs maybe? Little metal loops attached by a short chain, seemingly meant to hold his wrists tightly to the awkward wooden bed. Ugh, what kind of primitive planet still used wood as a viable resting material? Probably slugs. Or rock monsters. Or- oh Rao, please don't let this be Xudaria, that's his worst language! Damn those scaly bastards and their total disregard for cushions!

"What the hell guys?! You got a freakin' SPACE SHIP?!" The voice was feminine, with an accent he didn't know- in a language that was unfamiliar and yet... Oh, that was right; he'd been in a wrecked chariot-class pod, an orange alien had used a tactile Tamaranean balm on him, which, lamest handshake ever. One day he'd actually kiss a Tamaranean for that little trick, the balm was just a cheap rip off.

Or, well, it wasn't cheap, it was pretty advanced bio-engineering actually, but he'd rather kiss Tamaraneans. Or have a Kryptonian robot butler who just downloaded all the languages ever spoken in ten different galaxies. Either one would be nice. At least he didn't have to learn yet another language the old fashioned way. Oh fine, the lame handshake was better than nothing, and hey, his hands weren't blue anymore! Or restrained! How had he done that anyway?

"Whoa mama, who's the snacc?" Mon-El looked up, drawn to the woman's voice - the same one that had spoken before. She looked normal enough, though she had an unusual style with her black leather jacket, purple blouse, and a pair of dark tight pants in a fabric he didn't recognize. She walked like Daxamite elite, confident and beautiful, with a band of metal holding her dark curls out of her face, and golden hoops around her wrists and dangling from her ears, but there was something else to her, something free and unrestrained and energetic. Not to mention the surroundings; the woman was stood on the steps of a short metal staircase against a wall, leading up to a solid metal door, and everywhere there were plastic tarps, metal stools, and crates of opaque glass bottles. Daxamite elite? Relaxed as that in a place such as this? Never.

The rest of the room was somewhat dark, but large enough to probably count as a public space. Probably. Mostly it was the many stools and tables that tipped him off. The aliens from before, the pointy-eared bearded one and the orange antenna'd one, they were stood with their backs to him, attention drawn up towards the newcomer. The slam that woke him must have been her coming through the metal door. "Q!" The bearded one greeted, voice surprisingly youthful and cheery compared to the more wild exterior he presented.He had fangs and didn't even sound a little bit growly! That was such a letdown! "This one crashed on the beach by the mine, we swiped him and his ship right from under the human's noses!" Whatever a human was. The alien sounded proud though, excited even. Again, Mon-El wasn't sure how to feel about that.

"What is a hamon-" The two men jumped, startled at his voice and spinning around. Had they not realized he was awake?Shoddy work from his would-be captors. First the weak cuffs and then blatantly turning their back on him? There weren't even any weapons in this place! He kept going; "hemun- er, humm-eny. That. What is that?"

The girl bounced down the rest of the steps, "Me! I'm a hummeny! Well, a human. Welcome to Earth!" She was a chipper little alien, smiling widely and disregarding any kind of formality in favor of her own eagerness. The duo behind her exchanged wary glances.

"You didn't intend to come here?" The orange one asked, bemused.

Mon-El tilted his head in thought. Earth, Earth, did that sound familiar at all? Not really. "Uh, no? What sector is this?" No recognition. Even the hummeny- the human - even the human looked to the two men with a blank expression. How did she not know her own sector? He'd figured out he was actually on a table, not a bed, so he'd thought maybe this world wasn't as primitive as he first guessed, but if they were so out of touch-

The ring on his finger hummed into activity, lighting up with a faintly purple glow before projecting a little star map. "Sector 2814, my prince. It's good to see you awake again."

"Oh Worm, good. 2814? That's not too bad at all!" It's only like what? One galaxy off? More or less anyway. He could manage that. He cast his eyes to his ship, which he could see tucked away towards a large metal wall. He slid off the table, accidentally crushing the thin wrist bracers that had maybe tried to restrain him while he slept. They slipped off easily. Maybe they were meant to be that destructible.

"Oh worm?" The girl repeated to herself quietly with a huge smile, "That's the most adorable nonsense alien slang I've ever heard." Mon-El scoffed a half-laugh at the miscommunication, and the other two shot their companion dubious looks.

So maybe they weren't captors, he had yet to see any of them react to his broken restraints. They could be playing it cool, but he didn't feel threatened. He'd have to ask them about it later though, because the state of his pod demanded his immediate attention. "What kinda bizarro sprocketing happened here?!" He ignored "Q's" snort of giddy laughter, probably at his actual alien slang this time.

The glass was shattered, the shielding nodules were crusted with salt of all things, and the engines! Some kind of pronged wiring had ripped the insides apart. It was a wonder he hadn't died. Daxamite ships were made to be hardier than this! Chariot-class, a holdover from the war, they were civilian ships that could be conscripted as light fighters in a pinch! Someone had been slacking back home, probably that scumlord bastich Roxxas. Politicians, oh how so very loathsome they are. "Well, that's going to take a while to fix." He sighed, and then turned back to the trio that had clumped together behind him to peer over his shoulder. "I am Mon-El, of Daxam, who are you?"

And that is how he met his team. Q, her name was Jazmin Cullen, but she used Q around the aliens as a little codename, she was a metahuman. He still wasn't sure what the difference was between a human and a metahuman, something about magic? Brin was a Zuunian, and despite his woolly self he was only nineteen, a refugee on this planet. Orange antenna man was a Durlan, something he finally recognized at last. A shapeshifter and a runaway, and Mon-El knew what that meant; Durlans only really ran away for one reason after all.

"Oh, Mon-El? I gained control of the nanites while you slept, shall I expel them now?"

Er... what nanites?

He barely had time to make a confused face before a surge of metallic dust shot up his throat. He promptly threw up, the sound of tinny tacks piling up at his feet.

"Uh, is that normal on your planet?"

"Daddy-fragging nanites..."

[DocTachyon]

SPIDER-MAN: THE DISTANCE

Issue 7.4

---

New York City, NY --- Queens Neighborhood

---

“He is not my- shit, that's a lot of spiders-"

Peter was up on his toes, watching every revolution of the pickets as they circled him, points like daggers stared back at him. The turf was shredded where the girl had plucked them from the ground with her mind, plumes of dirt and destroyed greenery lay in a heap around what Peter imagined was once a respectable hedgeline. The wreckage of the convertible smoldered quietly, little fires starting as the engine gave a sicky whine, still trying to operate despite the crushing pressure forcing its pistons back down into the ground. The more ways he looked, the less opportunity there was for escape -- there seemed to be a picket every foot, and she’d eventually put together that there were no actual spiders.

Honestly, I’m surprised it worked at all. He scanned the line of projectiles. Maybe I can web them together, or something? Screw up her… Throwing arc? God knows if that’s how it works, anyway. Still, even if he could get past that, there was the matter of the other kid. Even with his eyes firmly pressed shut, every time his head so much as turned in Peter’s direction, the surface of the suit crawled and he felt pins and needles on his neck, like his Spider-Sense itself didn’t want any part of the kid’s mojo. Still, he had to try something soon, or…

"Wait! Jean, can you get me my- Thanks." The kid on the ground sputtered, as ruby red sunglasses suddenly rose and skipped across the pavement towards him. The girl’s expression softened as he collected his glasses, but the perimeter of fence posts stayed tight, bearing down like the needles of an iron maiden.

As soon as the glasses found their way onto his face he was moving again, pushing himself up to his feet. A regular Velma Dinkley, useless without his glasses. Peter turned to get a better look at him and pain stabbed down through his shoulder, fire down into the bone and deep into the socket. He bit his tongue and braced himself, squeezing the muscles in his opposite arm and willing the pain away. The sirens had already started in the distance -- evidently playing catch with a Convertible wasn’t a great way to stay incognito.

"Alright, listen,” the boy started, “you don't know us. We don't know you. I figure you've got some issues if you're attacking police stations in the dead of night. But so far as I know you didn't kill anybody in there, so...you're not fully gone. But you hear that, right?" He jerked his thumb back, and Peter saw the police lights in the distance, huge blue and red streaks marking the sky like banners of arms.

"That's the sound of a lot of really angry cops coming this way. Guys with guns who probably won't stop to talk, if you catch my drift. But we can help you. We're the X-Men. Helping mutants out of tough spots is sort of our thing."

This was one of those times when Ben would give a platitude about rocks and hard places… Did he say X-Men? Peter remembered Ben, back at the Hospital; ”I can’t believe they let them print this rag, huh Pete? Going after those poor kids in Bayville. The nerve.” Either way, he still wasn’t sure he was much up to running away, especially with his shoulder socket feeling like an especially painful game of Operation. And if Ben can put a little faith in them… Peter swallowed.

“Well, I only came for the Disney tickets, but you’ve convinced me, I’ll buy the timeshare.” Peter rocked back onto the balls of his feet and stood, inch by inch, pushing both of his hands into the air. The ring of posts held fast, and the girl rocked on her heels. "I don't know about this. This guy, I don't think he's-"

The boy cut her off; "I'd rather not have to knock you out to save your life. Don't make this harder than it already is." He held out a hand. The sirens were closer now, the sound echoing between the plaster and paint of houses and the slick concrete of the road.

“Yeah, I’m partial to consciousness, myself.” Peter made sure to show his hands as he pointed one to the nearest treeline, preparing to sling a web. “I’m thinking we hop a few fences, since your car, uh… Probably needs to go to the shop.” He tapped the center of his palm and the web flew from his wrist, snapping onto the bark of a nearby tree -- he hoped the girl wouldn’t spike him for it.

[Xanadu]

_{Location: The Home of Erika Watson - San Diego}

The Storm: 02 - Water, My Dear Watson

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: The Storm 01: Strangers in the Foam

Erika Watson awoke to what could only be the sound of a small army trying to break through her front door. She grasped around in the dark failing to find the switch on her bedside lamp. Curtains drawn closed in a desperate attempt to keep the mid-morning light from breaching into the room. She was up all night last night typing up another report for work - smuggler bust. Giving up on finding the switch she pushed herself up into a sitting position. She grabbed her clothes stacked in a crumpled pile on the floor, a worn pair of blue jeans ripped on one of the knees and a men’s small black t-shirt thoroughly shrunken. As she finished pulling on her t-shirt the banging at her door only seemed to intensify in volume.

“If you break that door, you are fucking paying for it!” Erika shouted at the top of her lungs. If this was that postal worker that I said was knocking too quietly, I swear to God... She considered taking her gun from her drawer for a moment but thought against it.

She exited her bedroom brushing down the stray strands of her pixie-cut blonde hair as she did. By the time she finished, she had crossed the length of her tiny bungalow - if she was honest it was more of a nice shack really - and had reached the front door. The knocking ceased after Erika had yelled her annoyances to the world, but she was still fuming. Angrily, she slid back the deadbolt and yanked the door open, the hinges screaming at the brutality.

“What the hell do you... Arthur?!”

He was drenched from head to toe and the I ❤️ SAN DIEGO sweatshirt that she had bought him last Christmas was torn in places and stained with blood. That wasn’t as surprising, Arthur had a habit of getting into fights, he said it was because of his “big personality” if that was what he wanted to call his dumb hot-headedness she didn’t seem to mind. What was surprising was that slung across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry was an unconscious body.

“Can I borrow your kitchen table?” Arthur sputtered out between labored breaths.

“....Okay?”

“Thanks.”

Erika stepped out of the way of Arthur letting him in. She made sure to get to the table first pulling together the scattered pieces of paper that littered it. Most of it was work papers, their placement sketching semi-coherent lines of thinking slowly plotted out over several sleepless nights and countless more glasses of whiskey. All that work was gone in a matter of seconds as she pulled them into a loose pile and dropped them onto the floor. Erika didn’t even think about it autonomous motions driving her body forward as she made room. She could worry about work later.

Erika watched as Arthur gingerly placed a stranger on her table. Erika didn't have much medical training besides a mandatory CPR class, but it didn’t take a doctor to tell he was in rough shape. Sweat poured down his face and an experimental touch to the forehead revealed skin that burned to the touch. All the while, he kept on mumbling what must have been fragmented words or phrases in a language that Erika did not understand. She turned to Arthur; his gaze was directed downward at the man, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Where’d you find him?”

“The beach.”

“Why here? Why not the hospital?”

“I don’t think he would be safe.”

Erika instantly regretted leaving the gun in the drawer.

“What happened on the beach Arthur?”

He turned away from her.

“People were hunting him. Police? Or something, I don’t really know. They were definitely hunting him though. And, I know if I didn’t step in he would already be dead.” Arthur stated more reassuring himself than her as he still refused to face her.

“You attacked police officers?” Erika asked trying to hide the concern in her voice as she reached a hand out touching his shoulder.

“I told you. I don’t know!” Arthur took a deep breath trying his best to not let his anger get the better of him before he continued “They came out of the water dressed in freaky looking armor like something out a movie. When I didn’t comply with their orders they attacked. It wasn’t my fault. And... I came here because I trust you”

“I’m not saying it is,” Erika reassured him. She ran the hand that was on his shoulder down across the arm where the sleeve was still ripped from whatever fight had led him here. This close to him, Erika was able to survey the damage better. He was bleeding a lot more than he usually did, the cut on his arm ran deep. His jaw was swelling up and little trickles of blood ran all across his body from where jagged splinters of wood pierced through clothing into exposed flesh, almost like he had been at the center of a bomb or something. “Arthur maybe you should sit down”

“I’m fine.” He lied as he pulled away from her touch.

“We both know that’s bullshit.”

“I’m fine!”

Erika would have pressed harder but at that moment the man on the table began to thrash about screaming in his alien tongue. Arthur sprang into action immediately running towards the sink. He began rifling through her cabinets looking up and down. Erika ran over to the thrashing stranger and quickly attempted to hold him down so that he couldn't hurt himself further. His strength surprised Erika as she was forced to press her entire body weight down atop of him to get him to stop flailing and even then he still struggled beneath her. She called out to Arthur.

“What are you doing?!"

“Where did you put the cups?!" He shouted back.

“They are in the cabinet next to the refrigerator!” She directed him before adding “And why do you need a cup?”

“Why did you move them?” He called back as he pulled out a plastic yellow cup from the cabinet and rushed over to the sink turning the faucet on.

“Because I needed a chang-” She started before stopping “You still didn’t answer my question!”

“Water!” Arthur exclaimed as he sprinted back over. Erika moved off of the man as Arthur approached looking at him puzzled. She watched as Arthur quickly handed the plastic cup over to the man. To Erika’s great surprise rather than drinking the water, the man splashed the contents out and onto his face. He shouted something that Erika couldn’t comprehend dropping the plastic cup to the floor as he did.

“More!” Arthur rushed back to the sink

“Wait! You can understand him?” Erika asked Arthur as she thought of what to do next.

“Yeah,” Arthur replied like the answer was obvious “you can’t?”

“Obviously not!” She yelled back as she looked back at the man. He was beginning to fade away again as his movements becoming more lethargic by the minute. Water...Water...Water..!

“The Bathtub!”

“Genius!” Arthur called his eyes lighting up with new vigor as he rushed back over to pick the man back up. Maneuvering past him, Erika ran into the bathroom and quickly began turning the knobs as quickly as she could. In short order, Arthur was able to deposit him into a shallow pool of lukewarm water. The two sat down next to the bathtub, watching closely for any signs of improvement. Erika let out a gasp as the change began almost immediately. Sickly white skin slowly began to regain color as the large burn wound on his chest slowly began to heal and repair itself, old skin falling away and new skin growing to replace it with a rapid urgency like somebody had left the remote on fast forward.

“Arthur. You have to tell me everything.”

“....”

“Arthur?”

Turning, a small smile began to form on her lips. Arthur had his back pressed against the bathroom wall with his legs stretched out in front of him, the cramp quarters forcing him to pull his knees up against his chest. His head was tilted to one side, and his eyes were closed. This last burst of activity the final push that was needed from exhaustion to take its hold. Erika got up and quietly went back to the bedroom to retrieve a blanket. Returning with a spare blanket and pillow in hand, she managed to wedge the later between his head and the wall and then laid the former out across him.

Before exiting she regarded the stranger in the bathtub for a moment longer.

“The water huh...”

[webboysurf]

_{20,000 ft. above the Atlantic Ocean - Present Day, 13:33 Hours}

Issue 1.03.5: Come and See

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Issue 1.03.4: Cross of Iron

Rogers, Carter, and Fury stood around the holotable, the machinery in the ceiling buzzing to life. Within moments, the holographic images of Natasha and Tony filled in some of the empty space around the table. The Colonel gave a nod to his subordinate officers before activating the holotable’s display, showcasing footage and files concerning their two most recent missions. ”Well, let’s review. HYDRA has kicked our ass twice in Rome, and nearly destabilized the British government while also trying to execute our favorite 70-something year old agent. We’ve been managing to stop HYDRA’s attacks before they’ve caused irreparable damage, but only just. And we have no clues as to where they're going to strike next.”

”They’re turning our own agents against us, Fury. Masters and Carter have both had to execute our own. It seems more like they are toying with us than actually trying to accomplish anything.”

”Perhaps that’s exactly what they are trying to do.” Natasha began tapping away at a small tablet, and the files on those who went missing from the Helicarrier attack months before were brought up on the holographic display, along with a world map showcasing featuring red dots all throughout Europe, Northern Africa, and South America. A few of them began glowing green as Natasha continued tapping away.

Masters interjected before Natasha began speaking again. ”They’re stalling. The tactics seem inconsistent with a frontal assault on any nation or even on SHIELD’s credibility. They’re trying to buy themselves time.’

Fury nodded in acknowledgement. ”We are still missing Patel and Mason, which is a dangerous pair to have in their back pocket. Sgt. Green and Mr. Ward were heavy hitters, and could easily be mobilized anywhere in the world. Ms. Patel and Dr. Mason, on the other hand... they would most likely be kept underground for a longer play.”

”Then we just need to find where HYDRA could be hiding them? Check under every rock we know they used?”

Natasha gave a sly smile at this statement. ”Great minds. I’ve been coordinating searches of HYDRA bunkers between Rome and London, seeing if we can find any clues. Our searches haven’t been fruitful.”

Steve furrowed his brow for a moment, before he began manipulating the map and pulling out a stylus to circle areas of the map. ”I recognize this strategy. Zemo used it against me before. Near the end of the war, HYDRA began fights they knew they would lose because they were working on the ultimate weapon: the nuclear bomb. They started battles as far away from their main base of operations as possible to keep me and the Howling Commandos busy and out of the way.” Steve finished his drawing, marking up pretty much all of Europe. ”They wouldn’t keep Patel and Mason somewhere between London and Rome if they want us distracted. The situation in Trasnia also rules out Eastern Europe, especially given SHIELD has increased presence there. Northern Africa is a bit too close for comfort, since we have SHIELD analysts in the region still picking out pieces of the Helicarrier.”

”Then that leaves South America as our best option?”

Fury’s head tilted slightly, and he picked up a tablet and began swiping through reports. He gave a nod as he finally came to the right one, and flicked it up so that the report was front and center on the display. It showed satellite footage of Brazil, noting an electrical shortage in the Brazilian hinterlands. ”We noticed electrical disturbances in rural Brazil not too long ago, but by the time we investigated the situation there were no signs of tampering. We wrote it off at the time, but that might be our smoking gun.”

Carter gave a nod. ”Should we mobilize the Commandos?

Cap shook his head. ”No. I did that with Heinrich Zemo back in the War, and that move made him rush his process and I ended up in the ice.”

Natasha nodded. ”I have some old contacts in the black market in Brazil, and can see if they had any interesting characters roll through.”

Fury took a deep breath. ”For now, we need to stay sharp. Romanoff, begin coordinating the search in Brazil. Masters, continue monitoring the situation in Trasnia. The rest of us will reconvene at the Triskellion and assess our next move.”

Nearly everyone nodded in agreement, and the holographic images of Romanoff and Masters faded. Fury was turning to leave when Cap spoke up. ”Colonel Fury, I need to make a pit stop before returning back to base.”

Fury stopped and turned around slowly with a bemused expression on his face and a sass that took decades to master. ”And may I ask what for, Captain Rogers?”

”I have to visit an old friend.”

[Admiral Moskau]

Absolute Comics: The Vixen, Issue 2: Thinking About You

Location: Washington Avenue, Dakota City

Time: 7.00 PM

---

"I'm thinking about you, and the things that you do to me. That make me love you. I'm thinking about you."

Pulling off the battered headphones, Mari rolled out of her bed with a loud groan. She clutched her side warily as she gingerly stretched out her back. The last of her painkillers had faded and pain pulsed outwards from her bruised rib. Rippling waves of agony swept over her, reminding her of her encounter with the asphalt monster. The bruises had faded faster than she'd expected. She'd asked Nancy but he'd provided no honest answers. He'd simply winked and said it was a perk of the job. Mari wasn't sure that she believed in magic, not yet, but she felt certain there was something going on. Nancy was an asshole, but more importantly he was a schemer, she knew he was only telling her part of the story. She would have worried more, if she wasn't focused on revenge. She wasn't going to let some glorified piece of asphalt show her up.

"Concrete face really did a number on you, did he?" Nancy jeered.

"I'll live," Mari hissed back between clenched teeth.

"Of course you will, we still have work to do," the spider whimsically replied from his perch at the end of her bed.

"How about we take a rain check on that."

"Oh there ain't no rest for the wicked, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that."

"What shall I call you then?"

"Mari, Mari is fine."

"No, no. That won't do. You need a nom de guerre. Something with flash. Something that resonates with the masses. Like that kid, Static."

"Who?"

"Another neophyte. A colleague."

"Another idiot with a mask?"

"Sure, you could say that. You'll meet him soon enough. We've just got to follow the plan."

"Whatever, fuck your plan. How about you just tell me why I'm awake instead?"

"Beyond it being evening?"

"I need my beauty rest."

"Well, no time for that my dear apprentice, my web has been tingling, I can feel it. We have an appointment."

"An appointment with who?"

"An appointment with some new friends."

"Friend friends or friends-with-guns-who-aren't-really-friends-at-all?"

"The latter of course," Nancy replied with a Cheshire Cat grin.

---

Mari dove beneath the wide, clumsy swing of the bat. They were so slow, so weak. Dancing forward in a blur of motion, she raked her claws cross across the right arm of the bat-wielding hooligan. The bat cluttered to the ground and the hoodlum staggered backwards, disarmed, and clutching his arm. His face was painted a shade of white, equal parts fear and pain, and it filled Mari with an unfamiliar feeling of pleasure. She could smell the blood that dripped onto the pavement.

"Pick it up," Mari commanded, kicking the bat towards him. His eyes darted towards the other scumbag that lay sprawled across the pavement, but he made not move to pick up the bat.

"Don't play with your food," Nancy chided. She didn't want to listen to him. She'd listened to him enough. He'd told her to be discreet, to be cautious, to take things slow. She didn't see the point. He'd asked her to make some new friends, to make some noise. She was going to do this her way. More importantly, she was enjoying herself. She felt in command. She could smell the fear emanating from the wannabe-gangster as she began to slowly circle him. It felt good, so good.

"Tiny, step back, I'll handle this," a woman's voice said. She could smell the burning ashes as the door to the trap house slammed shut.

Mari eyed the woman that stepped forward into the street light lazily. She yawned loudly and fidgeted with her ski mask, "I'm not here for you, any of you. I just need you to call for help. I need you to get me the concrete man. I've been thinking about him."

"How about I just kill you instead?" The woman offered, spitting onto the pavement.

"You can try."

[Supermaxx]

_{THE BOOK OF FATE}

Issue #1: HUMBLED

---

_{Salem Willows Park ♦ Salem, Massachusetts}

The Price of Failure

Kent Nelson had sat on that bench many a time before. Sometimes with Inza. Sometimes alone. It'd been there for quite awhile in one form or another. His favorite was the wooden one, made from the same Willows planted all 'round him, that they'd put up way back in the 18th century. This one wasn't great, he had to admit. It's deep black, wrought iron frame was sturdy, sure, but it was so uncomfortable. He hated what it did to his back.

Hell of a view, though. Hell of a view. Especially now when the sun was starting to dip underneath the water of the Ram Horn, almost like the channel was swallowing Earth's star whole. It's light cascaded across the open water like God throwing stones across a pond. They shot out in a spray of a thousand, individual tendrils of fire that reached from the horizon all the way to the stony shore. Every time Kent saw it it took his breath away. He thought he'd caught lightning in a bottle, and the next time he sat on this bench, the majesty of it would disappear. It kept, somehow. And that made it all the more special.

It'd been far too long since the last time, he realized. He couldn't even remember when the last time was. Kent felt a tinge of guilt in his chest. The only reason he'd come back was because he had nowhere else to go now that the Tower of Fate was locked to him. And he had the audacity to stain this poor bench crimson. Terrible as it might be, it didn't deserve to be bled on.

"I've lost my way, haven't I?" He muttered, followed shortly by a sigh. A painful one. That last blow he'd taken to his side must've done more damage than he initially thought. Reaching down he pulled at the dark blue material of his costume, lifting it up to reveal the mangled flesh that still clung to his side. Blood, pus and dark magic dripped down it- all of it flowing from the big, ugly mark in the center.

Arrogant. Stupid. Reckless. He should've known challenging Mordru in his own domain was folly from the start, and yet the mighty Doctor Fate did it anyway. Threw himself into the fires of Hell and expected not to get burned. Even an amateur would've had the forethought to know it was a bad idea.

"But not you, right, Kent?" Nelson laughed, only for it to transition into thundering coughing fit. "Kent Nelson, biggest moron in the Nine Realms, at your service."

The helmet was sitting in his lap, those empty eye sockets glaring up at him. 'I told you so!' They seemed to scream. 'I told you how it'd end, but you went anyway, and now look what you've done to me!' The Helmet of Fate was older than anything Nelson had ever encountered. Though he'd found it in an Egyptian Tomb, even then he'd known it was far more ancient than the Pharaoh it'd been buried with. It'd spent the vast majority of its existence spotless. Shining, like polished gold. Now Kent looked down at it and saw that polish fading. He could see small cracks along the faceplate and the crown. He used think the thing was indestructible.

Just like him.

But Nobu was dying. The Lord of Order had gone silent. If it wasn't for his uneven breathing in the back of Nelson's soul, Dr. Fate would've thought him dead. But his time was running out, and when he went so too would Kent. And there was no telling when existence would join them. Could be tomorrow. Could be in a hundred thousand years. But without Nabu...Without all of the Lords of Order...

Time was going to run out eventually.

"Stupid, Nelson. Stupid, stupid, STUPID!" Dr. Fate roared as he leapt up from the bench where he sat. With a great heave of his arm he chucked the Helmet of Fate, watching it sail through the air until it landed like a stone in the Ram Horn channel. Despite it's weight it didn't sink. Instead, the helm floated atop the water, refusing to flow with the current. Just sat there, staring up at the rapidly darkening sky.

"I killed us." He breathed, falling back down on that uncomfortable seat. "I killed us all."

"Death's not so bad once ya get used to it." A gruff voice, corrupted by one too many cigars over the years, called from behind Kent.

"I need your help, old friend, n' it sounds like you need mine."

[Bounce]

H A L E Y ’ S C I R C U S

---

^{Gotham City Premier | March 15, 1967}

The ground is forty feet below me.

There’s no net.

Nothing holding me up. I let go of the flying trapeze and, for a moment, I’m flying. I can hear the gasps, the collective holding of breath, and even a few shrieks rise from below. I’m starting to fall, but I’m not afraid. I just stretch out my arms, and I know she’ll be there to catch me. Because she’s always there. Because she always does.

The gasps echo, louder this time, as we both go sailing through the air. Me, dangling in mid-air, and my mother holding onto my arms with her legs hooked around the trapeze bar.

Then she lets go.

The screams pierce the air. I shut out the audience - the blur of faces and lights - as I tuck into a ball and flip through the air. Once. Twice. What they don’t see is my father, standing on the platform. He let the trapeze bar go right as I finished the first rotation. Coming out of the second, I plane my body out. My hands open wide, the trapeze bar smacking right against the palms. Holding fast, I sail through the air. Dismount, tuck into a backflip, and make the landing on the platform.

The cheers break out, even as my mother is following suit, until all three of us are standing on the platform together. The applause grows in intensity as she dismounts and joins us, then transforms into a standing ovation as we take a bow.

“The fearless Flying Graysons! Let’s have a great Gotham round of applause for ten year old Dicky Grayson. The youngest acrobat performing today!”

I step back, and soon I’m the only one standing on the platform. The performance goes into the second act and I’ve got the best seat in the house.

Stepping back from the platform, I put my back against the tent pole and slide down. The strength seems to go out of my legs and I’m starting to realize that my arms are numb. My heart is pounding in my chest and I’m still trying to catch my breath. Below, it probably feels a little cool inside the tent. Up here, with all the lights, it feels like it’s a hundred degrees.

There’s a strange twang overhead. I look up, but it’s just the tension wires. In between the platforms, mom and dad are really putting on a show. I know every move. I know each routine. But it’s still incredible to witness. It takes my breath away, and I get to see this every day. The audience below? Amazed would be an understatement. I wish that I could be out there with them, but I’m still too little. Mom and dad are worried that I’ll get tired. Tired during practice is one thing. We have nets and safety harnesses while we learn a new routine. It gives us that little extra security to push ourselves to the limit to figure out what works and what doesn’t. Which, in my case, usually doesn’t. I hit the net four or five or even a dozen times some days.

But that’s practice, and this isn’t. So I come in at the start of the performance for the first act, then I’m sidelined for the second, and come back toward the end of the third. But I don’t really have any stunts after the first act.

The sound again. Louder, the cable and support structure giving a snap-CLAP of protest that echoed like a roll of thunder. I heard it. I bet the audience below heard it.

My parents heard it.

They’ve paused their routine, missing the jump. They’re lower than they should be. From this vantage point, I can see that the trapeze is sagging. My dad’s looking up at the cables. My mom’s looking at me. I can see her face.

I can see her fear.

“Mom?”

The cable snaps before I can even get back to my feet. “DAD!” I see them drop, and lunge forward. I collapse onto the platform, peering over the ledge and I see everything.

I see the end of the world.

+ - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +

City of Bludhaven, New Jersey
Present Day

The coffee had been cold for more than an hour.

The styrofoam cup cradled in his hand, untouched, as he sat there. He seemed as oblivious to its presence in his grasp as he was the flash of lights from the roof of the police cruiser. The door to the car was open, one leg extended out to the shoulder of the road. Propped up in the driver’s seat, the former circus acrobat looked as though he was withering away. His clothes might have been slept in.

And that was before the call had come in about a school bus out on Route Sixteen.

The iconic, yellow caravan was reflected in the windshield of the police cruiser. Dick was staring at it when the phone rang. Reaching inside of his wrinkled suit coat, the disheveled man fished out a cell phone. Swiping a thumb across the screen, he brought the phone up up to the side of his head as he answered, “Yeah?”

“This hasn’t been a good two weeks for you, Commissioner.”

The scowl on the man’s well-lined face only deepened. He’d known it was only a matter of time before the political vultures began circling.

This had been a month for vultures.

“This hasn’t been a good two weeks for any of us,” Dick answered, working to keep his voice even as he spoke back into the phone.

“The mayor is asking for advice on what the messaging should be on this,” the man on the other end of the line remarked, before plunging ahead with what was obviously the line that the PR cadre intended to try and tow. “Can we call it an accident?”

With a shake of his head, Dick just rolled his eyes in disbelief. Then, staring at the coffee lingering in the cup, pitched the drink out the door of the car before returning to the conversation. In a much more heated tone. “I’ve got three dead bodies and thirteen missing children,” Dick snapped coldly. Did these politicians even give a damn about any of that? At times, he had his doubts. “That’s thirteen families that are going to show up in the hospitals, looking for their kids who were in the ‘accident.’ How long do you imagine that story’s going to hold water?”

Jesus. He was appealing to a political lobbyist with common sense. That was somewhere between futile and talking to a wall.

“We can’t go public with this,” the man’s voice on the line repeated, though it seemed as though he didn’t have any alternatives or thoughts of his own on the matter. “The outcry could spark a panic.”

“Whatever happened to ‘and the truth shall set you free?’”

“Jesus saves. You know what Jesus doesn’t do? Manage a fucking election campaign,” the man on the phone snapped in retort. There was a pause, before Dick heard, “Tell your people to keep this close-hold. We’ll be in touch regarding the messaging.”

The line gave a click, before Dick was left with the muted warble of the cell phone closing the connection.

He just sat there, in the police cruiser, staring out at the school bus without so much as breathing. Then, he punched the steering wheel as he lurched forward and exploded with a forceful, “FUCK!”

His people were trained to serve and protect. To color within the lines, investigating ordinary crimes.

There was nothing ordinary about what was happening in Bludhaven right now.

Relaxing back into the driver’s seat, Dick looked at his phone. A tap of his thumb brought up his contacts. Without even thinking about it, he started scrolling through the list.

Until his thumb hovered over a name.

WAYNE, BRUCE

He stayed that way for about three minutes, debating in his mind whether to make that phone call or not.

Instead, he put the phone down. His head in his hands, the Flying Grayson was at his wit’s end. He hadn’t been this twisted since he’d walked out on Bruce. But, he was certain of one thing.

Turning to Bruce Wayne for help was not the answer.

Instead, he picked the phone up and, this time, scrolled through the contacts until his thumb landed on CHARLES, SARAH.

This time, he pressed it.

Holding the phone up to his ear again, he heard it ring twice before she picked up. “Sarah? Dick Grayson.”

”Dick?” He almost winced at the surprise in her voice. Not because she was surprised, but because he knew that he’d come that guy who only called his friends when he needed something.

He’d become like Bruce.

”Oh my God, it’s been ages! How are you?”

He forced himself to smile. People could always hear the smile. “Good. You sound good,” he offered, trying to come off as relaxed or casual.

He could try to make conversation or...

No, just get to it. “You have time for a cup of coffee?” Dick asked, before adding “Your office, preferably.”

[Mao Mao]

_{Lancaster, Ohio}

Present Day

---

^{Issue #3.01}

𝗪𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗪𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡

Diana flew as fast as she could until she realized that she was back home. Lancaster, Ohio was the hometown of Steve Trevor and the place that she called home. It was a large town with a population of thirty thousand and forty minutes' away from Columbus. And it became their home after the Second World War ended. They brought some land away from the town and built a two-story house along with a small farm. For forty years, Steve lived in peace and retirement while Wonder Woman was saving someone's day. Diana found comfort in the fact that she had a permanent home in man's world for the first time with someone she loved. Even if she was all over the world.

It was when Steve died that Diana started to appreciate her home. She spent thirty years improving it and transforming the farm into her garden. It was designed to match with the surrounding forest with its unique characteristics. Eventually, the world needed Wonder Woman after the September 11 attacks; however, it meant leaving behind her isolation from the public. Despite being all over the globe, Diana tried to make time to visit regularly to maintain the garden. Her house, on the other hand, didn't change since the 1990s.

Last year, she spent time off to modernize it. It even had a panic room for guest in the plausible case that her enemies decided to visit Wonder Woman.

Now that she saw the house, Diana slowly landed in front of the house and walked inside. Once the lights came on, she sat on the couch and sighed while taking off her crown. Diana wondered what her mother would have said about the mess that she got herself into. Something that involved her going into a rant about how humanity was always wicked. But that didn't mean Diana wished she was here now to comfort her.

Diana grew tired of this stressful day and headed to bed for the night. Of course, her attempts to fall asleep failed because she was disturbed about Aladdin. She replayed the encounter in her head over and over, trying to understand what kind of magic he was using. It wasn't her first time dealing with magical users, but something about Aladdin's magic felt odd. And there was the matter of Doctor Poison and what she was doing working with him. Usually, Marina Maru worked alone since killing off the former Doctor Poison, known as Francis Lowe, and his colleagues.

Now, she had partnered up with someone capable enough to be considered a threat.

Diana put her hands through her hair and sighed. She knew that lying in bed wasn't going to help. Aladdin planned on releasing footages of Wonder Woman fighting to turn public opinion against her. But, the question was why would he care. Sadly, she didn't have the answer. For now, Diana needed to focus on the committee and their investigation. No doubt that the senators had already made their plan regarding the footages. So, she had to create one herself. That meant watching the committee interviews from day one.

She got out of bed and headed towards the living room to start working.

---

Six Hours Later

---

Senator Russell Abernathy: ...According to investigators of the Nashville Police Department, they found Wonder Woman to be innocent of your son's death because "he was reckless and unaware of the dangers within a recently abandoned factory." Is that what the detectives told you, right?

Bella Cizko: Yes. But... I have doubts about the investigation.

Senator Abernathy: Would you mind explaining what you meant?

Bella: Well, I always thought that the investigators did not treat my son's death with interest because of his criminal background and his last... crime. Before I go on forward, I want to express sorrow for the hostages and Wonder Woman. My son's actions and behavior towards them will always be inexcusable, unforgettable, and cruel beyond imagination.

[Bella takes a deep breath]

When I saw my son's body hours after his death...

[Bella takes a moment to collect herself]

...when I saw my son's body, he was unrecognizable. His face was so severely beaten that we had to have a closed casket funeral. It looked like someone punched my son hard enough that it either killed him or seriously wounded him. And I believe that someone... was Wonder Woman given the circumstances that she had been dealing with. After she managed to free herself, I do not doubt that she wanted payback and struck him as hard as she could. When I told the detectives that Wonder Woman killed my son, they immediately dismissed it and moved on.

Senator Abernathy: Thank you for sharing that with us.

[Bella drinks the cup of water beside her]

Bella: I decided to come here today to bring closure. I hope that Wonder Woman didn't kill my son. But, she should be held accountable for her actions if she did. My son deserved a fair trial for his actions on that night. Instead, he's buried in a graveyard with no tombstone since it got destroyed.

Diana paused the recorded interview with Bella Cizko, the mother of Edgar Cizko, aka Doctor Psycho. Edgar Cizko was one of the few sworn enemies of Wonder Woman and even managed to capture her. Cizko adopted the name Doctor Psycho after killing several of his peers that bullied him with his telepathic powers. Eventually, he was able to create convincing illusions that were influential enough to damage or kill his victims. She considered him to be one of the most powerful telepaths in the world until his death.

She was already stressed because he watched several other interviews with the committee. Bella's discussion was the one that she decided to take a break. Plus, it forced Diana to relive the last encounter with Edgar, who tortured her and the hostages from a nearby wedding. When Edgar learned that she escaped, he grabbed the wife and held her at knifepoint. Once Wonder Woman confronted Doctor Psycho, he cut off one of her ears because she fought back against him.

Realizing that he had nowhere to go, Edgar used his mental powers to create an illusion that drove her insane and nearly killed herself. Wonder Woman was forced to respond, and it ended with him falling to his death. Even know Doctor Psycho was a terrible person, she had planned on turning him into the authorities for his arrest. But, a part of her felt satisfied that Edgar was gone for good because it meant peaceful nights. The world was better off without him.

Diana finished writing down some notes on her notepad and threw it beside her. She got up from her couch and headed towards the garden. It was sunny outside and Diana felt the wind while walking towards one of the flowers. Diana was surprised that she managed to keep the plants from dying while maintaining their beauty. She kept on walking around the garden to relax for a minute. It was peaceful here compared to the rest of the world that was waiting to ruin her life. People like Aladdin and Doctor Poison made her miss the good old days where the biggest problem was the Nazis, and the simple solution was to kill them.

Then, she noticed that the pink roses from Greece had bloomed. Diana was focused on them that she didn't notice that someone made their way into the garden. Steve Rogers slowly approached his old friend, hands tucked in his pockets. He was taking in the sights and admiring the garden that Diana seemed so intent on maintaining. When he was a few feet away, Steve planted his feet.

"Hey, Diana. Mind if we have a little chat?"

---

[Natty]

It was during the early hours of the morning that Illyana Rasputina found herself returning to the Sanctum Sanctorum. She had teleported to the street outside, not wishing to wake the other inhabitants of the Sanctum at such an hour. Closing the door on the already bustling sounds of New York, she crept across the entrance hall as silently as she could, awkwardly tiptoeing in her heavy boots. She eyed the stairs in front of her cautiously as she veered towards the back right of the room and towards the kitchen.

She passed the archway to the drawing room on her way, and upon hearing the soft crackle of a fire, poked her head through curiously. She smiled warmly at the sight of Bats' spectral body curled up comfortably before the fire. Normally Illyana wasn't a fan of pets, however, she held a soft spot for Strange's ghostly basset hound.

Blowing him a silent kiss, she continued on her way, moving into the kitchen. Despite the grand yet whimsical nature of the rest of the house, the kitchen was sleek and cool, with a large spotless countertop centering the room. The place would make the likes of Paula Deen jealous. It was no wonder that Wong referred to this room as his happy place.

Despite knowing that fact though, the sound of Wong's voice still took Illyana by surprise as she entered the room. Her eyes darting towards him in shock like a deer caught in headlights.

"Good morning, Miss Rasputina." He mused, before turning back to the pile of laundry that he had been tending to. "Or should I say good evening? I assume you'll be sleeping in today?"

Illyana made a noise and shrugged before striding into the room and grabbing a glass from the side. Wong in return simply chuckled in bemusement.

“Is Stephen about?” She questioned, filling her drink from the faucet.

Wong shook his head slowly as he turned, not turning his eyes away from the shirts he was folding with perfect precision.

"Much like you, he went out last night. Had to make a trip to the Himalayas I believe."

She nodded, before beginning to drum her fingers against the countertop in thought.

"I feel like you have another question Illyana."

The question threw Illyana somewhat. She had forgotten how close she and Wong had grown since she'd started living here. He had always been a somewhat perceptive person, however now he could read her like a book. She didn't know whether to be worried or touched that someone finally understood her.

"I've been doing some research and veading up on some of Stephen's old associates when he first started out." She did her best to keep her cool as she spoke. Technically it wasn't a lie.

"From his Shadowpact days?" Wong questioned, finally turning away from the clothes, a huge smile across his face. "Oh, I do miss them. Simpler times!"

"Shadowpact? Bit of a stupid name." Illyana rebuked, scrunching up her face slightly at the thought.

Wong let out a laugh, before raising his hand up towards the door. Within seconds, the sound of rushing wind met their ears as a small object rocketed out of the darkness of the hall towards them. It slowed dramatically as it neared them, with Illyana realizing that it was a book. Bound in dark green leather, the tome looked as if it were hundreds of years old. She held her breath slightly, a part of her feeling like the thing would crumble into dusk at a single touch. Wong had no such hesitation however and grabbed it from the air. Placing it on the counter before them, he brushed off a thick layer of dust before continuing.

"[color=steelblue]Maybe it is stupid, but that name has been used throughout history by champions of magic." Just to prove his point, he opened the front cover, revealing a drawing of an assorted group of men, all dressed in brightly coloured robes. He turned the page, revealing another group, this time dressed in loin clothes and dresses. Each page displayed an image of a different group, and as they went, the clothing changed as they leaped forward in time. The art style remained beautiful though, truly capturing the essence of each and every person.

"It's... It's a photo album."

"This is the complete roster of Shadowpact since the beginning of time, Illyana." Wong said sternly, before breaking out into a laugh. "But yes, it's essentially a magical photo album."

He turned the final page. This time, instead of a beautiful oil painting like the other rosters, there was a simple photograph. She gasped in amazement as she took it all in. She had spotted Strange immediately, his infamous goatee and flamboyant red cloak giving away his position instantly. While maybe not to the extent of Stephen's costume, the men around him were also all dressed somewhat bizarrely, from ill-colored suits to uncomfortable looking spandex. One individual took the cake though.

"Who the hell is that?" Illyana asked, thrusting her finger towards the bottom corner of the photo.

Wong smiled, taking in the horrifying visage of the all-so-familiar human-sized insect before him.

"That Illyana, is the Canterbury Cricket!"

[Bork Lazer]

---

When you’re young and dumb, you tend to have role-models. You emulate them. You revere them. You copy their every move like a less-creepy stalker.

It seems to be inevitable that people gravitate from celebrities to heroes. Gods. Men. Monsters. People with extraordinary abilities in what was once an mundane world.

Every time you do something, you always think about what that person would do in your shoes. You’d be hard-pressed to find a single girl in my school takes after Wonder Woman as a symbol of feminism. Captain America shields are passed around like cotton candy during Halloweens.

I’d never imagine becoming a role-model myself. Me? Hanging out with the big leagues? Going on international missions? Saving the world?

I could laugh at the thought of that.

---

“ Pssst, hey!”

A tug on his wrist woke Virgil up from his nap just as the public bus shuttle lurched a right turn, inertia tilting everybody on the vehicle slightly to the left. It was two stops before he reached Hemingway. He turned his head to the left to see a young girl, holding out a pastel-colored comic book with a toothed grin. An adult-size blue parka made her small frame look more bigger than it was.

“ Uhhhh…”

The girl waved the comic book in his face for a moment as if it was obvious before speaking in a saccharine tone that naivety could only afford.

“ Could I please have your autograph, Mr Static?”

“ Sure….” Virgil gingerly took the chipped crayon that the kid offered him along with the comic book. On the front page was a scene of the Man with a Plan himself socking Red Skull in the face with bright, cartoonish text from a bygone era. It would have been more appropriate for Cap himself to sign it but unfortunately, it would be hard to raise a dead man out of the grave. Bradley and Nasland could never compare to the original Steve Rogers. Virgil murmured whilst attempting to scrawl a legible signature on the front page of the comic book.

“ Name?”

“ Raquel Ervin.”

“ To. My. Biggest. Fan. Raquel. “ Virgil punctuated each word slowly before Raquel piped up in a giggle.

“ What’s with the weird swimming goggles?”

“ Firstly, they’re welding goggles.” Virgil tapped the cracked edge of the yellow visor to emphasise his point “ and secondly, they’re not weird. They’re awesome.”

He returned back to signing the autograph, the soft purple wax smudging against the brown stained paper.

“ Remember. You. Always. Have…. ”

His voice trailed off on the unspoken words. A choice. After his conversation with the Shocker, he wasn’t sure if Dakota City gave him a choice in the first place. It took him a struggling minute to write those last two words down, the words his mother and father lived by, the words that he was beginning to doubt. The old brakes of the bus screeched, the chassis swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

“ This is your bus driver speaking. We are currently at Washington Avenue..”

Virgil sheepishly handed it over towards Raquel who snatched it in a blur and began to inspect it.

“ Sorry if it doesn’t look good. It’s my first time -”

There was a loud gasp, Virgil sucking in his breath nervously, before Raquel began bouncing up and down. “ It’s TOTALLY Awesome! This is gonna be great for tomorrow’s show and tell!”

Raquel hopped off the bus stop and began to run back towards her home in a frantic pace. Virgil could have sworn that she was skipping over each crack in the sidewalk. The bus doors shuttered close just as she began to wave a good bye to him. He waved silently before shaking his head in annoyed amusement. If he had mentioned to her that it'd been the first autograph he'd ever given to someone else, she would have exploded in joy.

It was lucky that he still had a few spare dollars from last month’s allowance to afford a ride across Dakota. It was a painful discovery to find out that his metaphorical internal battery could no longer provide enough electricity for street-surfing after leaving Mr Schumer's home. He squeezed a fist, minute droplets of electricity leaking out like a facet as his brain was burning with indecision. He massaged the left side of his scalp which had a small cut on it that had gummed up with scab. Or was it the Shocker's home? Virgil internally debated over what to do with a man who he once knew as his chemistry teacher and now as a former retired supervillain.

Turn him into the authorities? Arrest him? Virgil bit his lip as he considered it. Stab Schultz in the back? The person who had stolen from him was the real danger to the public of Dakota City, not some washed up retiree. His house was built on stolen money, though. Money that had been accumulated from a long career of robbing banks. What Dakota City needed was less criminals, not more criminals. He couldn't let him go, nor did he have the courage to arrest him. Virgil slumped back into the linoleum seating, staring outside at the afternoon urban jungle of inner Dakota City. He wondered if Black Lightning -

No. He didn't even want to think of that stranger now.

Though, the last words that Schultz gave him before he slammed the door shut in face left something for him to mull over.

No one ever told you to be a hero.

But no one ever told him not to be one.

“ This is your bus driver speaking. We are currently stopping at Hemingway High.”

Virgil stood up. Most occupants of the bus were trying to pretend not to notice him of courtesy but he could see them peering from out of their phones or sneaking a glance at him from behind their newspapers. He walked to the front doors, preparing to step off.

“ Wait. Before you go - “ Virgil turned around with a raised eyebrow of confusion. The bus driver took out from a phone from his pocket and looked at Virgil in a grin that made his eyes roll “ - You got time for a selfie?”

---

Larry Buchinsky was frustrated. He clanged the mallet down, using every molecule of anger that he had within his being to shape the weapon which would slay Static. His workbench was covered in sweat from the 24 hours of work he had done. He had to fend off the complaints of landlords and neighboring tenants with polite apologies and death threats alike.

48 more hours to deliver Static's head on a platter to Ebon. 48 more hours for Ebon to take control of the city and depose the Mayor. 48 more hours for Ebon to secure funding for the Freeman Community Center. Herman tossed the hammer away and took out an acetylene welding torch, the inner bowels of his apartment glowing neon blue from his work.

His tinkering had leading results that Herman Schultz would have never imagined. Deciphering the secret to Schultz's shock-gauntlets was like trying to solve a puzzle whilst missing essential pieces. Every member of the Squadron Supreme kept the blueprints behind their technologies a secret with the exception of Boomerang, who stuck C4 to the end of one of his signature razor-rangs and called it innovation.

This, though....This was a triumph. Herman shut off the flow of heat and pried off his welding mask, taking a gander at his suit. A series of electrical relays had been welded onto the back that connected to a power pack that supplied energy to his very own shock-gauntlets. The electrical relays would allow him to absorb the electrical blats that the Kilowatt Kid was so fond of and turn the vigilante into his very own pit stop.

Luring out the Kilowatt Kid would prove difficult, given that he didn’t know his behaviour. However, like every vigilante with a hero complex, causing the largest commotion would grab the kid’s attention. He had a plan in the -

His phone rang. Larry picked up the phone, immediately recognizing the brusque voice of Robert Hawkins, manager of the Freeman Community Center.

“ Hey, Rob. I’m still working on securing those funds for us. I know that the deadline - “

“ That’s not the reason I called you. I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“ The bad news first.”

“ The bad news is that the city council has decided to redistribute their grant for us towards cleaning up the Black Hole.”

Larry winced “ Well, that’s a waste of time. The good news?".

“ We’ve received some donations from some minor charity programmes associated with Wayne and Queen Industries. Not much but it’ll keep us afloat for a month or so.”

“ That’s…..great.”

“ The second news is that I’m inviting you to a coffee lunch this Saturday. My son’ll be there.”

Larry groaned and stared at the calendar on the wall.

" Rob, maybe, this isn't the best time for me...."

" Think about it."

" I will." Larry returned back to staring at his completed work before squinting “ Your son….Isn’t he that Virgil boy you told me about?”

“ The one and the same. He’s a good kid for his age. Trust me, he's not going to be much of a nuisance. I hope you're okay with having him at the table.”

[Dblade26]

---

_{Location: Warehouse Rooftop, Star City - Night}

Queen's Heir #1.02: Partners

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Queen's Heir #1.01: First Night

^{“This exquisite state of unconcerned immersion in oneself is not, unfortunately, of long duration. It is liable to be disturbed from inside..."}

Mundane half of Connor's day, mostly internal thoughts, plot starts at 10:30

4:30 AM

The familiar echoing wooden gonging of the han woke Connor from too-shallow sleep. He had crept back to the monastery on the outskirts of Star City late last night, another small-time but successful week of vigilantism completed. If the Abbot or other monks here had taken note of Connor's late nights, they hadn't said anything yet. It was a super awkward possibility that they thought he was another teen out late indulging in transient, worldly pleasures and would be sending Master Jansen and Abbot Takuan disapproving letters about his behavior.

The idea bothered Connor as he made his way down to morning meditation, but then again that was kind of the point of why he was here instead of his own monastery, right? Experience the outside world on a wider level, reconnect with his identity and give him a taste of ordinary teenage life before deciding whether or not he wanted to take vows as a real member of the sangha. Master Jensen probably didn't intend for Connor's reconnected identity to involve pinning petty thugs to walls with arrows, but after seeing the sort of mess Star City was turning into without his father around...well, he had to do something, right?

Well, no.

It was attachment, desire, the idea that he could stop suffering solely through violent or charitable action, that the answer was controlling and influencing others, not himself. The satisfaction that he felt after stopping a mugging or leaving some of Brick's thugs incapacitated for the police to find or redistributing stolen goods back to their owners was an illusion.

So why did it still feel right, no matter how much he thought about it or tried to center himself?

These thoughts swirled through his head endlessly during morning meditation, when he should have been clearing his mind or reflecting on the sutras or the occasional words of the head monk. He still nailed all the words in the chants by heart, and it wasn't like he was disruptive.

Everything was just...off.

---

9:30

After meditation, the morning meal, cleaning and finally basic chores Connor was set free from any normal obligations or routine. He wasn't a true member of the Sangha here, or one of those laypeople who came here for a while to find dollar store enlightenment or a sincere part-time retreat from temporal life. He was basically just lodging there as a favor to Master Jensen. The monks here were different anyway, part of a more orthodox sect, no zen archery or martial arts meditation, to Connor's disappointment.

So he did what he normally did during the day: Pack up his gear in a cello case and catch the bus into the city proper. He found public buses crowded and sometimes weird for sure, but nothing too challenging compared to fighting off armed thugs. Well, once somebody brought a live goat onboard and Connor still didn't know what was up with that, but the bus driver had just rolled with it with all the same detachment of Connor's most unfazed Zen instructors, so he'd assumed all sorts of oddness was just normal in his father's city.

---

10:00

The walk from his bus stop to the Star City Public Library was normally pretty safe even without Green Arrow, since the streets were still kinda controlled outside the Triangle and the Glades. But there was something about the way people huddled into themselves and stared at him, even in the safest part of the city. Something about how the overcast weather and shroud of grayness felt extra heavy. Every once in a while walking down the street he'd see someone staring into a phone with a look of despair he'd slowly learned was the inevitable result of scrolling through the local news.

The whole city'd been gut-punched by Green Arrow and Oliver Queen disappearing at the same time. Connor realized the degenerating state of Star City was about more than criminals not being kept in check by Green Arrow. Oliver Queen's presence as a constant philanthropist and advocate on important social issues was gone from the city too.

Too bad he didn't care about his son half as much as his pet causes, or I might actually know what to do about it all.

He almost winced, surprised at his own anger and bitterness, but then again all the meditative training in the world couldn't turn his heart to stone, right? He tried to focus, forgive himself and Oliver, breathe the anger and tension out of his body.

Before he could really confront his thoughts he realized he was already at the library. Well 'distraction from your emotional problems with vigilante problems' wasn't the most Buddha-like solution, but it'd do for now.

---

10:30

Connor liked the Star City Public Library. It had the same sort of gentle quietness as his home monastery, broken mainly by younger schoolkids on trips and hushed or inconsiderate conversation. He wasn't always huge on books but thanks to a very generous, very plaque-adorned donation from one Oliver Queen, QCore computers were free to use and through them so were a lot of news subscriptions and archives. So he spent a lot of his free, non-masked time here. Mostly he was looking up the latest criminal activities he'd missed (a lot), binge-reading older news articles on Green Arrow cases and his father's public works and persona (amazing and a mix of inspiring and embarrassing or irritating, respectively) and trying to gauge public opinion on his new Green Arrow identity (who again?).

That last part made it ultra-weird when a black screen suddenly popped up with the words:

sup GA ur a real tough guy to get a hold of.

typed out on it.

Connor almost fell out of his chair, none of this made sense! Once he recovered though, he noticed there was a text box for him to use at the bottom.

What the hell! How do you know who I am and how are you doing this? I'm not even in a chat right now!

...
Well lets just say if it has QCore Tech or an internet connection, I cn make it dance. That's a lotta stuff in this city. How I know isnt the point, but I know u need info, and I cn help. If ur tired of getting tips on muggings from hobos, theres a QPhone and a linked earpiece wedged in the back left booth's cushions at the B3 on the corner. Take it and wait for my call.

Well, it was that or read another article speculating on his father's love life.

Nooooot really much of a choice.

---

10:45

The smell of the Big Belly Burger's interior was both curious and a little gross. Connor had to admit he liked french fries, and since Big Belly Burger's weren't done up in beef fat or anything it well, technically wasn't sacrilegious to eat them, except maybe from an over-indulgence perspective.

But no time for that right now, at least the phone was in the promised cushion crack even if he'd probably looked like he was scrounging for change digging through the first few wrong picks for 'back left'. The phone was shiny, high-tech and new-looking, done up in a dark green, maybe-waterpoof-looking phone case with the same Green Arrow logo certain tongue-in-cheek vigilante merch sites used on t-shirts and the Halloween costume he'd been mix-and-matching from at night. The earpiece had similar detailing, except tiny enough to fit in one ear. Maybe it was some sort of in-joke from his new 'friend'. Either way as he sat there staring at them the the young would-be-monk couldn't help thinking they were both nicer and probably more expensive than anything he had ever owned.

As if his thought summoned the hacker, Connor's new acquisition blared out an obnoxiously loud, bombastic ringtone.

"Sorry about the typos, I was multi-tasking. But seriously, no phone, no computer, no social media, you're almost completely off the grid. What's up with that?"

The voice on the other end was distorted to be crazy deep, but the rising and falling tone still made Connor guess at feminine. The question made him feel a little defensive, no internet access at the monastery.

"Yeah well, I have my reasons! If I'm so hard to track how did you manage it?" Connor tried to make himself sound casual, like secret phone meetings with mysterious voices who knew his secret identity were an everyday thing.

Too bad his voice cracked under the stress.

"Ha, well that goes a long way toward my theory on your age. Anyways, you didn't make it easy for me, but I pulled security camera footage from a couple of your adventures and started cross-referencing them against footage from around the city using QCore facial and gait-pattern recognition software. the gait-pattern stuff is still being tested but I managed to get it working okay. That mask isn't doing you any favors, is it store bought? Pretty sure it's store bought. I Pulled up hits for you at a couple of places in the public parks, a homelesss shelter and the SCPL. You use that same computer you were sitting at every day and it makes the same searches, all for topics related to 'Green Arrow old cases' 'New Green Arrow' and for some reason 'Oliver Queen'? Fun connections there. To confirm it I may have remotely activated the camera on that desktop and sneaked a peek at your face. Cute in a sort of 'lost puppy' way. Wouldn't expect you to spend nights beating down criminals. Also-"

"I get it already! You're some kinda super-hacker and maybe I got sloppy!" Between the fear of being found out and embarrassment at the voice's...other comment, He said it a little louder than he'd meant. He sneaked a glance around to see if anyone'd overheard, but they were in that weird minutes-long lull between the breakfast menu and the all-day menu and nobody was paying attention to the kid in the back on his phone. He followed up half-whispering "But what do you actually want?"

"Super-hacker huh? I like it. I was gonna go with 'hacktivist' or maybe 'cyber-vigilante' but super-hacker sounds good too. Oh, right! Sorry, not great with voice-to-voice talk. Anyway! Well, we're gonna team up! See, you've got your crazy kid archer ninja skills but you're missing the big picture and I've got my whole 'super-hacker' eyes-and-ears everywhere thing but there's a lot I can't stop without feet on the ground. I mean I could drain criminals' bank accounts, publish their internal memos or send footage to the cops I guess and sometimes I do but if I do too much the FBI or the SCPD's cybercrimes unit or SHIELD's cybersec division will come down on me hard trust me and- er, well anyway I want you to be those feet, helping me kick crime in the face! That...admittedly sounded cooler in my head but-"

"No no it's fine trust me, still working on my witty quip game too..." Connor's head was spinning from all this, and not just because his new potential 'partner' apparently had super-speed rambling for a power. "But I'm in. Like you said, only so much info you can get out of crime trends and free lunches for the homeless." Not that it'd stop him from giving anyways, after lunch-meals were against his principles.

"What do I call you though? 'Mysterious voice' probably isn't gonna cut it."

"Oh, I've actually been giving this a lot of thought! Call me...Overwatch."

"Nice! So 'partner', where do we start?"

[Ceta de Cloyes]

V A L O R

M O N - E L , M I K E M A T H E W S

---

_{Location: Underground, Jump City - Present Day}

Familiar #1.04: Focus

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Familiar #1.03: Quartine

Apparently Earth wasn't very diverse, only about seven billion people, less than a hundred relevant languages, and yet there were still almost two hundred independent countries and uncountable faiths and cultures.

But that wasn't the point. No, the point was his name. Earth was so primitive and isolated his very name made him stand out. Mon-El was the most basic of Daxamite names! It wasn't very common because it was so simple! It was even in line with Kryptonian naming conventions, that's how unassuming his name was. Xudarians would't have blinked twice at hearing it. Apparently it was too alien for Earth though. "I hate humans," he grumbled to himself, "this planet is dumb." He said blatantly uncaring of Q sitting next to him with some kind of canned beverage, a colorful straw poking out of it.

She grinned at him unabashedly, "Oh come on Mon-El! Everybody has an alias! Even I have one and I'm not even an alien."

"That is true, for some reason Earthlings love to have multiple names." The Durlan, Reep, had transformed into a human boy and was idly examining a handful of nanites. Cupped in the palm of his hand, which was turning strange shades of colors Mon-El wasn't entirely sure were real, the nanites sparked every now and again. Apparently Reep was the brains of the group, Durla was... well, Durla was more of a mess than Earth by far, but this one at least seemed to have a firm grasp of technology.

Brin scoffed and sat on his other side, placing clawed fingers against the cold steel counter top."Q has far too many names, 'human social bonding behavior' she calls it. Nicknames, pet names, all of them different depending on who's speaking to her." As one the aliens in the room turned their eyes on the girl, two of them expectant and one of them curious.

She blushed at the attention, but not once dropped her smile. "What? That's how it is here! And it is too human bonding behavior!" She rolled her eyes and laughed at them when they only continued to stare. "Fine, fine! So my legal name is Jazmin Cullen - Cullen is a family name by the way, I share it with my parents, my aunts and uncles, and my cousins. My mom also calls me Jazzy, and most people at school call me Jazz. Um, I go by Q with you guys, so if anybody knows me through my alien friends I'll know it. Oh, and since I'm a metahuman I might do that whole vigilante thing, with the mask and the- yeah, you know, so then I'd go by Quantum Girl! Or Quantum Lass... Quantissimo... I'm working on it." She shrugged, but was still beaming and looking at Mon-El expectantly.

"That- is a lot of names." He paused trying to absorb it all. The whole shortened version of the actual name was familiar enough, sometimes he was called Mon by various paramours, never by his intended though, she called him less pleasant thing, but a family name? How Kryptonian of them. "We don't... do that. I am Mon-El of Daxam; Mon-El is my full name, I have no others." He wasn't about to mention his revolutionary alter-ego as Valorium, that was for sure. Imagine if that information got back to Daxam before he did? His parents might actually lock him up for that.

Q leapt to her feet to pace. "That's alright! I can help you pick a name!" She ignored his indignant protest and Reep's amused giggles. "Let's see, let's see. Mon-El. M's... Monty, Micah, Michael, Mike! You'll be Mike! And you'll need a family name, something common, and alliteration is best for remembering so it should have an M as well... Matthew? Matthews! Mike Matthews! Perfect, there you go!" It was kind of disconcerting how quickly she was able to reshape his whole identity like that. Mon-El had never felt less like a prince, nor had he ever felt more at ease. Huh, human bonding behaviors. Amazing really.

"You know, you were right Reep, that was much more amusing to watch on the outside." Brin said with a deep chuckle, immediately accompanied by Reep's snickers. "Don't worry 'Mike', she's done it to all of us." For the first time Q lost her smile and turned a pout on the Zuunian, but there was still humor sparkling in her eyes and Mon-El - Mike - found himself laughing at her antics. Maybe he could put off calling Daxam for a few days, this was nice.

"So how is the Amnesia working?" Reep asked, changing the topic after a brief lull in the conversation. He was relaxed, pouring the rest of the nanites from his hand into a glass jar, but his eyes were intent on Q. Feeling eyes on him, Mon-El turned to his other side to see Brin watching him closely, not quite judging, but... weighing.

Q also shot a hesitant glance his way before shrugging and following Reep's lead of including him in whatever this Amnesia thing was. Was someone forgetful? Was it one of those superhero names? A drug? They had something like that on Daxam, called it featherduster, made all your thoughts just float away like specks of dust, and made your brain feel like it was stuffed with feathers. He drew his brows together in thought, paying careful attention. They didn't seem like the type, maybe there was another explanation? Although, Brin's sudden wariness after being at ease around him for so long, it must not be something legal on this planet.

"I checked all the files you told me to, and everything looked like you said it should. I took pictures!" She skipped over to Reep's side and held out a small tablet-like device, showing him something on it's screen.

Mon-El turned to Brin for an explanation. After a sigh, he gave in; "Well, I guess you'll need it too. Reep and Q have been plotting for months now to turn this place into a hideout. For aliens. We're kind of illegal immigrants in this country, and humans don't really have aliens written into their Bill of Rights so... it's dangerous."

Somehow Mon-El was unsurprised. The needing a human name thing had kind of tipped him off about the xenophobia. "Did I mention I hate this planet? I do. I hate this planet." But it was a lie, his resolve to stay only reaffirmed itself. It was interesting, and these people were fun. "So Amnesia, huh? That's what you want to call it? Well, you know what would really make that name fit?" He waited until he had their full attention, and then finished with a cheshire grin; "Alcohol." Oh to be a Daxamite, what a glorious thing. Mother was going to faint.

[Retired]

Washington Heights, Manhattan, NYC | One Week Ago

---

^{Chapter One | Prologue}

The dark lit and cloud-strewn sky over George Washington Bridge flashed blue, briefly illuminating the many passing cars below. Many of their passengers noticed this event, though most passed it off as lightning heralding in the storm front they knew to be arriving soon. Others still simply paid it no mind; they were both eager and impatient to get to their respective destinations after a long day. Had any real, concerted effort been made to observe this brief flare, they might have noticed the tiny trail of red streak across the night sky.

An object, perhaps no larger than ten feet in either dimension, careened through the lower atmosphere. Its once pristine silver surface now marred with dents, scratches, and ever-growing black marks as the heat of reentry took its toll. The cloud coverage working to conceal the metal sphere soon broke away as it neared the ground. Rapidly closing with the surface of the planet, its descent suddenly slowed as sensors within detected the approach, and multiple hidden thrusters across the surface of the strange orb engaged. For a brief moment, the object seemed to halt in mid-air just a dozen feet above the ground. Short, but thick legs extended about two feet from the apparent bottom, then the thrusters cut out and the sphere dropped. A dull thud marked the landing as dust and dirt were kicked up. There, on the banks of the Hudson River, the object rested.

Less than two hundred feet away, a teenaged boy slowly removed his earbuds, the sounds of Eminem's "Till I Collapse" still heard from them, as a bewildered expression played across his face.

Elijah Bradley enjoyed spending his weekend evenings going for long runs throughout his neighborhood. He would weave his way through the streets branching off from his house, making his way towards Fort George and passed his high school. Then continuing down along the Hudson until finally reaching the base of the bridge's east tower. There he would pause at the famous Little Red Lighthouse and look across the river towards Fort Lee before turning back to retrace his steps. This had become a ritual of his the past three years, ever since setting his sights on serving in the military. He was diligent, never missing a run, even during nights of light showers such as this one.

When the sky flashed, Eli had looked up, concerned it was a signal that the pleasant trickling would turn for the worse. He almost missed the single bead of orange-red light as it pierced the clouds. And when it began to slow, the heat from breaking through the atmosphere abating to reveal the dull, silverish metal form underneath, the teenager's heart skipped a beat.

Eli was never the type to buy into UFO conspiracies. Even now, in this new age of enhanced individuals, with rumors of extraterrestrials, and undeniable accounts of extraordinary feats and miracles on display, Eli liked to consider himself as someone grounded in reality. He accepted that there had to be other life in the universe. He just never believed they'd visit Earth in his lifetime. But now, as he drew within an arm's reach, moving in a daze, the residual heat tickling his skin, Eli was forced to accept this new reality.

He had shuffled another step forward, his chest heaving both from his extensive run and the sheer, anxious excitement of the situation he found himself in. His fingers extended forward, arm outstretched, as he tentatively reached out to make contact.

A sound of rushing air broke his trance, and Eli yanked his hand back. He watched as the front of what he now clearly understood to be a pod moved. The hermetic seals had disengaged, the hatch popping forward slightly allowing for air to finally cycle through. Then, the outline of an all-too-human hand pressed against the hatch's viewport, startling Eli and he scrambled back several feet. The hand pushed the door further open, and the figure inside stumbled forward, nearly collapsing onto their knees as they gasped, desperately filling long-deprived lungs.

Bright, auburn red hair fell around its face, concealing any features for the moment. Hunched shoulders shook, and Eli wasn't sure but he thought for a second he might have heard sobbing. Then, the figure tossed its head back and straightened its shoulders.

This time it was Elijah who gasped.

She stood probably close to six feet. Her frame was thin, although it was clear even under this minimal lightning that this was more a sign of lean muscle than anything else. She was dressed in odd, purple material that left just her upper arms and thighs exposed. Eli might have mistaken her for a human, even despite watching her fall from the stars, were it not for her near-golden skin and glowing green eyes.

She was probably the most beautiful creature Eli had ever, maybe even would ever, lay eyes on. But what stood out most to him was the look on her face. Emotions must transcend humanity, he thought, because the mix of fear and relief were all too evident.

Elijah opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn't quite sure what, but the alien girl beat him to it.

A stream of almost whimsical, fantasy-like words escaped her lips as her gaze caught his frozen figure. She looked almost hopeful, excited, as her bright, glowing eyes dimmed down to reveal human-like pupils. Her cheeks stretched in a strained, soft smile as more of the nonsensical speech poured out of her.

Eli shook his head, palms outstretched in a gesture of gentleness. "I-I'm sorry," he said, forcing himself to let his rational mind take over. "I don't understand what you're saying."

The girl tilted her head slightly, pursing her lips. Then she made that same, light, half-smile once more and stepped forward. She almost seemed to glide across the ground, and Eli found himself momentarily recalling his old Sunday school lessons about angels, impossibly beautiful warriors from the sky.

As she approached within a foot of Eli, he stood his ground. He didn't get any sense of danger from this girl, not that he was the type to run regardless. The golden-skinned beauty drew closer, the gap between them narrowing to just a few inches, and their eyes met. Eli noticed the faintest trail of tears lingering on her cheeks.

Maintaining her smile, she leaned forward. Eli instinctually tried to pull away, but the girl had already brought both hands to his cheeks and had gently drawn him forward. His eyes widened as their lips met. The iPod in his right hand slipped from his fingers and fell to the dirt below. She never parted her lips, and the kiss lasted only a few seconds, but Eli was sure he felt something during those brief moments.

Then she broke off, releasing his cheeks, and her smile widened greatly.

"Hello." She said, her voice sweet and airy. "I am very pleased to meet your acquaintance."