Half Pint

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Mr. Terrific

Volume 1 - First Prototype

Criss Cross

---

Michael's fingers tapped away on the keyboard as the glow of the multiple monitors in front of him illuminated his serious expression in the dark room. He wasn't going to let his still-healing arm slow him down. The Gazzos wouldn't wait for him just because he wasn't at 100%. They had been a thorn in Metropolis' side for far too long, and if the police weren't going to step up, he would. He leaned back in his chair, deep in thought as he considered all the possible ways to get a lead on them. His mind began replaying the events of his first night. He couldn't afford another mistake like that. He had made it out alive, but just barely.

With a deep breath, he leaned forward and began typing again. His fingers a flurry as lines of code filled the screen in front of him. Before long he had tapped into the city's surveillance camera network. The Gazzo crime family was careful, but nobody was perfect. There had to be a trail somewhere, something he could use to bring them down. He had already bypassed the firewall of a few security cameras near the site of the botched gun deal, hoping to catch a glimpse of any movement leading up to it. But now, he was expanding his search, broadening his net across the entire city.

He sifted through hours of footage, trying to spot any small clue or trail they had left. His eye was drawn to the monitor on his left, displaying the feed from one of his T-Spheres. It floated around his apartment conducting diagnostic checks and scanning as much as it could. He was proud of the little inventions for sure, but there was always room for improvement. Sure they had gotten the flight system working, but had he not regained his steely resolve and managed to signal for them to catch him he might have been six feet under. He couldn’t shake the memory of falling, the helplessness as gravity took hold and his life hung by a thread. He needed more control, faster response times. He and Alex had discussed the idea of implementing an AI component to the Spheres. One that would allow them to make decisions on their own and react to situations as they unfolded. A pipe dream at the moment. Their resources were stretched thin as it was and AI wasn't exactly the most profitable venture at the moment.

He raised a mug of coffee up to his lips as he brought up a news website on the monitor to his right. A few clicks and the face of Bolivar Trask was on his screen, his announcement of The Sentinel Program hadn't escaped Michael's attention. For a moment the thought of stealing the tech ran through his mind, but he shook this from his head. His little robots were no match for the hulking giants standing behind Trask and he'd have much worse than a broken arm if those things caught him.

He clicked onto the next video, and Tony Stark appeared on screen with his usual flair. Michael didn't usually pay much attention to the playboy antics of the billionaire. But tonight, Stark was flaunting something that couldn’t be ignored: the War Machine suits. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of unease. These suits were far beyond anything he and Alex could create in their small flat, let alone Trask's AI automatons. The thought of such advanced tech in the wrong hands made his stomach twist. The world was changing fast, and the stakes were higher than ever. But he couldn’t afford distractions. The Gazzo family was still out there, and they wouldn’t wait for him to catch up.

His thoughts were interrupted by a flicker on one of the screens. He rewound the footage and leaned in closer. There, at the edge of the frame, was a familiar figure—one of the Gazzo enforcers, Fredo Frossi, slipping into a nondescript sedan. The timestamp showed it was recorded just an hour before the gun deal. Michael's eyes narrowed as he began tracing the car’s route through the city, jumping from one camera feed to another. The sedan made several seemingly random turns, clearly trying to shake any potential tails, but Michael easily kept track as he rewound and fast forwarded any footage. Eventually, the car pulled into a warehouse on the outskirts of the city, tucked away in a forgotten district.

"Bingo."

He attempted to tap into the camera feeds around the warehouse. No dice. All of them were encrypted and it would take far too long for him to crack the encryption. Instead he tapped into one across the street and zoomed in as far as he could. The place was more like a fortress than a warehouse, it was covered in cameras and he could see rough looking Italians all over the place. He needed to be smart about this, a confrontation with that many guys would no doubt result in a trip to the ER at best or the undertaker at worst.

He pushed back from his desk and grabbed his jacket, wincing slightly as his shoulder reminded him it wasn't fully healed. Alex looked up from his own workstation. "You heading out man? If you're going to a shop can you pick me up some iced coffee? Think I'm going to be up all night with this code."

"I'll try to remember. I found one of the Gazzos safe houses." Michael replied. Alex stopped typing, peering around the side of his monitor to look Michael in the eye as he continued speaking. "I'm going to go and check it out, see what I can find. If I can get inside maybe I can figure out how they're getting their stuff into the city."

Alex frowned. "Are you sure that's a good idea, bro? Your arm is still banged up from the other night. The brace is good, but I doubt it would survive you throwing punches with it on, or falling down another fire escape. Maybe we should take a step back, work on upgrading the Spheres first. We don’t even know what we’re dealing with here."

Michael shook his head. "If I wait, they’ll move everything, and we’ll be back to square one. Besides, I’m not going in guns blazing. I’ll be in and out before they even know I’m there."

Alex sighed. He could tell from the tone of Michael's voice that there was no point in arguing. He could be a stubborn bastard at times, for better and for worse. "Just… be careful, alright? We’re not exactly swimming in cash right now. I can’t afford to design a new arm brace if you end up breaking something else. And god knows how I'd do the accounting around here if you get yourself killed."

Michael smirked, grabbing a small case of equipment and slinging it over his good shoulder. "I’ll be fine. Keep your phone on you, though, just in case."

He left his apartment and started walking down the street. The sun had long since set and the city's nightlife buzzed around him. Drunk couples and loud frat boys spilled their way out of bars laughing and bickering. Michael did his best to blend into the crowd as he made his way to the industrial district, his mind already trying to work out an infiltration plan as he got closer. Ideally he'd go completely unnoticed, but worst case scenario he could use his Spheres to provide a bit of controlled chaos if he had to make a sudden escape.

The warehouse came into sight and Michael ducked into a nearby alley. He lowered his equipment case to the floor and clicked it open to reveal his T-Spheres, now fully charged and ready for action. He spread the nanogel on his face and as his eyes flickered red the T-Spheres came to life and floated up in front of him. The interface on his mask fully loaded, bringing up a HUD that displayed their status and the surrounding environment. He ran through a final systems check, ensuring everything was in order.

The Spheres darted off, moving in perfect synchronization as they began their sweep of the perimeter. Michael stayed low, creeping along the building’s edge as he kept one eye on the security feeds being relayed back to his mask. The guards were well-armed but sloppy, more interested in their conversations than their surroundings. It would be easy to slip past them—at least, that’s what he hoped.

He paused behind a dumpster near a side door. Waiting for two guards to finish their conversation and move away from it. He quickly lurched over to the door, trying the handle before noticing an electronic keypad on the wall. Electronic yes, but nothing too sophisticated. He stood eye level with it and used his mask to zoom in on each of the keys, noting small indents on specific keys that had been pressed more than others. 4 Numbers, 24 possible combinations. He glanced left and right, he'd need to be quick. Seconds felt like hours as he pressed the keys over and over in different orders, every nerve in his body on high alert.

Finally, the door clicked open. Michael slipped inside, the T-Spheres hovering close behind as he moved through the dimly lit corridors. The warehouse was vast, filled with crates and equipment, men sat on makeshift chairs playing cards on makeshift tables. He moved silently, his footsteps barely making a sound as he avoided being spotted and approached a door at the far end of the hall. It was slightly ajar, and he could hear voices inside.

"We need to tighten security after that last fuck-up. The boss is gonna have my head if something like this happens again. I don’t want any more surprises. Move the shipments up tonight. And find out who the hell this guy is. I want him dead before he becomes a bigger problem."

Michael’s breath caught in his throat. This was bigger than he had anticipated. The Gazzos were spooked, and wanted him dead. He needed to get that information and get out, but he couldn’t risk being seen. He glanced at the T-Spheres, their silent hum reassuring him. With a few quick commands, he sent them to work and they floated over to a laptop open on the table in the room, uploading the data from the documents while he kept watch.

It was a tense few minutes, but finally, the download was complete. Michael pulled back, carefully making his way back through the warehouse, his heart still pounding. As he slipped through the door and back into the night, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He had done it, and this time without any broken bones. But as he moved away from the warehouse, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. The Gazzo family was planning something big, and he had only scratched the surface. The real challenge was still ahead, and he needed to be ready for whatever came next.

For now, though, it was time to head back to the apartment and go through the data he had gathered. The investigation was far from over.

---

Carmine Gazzo sat in the back of the dark, smokey bar in his private booth. His tall, lean form was relaxed, though his mind was anything but. He sipped on a glass of water, rage bubbled underneath the surface but putting this on display was bad for his health, and bad for business. So, he kept his emotions tightly in check, his face a mask of composure, even as his mind was deep in thought about the vigilante threatening his operations.

His eyes shot over to the door at the end of the bar as a slight man wearing a perfectly tailored suit made his way over to the mob boss. As he got closer, Carmine noticed an eyepatch underneath a pair of dark sunglasses. The man took a seat opposite him. To the wider world, he was an unknown, a man who didn't need headlines to prove his worth. But to those in the know, he was Crossfire, a cold and efficient assassin known for his discretion.

Crossfire didn't waste any time with small talk. "You've got a problem," he stated, his voice low and steady, cutting through the noise around them. "I can solve it."

Carmine looked back at the man, his fingers drumming on the table as he took another sip of water. "Someone has been messing with my operations." He said, his voice tinged with spite. "A man. Don’t know who he is yet, but he’s been sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Made off with something from my warehouse last night. Took out a few of my guys last time he showed up. We think he's in his early 20s, supposedly has these floating metal things he uses. Don't know his name yet, nut I don’t need to know his name to know he’s becoming a problem."

Crossfire barely reacted. He had heard stories like this before. The only thing out of the ordinary was the gadgets, but that was no concern for a killer like him. "What do you want done?"

Gazzo leaned forward slightly, his expression still cool. "I want him dead, and I want it done quietly. No attention, no mess. Then you recover the body and we can send a message to any other freaks who want to fuck with us. I don't care about his little toys, sooner or later he's gotta slip, and when he does I want you to be there to put a bullet in him."

"Sounds like he's already slipped if he’s come after your warehouse. You’ve got a location?"

Carmine nodded, sliding over a piece of paper with an address written on it. "One of my warehouses on the edge of town. Security cameras all over the joint, but we couldn't make out his face. Got word from one of my Capo's he'd stolen some documents from us. Whoever this guy is, he’s getting bolder. He’s not just watching us anymore. He’s getting inside."

Crossfire smiled. "I’ve taken down bigger targets with less. He won’t even know I’m coming. By the time he realizes what's happening, it'll already be over."

Carmine slid a slim black envelope across the table. "Half now. The rest when the job’s done."

Crossfire slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket without a word. He stood up, his movements deliberate and fluid, every step calculated. "Consider it done," he said before turning and heading toward the exit.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Volume 1 - Beggar Knight

A Test of Strength and Honour

---

Duncan watched as the sun began to set, the camp emerging before them. An army of tents made from various exquisite fabrics had small lanterns hanging down from their entrances, almost mirroring the sea of stars that enveloped the night sky above them. Mehdi had cradled his rifle the entire journey here, and Duncan noticed him checking over it and testing the sights as the sun began to sink behind the horizon. The darkness. He had met only two people since waking up and both of them seemed terrified of whatever happened at night in this desert.

"You must meet with the Sheikh. Merlin's contract is not just for your benefit and I fear he will test you before allowing you to fill your end of the bargain. I will vouch for you, but he is a harsh man. Fear not my friend if you must face the night, you will not do it alone."

Duncan shifted in his seat. Nothing ever came easy.

Duncan’s muscles tensed as they approached the sprawling camp, a glimmering array of colorful tents. He could feel the weight of the desert's silence, only broken by the distant rustle of fabric in the wind. The people here moved with purpose, and all eyes seemed to track Duncan as he dismounted from his camel.

Mehdi nodded toward a larger tent at the center of the camp. "The Sheikh awaits. He is a man of tradition, and honor matters here more than anything. Show him respect, and all may go smoothly."

Duncan, despite his fatigue, straightened his posture as he took in the full spectacle of the camp. This was a place that thrived on tradition, on ideals, and honour. It reminded him faintly of the court of Arthur, or what he could remember of it. He nodded towards Mehdi, signalling to him he was ready for whatever test they had prepared for him.

As they approached a guard standing post outside the large tent opened up one of its entrance flaps, revealing an opulent interior. Cushions lined the ground, and lanterns cast flickering golden light across rich tapestries that adorned the walls. The scent of burning incense filled the air and guards stood watch with their hands on their weapons, eyes suspicious and alert.

At the center, seated on a lavish cushion surrounded by his warriors was the Sheikh. He was an imposing man—tall, broad-shouldered, and with eyes sharp as a hawk’s. His beard was thick and black, streaked with silver, and his robes were pristine and decorated with intricate embroidery. His eyes tracked Duncan like he was prey as he approached.

As the two came to a stop in front of the Sheikh, Mehdi stepped forward, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and bowing slightly. "Sheikh Omar, I have brought the knight as promised. He is here to fulfill his part of the contract."

The Sheikh's eyes narrowed as his gaze shifted to Duncan. He stroked his beard in thought before speaking. "A knight you say?" His voice was deep and commanded respect. "You look more like a beggar in borrowed armour. In my land, a title is not enough to prove your worth. Strength, not stories, will be the only thing that can save you out in the night."

A murmur of laughter erupted from the crowd of warriors that sat in various parts of the tent. Duncan remained resolute, but he could feel every eye on him, weighing him, judging him. He knew better than to protest the insult. After all, maybe the statement had more truth than he'd like to admit. In his time under the sand he'd lost everything, all of his equipment, even the Ebony blade. He was no more a knight than Mehdi.

The Sheikh allowed the silence to continue on for another few uncomfortable moments, struggling to maintain his neutral expression as a playful smile broke onto his face. He rose his hand and beckoned over one his men in the corner. A giant man rose from his seated position, towering over those around him as he lumbered his way in front of Duncan. His arms and legs were as thick as tree trunks, with scars like roots tracing their way across any visible part of skin he had showing.

"If you wish to prove your worth, you will fight Omar. He is one of my finest warriors. No weapons will be permitted. Only then shall we see if your courage matches your title, Beggar Knight."

The murmur of the crowd grew louder, some of the warriors chuckling among themselves. Duncan stood his ground, his eyes locking with Omar's. The warrior’s grin widened as he sized Duncan up, he was two, maybe three heads taller than the knight.

The two turned to leave the tent to begin the test in the middle of the camp. As Duncan began to leave he glanced over to Mehdi, who gave him a slight nod and a wry smile. This was a test, a chance to earn their respect and prove his place among them.

As they reached the centre of the camp a crowd gathered. Farmers, women, children, and of course the Sheikh and his warriors all formed a large circle around the two. Echoes of giggling and chatter reverberated through the desert as the two stood staring each other down, bathed in the light of the campfires and the moon overhead. The Sheikh took his place on an elevated seat and with one word the brawl started.

"Begin."

Without hesitation, Omar rushed at Duncan like a rhino. His speed was surprising for a man his size, but his dexterity was not. Duncan managed to sidestep the initial charge, his reflexes rapidly coming back to him after his slumber as the adrenaline pumped its way into his bloodstream.

But Omar was relentless. Duncan could understand why he was one of the Sheikh's best warriors, he would have made a stalwart ally in the fight against Mordred all those years ago. He did his best to dodge or block the thunderous punches Omar rained down upon him. He could feel his arms bruising and his guard weakening as he waited for the opportune moment to strike. Just then, Omar overextended his arm on a wide swing attempting to get around Duncan's guard, Duncan bobbed and weaved the punch, circling around the giant as he drove a heavy hook into his ribs, causing Omar to stumble backwards, his hand instinctively clutching the affected area.

The crowd gasped in surprise, and for a second a look of shock and anger spread on Omar's face, before being replaced with an even wider grin than before. Finally, a challenge.

"Not bad for a beggar." Omar said, his voice a low growl. They locked eyes again. Duncan was smiling too now. It had been too long since he'd had a good fight.

The battle continued, Omar's brute force becoming less of an obstacle as Duncan started relieing on his agility and speed more. He kept mobile, attempting to tire Omar out before delivering a knockout blow. He could feel his muscles burning as he moved. If this went on any longer he might collapse, but he pushed through every ache and pain.

Finally, his chance. Omar, breathing heavily now, lunged wildly at him. Duncan dodged once more, grabbing the huge arm and using Omar's momentum to trip and throw him to the ground. He quickly held his foot on his throat, preventing him from rising as Omar lay on the ground, that grin never leaving his face. The crowd fell silent for a moment, unsure whether they should cheer or attack the knight for besting their guardian. The silence was broken by the Sheikh, laughing as he parted the crowd and approached, clapping all the while.

"Good, good, Beggar knight! No one has bested Omar in years, and certainly not a foreigner." He slid a dagger sheathed in an ornate scabbard from his belt and handed it to Duncan. Duncan held the knife in his hand. "Now, as is tradition, I give you my blade to finish the battle. Kill Omar and you will be one of us, we cannot allow one of our best to be defeated by a foreigner, even one who is a knight."

Duncan's brow furrowed at the order. He held the sheathed dagger in his hand as he looked down at Omar, whose grin was now replaced with a look of shock and pleading. Duncan's eyes glanced down at the hilt of the dagger, and he slowly unsheathed the blade, staring at the metal as it gleamed under the light of the moon. Intricate patterns decorated the dagger, images of battles long since fought and animals ridden by mighty warriors told a grand story Duncan didn't know. Before the knife was fully unsheathed, he slid it back into its scabbard. Looking up at the Sheikh with fury in his eyes he tossed the weapon onto the sand in front of the desert leader. He removed his foot from Omar's throat and stepped back.

"I will not. Your man fought valiantly and it would not be right to murder him in cold blood. I would give my life as forfeit before following this crude request, Sheikh."

The crowd gasped once more, and a rumble of conversation broke out. Duncan stood tall, catching a glimpse of Mehdi once more, that same wry smile playing on his lips as he stood, arms crossed watching what was unfolding. The Sheikh allowed the noise to go on for a while longer before he raised his hand and everyone fell silent. Another few moments passed before he spoke.

"Beggar knight, I give you the mercy of sparing your life in exchange for his and instead you would spit upon our millenia old tradition? So be it. The Bedouin are honor bound to Merlin's contract. But Omar must die." He picked his dagger up from the ground, quickly unsheathing it and thrusting the blade into Omar's stomach. The giant let out a painful gasp as his eyes widened and he fell to the floor clutching his midsection. One last death rattle escaped his lips as his eyes closed and he fell to the floor.

Sensing what was about to happen, the Sheikh's guards leapt onto Duncan before he could finish leaping at the Sheikh. Duncan was an inch away from the Sheikh's face struggling against the robed men holding him back. The Sheikh regarded him with disdain, before laughter eminating from the ground next to them broke the tension. The Sheikh let a smile pass his lips, before joining in on the laughter as he helped Omar up, the familiar wide grin on his face as he looked back at Duncan's confused expression.

"Beggar Knight," the Sheikh said, chuckling as he showed the retractable dagger, pressing its tip against his palm to reveal the hidden trick. "A small test of your character. You are strong, yes, but now we see that you are also honorable."

Duncan let out a slow breath, his tense muscles beginning to relax as the Sheikh’s smile remained. The guards released him, and Omar clapped a firm hand on his shoulder, his laughter growing louder.

"You, my friend, are truly a great warrior!" Omar exclaimed warmly. "It’s been too long since I’ve had such entertainment! Not since Mehdi outshot me in a hunting contest."

Duncan glanced at Mehdi, who gave him a knowing smile and slight nod. The crowd dispersed as the Sheikh led Duncan away from the center of the camp. “Come,” he said, gesturing towards a larger tent near the outskirts of the camp, "Tonight, we feast. You’ve proven your strength, now we shall see how well you fare against our wine."

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Got my first Black Knight post up, still working on the final version of the banner so may change that in the next day or so!

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Volume 1 - Beggar Knight

Awakenings

---

Darkness. Eternal darkness as far as the eye could see. All Duncan could see was darkness.

When his slumber first began, his dreams were filled with memories of adventure and camaraderie with his friends. Visions of Camelot and riding through the forests of Albion. Echoes of laughter at banquets and moments of bravery during battle. The last thing he saw was his battle, and then darkness. He didn't know how long it had been since his world was filled with endless nothingness; he could barely remember the faces or voices of his friends. Would this ever end? Would he ever escape this labyrinth?

...Duncan...

A voice? Who was that? It seemed familiar. He couldn't quite tell who it was though...

...Duncan...

Finally a break in the silence. He was sure he knew this voice, was it friend or foe? Perhaps a ghost haunting him from his past?

...Duncan...

Merlin! It was Merlin! It had to be! Suddenly a sea of relief washed over Duncan. He was safe, or at least safer than he was alone in the darkness.

"Merlin!" Duncan's voice echoed into the void, his desperation clear. "Please, I can't wake up!"

The blackness seemed to pulse around him, as if reacting to his plea. Straining his mind, he tried to picture the old wizard’s face, the mentor who had guided him through so many trials. But the image was elusive, just out of reach. The darkness was relentless, trying to pull him back into its depths, but the voice of Merlin gave him something to hold onto, a lifeline in the void.

"Duncan…" The voice was clearer now, cutting through the haze. "Awaken, Duncan… it is time."

A bomb exploded in his mind. It was like watching the big bang from a front-row seat. Suddenly the darkness was overwhelmed and crushed by infinite light. Duncan could feel his senses returning, he tried to gasp for air, but instead of air, sand filled his windpipe.

"Merin...Please help me..."

"Duncan, your time has finally come, my knight. The world you know is gone, replaced by one made of steel and glass. But your destiny has finally revealed itself one more. Awaken, sir knight and find me. We have much work to do."

Duncan's eyes shot open and were met with blinding sand. He began to tear his way upwards through the endless sea of sediment, clawing to grab any sort of handhold as he felt his skin cut and tear against the harsh grains. Every movement was agony, his muscles screaming in protest after centuries of disuse. Where was his armour to protect him? All he had was his tunic, trousers and chainmail. His skin burned against the hot sand as it made its best attempts to drag him back down.

With a final desperate lunge he shot his arm up and broke the surface, and as if answering his last burst of energy a hand grabbed his and pulled him free from his underground tomb.

---

Ali adjusted his robe as his camel trudged along through the harsh desert heat. He reached down behind him to his pack, brushing his hand against the old, rusted service revolver as he grabbed his canteen and raised it to his mouth, unwrapping his face covering and taking a big swig of the precious liquid.

His eyes scanned the horizon, flat and featureless as far as the eye could see. Traveling like this, he sometimes wished for the harsh climbs of the dunes, just to break the monotony of the horizon. It taunted him with mirages, presenting an endless sea just out of reach. Finally his sight narrowed on a ruin in the distance. A smile grew on his face.

He approached the ruin and dismounted his camel. He raised a hand and began stroking his chin as he surveyed the ground around him. What was it they had told him? Look for the pillar in the sand and dig two widths left? He didn't have the time or care to be out here all day. God knows if he managed to save this fool by nightfall it would be even more of a nightmare getting him back. Ali retrieved the compact shovel from his pack and flipped down the head. A deep sigh marked the start of his digging.

An hour later and he felt like he was making no progress at all. If it wasn't for the money he might have thought to give up, tell them the fool was dead for good and try to haggle for half the pay. Just then a pale hand shot out from the sand, causing Ali to jump back with a fright.

He saw the hand slowly begin to sink back down into the ground and he reacted fast, tossing the shovel to the side and diving down onto his stomach to grab the towering wrist. With all of his might he rose to a crouched position and began to pull. A wrist became an arm, and then an arm became a head, and finally the upper half of Duncan's body was free. Each time, something new emerged from the sand Ali shot to grip it with his free hand, eventually pulling Duncan fully free and sending them both falling into the sand.

---

Duncan pushed himself up to his knees, coughing violently as centuries of sand hacked their way out of his lungs. Ali stared at him in shock. Despite his briefing on the situation, he had to admit he'd expect to bring back a corpse. Just how was this man alive? He had more sand in his body than oxygen?

Duncan whipped around, instinctively grabbing for the Ebony Blade only to be met with empty space where his scabbard should be. Panic flared briefly within him, his warrior instincts kicking in as he prepared for a fight. His eyes darted around, scanning the unfamiliar surroundings, nothing to use a a weapon. Nothing to use to his advantage.

Ali stepped back, raising his arms to show he meant no harm.

“Whoa, whoa! Easy there, friend,” he said, his voice calm but edged with caution. “I’m not your enemy.”

Duncan breathed heavily, sand still falling from his mouth with each ragged breath. He took in the man before him. He didn't have the appearance of a thief, or a scoundrel. His pristine white robes gave him an almost angelic glow. Perhaps this was a guardian sent from above, perhaps Merlin had provided an accomplice to assist in Duncan's revival. Whoever the man was, he had rescued Duncan from his sandy grave, and for that he had earned at least a few moments of the knights trust.

"Who are you?" Duncan managed to cough out, his voice raspy from centuries of disuse. "Where am I?"

The man lowered his hands slowly, pointing to his own chest casually as he spoke.

"I am Ali." His tone suddenly casual. He gestured out towards the seemingly endless expanse of the desert. "In general? You are nowhere. In particular? You are in the grand desert of the Wadi Rum. I am Bedouin, my people have traced and tracked these sands since the sun began to rise in the East."

Duncan’s mind struggled to piece together what had happened and where he was. The last thing he remembered clearly was the final battle against Mordred, the clash of swords, the flash of betrayal, and then... darkness. How had he ended up here? And where was Merlin’s voice, the one that had guided him out of the abyss?

"Merlin…" Duncan’s voice was a hoarse whisper. "Where is Merlin?"

Ali hesitated for a moment, moving to pick up his shovel before replying as he moved over to his camel and slid it back into his pack.

"Merlin is waiting for you my friend. But we must move quickly, the desert is a dangerous place, especially after nightfall." He took his canteen from his bag and unscrewed the top, handing it to Duncan.

Duncan's joy was palpable as he peered into the strange plastic container and realised it was filled with water. He began to chug the water before pouring it over his face and eyes. He hadn't even realised the canteen was empty, and Ali stood, mouth agape, at the sight before him. The white-robed man stomped his way over to Duncan and snatched the canteen from him. Attempting to pour some water out onto his hand, he was only met with droplets.

"That was our only water, you fool! We have days of journey left!" He stormed back over to his camel, angrily shoving the canteen into his pack. "We will need to refill it at a well now." He grumbled, pulling a sun-stained map from inside his robe and studying it. He scowled as he mounted his animal and held out a hand to lift Duncan onto the back of it. "Come, I can get us to one before the sun sets if we are quick."

---

Duncan's mind was awash with confusion. Confusion about where he was, about when he was, and about who he was. It was like he had all the pieces of the jigsaw but couldn't fit any of them together. Sparse images of faces he didn't recognise were all he could struggle to visualise. The only thing he could see clearly was the sneer of Mordred during their last confrontation. That was a memory that never left him in the darkness, but not one he chose to remember. He snapped himself out of his daydream, speaking up for the first time in ages.

"Ali, how long has it been since I was put into my trance? What year is it?"

Ali glanced over his shoulder with a curious eye and a puzzled eyebrow raise. Just who was this guy? What year is it? What kind of a question was that?

"It is 2024, my friend." Ali gave a straightforward answer, he wouldn't receive a reply from Duncan anyway. A feeling of shock rippled through him, as if he had been struck by an arrow. Had he really been asleep that long? What must the world look like outside of this desert? Eventually he worked up the words to speak up.

"And what of Camelot? Who rules her now?"

Ali almost stopped the camel at this, turning over his shoulder to look at Duncan direclty in the eye.

"My friend, I have no idea what you are speaking about. Camel-lot? Is this some place to buy camels? Whatever, it doesn't matter. We are almost at the well." He rounded the haven of water in the middle of the barren wasteland and they both dismounted, Ali handing duncan the canteen to fill and he himself taking a small tin cup from his pack.

Ali began pulling up the rope in the middle of the well until the bucket full of water reached his hands. He poured water into his cup and handed it to Duncan to fill the canteen. Sweet relief filled them as they drank. Duncan looked up at the endless blue sky, then traced his gaze down to the horizon, where the familiar mirage of a blue ocean taunted him in the distance. Then, just as he was about to look away he saw a mast poke up from this ocean. A small black dot that was gradually growing larger. He hit Ali on the arm with the back of his hand and pointed.

"Ali, look. Another of your 'Bedouin' friends?"

Ali squinted his eyes staring into the distance trying to make out the figure. They both stood in silence as the rider got closer. He was on the back of a camel, making its way towards them at a casual, almost slow pace. His pitch black robes provided a striking silhouette against the blue of the sky.

"Yes, yes. I know this man very well. He will assist us with the rest of the journ-" He stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widening as they locked with the riders own pale set. A small gasp escaped his lips as he hurried back to his camel, shakily retrieving the rusted service revolver. Duncan looked at him, confused.

"Ali! What is the meaning of this?"

Ali didn't reply as he moved back into the riders line of sight and stood side on, extending his arm forward and pointing the gun at the black figure. A shot rang out, breaking the droning silence of the desert, and Ali's white robes were stained red as he fell into the sand. Duncan froze, he knew not what manner of spell this was, but he knew without any sort of weapon he was useless to fight the sorcerer. His eyes drifted from Ali's body up the rider as he approached.

The man casually rode toward Duncan, cradling his Jezail rifle over his arm, not even bothering to hold the reins of his camel. The animal, adorned in beautiful red cloth, instinctively kneeled, allowing the man to gracefully step off onto the sand below. Without a word, he strode over to Ali's lifeless body, looked it over briefly, then lifted and inspected the revolver in his hand. He glanced up at Duncan.

"He is dead."

Duncan hesitated, every bone in his body screaming at him to leap at the man and strangle him.

"Yes... why?"

The man undid his face covering, revealing dark skin that contrasted against his piercing pale grey eyes and a well-trimmed beard with a heavy mustache. A coy smile played on the corners of his lips.

"He drank from my well."

"As have I."

"You had my permission."

There was a pause in the conversation.

"He saved me from the desert. He was guiding me out of this place!" Duncan's voice wavered with anger.

The man jerked his head in the direction of Ali's corpse. "That?"

“Yes, that.” His voice tinged with malice.

“He was an outsider with no business in the Wadi Rum. No business drinking from our well.”

“He told me he was Bedouin, that his ancestors had ridden these sands for millennia.”

The man let out a laugh, stepping closer to Duncan and holding up the revolver, displaying its rust and disrepair.

“No Bedouin would ever let his weapon fall into this state. The man was a stranger to this land. I’ve been tracking him for days and only left him alive to lead me to you.”

Duncan's mind was racing. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. The man in black mounted his camel again and began to speak.

"My name is Mehdi. Your ally Merlin sent me to find you. Unfortunately, it seems Mordred also caught wind of your whereabouts and sent his own agent to intercept before I got to you. Come, take his camel for your own. I will take you to my tribe. We must reach there before nightfall."

He turned on his camel and began slowly trotting off the way he came.

Duncan rubbed his forehead, overwhelmed by the events. How could he trust anyone after what had just happened? He looked over his shoulder at the endless horizon. As far as he could see, he had two options: wander aimlessly forever or take another risk with Mehdi and potentially get out of this hell.

He climbed onto the camel and gently spurred it forwards to catch up to Mehdi. He rode next to him, the relentless sun beating down on the two as they made their way further into the desert.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

@DocTachyon Wow! Thanks so much for this it's amazing!

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

@Hillan@Master Bruce


Much appreciated!

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Application for my second character! Been thinking over this one for a few days now hope it's cool! I was thinking of having him have partial memory loss from the centuries of hibernation at the start of the RP.

Chivalry's not dead

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

B L A C K K N I G H T

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^{"A thousand years and still chasing shadows."}

^{_{D U N C A N W H I T M A N ♦ K N I G H T ♦ T R A N S I E N T}}

O R I G I N S:

---

Long ago, legends were written about what could be considered one of the first superteams: the legends of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. One character who is often omitted from these tales of heroism is the Black Knight. Duncan was a close friend and ally of Arthur and his knights, but he struggled endlessly with his past and the curse of the Ebony Blade. He was born in the late 5th century, the son of a bandit in the Scottish Highlands who, through much strife and combat, grew into a knight-errant serving under the grace and command of Arthur.

Merlin bestowed upon him the Ebony Blade—a sword forged from a meteorite and imbued with both immense power and a terrible curse. The blade granted him enhanced strength and unmatched combat prowess but at the cost of a growing bloodlust and insanity that threatened to consume him the more unnecessary blood was spilled using the weapon. The curse only grew after he bested death in a duel of wits and became immortal after falling during battle. After the fall of Camelot and the death of King Arthur at the hands of the villainous Mordred, Duncan became a wandering knight, fighting to uphold the ideals of chivalry even as the world around him descended into chaos. He hunted Mordred across the land, seeking vengeance for his fallen master. Fearing that the curse would eventually turn him into a force of destruction, Merlin placed him into an enchanted sleep after his battle with Mordred, hoping that time would dull the blade’s influence.

Duncan slept for over a millennium until the emergence of new heroes—and the return of his old nemesis, Mordred—awakened him. Now, in the modern era, he must navigate a world that has long forgotten the age of knights and sorcery, all while battling the darkness within him and the evils that have returned to plague humanity.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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The cold moon looked down upon the vast desert, a barren wasteland that seemed to stretch into eternity. Duncan Whitman, the Black Knight, trudged through the endless expanse, his armor dull with dust and battle scars, yet still a symbol of the honor he struggled to cling to. He wished endlessly he had Valinor with him. His steed would have provided much-needed company on the journey and made it far easier on his feet. But Valinor was gone, gone like everything he cared about. The Ebony Blade at his side thrummed with dark energy, its curse growing stronger as it vibrated with the souls it had taken. Duncan felt a million voices in his head telling him to kill. But for now, its hunger was directed toward one man—Mordred.

The traitor had fled across the land, ever since the day he plunged Britain into chaos with the death of King Arthur. Duncan had pursued him tirelessly, driven by a vow to avenge his fallen king and to rid the world of Mordred’s treachery. Now, at last, he had cornered the villain in this forsaken desert, far from the green hills of Camelot.

In the distance, a figure emerged from the swirling sands, clad in dark robes that fluttered in the hot wind. Mordred. His eyes glowed with malevolent power, and a twisted grin spread across his face as he saw Duncan approaching. The two men stared at each other, their shared history palpable in the charged air between them.

“Duncan Whitman,” Mordred called out, his voice echoing across the dunes, “Loyal to the end, I see. Even in this wasteland, you cling to the dead king’s ideals.”

Duncan stopped in his tracks, his hand resting on the hilt of the Ebony Blade, the dark metal cool against his palm. “You took everything from me, Mordred,” he replied, his voice a low, controlled growl. “From all of us. This ends now.”

Mordred laughed, a cold, hollow sound that sent a shiver down Duncan’s spine. “Foolish knight. Do you think a cursed blade will save you? Or have you already succumbed to its darkness?”

With a snarl, Duncan drew the Ebony Blade from its scabbard, the weapon gleaming ominously in the moonlight. It seemed to drip with red energy like blood. As the energy hit the sand below, it sizzled and steamed into the night. The air around them seemed to hum with anticipation, the very land sensing the clash that was about to unfold. “The blade will do what it was forged to do—end your wretched life.”

Without another word, Duncan charged forward, his boots kicking up sand as he closed the distance between them. Mordred responded with a wave of his hand, summoning a surge of dark magic that crackled through the air like lightning. Duncan raised the Ebony Blade, its cursed power absorbing the magic, deflecting the energy away as he pressed his attack. Mordred’s hands drew back and shot forward once more as more dark energy shot out at Duncan. The sword was doing its best, but sparks of lightning began arcing around the blade and burning his face. All he could smell was blood and burnt hair as the unkempt beard he hadn't bothered to shave in his pursuit began burning.

He closed in on Mordred, the evil son of a good king, drawing his own blade and blocking a downward swing from Duncan at the last moment. Duncan's eyes glanced down at the blade, and a mixture of shock and anger tore through his body as he shouted,
"You would desecrate your own father's corpse? Steal Excalibur? Thieving pilferer, have you no shame?"

Mordred's lips curled into a sneer "Shame is for the weak and the foolish, Whitman. I have claimed my birthright."

They pulled their blades away and swung again, locking them against each other. The darkness of the desert was only illuminated by the stars and the pure light of Excalibur clashing against the dark aura of the Ebony Blade, creating a spectacle of sparks. The air around them sizzled with energy, the very ground trembling beneath their feet.

Mordred laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "And what of your own blade, Black Knight? A cursed weapon that feeds on blood. Are you so different from me?"

Duncan's jaw tightened. The whispers of the Ebony Blade grew louder, urging him to unleash its full potential, to end Mordred once and for all. But he knew the cost. He pulled his blade back again, sending a kick to Mordred's midsection that sent him stumbling back. Duncan regained a high guard, holding his blade along his left forearm with his right hand as he and Mordred stalked in circles around each other like two lions. Duncan felt the weight of exhaustion pressing upon him. The long journey through the desert, combined with the draining effects of the Ebony Blade, had sapped his strength. Yet, he couldn't falter. Not now.

Mordred charged him, and Duncan parried, thrusting his sword forward and plunging it into Mordred's shoulder. His success was marked with a painful yelp from Mordred, but also a vicious downward swing from Excalibur. Duncan reacted quickly; the sword was firmly lodged in his opponent’s shoulder and wouldn't budge. He held his hand up to block the path of the holy blade, and it embedded itself into his hand, causing Duncan to shout in equal parts anger and pain.

His eyes met Mordred's with a fury the dark wizard had never seen before. Duncan allowed the voices to overcome him. Arthur was dead. Lancelot was dead. Guinivere was dead. All that was left was himself and Merlin who had gone into a self imposed exile. Why did this treacherous knave deserve to live. Why did any of them deserve to live.

Duncan let go of the Ebony Blade and sent a brutal punch to Mordred’s jaw with his metal gauntlet, sending him tumbling to the ground, blood splattering across the sand. Excalibur was released from his grasp and landed point down into the sand. For once, Mordred looked frightened as the Black Knight approached him, his hand dripping with blood and his aura glowing with an overwhelming, black flame.

The Black Knight approached Mordred, tearing his Ebony Blade from the man’s shoulder. He could faintly hear him calling for mercy, but all was numb and deaf as he drove the cursed sword through his chest. He could barely think, his mind racing as he struggled to keep hold of his sanity. He watched as what remained of Mordred crumbled to dust and his robe whipped away into the desert air.

Pulling the Ebony Blade from the sand, he left a trail of blood as he stumbled forward into the desert. He fell to his knees and tore his helmet off, throwing it as far as he could away from him as he stared upwards into infinity. He began mumbling to himself.
"Merlin....Merlin....I'm so exhausted."

Duncan's voice wavered as he called out into the desolate expanse, his strength nearly spent, his spirit battered by the weight of the curse and the horrors he had just committed. The desert winds howled in response, carrying his desperate plea across the dunes.

A mirage appeared on the horizon, a figure emerging from nowhere, cloaked in robes that seemed to blend with the sands themselves. Merlin, the ancient wizard, approached with a grave expression, his eyes full of sorrow as he took in the sight of his once-noble knight, now reduced to a man on the brink of madness. His visage was shimmering, transparent. Merlin was a thousand miles away, somewhere Duncan would never know, appearing to him in one last favour to his plea.

"Duncan," Merlin’s voice was soft, yet it carried the authority of ages. He knelt beside the fallen knight, his hand gently resting on Duncan’s shoulder. "You have fought valiantly, but the curse of the Ebony Blade has taken its toll."

Duncan’s eyes were wild, his breathing ragged as he clutched the hilt of the sword, his knuckles white beneath the metal of his gauntlet. "I couldn’t stop it, Merlin. The blade… it’s consuming me. I killed him, but at what cost? I’m losing myself."

Merlin nodded solemnly, his gaze turning to the Ebony Blade, which pulsed with a dark, malevolent energy. "The blade was forged from the stars, imbued with power beyond mortal understanding. But with that power comes a terrible price. You are not the first to fall victim to its curse, but you are among the strongest to have resisted it for so long."

Duncan looked up at Merlin, desperation in his eyes. "I cannot control it anymore. Please, Merlin, end this… end me."

The wizard’s expression softened with compassion, though his heart weighed heavy with the decision before him. "No, Duncan. There is still hope for you, but not in this time. The world is not yet ready for what you have become, and you are not ready to face the darkness alone."

Merlin raised his hand, his fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air as he whispered ancient incantations. The air around them began to shimmer, a soft light enveloping Duncan as the magic took hold. Duncan felt a strange calm wash over him, the voices of the blade fading into the distance, replaced by a soothing silence.

"I will place you into a deep slumber," Merlin continued, his voice gentle but firm. "You will sleep for centuries, perhaps millenia, until a time when the world has changed and you are needed once more. Perhaps then, you will find a way to break the curse, to wield the blade without losing yourself to it."

Duncan’s eyelids grew heavy, his exhaustion overwhelming him as the enchantment began to take effect. He struggled to keep his gaze on Merlin, to hold onto the last vestiges of consciousness. "And what of the world, Merlin? What will become of it?"

Merlin smiled sadly, his eyes filled with a wisdom that spanned the ages. "The world will endure, as it always has. New heroes will rise, and the old will fade into legend. But when the time is right, you will awaken, and your story will continue."

With those final words, Duncan’s eyes closed, his body sinking into the soft sand as the spell took full hold. The dark flames that had surrounded him flickered out, leaving only the peaceful rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply in his enchanted sleep.

Merlin watched over him for a moment longer, his heart heavy with the burden of what he had done. But he knew it was necessary. The Black Knight’s time would come again, and perhaps then, he would find redemption.

With a final wave of his hand, Merlin summoned a gentle breeze that covered Duncan in a blanket of sand, concealing him from the world until the day he would awaken. The wizard turned and began to walk away, his figure gradually disappearing into the shimmering heat of the desert, leaving only the silent dunes behind.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Mr. Terrific

Volume 1 - First Prototype

A Family Affair

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Michael gripped his right shoulder as he gingerly moved it around. The Cyberwear™ yet-to-be-patented arm brace was doing its job, albeit in an uncomfortable way. A million ideas for improvements raced through his mind, the main being some sort of numbing gel or codeine injection to combat the incredibly weird sensation of feeling his bones very slowly correct themselves under the brace. He couldn't complain though, it was better than walking about with a broken arm. It might take some time before he could go toe-to-toe with mafia goons again, but the silver lining was that in the meantime, he could focus on helping Alex get their fledgling business off the ground. And maybe tackle some white-collar crime on the side when he wasn’t looking.

He pulled on a light jacket and slung a satchel over his shoulder as he left the apartment and made his way down the stairs to the front door. It was a sunny day as he stepped out onto the street. The kind of day that made you want to buy a crate of beer, a pack of cigarettes, and sit in a field somewhere. A nice thought for someone with more disposable income, but for Michael, the most he could convince himself to part with was just enough for a coffee from the shop a few blocks over. There's only so long a guy can last on cheap instant coffee.

He put in his earbuds and swiped along the apps on his phone, tapping on a familiar app and clicking play. It was a sort of trivia app he had developed alongside Alex. It called out random questions to him and all he had to do was call back the answer. It seemed, though, that the implementation was way off for a wider market. Most people didn't want to be on the subway home shouting out "The Roman Empire" or "Diego Maradona", and the app struggled with harder to understand accents. Nevertheless, Michael used it to keep his mind spry. He was a powerhouse when they went to the local pub quiz that was for sure.

A wave of information hit him as he made his way down the street. His brain had a knack for analysing everything and anything it came across, from the manufacturer of a car driving down the street, to the species of a bird he could hear the call of. For many, this would have been overwhelming, for Michael it was regular life. However, there was one piece of information he couldn't quite piece together though, and that was the intention of the shady character who had been following him since the last block.

The guy was a schlub for sure, wearing an outfit that screamed "Undercover". Brown leather jacket, black "Metropolis Meteors" baseball cap, a pair of sunglasses and some jeans. Either this guy was going undercover to meet Robert Redford and give him information on the Watergate Scandal, or he was following someone. Michael, being one part cautiously egotistical and one part cautiously paranoid, assumed it was him. Maybe he should have done something about it, but confronting someone in public about following you wasn't always the sanest fashion to wear. Besides, it had only been a few nights since his first as a ‘hero’; he thought it best to lay low for a while.

Nevertheless, the barrage of analytical information stopped dead in its tracks the moment he entered the coffee shop and saw her. There were a hundred coffee shops before this one, but in truth Michael came to this one to see her. Every day was the day he'd work up the courage to properly speak to her, but that day never actually came. When he got to the counter, it was like he lost all confidence. All he really knew about her was what he could glean from her name badge—her name was Paula.

He got to the counter and ordered. She barely looked up at him as she turned and hurriedly began making his coffee. He glanced behind him, the shop was busy as ever and the queue behind him hadn't seemed to dissipate one bit. His mind snapped back to reality checking the queue, that shady figure was nowhere to be seen. Must've been his paranoid imagination. He thanked Paula for his coffee and sat at one of the last free empty tables, pulling a laptop out of his bag and beginning to work on a new prototype for Cyberwear.

---

Two nights ago

---

Carmine Gazzo sat in his luxurious office sipping a fine wine and staring out over Metropolis. As far as he was concerned, it was his city. He had a hand in every pocket and a knife to the throat of any he didn't. The office was huge, lavish, but lonely. He came here to get away from the inane ramblings of the goombas around him. They were good muscle, but none of them could see the bigger picture. It felt like every other day, he was dealing with some new issue they had managed to create for him. The police were a manageable enemy; male bravado was a much bigger one.

He didn't turn as the door opened behind him, and the noise of heavy footsteps filled the room. He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair as he spoke.
"What now?"
The capo shifted nervously as he approached the desk, glancing left and right as if he were looking for an escape route.
"Uh... well, you see boss, we have a little uh... problem..." If one thing annoyed Carmine more than issues, it was someone wasting his time by not just telling him right away what the issue was. He rose from his chair and approached the window in front of him, holding the wine glass in his right hand.
"Spit it out."
"Well, boss. Y'know those superfreaks that have been all over the news? Well, uh, we think one of them sorta mighta beat a few of our guys up last night during the gun deal." Carmine felt the base of the wine glass crack slightly in his hand as his grip tightened. He felt a vein pulse in his temple. If he were younger, he'd have thrown the glass through this idiot's face, but since that heart attack, he'd been told to watch his blood pressure. He took a deep breath, turning to the stocky Italian man that stood before him.
"Well, is it 'sorta,' or is it 'mighta,' you clown? What did this bastard look like?"
"Well uh, it's definitely, sir. He beat up our guys, their guys, and broke all the guns. The guys who got a good look at him said he was wearing a leather jacket and had these metal balls that really did a number on Little Tony's head—I mean, the guy's got a headache that could kill a hor-" Carmine cut him off by holding his hand up.
"I couldn't give two fucks about Little Tony's head. What I do care about is the money, and more importantly, the control we've given up here. If some clown in leather can make some of my best men look like klutzes with just a few metal baseballs, how long will it be before the cops get some fancy ideas and start coming after our operation?" He sat back down in the expensive leather office chair, spinning it around to face the nervous-looking subordinate. He gently placed the wine glass down on his desk—tiny drops of wine dripped down from where the cracks had formed. "I want this guy dead, you understand me? I want a message sent out to these costumed freaks that Carmine Gazzo is not to be fucked with. Find him and do it publicly."

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Had a crazy past few days so just got finished reading everyone's posts now, but they're all great! Everyone's takes on their characters are really interesting!

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Mr. Terrific

Volume 1 - First Prototype

Broken Guns and Broken arms

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This isn't exactly how Michael Holt thought his Saturday night would go.

A few months ago and he'd have been working late or at a bar with Alex, practicing their inevitably failed attempts to chat up women. Oddly enough, most women aren't too keen on lines relating to quantum physics or cyber security. He was currently standing on a roof overlooking Metropolis, hunched down against a parapet. With a gloved hand he clicked the face on one of his new and improved T-Spheres and the four he had on the floor in front of him whirred to life quietly.

Moment of truth, he thought. He damn well hoped they had gotten the flight capabilities completely sorted out, otherwise he'd be making a leap of faith across two apartment buildings straight into a potential gunfight. A deep breath in and then raised his head to look across the gap. The Gazzo crime family was making a weapons trade with some low level hoodlums. Not the biggest news in the world, but if he managed to intervene now it might save someone getting a bullet to the gut later.

Michael reached into the pocket of his jacket and retrieved a small inconspicuous white tub. Another of his new inventions, but one potentially a bit more dangerous for Michael to use than his Spheres, at least on his end. The balaclava he'd used previously was stifling, breathing in the thing was a nightmare let alone fighting in it. Plus, it could slip off at the drop of a hat and was far too easy for criminals to remove if they'd gotten the upper hand. Instead, he'd opted for a new high-tech nanogel he had personally worked on. He dipped his hand into the tub and spread it across his eyes and down past his mouth, forming a 'T' on his face. Of course, branding was important too.

He opened his eyes, now a singular solid red, and slid the tub back into his pocket. Environmental data was now being fed straight to his cornea, and the world seemed a whole lot brighter than it did before. He looked down at his Spheres as his mask powered to full functionality. A list marking the status of each sphere scrolled down the right side of his vision. Time to test his new gadgets. If they worked right, the slightest facial movement should control them to his will, if they didn't he'd have to go manual. Shouting out commands to his gadgets wasn't the best thing for stealth, but it was better than going in without them.

Michael rose to his full height as he signalled for his spheres to rise up next to him. The ghost of a smile played on his lips as they floated along next to him. Now for the field test, this next part was a lot easier to do in an empty warehouse 5 feet above the ground than it was across the gap in a building. Another deep breath as he stood on the edge of the building and leapt.

Ecstasy doesn't even begin to describe the feeling he felt as his Spheres shot their way under his feet and carried him swiftly across the gap. It was like being saved by an angel when imminent doom is on your doorstep. It felt like a mixture of surfing and rollerskating as he dove across and at the gangsters.

"The money's all there man, just give us the guns."

"Yeah yeah, we still gotta count you know? Yous guys ain't exactly the most respectable guys in the wo- what the fuck is that?!" Shouted the large Italian man as he spotted Mr. Terrific flying at him.

He was on them before they could react, jumping off of his spheres and slide tackling one of the hoodlums from behind before his spheres shot out at the other assailants, smacking them across the face and into their guts before whizzing off to attack from another angle.

Michael rolled forward towards one of the mobsters reaching for his pistol, wrapping his leg around and spinning on his shoulders to pull him into an imanari roll. It only took a quick burst of pressure to break the criminal's ankle and Michael rose quickly after, darting at another assailant close by and lifting him with a double leg before slamming him into the roof.

His spheres set about targeting any weapons they could detect as the fight went on. Every time a wise guy reached for his pistol it would be smacked out of their hand and dented inwards by the flying metal. Michael was like a panther prowling around the roof, knocking out or incapacitating each of the gangsters and snapping any of their weapons the spheres didn't get to before moving onto the next.

It was all over within 5 minutes. Michael stood panting on the roof as he destroyed the last of the guns that were meant to be traded. Not bad for a night's work. He got airborne again, calling Alex through the built-in communicator in his mask as he was lifted off of the roof.

"A, I stopped the Gazzo deal, heading back to base now."

"Nice one dude, have any trouble with them?

"Nah, Spheres worked perfect and those clowns weren't any troubl-"

Michael felt something hard and cold hit him in the back of the neck. It seemed he hadn't been as thorough as he could have ensuring he'd incapacitated all of the criminals and one had, in absence of a working gun, opted to throw the gun at him. If Michael could have a sense of humour about the situation he might have wondered why the guy had taken up crime rather than becoming a professional darts player, the guy had accuracy for sure. But unfortunately all he could think about was how he was rapidly losing balance on top of his Spheres.

This wasn't a wave he could ride. He fought to regain his composure but seeing another broken pistol whiz past his head sent him under the waves. The only thing he could hear next was the aggressive, horrible noise of wind whistling passed his ears as he fell.

Michael wasn't sure whether or not to call it lucky or unlucky this sound was only short lived. His spheres rushed to catch him, but unfortunately they weren't quick enough. He fell on his shoulder at the top of a fire escape and tumbled his way down the stairs, almost falling straight off the other end had his Spheres not managed to get there before him and cushion his falll against the railing.

He let out a sigh, both of relief and exasperation. No one said this was going to be easy, but did it have to be this hard? His communicator crackled to life.

"Yo, T! What happened man are you alright?" Alex hurriedly asked.

"I'm alright, man." He spoke, just before a wave of searing pain shot up his right arm. "Actually scratch that, I think I have definitely maybe broken my arm. Call the cops to clean up the Gazzo's and I'll make my way back home."

"Definitely or maybe? Can't be both bro."

"Definitely.

---

Sunlight poured into the tiny bedroom and Michael woke with a groan. He attempted to hold up his arm to block the sun from his eyes, but was only met with intense pain. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, sitting up and looking down at his bandaged shoulder. A leather jacket wasn't going to be enough. He needed some extra padding if he was going to be taking falls like that in the future.

He slid out of his bed and pulled on some jogging bottoms with his free hand before making his way to the living room. Alex was already up and tinkering with some gadget on their coffee table.

"Hey man." Michael spoke, Alex turned with a startle.

"Jesus Christ dude, stop sneaking up on me like that!" He said, Michael grinned moving over to the coffee machine and pouring himself a cup.

"What are you working on? We really got to get something on the market soon man, I can't keep living on cup noodles and tins of beans." This made Alex guffaw loudly at him, he got up from the couch holding the invention in his hands and turned to Michael.

"You're damn right we need to get something that will sell soon, if you weren't so busy going out at night fighting the Italian community of Metropolis we might have had something out weeks ago! Anyway, I've managed to get Terrifitech's first invention working! And, luckily for the both of us, you've just been gracious enough to suffer an injury that will work great for the first test!" Michael groaned.

"First of all, we are not calling ourselves Terrifitech. We agreed on Cyberwear. Second of all, this better not be another prank like that 'Voice-Activated Coffee Maker' you had me test."

Alex grinned mischievously. "Hey, that was a legitimate prototype! Just because it poured coffee everywhere but the cup doesn't mean it wasn't a solid idea. But no, this is for real. Check it out!" He held up a sleek-looking device that resembled an arm brace.

"This, my friend, is a state-of-the-art, pain-relief and mobility-enhancing arm brace. It's designed to support your arm and stimulate healing. Plus, it has some of our nanotech integrated for real-time diagnostics." He tossed it to Michael, who caught it with his good hand. The brace opened in half, and Michael clasped it around his upper arm and shoulder. There was a few seconds of momentary pain as the brace adjusted and resized to fit around him, and then nothing at all.

Michael stretched his arm, flexing the muscles with a smile on his face.
"You've really outdone yourself this time, Alex, I can't deny it. Feels good as new!"

"When don't I outdo myself? Now hold still, I'm going to run some diagnostics on your arm to make sure the softwares working properly." He picked up a tablet from the coffee table and began tapping away on it. Alex's face suddenly grew very serious and a he began scatching his chin with a free hand. "Hmm, this is really weird."

Michael frowned. "What is it?"

Alex looked up with a deadpan expression. "According to this, you're going to grow an extra arm by next week."

Michael shook his head, grinning. "I have no idea how you can be so smart, yet such an idiot at the same time, Alex. It's truly a marvel of science."