The Create-A-Hero RPG Season III IC Thread!

[NiteMare Shape]

No More

​

Scott and Kelly sit in silence inside Scott's Dodge Charger, both wanting to break the silence, but neither knowing exactly what to say.

This is the exact thing that Scott had feared upon leaving Lost Haven, that someday there would be someone who put the puzzle pieces of his life together. He has gone to great lengths to conceal his secret identity, even after he left that life behind. He walked away his former life, friends, family...everything. Yet, here he sits, with this unassuming young woman who has done just that.

"You saved me once, you know." She finally says, breaking the deafening silence. "That's how I know."

"Kelly, really...I think you have me..."

"At first I wasn't sure. But I'll never forget the face of the man who saved my life, even without the mask."

Scott is about to argue the point again, try to convince her that she's mistaken, but just as he opens his mouth in protest, he closes it again before any words escape.

"How? How did I save you?" He says in defeat.

"About a year ago. My father was taking his Vette for a joy ride. He was going alittle fast and swerved to miss a dog that had jumped out of the back of a pickup truck...he took the car through the guardrail of the Anderson Bridge."

"And you were thrown from the car. I plucked you out of the air."

"You remember that?"

"Yeah, I remember that one."

"So tell me, why did you quit?"

 

[Eddie Brock]

​

"What are you trying to say?!" Marilyn exclaims in outrage.

I pinch the bridge of my nose between my eyes. "Look, Marilyn, I don't see why you're so surprised. I mean, have I shown any interest in you since we broke up?" I ask, trying to reason with her. I'm not sure why I even bother with that anymore. It's clear that Marilyn has thrown all reason out the window.

"Well, you asked me to this!"

I grit my teeth. Senior Prom. Phew, boy. I guess I have a lot of explaining to do, huh? Well, alright, so back that night when I went to Abby's house, I did eventually decide to go in and talk to her. I know, I know. I felt terrible about it, okay? Well, Abby and I talked for a while, and she agreed that she felt something, but she also felt like it was too soon. After all, we hadn't seen each other in a while. After she said that, I confessed everything about my status with Brooke and how guilty I felt just being at Abby's house, and Abby - to her credit - was very understanding and gave me some feminine advice.

So I took Brooke up on her offer, and I sat down and talked with her. Now, I already hide so much from Brooke that I hate lying to her anymore than I need to, so I told her that I had talked to Abby. Well, that didn't sit well at first. But Brooke pulled herself together, calmed down, and explained to me that we should probably stay on our "break" for at least a little while longer. It wasn't exactly what I was expecting, but I wasn't going to argue with it.

Well, Prom rolled around, and it brought a truckload of problems with it. I still didn't feel comfortable asking Brooke, and Jim approached me asking if he could ask Abby. Truthfully, I've always known that Jim had a thing for Abby, and who was I - especially as his best friend - to deny him that? I gave him the greenlight, but this left my options quite thin. The deadline to register a date was fast approaching, and - acting in desperation - I asked Marilyn. Not my best idea, I admit. Well, suffice it to say that the night has gone exactly as I expected, and I finally had enough and gave Marilyn a piece of my mind.

As you can see, it didn't go over so well.

Noticing my silence, Marilyn bites her lip angrily and - I swear to God - looks like her head's going to explode cartoon-style. With a huff, she tears off her corsage and throws it at the ground. She storms off, and I pick up the corsage and lay it down on a table.

Well done, Sean. You've outdone yourself this time.

I always thought Senior Prom would be an opportunity to make lasting memories, but these weren't the kind I had in mind. Dipping my hands into my pockets, I survey the ballroom. Vince Daniels is here with a girl I don't recognize, and I'm pretty sure it's the first time I've seen him in months. He's laughing it up with his date, so I decide not to bother him. Not far over, in the middle of the dance floor, Jim is dancing passionately with Abby. I can't tell from here if she's reciprocating, but Jim is definitely allowing himself to give in to the moment. I feel the slightest tinge of jealousy, but it's instantly replaced by my desire for things to work out for Jim. For whatever reason, he's one of those guys that you never see in a relationship, even though he's a great guy. I know what getting Abby would do for him.

As I continue to scan, I come across Brooke. She's standing alone by the refreshment table, plastic cup in hand. Like me, she's looking across the dance floor. For a moment, I'm unsure if our eyes met, but I decide to go up to her anyway. My heart starts pounding, and she smiles when she sees me approach.

"How's Datezilla working out for you?" she asks coyly. Evidently, she must have been watching Marilyn's breakdown.

"About as well as I expected, which is not well at all," I answer honestly. I lean up against the table next to her. She continues drinking and watching all the dancing couples. "So who are you here with?" I ask, trying not let to let my voice betray my intentions.

"Kyle Porter. You know him?" she replies. I shake my head. With a slight shrug, she explains, "I met him in my Calc class. He's an okay guy. I feel bad, though. He got the chicken parm, and his stomach did not appreciate it. He's spent most of the night in the bathroom." With one last gulp, she finishes her drink and tosses the cup into the trash.

"Well, isn't this ironic? Here we are, both of us alone. What a Prom, right?"

Brooke shrugs. "It's not terrible, I guess. Music has been good, anyway."

"Do you want to dance?" I ask suddenly, mustering up the courage. I hold out my hand openly, praying that I haven't overstepped my bounds. Brooke looks at my hand, smiles, and takes it softly. As I return the smile, I lead her out onto the dance floor. No sooner do we find a spot than the current song ends. A slow song starts to play, and Brooke and I meet eyes awkwardly.

Without a word, Brooke releases my hand and drapes her arms around my neck. I try to calm my heartbeat as I wrap my arms around her waist. Within a few seconds of dancing, our bodies slowly come together comfortably, like a pair of old sneakers that you're putting on again. I allow myself to rest my head on her shoulder, and she does the same for me.

"I've been thinking about us. About our break," I admit. We continue to dance, and for a moment, I'm not worried about her response. I could live in this moment forever and be happy. God, I've missed her. "I've missed you." Well, there, now I said it out loud.

Brooke sighs. "I've missed you, too," she answers.

We dance silently for the next few minutes. We don't need to say any more. We know each other well enough that the words don't really matter at this point. What's happening is a foregone conclusion, set into motion the moment she took my hand tonight. If you ask me, it's not a moment too soon.

As we dance, I look up and catch Jim looking at us. Abby's back is turned to me, and her head rests on Jim's shoulder. Jim smiles at me, and I smile back at him. It may not have been a perfect night, but I think if you asked either one of us, we'd tell you that we wouldn't have changed a thing.

Except maybe I would have asked Brooke to go with me in the first place.

"Sean," Brooke begins.

I lean back so I can look her in the eyes. We stare at each other for a second before I allow myself to smile. "Ssh." I lean in for the kiss and watch as Brooke closes her eyes. Taking that cue, I close mine and we kiss each other like it's our first kiss. A million things going on around us, and I don't care about a single one. For a while there, I was thinking about skipping Prom and spending the night on patrol as Mantis.

The night can wait.

 

[NiteMare Shape]

No More​

Scott and Kelly sit in silence inside Scott's Dodge Charger, both wanting to break the silence, but neither knowing exactly what to say.

This is the exact thing that Scott had feared upon leaving Lost Haven, that someday there would be someone who put the puzzle pieces of his life together. He has gone to great lengths to conceal his secret identity, even after he left that life behind. He walked away his former life, friends, family...everything. Yet, here he sits, with this unassuming young woman who has done just that.

"You saved me once, you know." She finally says, breaking the deafening silence. "That's how I know."

"Kelly, really...I think you have me..."

"At first I wasn't sure. But I'll never forget the face of the man who saved my life, even without the mask."

Scott is about to argue the point again, try to convince her that she's mistaken, but just as he opens his mouth in protest, he closes it again before any words escape.

"How? How did I save you?" He says in defeat.

"About a year ago. My father was taking his Vette for a joy ride. He was going alittle fast and swerved to miss a dog that had jumped out of the back of a pickup truck...he took the car through the guardrail of the Anderson Bridge."

"And you were thrown from the car. I plucked you out of the air."

"You remember that?"

"Yeah, I remember that one."

"So tell me, why did you quit?"

Scott looks down at the steering wheel, avoiding her gaze. She asked him the one question that he does not want to answer, yet has no way to avoid the subject.

He feels a knot form in his stomach, he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

Finally he meets her gaze and takes a deep breath.

"Because during the invasion, I sent the woman I loved to her death. And then I stood there as one of my enemies murdered my kid sister right in front of me."

She sits there, eyes wide in stunned silence.

"I was born with all this power...all these abilities. I've done things that should be impossible. I've saved countless lives, some even say that I saved the world. But when it came down to it, with everything that I can do...with all these powers.....I couldn't save the two most important people in the world to me."

"Oh...Scott..."

"I sent my girlfriend away so that she would be safe. But she was still killed by one of the alien land cruisers. And my sister Jenny...She was targeted because one of my enemies knew my secret." He pauses, gripping the steering wheel so hard that it begins to bend around his hands.

"They died because of me. When it all came down to it, I couldn't protect them." He releases his grip on the steering wheel.

"I left because I will never let someone that I care about die because of who I am, not ever again."

"But what about the rest of us, Scott? What about the people that you could be out there saving...? If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here right now."

"They got along just fine without me. They'll manage."

She is about to say something else, but thinks better of it and sits it silence for the rest of the drive to her apartment on the other side of town. When he pulls in to the small parking lot to let her out, she remains silent, only saying "Thanks." as she closes the passenger side door and goes into her apartment building.

 

[Eddie Brock]

​

"Dude, so I was talking to my parents about what I'm going to need for my room next year, and I think I can convince them to buy me a 40-inch plasma TV!" Jim tells me excitedly.

By "my room next year," he of course means his dorm room. Yes, it's that time of year. We've all committed to colleges, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around the concept that we won't be going to school together anymore.

Jim's going to Boston College. It's not terribly far, and he'll be back a couple weekends during the year, but I'm still not going to get to see him a lot.

Marilyn is headed off to NYU, which has always been her dream college. Of course, I suspect it's more about living in New York City than it is going to school.

Abby's taking a trip through the Carver Community College circuit. She doesn't really know what she wants to do, and she's still trying to get some roots planted around here, so she's going to see how the next two years go and then decide.

Brooke has committed to Bristol College. It's a small liberal arts college that's pretty well known around Lost Haven. My sister, Victoria, thought about going there, so I've been on campus before. It's actually really nice, especially for an urban campus.

Me? I, along with Vince, am destined for Lost Haven University. Located in the heart of the city, it's one of the oldest - and biggest - schools in the area. I'm not going to lie: I'm pretty excited about moving into the city. Okay, so technically Carver is part of the city, but it's just not the same. And this makes my commute as Mantis that much easier, so I'm happy.

And you know what else? I'm happy for everyone else, too. I mean, who knows? I might actually get to see Vince every now and again. Although, we go to school together now, and that doesn't happen, so probably not. And it's not like I have to worry about Jim and I growing apart. We're too close for that. And LHU isn't far from Bristol, so I'm still going to get to see Brooke all the time.

My thoughts are interrupted as a small group of people rushes by. They're heading in the direction of the AV room. Jim catches the attention of a guy he knows in the group and asks, "What's going on?"

"Some metahuman is going berserk in the middle of Carver!" the guy explains. His voice is a mix of excitement and fear. "He's demanding to see Mantis. He says that he knows Mantis operates out of here. We're going to the AV room now to watch it. Are you coming?"

Jim and I exchange glances.

"You guys go ahead," I reply. "I really can't afford to miss my next class. Ms. Emory might actually kill me." Unfortunately, that's true. But it looks like I will be missing class today regardless...

 

[SuperFerret]

Previously on​

I don’t know how long I’ve been here; caged and alone in the dark. I feel like a trapped animal, only able to eat, sleep, crap and pace around the perimeter of the ten by ten foot cage like some impotent lion at a cheap circus. That’s what I am, I guess, a caged, wild beast. I’m sure as hell not human, at least not all the time.

There’s very little light here. I can barely make out the edges and bars of the cage, the troughs where I get my water and the bland, boiled chicken and rice that I’m fed, and the pile of dirty blankets that I sleep on. More often than not though, I wake up lying on the cold steel floor in the middle of the cage. Each morning (and I use the term “morning” loosely, because I have no clue what time of day it is in this darkness), I discover freshly stitched up incisions on various places of my body. I pull the stitches out with my teeth and hands and know I will heal by the time I wake the next morning.

Whoever’s been keeping me here has been drugging me, cutting me open, and doing God only knows what to me before closing me up and there is not a damned thing I can do about it. I haven’t even figured out how they’re drugging me yet. It’s not the food or water, since I’ve starved myself and still had it happen to me. They’re not gassing me. It only happens when I go to sleep, which it seems like I do often. I can’t tell though, I’ve been here so long that I’ve lost all sense of time. Anyway, I have nothing else to do but eat, sleep, pace, do pushups and think. I think a lot, more than I want to. Thinking makes me depressed and angry, all I have to think about is everything I’ve lost.

While it doesn’t matter much here and now, my name is Ben Blackfoot. I’m 26 years old. Like my father, I’m an iktisanthrope; a wereweasel. Like a werewolf, only instead of turning into a humanoid wolf, I transform into a weasel-like creature. My mother is human, and she raised me alone after my father was taken by werewolves. I was only four at the time, but I remember how worried my mother was when she got that last phone call from him. He called to say goodbye and that he was leaving town to lead the lycans away from us. We never heard from him again…

I sigh, brushing my hair from my face. I’ve been here long enough for it to have gotten long, I think. My mother probably thinks that they got me too, that the wolves first took her husband and then came back for her son. I know the werewolves aren’t the ones keeping me here. They wouldn’t keep me in the dark about it, both figuratively and literally, and they wouldn’t bother performing surgery on me. They’d just come at me all at once, tear me limb from limb, and eat me alive if they could. This is all too subtle and cerebral for them.

My thoughts drift to Jill, my girlfriend, the love of my life. It’s thinking of her that’s gotten me through this so far. We met two years ago, purely by accident (or was it purely by fate?). She was visiting the Bronx Zoo, where I worked as a zookeeper. (At this point, I’ve been here so long that I’m sure I’ve lost the job.) She’s epileptic and had a seizure that day, sending her over the wall that enclosed the tiger exhibit. None of the tigers really seemed to care, but I jumped down into the exhibit myself before I even thought about what I was doing. I later explained away my inhuman agility by saying that it was all adrenaline. She surprisingly wasn’t hurt all that badly, but I carried her out to the ambulance that was called for her. A week later, she returned to thank me. We went to lunch and the rest just followed eventually.

 

[Eddie Brock]

​

"Mantis. I'm glad to see you could make it so quickly," Sergeant Hampton announces cordially as I approach the SDS barricade. The regular police force is watching wearily from a distance. I don't know if they particularly like playing second fiddle to the SDS, but they're aware of their own limitations. "We've roped off three square city blocks, but we weren't able to evacuate everyone from the area."

I cross my arms. "So what, exactly, is the situation here?"

Sarge glances back at his men before admitting, "We don't really know. We didn't have time to obtain any intel on the meta. All we've been told is that there was a disturbance, and the meta was demanding to see you." In the distance, we hear raised voices. Looking over, Sarge and I see reporters getting pushed back by the police. "Mantis, there are still civilians trapped in this area, and we don't have any idea what kind of skill set this meta is packing. We'll give you a chance to resolve this situation your way, but if it looks like it's not going to work..."

I smile beneath my mask. "Don't sweat it, Sarge. I've got it covered," I assure him, giving him a small pat on the shoulder. "But, hey, if I'm in over my head here - which I doubt - go ahead and send in the cavalry." And with that, I get a sprinting head start and vault up the side of a nearby building onto the roof.

"I heard my presence was requested at this location!" I announce happily as I leap down behind the metahuman. He turns to face me, matted hair almost covering his eyes. His hands are balled into fists. "Hey, wait a minute! What's going on here? They said that Megan Fox was asking for me!"

The metahuman is fully facing me now. He stands up a bit straighter.

"I cannot believe this! That is the last time I trust anything my agent tells me," I state angrily as I place my hands on my hips. "Well, Kurt Cobain, what do you want?"

"How do you deal with it? The power?" he asks. Oh, great. A class-B nutjob. "How do you control it?"

Sighing, I answer, "Look, can we get to the part where I turn you in to the authorities, please? I've got places to be, man."

"You're a metahuman, right?" he continues, as if he didn't hear me at all. He holds up his hand, and it begins to glow a reddish hue. The red turns to bright orange, and it even begins to glow a blinding white. Then, I notice something sliding down his arm. A thick liquid drips from his elbow and falls to the pavement, which it instantly melts. I realize that the liquid is molten magma. "How do you control this?" he pleads. It's then that I notice the fear in his eyes.

I get it now. He didn't call me here to kick my ass. He called me here for superpower lessons. Unfortunately, he's going to be very disappointed, because I don't know what to tell him. Maybe SDS can help?

"Look, pal, I can see that you're having some issues right now, but I'm really not qualified to help you," I admit apologetically. "I mean, I wouldn't even know where to start. Well, no, that's not true. Here's lesson number one: try not to wreak havoc in the middle of a city street. It tends to give people the wrong idea."

"I can't control it!" he shouts fearfully. As he does, I can't help but notice that his hand glows a little brighter. Okay, this is not the safest of situations. I need to keep him calm before he loses all control and puts people at risk.

I hold my hands out slowly. "Clearly." I inch forward carefully, but he notices. The magma is flowing more freely now. "Just stay calm. There are people right back there who are trained for this kind of stuff. If you ask, they'll be more than happy to help you."

He eyes me wearily. "No. No, I can't. What have I done here?" He looks down at the puddle of magma at his feet. As he does, I take my first opportunity to survey the area. He certainly went to work on this place. Cooled puddles of magma coat cars, buildings, streetlights, the works. "I know what they'll do to me after this! I can't turn myself in!"

Oh, God, no.

"I may not be able to control it, but I won't give up my freedom!" The metahuman - let's call him Lava - raises his hand high above his head. I see a ball of magma forming. Without warning, he throws the molten ball at me.

SHHNK!

Instinctively, I pop out my blades and cross them in front of my face. Suddenly, the blades expand outwards, making a giant bone-like shield. The magma ball explodes on impact, and the shield protects my face and upper body. Lowering my hands, I examine the structures protruding from my arms.

"Well, that's new," I say to myself. There's no time to think about it, however, as Lava is geared to make his next strike. Shrugging it off in my mind, I get into battle-ready position and try to focus on the task at hand.

 

[SuperFerret]

I bet she thinks I’m dead too. Jill knows what I am, I told her a few months into our relationship, and she knows the dangers that I face simply by existing. Werewolves, would-be hunters of the supernatural, even the occasional magician (and not the Siegfried and Roy type) who wants to harvest my organs for some kind of potion or something equally stupid. Somehow, nobody saw this particular situation coming. Life’s a *****, isn’t it? I keep an eye out my whole life, watching for threats of a mystical or supernatural nature, and here I am, caught off guard by a situation that I never expected, one that just positively reeks of science. Not to say that the realm of the scientific is unknown to me. I’ve learned a lot over the years, anatomy, biochemistry, and zoology among others. Everything here, with the cage, the food, the sensory deprivation, the surgery, even the antiseptic odor in the air, all points to a scientific origin for this. So then, I think, absently scratching my bearded chin; what’s the motive for keeping me here?

Worst case scenario, and unfortunately, the most likely, some scientist discovered that therianthropes (werebeasts, or literally, “animal men”) exist and is doing some sort of research on me. I guess I’m lucky in a way, considering that they obviously need me alive for whatever studies they’re doing here.

A series of clicks fill the darkness. I imagine that they’re typically quiet, but in this silence, it’s deafening. A subsequent soft plop is followed by the smell of boiled chicken, and I realize that the sound is the food dispenser. My mouth starts to water, my stomach growls, and I get the bizarre feeling that some Pavlovian scientist is watching me through a secret camera, jotting down on a notepad “a series of clicking noises sound and the wereweasel begins to salivate.”

The idea that my actions might be under surveillance sends a jolt of modesty through me, making me suddenly aware of my primate nudity. Reflexively, I shift into my more bestial form, letting my fur and more mustelid anatomy hide my naughty bits from imagined spies. I instantly feel silly doing it, but I ignore it. I’m hungry, starving actually, and weasel teeth are better at eating chicken than human teeth anyway.

I quickly, and far more eagerly than I’d have liked to, move to the food trough, ready to start tearing up the bland, tasteless poultry. I reach in, grasping the meat, and then immediately drop what my clawed hand had grabbed. It was certainly not chicken. Curious, I reach in and scoop up the squirming thing again, inhaling deeply to identify the now familiar scent.

Rat.

It was a rat. Apparently, this facility wasn’t as clean and sterile as I thought. Maybe the rat was added intentionally. Maybe I pleased some scientist with my performance on some test and I’ve been given a treat. My stomach grumbles again at the prospect of eating a live rat. It felt like I haven’t had a live meal in forever, and rat has long been a favorite of mine, especially as a child when my mother forbade me from eating anything alive. It was then, when I had finally decided to eat the wriggling rodent, dangling it by its tail in front of my awaiting mouth (completely ignoring all lessons in eating manners I had as a child) when I received the surprise of my life.

“Don’t eat me!” a small voice said pleadingly.

 

[trustyside-kick]

OOC: Previously...

Lost Haven
2 Days Ago

I'm not a detective, it's just not my thing. Batman, I am surely not. But for the past several weeks there have been disappearances all over Lost Haven with no answer for why they are happening or how. In the past 3 weeks 4 women have gone missing. The police presume none of them to be alive, because they found the first 1 about a week ago and...this is the crazy part...it looked like she was sucked dry.

I know what you're probably thinking. Oh great, vampires are on the loose. But, no, there are absolutely no wounds whatsoever on the victim that would indicate something punctured her skin and sucked her dry; nothing bit her. The other crazy part is that the autopsy also made it clear that there was no hint of struggle. It's like she...let whatever did this to her do this to her. But that makes this all the more confusing because she was found naked and the police even found semen samples in her...no no place. Again, no signs of any kind of rape so she knew the person that did this to her and the craziest thing of all is that whoever the sperm belongs to? I know, I've been using the word crazy a lot but you have to understand how uncanny this really is.

No DNA match.

Nothing. None.

It's like the person does not exist. No records whatsoever match the semen found in her...no no place. Worst of all is that there is no pattern that has been found yet except for one thing: all of the 4 women who have gone missing attended one of my weekly art galleries.

Freaky, right? Now you see one of the reasons I am trying to play detective because whoever has been kidnapping these women was right under my nose while I was trying to make an honest living; aka my guard wasn't up nor was I looking for anything out of the ordinary. That is not the worst of it all though.

Because I know victim no.4 who has gone missing. Grace Daniels. I know, right? My ex-girlfriend manages to get caught up in the horrors of this city no matter how much I tried to keep her out of it by leaving her and her family out of my life entirely. She's been missing for 27 hrs now. Last anyone saw her or knew where she was was at my art gallery Wednesday night around 10PM and it is now 1 in the morning on Friday and my eyes are aching so bad I have been looking for her since she was reported missing Thursday afternoon.

I can't recall EVERYONE she mingled with and spoke to at my art gallery. She could've spoke to ANYONE at my art gallery show. Since I fired her she has a few clients whereas before she before was exclusively only working for me. The police have already questioned them, and they know nothing. There's no reason she wouldn't have mingled with anyone at the gallery; the artworld is all about making the right friends after all.

And it seems Grace made the wrong friend that night. I pray to God I find her.


Cathedral of the Holy Cross
Father Damian's Study
Boston, Massachusetts
28 Days Ago

I continue to look at Father Damian and I finally just let it out.

"Father? Father Damian?"

"Sorry, Matthew. This is the Demon Asmodeus. This Prince of Hell is associated with the great sin of Lust. Such a powerful thing, Lust can cause people to put their love and devotion to God as secondary; THAT is its great sin. It is not just about sexual thoughts and desires as so many mistakenly only believe, Michael. Love is something supposed to be held Sacred, and Love for God must be above all other earthly loves. But when one is overcome by Lust, they shut out God and his desires, and forget his teachings of self control for their desires. One who refrains from being distracted and influenced by hostility, temptation, or corruption can overcome a strong desire to embrace such a nasty sin. Make no mistake, Michael. The agent of Lust that will be guided by Asmodeus will be one of your stronger foes. For he does not put God's Love first. And you as well...struggle to do so."

"..."

"But is also because you are merely human, Michael. It is not an easy thing to Love God first. But you MUST try, my son. You must. Embrace this sense of Chastity. This virtue is so sacred, Michael."

Father Damian does not know that I finally did what I felt I had to do to give up Grace, so I will let it slide. Although...is what I did really going to keep her out harms way right? When it comes down to it, am I going to choose her yet again over God's Will? Will my love for her, be stronger still?

Is it still stronger? I keep telling myself it's not but...

I have to put God first. My love for him must transcend all others.

...

...I was so mean to her. I hope she is ok.

Man I miss her...

 

[SuperFerret]

If we could talk to the animals, just imagine it.

I pause in an almost comical way, the rat still dangling, its tail between my fingers, my mouth still open ready to take a bite. I utter a confused grunt, like a much less articulate “huh?” Did I really hear something, or am I finally cracking up from the isolation.

“Please, don’t eat me! Put me down!”

Chatting to a chimp in chimpanzee.

I was sure that I heard the voice this time. It seemed to be coming from the rat. I place it in the palm of my other hand, giving it more range of movement, but still keeping it from getting away. I still crave fresh rat, but if it is the source of the voice, I might as well listen to what it has to say.

“Did you say something?” I ask, feeling foolish as I hear my voice echo in the darkness. The rat’s voice didn’t echo. “The rat’s voice”, Lord, I must be losing it.

Imagine talking to a tiger, chatting to a cheetah.

“I did. I said ‘please don’t eat me’.” The rat replies and I realize why its voice didn’t echo. I still heard it squeaking and chattering beneath the words, like on the news where they interview non-English speakers and overdub the translation of what they’re saying. My free hand reaches up to my forehead, where my hairline would’ve been if I looked human. The last bunch of stitches I found were there, and my head hurt afterwards. Did the surgeries give me the ability to talk to animals?

“I must be crazier than I thought…” I mutter.

What a neat achievement that would be.

“What was that?”

“I must be crazy, right? I mean, no offense, but I’m having a conversation with a rat here.”

If we could talk to the animals, learn their languages,
Maybe take an animal degree.

“No offense taken. I thought the same thing when a weasel-human actually heard what I said.”

Weasel-human? What-? Then I understand, “wereweasel” and “iktisanthrope” are human terms, whatever the rat said was their term for what I am, only translated directly. If I wasn’t so confused, I’d be fascinated.

We'd study elephant and eagle, buffalo and beagle,
Alligator, guinea pig, and flea.

“Don’t be surprised,” the rat said, “I can smell it on you, you’re not a human. The fur and the fact that you’re not trying to torture me also help with that. Although, you were going to eat me.”

“Sorry about that. I was hungry... and what do you mean ‘torture you’?”

“Yeah, you know, they grab me, pin me down, stab me, things like that. I’ve even seen them take some of the others and cut them up.”

“The others?”

We would converse in polar bear and python,
And we could curse in fluent kangaroo.

“Other rats, mice, birds, lizards, monkeys, lots of others. You know for something that’s part human, you sure don’t seem to know much about how they do things. Is this the first torture-place you’ve been to?”

His words are serious, but I have to force myself not to laugh. The nasally, sarcastic tone of his “voice” reminds me so much of the actor, Steve Buscemi, that I can hardly take him seriously. ”Yeah,” I answer, “I guess this is the first one I’ve been to.” Torture-places? Is that how animals see testing labs? I can see why, being trapped someplace where mysterious people are doing mysterious things to you for mysterious reasons is not pleasant at all. My current situation can attest to that.

If people asked us, can you speak in rhinoceros,
We'd say, "Of courserous, can't you?"

“So,” I ask the rat, “do you have a name?” I feel him stand on his hind legs, curling his tail around my thumb to balance himself. It’s still too dark to see him, but I get the odd impression that he’s puffing up his chest proudly. “I’m called Gnaws-Fingers here, it’s much better than my previous name.”

If we could talk to the animals, learn their languages,

“What was your previous name?” He mutters something so quietly that I can heat his heartbeat over it. “What was that?”

Think of all the things we could discuss,

“Hides-Quietly!” He shouts angrily, “I’m a changed rat now, doing time in here does that to you. What’s your name, weasel-human?”

If we could walk with the animals, talk with the animals,

I start to say “Benjamin” but I stop myself, he probably doesn’t have a word for that in his language. I start again, “You can call me Blackfoot.”

Grunt and squeak and squawk with the animals,

“It’s good to meet you, Black-Foot.”

“Same here, Gnaws.” I yawn loudly, suddenly feeling very tired. I hate not knowing what time it is in here. I slouch back, leaning against the bars of my cell as my eyelids continue to grow heavier.

“NO!” Gnaws cried out, scampering up my arm and prodding at my face with his paws, “Don’t sleep, Black-Foot! You don’t understand! Other torture-places need to stab you before making the sleep come, but not this one. Here, they make you sleep with their eyes!”

It all makes sense now. It took a conversation with a rat, but I get it. It’s some sort of hypnotic…

And they could squeak and squawk and speak and talk to us.

 

[wiegeabo]

"What the- How the- Son of a-"

"I see you're going to be a fine agent with investigative skills like that."

I ignore Hawkes and just stare wide-eyed at the place. It's not the nicest apartment I've ever had, but it's is pretty damn nice. What's really got my attention, though, are the furnishings.

They're all mine.

"You guys stole all my stuff?"

"Stole? Saved is more like it. You forgot to pay your rent while you were away."

"Not like that's my fault," I say, looking over everything to make sure it's all real. "I was kind of locked away from the rest of the world."

"Actually, getting locked up is your fault," Hawkes says with his arms crossed.

"Semantics." I pick up my guitar. "You could have fixed the broken string."

"We're in delivery, not repair."

"Well, I gotta say. The Fat Man did something right for a change."

"He'll be glad to hear that."

"Like hell he will."

"Yeah, he won't care."

Hawkes keeps standing around and I suddenly realize he's been here for a while. "Um...expecting something? Maybe a beer? I haven't had much time to shop."

"No thanks. And check the fridge."

I head over to the kitchen and open the refrigerator door. "Hey, that's my brand!" I smile as I pull a bottle out. "How'd you know?" My smile turns to a frown. "Wait, seriously, how'd you know?"

Hawkes smiles smugly and rocks back and forth on his heels. "I'm good at my job," he shrugs.

"...Ok...I'm getting a little scared now. So...um...why are you still here?" I plop down on my couch and pop the bottle open.

Hawkes just shrugs. "Oooohhh, I get it. This is my first night out from under dad's foot. Well, first night with his permission. He wants to see if I'll run away from home."

"Well, Junior, you are walking around with several million of his dollars."

I sigh. "Jewelery?"

"A nice shiny ankle bracelet."

I roll my eyes. "Let's get it over with." I stick my leg up on the table. Hawkes pulls out the tracking device and straps it to my leg.

"I hope you asked for my dad's permission first."

"Har har." A small light comes on when the device locks in place. "Have a good night. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Wouldn't dream of it." I tip my beer towards him. "Now get the hell out of my apartment."

Hawkes gives me a mock salute and lets himself out.

I take a long drag from the bottle and enjoy the sweet taste. But something gives me a sour feeling. "That was way too easy."

My thief instincts kick in and I start looking around my apartment...

 

[SuperFerret]

When I wake up later, I can’t see. Not because of any darkness, but because of the bright light shining above me. I lay on my back, in my human form, on a cold metal table, surrounded by the smells of a hospital and the voices of doctors. I can’t move and I still can’t see. At least they gave me a hospital gown so I’m not naked. Thinking hurts. My body hurts. I must have woken up on the operating table during some procedure. Whatever hypnosis they used to knock me out isn’t working anymore. I wonder where Gnaws is.

The light seems to dim and I realize that I’m moving. Well, not me, but the table I’m laying on is. I still can’t move myself, and I have to stare helplessly as light fixtures on the ceiling pass me by. Try as I might, I can’t see the face of the person pushing me to wherever it is we’re going.

Another man joins us; he’s wearing a lab coat over his dress shirt and tie. A surgical mask and cap obscures most of his face, but I’m still able to see his eyes, and when I catch a glimpse of them, an involuntary chill runs down my spine despite my current paralysis. His eyes are blank, pupil less and white. He should be blind with his eyes like that, but I get the impression that he could see more than most people can with those eyes. Looking at him, and those chilling eyes, I now I’ve found my hypnotist.

“You’re awake.” he said, practically staring through me with those blank eyes of his. “Don’t try to move, because you cannot, I will not allow it.” His voice is as cold and hollow as he looks, a voice that can scare monsters. Despite what he said, I fight to move even a little, struggling against my rebellious muscles.

Nothing.

 

[NiteMare Shape]

As the rain continues to pour down, Shadow Walker remains motionless atop his perch on the roof of the Lost Haven YMCA, which is directly across the street from the small warehouse that The Cartel has been using to store some of their more high powered weapons.

Weapons that his father had developed.

Weapons that his father died for.

It has taken him months to get this close again, to track down leads and get solid information on the the whereabouts of Midas' operations. He had been close before, but the trail went cold in the wake of the alien invasion, and then again when the vigilante know as The Dummy threatened to cause the streets of the city to errupt into chaos.

It has been a long road frought with obstacles and roadblocks. It seemed that for a long time, The Cartel was always one step ahead of him. He would pick up a lead, but by the time he got to a location they had already cleared out.

But not tonight, this warehouse is bustling with activity, and he has already made visual contact with one of Midas' more lethal enforcers, the man known as The Franchise.

Tonight his own personal war against the crime syndicate known as The Cartel comes one step closer to its climax.

It is time to go to work.

I make my way into the warehouse through a skylight in the roof, quickly firing a grapple line which snags itself on one of the ceiling girders and I silently swing over to my new perch.

From my hiding spot in the rafters, I quickly assess my suroundings. The warehouse is loaded with storage containers, and if my intel is right those containers are packed with high powered weaponry.

Weapons that I'm going to have to destroy.

Fortunately, Midas made it easy for me. There are only two gaurds, not counting The Franchise.

Hidden high in the rafters, I watch the gaurds make their way through the twisted maze of storage containers...and I wait. I wait for one of the gaurds to pass directly below me, then I step from my perch and plummet toward the ground, the slack in my grappel line snapping tight a mere few feet from the ground.

The gaurd never saw me coming.

I land directly behind him, hitting him with a hard chop in the back of the neck that drops him. While he is down, I bind his arms and legs, knocking him out of this fight, then I rappel myself back up to the rafters where I get ready to make my next move.

 

[Eddie Brock]

Lava swings at me with his magma-coated hands. Reflexively, I duck out of the way. This fight is going to be tough for the simple fact that I can't let Lava touch me, or I'll be one melted Mantis. Yikes. Spinning around him, I get behind Lava and deliver a kick to the back of his knees. He cries out in pain, and I land a punch to the small of his back.

"Think about what you're doing, man," I urge. In reality, I don't particularly like fighting people. It's part of the job, I know, and sometimes I really get in the mood to hit something, but violence isn't particularly fun. For one thing, it leaves me battered and bruised. For another thing, it's physically and mentally draining. In a perfect world, I'd be able to reason with my opponents and stop the fight before it ever happened.

Of course, that's just teenage naivety speaking.

"No! I'm no fool!" He sticks his hands into the ground, and it begins to melt into molten rock. I'm forced to leap into the air to avoid stepping in the molten river, and I perch on top of a streetlight.

"This isn't my first rodeo, hombre. And there's a whole squad of men out there just waiting to come in here and take you down," I warn. "Continuing to fight is the foolish thing to do right now."

Does he listen? Of course not. I dodge a well-thrown magma ball before leaping across the street to a streetlight on the other side. Lava spins around to face me. I know what I said about violence, but if it can't be avoided, I much prefer the kind of opponent that I can simply beat down. Ranged attacks aren't really my "thing," you know?

Lava launches a wall of magma at me, and I jump over it with ease. Landing behind him, I pick up an aluminum trash can. I spin and throw the trash can at Lava, and he doesn't have time to react. The can connects with a "ding!" My small victory is short-lived, however, as Lava has recovered in an instant. He charges at me like a locomotive train, and all I can do is vault over him to safety.

Lava swings wildly behind his head at me. I can feel the searing heat emanating from his hands. I catch him with a quick kick to the ribs from behind. He makes me pay for it, though. Grabbing my ankle, Lava turns up the heat. The thin fabric covering my skin burns away in an instant, and I wince as my skin begins to burn. It's one of the most intense feelings of pain I've ever experienced. I've been burned before - in a run-in with a scary powerful metahuman - but I was bailed out by some STRIKE agent. There's no STRIKE agent this time.

"AAAAAHHHH!"

In an act of desperation, I land a few quick blows to Lava's head and face. He doesn't relent, though. He merely continues to turn up the heat, and I feel like my ankle's going to melt. I take Lava's head in my hands, and something unexpected happens. My hands begin to glow a yellowish hue, and then - as I release - tiny bolts of energy fire from my palms, stinging Lava's face and neck. He releases my ankle, and I bound away before he has the chance to recover.

"What the heck?" I whisper to myself, staring at my hands. They seem normal now, but what was that? I have no time to think about it, as Lava has turned his attention to me with a vengeance. Multiple magma balls fly in my direction, and I'm careful to dodge them all in quick succession. Rearing back, Lava conjures up a wall of molten rock and fires it at me.

Having no time to react, I throw my arms in front of my face. Like before, my blades pop up and quickly morph into that bone shield from earlier. Only this time, it's even larger and runs all the way down the length of my arms. The magma wall rocks against my shield, but I hold steady. The air hangs heavy with the heat of the magma. I can't do this for much longer.

Then, as if on cue: "Mantis! Take this!" Sergeant Hampton tosses a canister to me. I catch it and examine it curiously. "When he gets close, pull the pin!" Sarge instructs. I see the pin that he's referring to, and I take hold of it with my other hand. Whatever this thing is, I hope he knows what he's talking about.

Lava is almost on top of me in an instant. I pull the pin, close my eyes, and hope for the best. The canister erupts in a white cloud of gas, and when the smoke clears, Lava is nearly frozen in place. The molten magma coating his hands and wrists is cooled into rock, and he appears much less threatening.

"Standard issue freezing grenade," Sarge explains as he approaches. "Effective against almost all types of metahumans - especially those with heat-based powers." Sarge grabs both of Lava's wrists and pulls them together, locking them into a power-neutralizing handcuff. I've seen the SDS use these many times before. Lava is barely able to move as Sarge hands him off to another SDS officer. "You did good again, kid."

"Yeah, well, one time I'd like to catch the bad guy without falling back on you guys to help."

Sergeant Hampton pats me on the shoulder. "Everyone needs help sometimes, Mantis. Besides, you've single-handedly filled half of our detention cells," he assures me. "We'll clean up here. You can get back to...wherever you need to be."

Nodding, I take off in the direction of the school. The entire way there, though, I'm thinking about my newfound powers - and what they could possibly mean.
​

 

[Rain Dog]

*OLYMPUS MONS*​

Dr. Gregory Murdock Atlas. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he’s actually going to take me to his lab today! I’ve looked up to this man since I was crawling on all fours. He’s the entire reason I wanted to become an astronomer. He’s the reason I love science. I feel blessed to have such a great father. Without him, this would still be nothing more than a dream to me.

“Excited, Charles?”

I nodded vigorously. He chuckled and pushed open the doors to the lab.

“This way people,” he said. I wasn’t the only one. There was a group of future scientists, all around my age. It felt good to be surrounded by my kind of people.

“This,” Dr. Atlas said, “Is our crowning achievement.”

He gestured to an enormous machine that looked like some sort of futuristic telescope. It was easily the size of three or four school buses stacked length-wise. It was pointed skyward, going right through an opening in the ceiling and into the azure sky. Half of the group’s jaws drop. Including mine. This must be it. The Atmospherical Replication Unit.

“This machine both monitors and actually replicates the atmospherical conditions of any planet we point it to, making it easier for us to study here on Earth. Right now, a solar wind is sweeping through the solar system and has interesting effects on many different planets’ atmospheres. Right now, the device is aimed at Mars. We’ll start it up for you so that you can see this fine machine at work for yourselves.”

I have to keep myself from screaming with glee. It’s dorky, I know. But I can’t help it—never has anything like this ever been built. Just thinking of the possibilities—of how this machine can revolutionize astronomy is just overwhelming!

“Dr. Kaufman, please activate ARU.”

An older man in a white lab coat nods and punches a few buttons on a control panel adjacent to the machine. ARU buzzes and hums, lights begin flashing and a round “lens” on the tip of the machine begins to rotate, “focusing” in on the target.

“Activate the sonic transducer!”

Kaufman nods and punches a few more. Buttons. The buzzing and humming and mechanical whir of turning gears grows louder and louder. More lights flash. The doctor places his hand on my shoulder and smiles.

“You’ve chosen the right line of work, Charles.”

I return his smile with one of my own. Then—

“Dr. Atlas! Something’s wrong! The solar wind has caused some sort of power spike! ARU is overloading!”

“Dear God! Shut it off!”

“I can’t! It’s too far along now! It might—”

“Shut it off! Shut it off!”

There’s a panicked look on the group’s face. And mine.

Kaufman pulls a lever and the flashing lights stop. But the machine does it.

“No! Everyone, get down!” Dr. Atlas screams. But it’s too late. The base of the machine explodes and a brilliant ray of crimson light is fired from the atmosphere containment unit. The glowing ray comes right at me…















…and whizzes over my shoulder, striking a buff guy standing behind me. Charlie Atlas. Dr. Atlas’s son whom I have the misfortune of sharing a first name with. Charlie’s iPod’s earbuds and eardrum-splittingly loud music prevented him from hearing his father’s warning or the blast. He is blasted by the ray and sent to the ground, twitching as smoke billows around him.

“CHARLIE!!!” Dr. Atlas screams as he runs to his fallen offspring. He lifts the boy’s head and begins to weep.

“Oh Charlie, speak to me, son! Are you ok?!”

Charlie begins to move, just a little bit. He groans and then slowly sits up.

“Actually, yeah, I feel pretty ****in’ awesome.”

Charlie then rose to his feet…and continued to rise. He began to hover a meter off the ground.

“Holy crap! I’m one of them whatcha call its—metos or something.”

He proceeded to fire a bright ray of crimson light from his eyes, very similar to the one that hit him, at ARU, melting the machine into a huge glob of twisted metal.

“Tight. I’ma head out now,” he said as he took to the skies. Dr. Atlas stared up at the heavens, completely dumbfouned. He then turned to me.

“...So...how’s Bill?” he asked.

“Dad? He’s fine.”

“Yeah, he told me you wanted to be here. Anything for a fellow Delta Kappa Epsilon.”

After a couple of minutes of straight soarin’ I touch down at my destination. Flying is freakin’ awesome. It’s kinda cold up there but, damn, does it beat cruisin’ in the Monte back home. Now, with my newfound gifts, I thought long and hard about how I could apply them to better society. And then, it hit me: **** society.

Why should I waste my time flying around cities looking for purse snatchers or babies dangling from trees or whatever just to get a smile and “thank you” from the good denizens of Whereeverthe****? There’s enough freaks in spandex running around doing that already. How much more could I really help?

No, these are my powers. I’m not obligated to stop bank robberies or thwart mutant lizard men from doing whatever it is mutant lizard men do. I can use my powers however I want to. And I’m gonna use them to become loaded. I decided to come here—Lost Haven—to do just that. Lost Haven is the meta-human capital of the world. If you wanna be the next Superman, you head there. Most of these metas are pretty dumb—they work their asses off hunting down monsters and crooks pro bono. They don’t realize the money they could be makin’, the fame they could have—the only one who’s done it right is that Blue Blur character. Reality show and a movie deal—that’s the way to go. But I’m gonna be bigger than him. Much, much bigger.

Knock knock knock

“Come in.”

I push the door open and peek inside.

“You my four’o’clock?”

I nod.

“Take a seat. Charlie, right? Maury Sline,” he says, extending his hand. I shake it and take my seat. Sline was a talent agent—a short, aging, oily haired talent agent. Looked him up online. Good credentials. Seems like he’s got his **** together.

“So, I, uh, didn’t quite understand what it is you do over the phone. What, you a actor or singer or somethin’?” he says, pressing his fingertips together as he leaned back in his oversized chair. Damn thing looked like it would swallow him up.

“Uh, no, I’m a meta-human.”

“A what? Wait, you mean like one o’them superheroes? Like Icon or something?”

“Uh, basically, yeah.”

“I see,” he said, squinting incredulously.

“Can ya prove it?”

With one hand I lift his desk up off the floor and over my head. I then begin to hover slightly above the ground as I grab onto the desk with my other hand. They begin to glow a fiery red as I begin to burn my handprints into the wood.

“That’s enough, that’s enough, geez.”

I gently set the desk down and return to my seat.

“Not bad, kid. When did you learn you could do that stuff?”

“Couple days ago. Some kinda lab accident at my dad’s work or something, I dunno, I don’t really understand it.”

“So you got muscle, you can fly, you can…burn things. Anything else?”

“Um, I can run pretty fast. Oh, and also, I punched this concrete wall—my fist went right through and my knuckles felt fine. Not so much as a bruise. So I think I’m invincible or something.”

“Nice, nice,” Sline said as he scribbled something on a pad.

“So whatcha think?”

“I think you got something, kid. And you’re in luck. This town’s big hero is this Icon character. He’s been gone for like a month, no sign of him whatsoever. Some people think he quit the biz. That means this city’s got a void that needs to be filled and I think you’d be perfect for that job.”

“Great!”

“There’s just one thing you gotta do first, thought.”

****...

“It’s hard to market you based only on your powers. Superpowers aren’t that impressive anymore—people have just gotten used to ‘em. Every other block there’s some bozo flying around or shootin’ lasers from his face or somethin’. What gets the crowd goin’ is the “hero” part of the gig. You’ve already got the “super”, now whatcha gotta do is go looking for purse snatchers and babies dangling from trees or whatever. Save the kids, beat the crooks, get some publicity. Then we’ll get offers for public appearances, sponsors, movie deals, the works.”

Mother ****...

“…And…and then I’ll be famous, right?”

“Oh yeah, a real big shot. So what do ya say, we got a deal?”

“I guess so.”

I shake his hand, sign a few papers, and then I’m out. Can’t say I’m too happy about the “deal.” I actually have to do ****? That’s not what I came up here for. But I do see his point. Someone better get mugged right now or I will be pissed.

 

[Hound55]

Alone in the dark the pariah known as the Vigilante is hunched over a table, a small lamp barely piercing the darkness where he works and a 12-inch portable TV breaking the perfect silence he resides in.

Newspapers are scattered about the table and a stack of manila folders slowly grows by the hour on a corner. Isaac works diligently using the old tools of a typographer, only his is a different kind of work. Stanley knife, steel ruler and adhesive.

"The lengths I go to prove a point..." Isaac thought to himself.

[BLACKOUT]"...but that's just the kind of guy I am..."[/BLACKOUT] he mumbled aloud, finishing his thought.

As if on cue the TV flashed his public gaffe for the umpteenth time that day.

[BLACKOUT]"...Must be why they love me so much."[/BLACKOUT] he quipped into the night.

His stomach twisted again with the pain, Isaac let it. The Vigilante let the pain wash over him completely, his guts churning as if his belly contained a hundred small erupting volcanoes, til the pain flowed through him completely. Only then did he grant himself some of the sweet numbing relief contained in the bottles from the bar fridge beside him.

Pain.

Pain is the most natural of all teachers, and physically it has been denied to him. He was simultaneously denied another natural teacher, his mother, by the sheer fact of his birth. His mother went into shock and died as her entire body fought against his presence, whilst her mind and soul struggled valiantly for it.

Shock.

Too much knowledge from the natural teacher.

His other natural teacher died learning a similar lesson by the hands of the same teacher about a decade and a half later.

But Isaac was denied this. His learning disability, forcing him to find other ways of learning these lessons that pain taught best. Attention to detail and analysis would be required.

Isaac was nothing if not an ardent pupil.

But emotional trauma - this was a lesson that pain COULD teach him, and he'd been denied so much that he felt honour-bound to absorb every lecture it offered.

He'd earned this. He made the error... and what an error it was. With the man known as the Icon gone the public image of the group known as the Guardians had been slipping, they needed to give their reputations a spit shine.

Why they decided to start with him he had no idea... broken arm or no broken arm, it was a dumb idea to start with. But he didn't blame them.

Their military "consultants". No. He didn't blame them at all. They merely recognised a problem and pushed a solution. It wasn't a GOOD solution. Isaac could have told them that... Hell, Isaac DID tell them that. But the problem was merely the consequence of a previous action.

The Icon.

You don't leave this. How can you? There's a line you cross to move into the line of work we do that you can never cross back. You're in too deep. You're INVOLVED.

Pre-pubescent punks could see that. Hell, they roasted him. A bunch of kids with zero experience as professional interviewers managed to see the crux of the issue and ask the questions that Isaac had avoided posing himself because he knew it wouldn't help anything.

Isaac took another swig and went back to his work.

Because that's all you can do when the answers aren't helpful. You get to work.

 

[Hound55]

Alone in the dark the pariah known as the Vigilante is hunched over a table, a small lamp barely piercing the darkness where he works and a 12-inch portable TV breaking the perfect silence he resides in.

Newspapers are scattered about the table and a stack of manila folders slowly grows by the hour on a corner. Isaac works diligently using the old tools of a typographer, only his is a different kind of work. Stanley knife, steel ruler and adhesive.

"The lengths I go to prove a point..." Isaac thought to himself.

[BLACKOUT]"...but that's just the kind of guy I am..."[/BLACKOUT] he mumbled aloud, finishing his thought.

As if on cue the TV flashed his public gaffe for the umpteenth time that day.

[BLACKOUT]"...Must be why they love me so much."[/BLACKOUT] he quipped into the night.

His stomach twisted again with the pain, Isaac let it. The Vigilante let the pain wash over him completely, his guts churning as if his belly contained a hundred small erupting volcanoes, til the pain flowed through him completely. Only then did he grant himself some of the sweet numbing relief contained in the bottles from the bar fridge beside him.

Pain.

Pain is the most natural of all teachers, and physically it has been denied to him. He was simultaneously denied another natural teacher, his mother, by the sheer fact of his birth. His mother went into shock and died as her entire body fought against his presence, whilst her mind and soul struggled valiantly for it.

Shock.

Too much knowledge from the natural teacher.

His other natural teacher died learning a similar lesson by the hands of the same teacher about a decade and a half later.

But Isaac was denied this. His learning disability, forcing him to find other ways of learning these lessons that pain taught best. Attention to detail and analysis would be required.

Isaac was nothing if not an ardent pupil.

But emotional trauma - this was a lesson that pain COULD teach him, and he'd been denied so much that he felt honour-bound to absorb every lecture it offered.

He'd earned this. He made the error... and what an error it was. With the man known as the Icon gone the public image of the group known as the Guardians had been slipping, they needed to give their reputations a spit shine.

Why they decided to start with him he had no idea... broken arm or no broken arm, it was a dumb idea to start with. But he didn't blame them.

Their military "consultants". No. He didn't blame them at all. They merely recognised a problem and pushed a solution. It wasn't a GOOD solution. Isaac could have told them that... Hell, Isaac DID tell them that. But the problem was merely the consequence of a previous action.

The Icon.

You don't leave this. How can you? There's a line you cross to move into the line of work we do that you can never cross back. You're in too deep. You're INVOLVED.

Pre-pubescent punks could see that. Hell, they roasted him. A bunch of kids with zero experience as professional interviewers managed to see the crux of the issue and ask the questions that Isaac had avoided posing himself because he knew it wouldn't help anything.

Isaac took another swig and went back to his work.

Because that's all you can do when the answers aren't helpful. You get to work.

 

[Hound55]

Alone in the dark the pariah known as the Vigilante is hunched over a table, a small lamp barely piercing the darkness where he works and a 12-inch portable TV breaking the perfect silence he resides in.

Newspapers are scattered about the table and a stack of manila folders slowly grows by the hour on a corner. Isaac works diligently using the old tools of a typographer, only his is a different kind of work. Stanley knife, steel ruler and adhesive.

"The lengths I go to prove a point..." Isaac thought to himself.

[BLACKOUT]"...but that's just the kind of guy I am..."[/BLACKOUT] he mumbled aloud, finishing his thought.

As if on cue the TV flashed his public gaffe for the umpteenth time that day.

[BLACKOUT]"...Must be why they love me so much."[/BLACKOUT] he quipped into the night.

His stomach twisted again with the pain, Isaac let it. The Vigilante let the pain wash over him completely, his guts churning as if his belly contained a hundred small erupting volcanoes, til the pain flowed through him completely. Only then did he grant himself some of the sweet numbing relief contained in the bottles from the bar fridge beside him.

Pain.

Pain is the most natural of all teachers, and physically it has been denied to him. He was simultaneously denied another natural teacher, his mother, by the sheer fact of his birth. His mother went into shock and died as her entire body fought against his presence, whilst her mind and soul struggled valiantly for it.

Shock.

Too much knowledge from the natural teacher.

His other natural teacher died learning a similar lesson by the hands of the same teacher about a decade and a half later.

But Isaac was denied this. His learning disability, forcing him to find other ways of learning these lessons that pain taught best. Attention to detail and analysis would be required.

Isaac was nothing if not an ardent pupil.

But emotional trauma - this was a lesson that pain COULD teach him, and he'd been denied so much that he felt honour-bound to absorb every lecture it offered.

He'd earned this. He made the error... and what an error it was. With the man known as the Icon gone the public image of the group known as the Guardians had been slipping, they needed to give their reputations a spit shine.

Why they decided to start with him he had no idea... broken arm or no broken arm, it was a dumb idea to start with. But he didn't blame them.

Their military "consultants". No. He didn't blame them at all. They merely recognised a problem and pushed a solution. It wasn't a GOOD solution. Isaac could have told them that... Hell, Isaac DID tell them that. But the problem was merely the consequence of a previous action.

The Icon.

You don't leave this. How can you? There's a line you cross to move into the line of work we do that you can never cross back. You're in too deep. You're INVOLVED.

Pre-pubescent punks could see that. Hell, they roasted him. A bunch of kids with zero experience as professional interviewers managed to see the crux of the issue and ask the questions that Isaac had avoided posing himself because he knew it wouldn't help anything.

Isaac took another swig and went back to his work.

Because that's all you can do when the answers aren't helpful. You get to work.

 

[Hound55]

Alone in the dark the pariah known as the Vigilante is hunched over a table, a small lamp barely piercing the darkness where he works and a 12-inch portable TV breaking the perfect silence he resides in.

Newspapers are scattered about the table and a stack of manila folders slowly grows by the hour on a corner. Isaac works diligently using the old tools of a typographer, only his is a different kind of work. Stanley knife, steel ruler and adhesive.

"The lengths I go to prove a point..." Isaac thought to himself.

[BLACKOUT]"...but that's just the kind of guy I am..."[/BLACKOUT] he mumbled aloud, finishing his thought.

As if on cue the TV flashed his public gaffe for the umpteenth time that day.

[BLACKOUT]"...Must be why they love me so much."[/BLACKOUT] he quipped into the night.

His stomach twisted again with the pain, Isaac let it. The Vigilante let the pain wash over him completely, his guts churning as if his belly contained a hundred small erupting volcanoes, til the pain flowed through him completely. Only then did he grant himself some of the sweet numbing relief contained in the bottles from the bar fridge beside him.

Pain.

Pain is the most natural of all teachers, and physically it has been denied to him. He was simultaneously denied another natural teacher, his mother, by the sheer fact of his birth. His mother went into shock and died as her entire body fought against his presence, whilst her mind and soul struggled valiantly for it.

Shock.

Too much knowledge from the natural teacher.

His other natural teacher died learning a similar lesson by the hands of the same teacher about a decade and a half later.

But Isaac was denied this. His learning disability, forcing him to find other ways of learning these lessons that pain taught best. Attention to detail and analysis would be required.

Isaac was nothing if not an ardent pupil.

But emotional trauma - this was a lesson that pain COULD teach him, and he'd been denied so much that he felt honour-bound to absorb every lecture it offered.

He'd earned this. He made the error... and what an error it was. With the man known as the Icon gone the public image of the group known as the Guardians had been slipping, they needed to give their reputations a spit shine.

Why they decided to start with him he had no idea... broken arm or no broken arm, it was a dumb idea to start with. But he didn't blame them.

Their military "consultants". No. He didn't blame them at all. They merely recognised a problem and pushed a solution. It wasn't a GOOD solution. Isaac could have told them that... Hell, Isaac DID tell them that. But the problem was merely the consequence of a previous action.

The Icon.

You don't leave this. How can you? There's a line you cross to move into the line of work we do that you can never cross back. You're in too deep. You're INVOLVED.

Pre-pubescent punks could see that. Hell, they roasted him. A bunch of kids with zero experience as professional interviewers managed to see the crux of the issue and ask the questions that Isaac had avoided posing himself because he knew it wouldn't help anything.

Isaac took another swig and went back to his work.

Because that's all you can do when the answers aren't helpful. You get to work.

 

[Eddie Brock]

THE CITIZEN

"Everyone hang on!" I shout, straining under the great weight on my shoulders. I've never lifted anything this large. The Robinson Bridge, one of many leading into and out of Lost Haven, has collapsed unexpectedly. Luckily, I - as the Citizen - was there on the scene to provide immediate assistance. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how much longer I can hold the weight of the bridge and all the cars on it and all the people.

In the distance, from the safety of shore, crowds have gathered to watch my heroic feat. They're taking pictures and screaming things across the river. I'm a little too preoccupied to hear what they're shouting. The familiar rhythm of a helicopter's beating blades draws near, and I see a large red 8 emblazoned on the side. The press. So either my success or failure will be seen all over the nightly news.

I shift the weight of the massive structure above me. "Somebody let me know when I'm clear!" I yell, hoping that someone can hear me. My arms begin to quiver, but my resolve is strong. So help me, I won't let anyone get hurt today. The Amulet hangs heavy around my neck. This is the path I've chosen for myself. "I can't hold it much longer!" I warn.

The news chopper lowers itself to eye level with me. The cameraman removes his headset and gives me the thumbs-up. "All clear!" he announces. It's music to my ears. The chopper pulls away to give me some room.

Lowering myself down gently, I hear the sounds of the metal joints of the bridge creaking and giving way under the enormous weight. My strength was giving more than I originally thought. Within seconds, my feet are hovering mere inches above the placid waters of the river. I twist and turn the bridge until it breaks free completely. Shouldering the giant metal slab on my back once more, I move slowly towards the harbor. I find a suitable spot, and I place the bridge down gently.

Immediately, I'm greeted by applause and cheers. Smiling, I wave to the crowd as I slowly take to the skies once more. While I'm still within earshot, I announce, "Thank you, thank you. Please, ladies and gentlemen, clear the way so that the proper authorities can address the situation. Have a fine evening, everyone!" And with those words, I take off into the sun and clouds, proud of the work I've been able to do today.

***

I get home before Katherine, and I decide to take a long, hot shower after the physical strain I put on my body today. Truthfully, I already feel as good as new. Removing the Amulet, I hide it with the rest of my costume - somewhere where Katherine won't stumble upon it. I spend nearly thirty minutes in the bathroom, soaking in the warm water and the steam. I hear the sounds of Katherine coming home, so I step out of the shower and dry myself off.

"We have to pay for all that hot water, you know," Katherine announces as she checks the mail for anything belonging to her. She looks up, sees me, and smiles. "You should have waited for me. We could have showered together." She winks and pats me on the back as she makes her way to the bedroom.

"You seem...chipper," I reply. "Any particular reason?"

As she takes out her earrings, Katherine shrugs. "Do I have to have a reason? Can't I just be happy that, after a long day of work, I'm back at home with my loving husband?" She wraps her arms around me and kisses me once on the lips. We look into each other's eyes, and I recognize something there.

"I know that look. Something's up," I insist.

Katherine pulls away and smiles fiendishly.

"Oh no. We're not playing this game. You're going to tell me what's up right now," I state, trying to sound like I'm in control of the situation. It's a useless gesture. Katherine knows me too well. She knows that she's in control more often than not.

"I just don't feel like right now is the best time to tell you..."

"Tell me what?"

Katherine spins around, smiling broader than I've seen her smile in a long time. "We're pregnant!"

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. I'm literally stunned speechless. Suddenly, I feel myself beginning to smile broader than I've smiled in a long time. Taking Katherine's head in my hands, I kiss her deeply and passionately. When we separate, we both begin to laugh gleefully at this realization. We're pregnant! Suddenly, I feel like I could carry another bridge on my back.
​

 

[Mr. Majestic]

“Here it is ladies and gentlemen the day all have been waiting for, the race to see who The Fastest Man Alive is!”

“That’s right Bob today is the day to put up or shut up. For a while now people have been saying the Blur is the fastest around town and today we will see if that is true.”

“What we do know is this, today history will be made. It promises to be a day that will be remembered all throughout time.”

“How true you are Bob how true you are. Now to you Rick at the starting line with the introductions.”

“Thank you both Bob and Dave. As you both said today is going to be a historic night. Now if you all will join me I’ll introduce the racers.”

The crowd then begins yelling and screaming with excitement.

“Now the first person I’m introducing is new to the whole superhero thing and she hopes in time to be a great hero like her idol the Blurr, lady’s and gentlemen Kid Quick.”

A young girl then ran up and down the street giving the crowd high fives and she made her way to the starting line.

“Our next racer we don’t have to much information on him. The only thing he told us was he will beat the Blur to become the fastest man, everybody I give you Pulse.”

As the announcer said his name Pulse appears at the finish line. No one had seen him make his way there it was as if he just teleported there.

“This next person is considered to be the new face of Lost Haven. When he first came on the scene he was dub the title fast kid alive. Those of us that have met him we call him The Kid but he is better known as The Youngster.”

*****​

I watch the TV as all the racers are getting introduce. I should have known they were going to save the Blur for last, I mean he is the fan favorite for this. Doesn't matter not only am I going to win this but I’m doing so in my new custom.

I then throw my hood over my head and put the mask on that is connects to the hood. I walk over to the Tv and turn it off then blaze out of the house heading to Lost Haven park.

While running I see people all outside with chairs sitting on the sidewalks with radios and little TV’s to observe the race. As I began to approach the starting line an idea hit me. Once I was about a good 30 feet away I turn around and stop running and slide all the way to the finish line. Once I came to a stop my feet were just inches away from passing over the line and I stood there with my arms cross looking at the crowd smiling.
After the crowd saw my make my tight entrance they went crazy and a few began cheering my name.

 

[Eddie Brock]

"What you're experiencing is called a 'secondary mutation.' It's not entirely uncommon among metahumans," Dr. Reed explains. He's the resident physician at the SDS facility, specializing in the treatment of metahumans. He's one of a very few experts in his field. "In most cases, it simply results in an enhancement or alteration to existing powers - for example, the exoskeleton blades that protrude from your arms have morphed into a larger exoskeletal feature that you can control mentally. However, there are the rare occasions when latent powers are activated by this secondary mutation - such as your bio-electric energy blasts."

I look from Dr. Reed to Sergeant Hampton, who is standing in the corner with his arms folded. "So it's not something I should be worried about?"

Dr. Reed shakes his head. "Not particularly. Not if these new powers don't interfere with your everyday life." He finishes writing on his notepad and places it down on the counter behind him. "Tertiary mutations are very, very rare, so I don't suspect you'll develop any new powers beyond this batch. For now, it's simply a matter of learning to control them - just like you did with your primary powers."

I hope down from the examination table and smile. "Thanks, Doc. That was weighing on my chest a bit, so I'm glad this is perfectly normal," I explain. "If you gentlemen don't mind, I have other places to be, so I'm going to have to skedaddle."

"I'll escort you out," Sergeant Hampton offers. "You can say hello to your conquests on the way out."

***

I'm sitting on the couch by myself, trying to conjure up those "bio-electric blasts" which saved my rear end against Lava. Unfortunately, it's easier said than done. These new powers are going to take some getting used to. I hear the front door opening, so I put my hands down so I don't look like a total weirdo.

"Guess who's back?"

I spin around on the couch in the direction of my sister's voice. "Vicky?" Sure enough, Victoria enters the living room smiling. "You're home! Already? I thought you didn't finish for another week..."

"Don't sound so disappointed," she jokes, ruffling my hair. "I made arrangements with my professors to take my exams early. Truth be told, I couldn't wait to get out of there and just get home." She helps herself to the fridge and a bottle of water. "Mom and Dad are at work still?"

I nod.

"Alright. Then, we'll catch up." With a smile, Vicky plops down on the couch next to me and begins asking all kinds of questions: about school, Brooke, Prom, colleges, the works. Truthfully, I missed having my sister around. It'll be nice to see her more often during the summer.
​

 

[NiteMare Shape]

No More​

Eric is locking up after another crazy night at The Hub, the nightclub that he had been running with his best friend Scott Morse, until Scott suddenly left Lost Haven over a month ago.

He pulls on the double doors, making sure that they are locked and begins walking down the street, looking up into the darkened windows of the apartment Scott had been sharing with his younger sister Jenny.

But Jenny was killed, and Scott vanished without so much as a goodbye. And in just a few short days, Eric had lost two of his best friends.

For years, Eric and Scott had been close. Eric was the one who Scott turned to when his abilities started to manifest themselves....and for a long time he was the only one who knew that Scott was really the superhero known as Icon.

In a way, being the keeper of that secret gave him a purpose. For a long time, Eric had been the only one outside of the Morse family to know of Scott's secret. However, Scott finally told his long time girlfriend Nicole, and she handled it pretty well...until he took on the role of Icon and she was unable to take the lonliness that came with his exploits as a superhero. Eventually, she left him.

Scott had been devestated when Nicole left, but Eric helped get him through it. In fact, he had encouraged Scott to persue a relationship with Lisa, which he did. Eventually, Lisa learned the truth about Scott as well, and she was able to deal with the difficult balancing act between his life, and his duties as Icon. He had even planned to propose to her, until her death during the alien invasion.

Scott hadn't been able to properly mourn her death. He was forced to fight on, to put his personal tragedy aside to ensure the survival of the human race. Eventually he was able say his goodbyes, but when Lisa died something inside of him had died as well. Eric had been there for Scott then too, along with Jenny, Keira, and some of his other friends, but Scott wasn't ever really the same, though the wounds were still fresh.

But when Jenny was killed, something happened to Scott. In the days leading up to her funeral, it seemed as if were missing...as if Scott had lost his purpose...his will to live. He looked Scott directly in the eyes, pleading with his friend to just talk to him...and for the first time he saw that there was nothing there...it was as if he were looking into the eyes of a stranger...that his friend in fact HAD lost his will to live.

And it was only a day later that his friend had vanished without a trace. He never gave any warnings, never said goodbye...he didn't even leave a note. He just walked away.

He walked away from his friends and family...and he walked away from the people who depended on him...the people who only knew him as Icon.

That is really when he knew that Scott truely did die the night his sister was killed...The friend he knew...that he had grown up with would never do that.

Which only left him with one question as he walked alone down the darkened street toward his own apartment....

"Scott...Where the hell are you?"

 

[Byrd Man]

“Here it is ladies and gentlemen the day all have been waiting for, the race to see who The Fastest Man Alive is!”

“That’s right Bob today is the day to put up or shut up. For a while now people have been saying the Blur is the fastest around town and today we will see if that is true.”

“What we do know is this, today history will be made. It promises to be a day that will be remembered all throughout time.”

“How true you are Bob how true you are. Now to you Rick at the starting line with the introductions.”

“Thank you both Bob and Dave. As you both said today is going to be a historic night. Now if you all will join me I’ll introduce the racers.”

The crowd then begins yelling and screaming with excitement.

“Now the first person I’m introducing is new to the whole superhero thing and she hopes in time to be a great hero like her idol the Blurr, lady’s and gentlemen Kid Quick.”

A young girl then ran up and down the street giving the crowd high fives and she made her way to the starting line.

“Our next racer we don’t have to much information on him. The only thing he told us was he will beat the Blur to become the fastest man, everybody I give you Pulse.”

As the announcer said his name Pulse appears at the finish line. No one had seen him make his way there it was as if he just teleported there.

“This next person is considered to be the new face of Lost Haven. When he first came on the scene he was dub the title fast kid alive. Those of us that have met him we call him The Kid but he is better known as The Youngster.”

*****​

I watch the TV as all the racers are getting introduce. I should have known they were going to save the Blur for last, I mean he is the fan favorite for this. Doesn't matter not only am I going to win this but I’m doing so in my new custom.

I then throw my hood over my head and put the mask on that is connects to the hood. I walk over to the Tv and turn it off then blaze out of the house heading to Lost Haven park.

While running I see people all outside with chairs sitting on the sidewalks with radios and little TV’s to observe the race. As I began to approach the starting line an idea hit me. Once I was about a good 30 feet away I turn around and stop running and slide all the way to the finish line. Once I came to a stop my feet were just inches away from passing over the line and I stood there with my arms cross looking at the crowd smiling.
After the crowd saw my make my tight entrance they went crazy and a few began cheering my name.

The cheers for Youngster are all but overwhelmed by the thunderous roar of applause that comes with a blue blur of motion appears on the street. The figure races up and down the street, shaking hands at super speed.

"Nicetomeetyahow'sitgoingthanksforcomingoutandsupportingagoodcause!"

Skidding to a stop next to the other racers, the Blue Blur's body crackles with energy.

"How's it going, guys? Sorry if I'm late, there was a bank robbery in Chicago a minute ago, I took care of it. Are we ready to race?"

 

[Eddie Brock]

THE CITIZEN

By the time I arrive at the ceremony, Tom is pacing so furiously that he's nearly dug a trench into the ground. Today is the unveiling ceremony for a memorial dedicated to all the victims of the Arlaaekan invasion, and I - as Mayor - am giving the final speech and pulling down the curtain. Tom's been on edge about it for weeks. As usual, nothing could pacify him.

"Jesus, there you are!" Tom announces in the loudest whisper I've ever heard. We're behind the stage, which has been constructed in the middle of Lost Haven's biggest park. "What the Hell kept you? You're on in three minutes!"

Real answer? Tenement fire. My answer, "Traffic. You know how bad it is trying to get across town at this hour. I tried to convince Sal to take another route, but he's always so stubborn..."

Tom seems to buy it. Or, at least, I think he does. It's hard to tell when he's this flustered. Either way, he responds, "Whatever. Look, do you have your notecards ready, at least?" He peers around the edge of the stage to see how much time we have.

Smiling to myself, I decide to have a little fun with him. "Notecards?"

Tom spins back around faster than I've ever seen him move. "Yes, the notecards! I jotted down some points I thought you should make, and I gave Martha expressed orders to have those notecards on your desk by yesterday morning!"

I pretend to search my pockets. "I don't remember seeing any notecards on my desk," I lie. "Maybe I didn't pick them up, or maybe Martha didn't remember to get them to me..."

Tom's face drops. I start to feel a little bad for doing this to him.

"You know what? It's not a problem," I assure him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He's nearly catatonic. "I'll just get up there and speak off the cuff. I've done it before." A stagehand motions that it's my time to go up there. I reach into my pocket and pull out the notecards. "On second thought, maybe I'll just glance over these a bit."

Tom looks about ready to drop dead. I'm not sure if he's more relieved that it was a joke or more angry that I would mess with his head like that. Either way, he stares intently at me as I take the stage. The audience applauds, and I smile for them.

"Thank you. Thank you very much. Today is not a day of mourning," I begin. The crowd begins to quiet. "We've had our time for that. No, today we are here to celebrate. I know what you're thinking. 'What is there to celebrate?' Well, that's the real question, isn't it? We can celebrate the lives of those who were lost in the invasion. We can celebrate the heroes who gave us hope during that most trying hour. And we can celebrate our eventual victory over the forces that tried to eradicate us.

"You see, though we lost so much in that conflict, one fact still remains." I pause for emphasis. "We are still here. And despite the numerous casualties, despite the billions of dollars in property damage worldwide, despite the devastating blows to our morale, we are still here. And we stand taller than ever, ready to face the challenges that may come our way."

I look out across the crowd. "Our lives go on. Hope springs eternal. We are working together now to build a stronger future, one where our children will be safe from threats like this. In defeating the Arlaaekans, we have sent a powerful message to the stars." I smile. "Mankind is a force to be reckoned with.

"And so, we dedicate this memorial," I explain, "Not just to those lost, not just to the countless families touched by this disaster, not just to those still living today, but to all of mankind from this generation to the next and the next and so on. So that when future generations gaze upon this memorial, they will remember our accomplishments and know that they are truly standing on the shoulders of giants!"

I step back and take hold of one half of the curtain. The sculptor takes hold of the other. "And so, without further ado, I present this new memorial!" We pull down the curtain to applause and photographs. "May it always remind us of our great responsibility, not just to ourselves but to our future!"

I turn and examine the statue. It resembles Atlas with Earth on his shoulders, but on either side of the Titan there is a faceless figure helping to support the weight. And Atlas, rather than being weighed down by the weight of the Earth, stands tall next to his allies. Along the base are the engraved names of every Lost Haven resident killed during the invasion. It will stand as a centerpiece for this park, reminding us all of our calling.

***

TARTARUS ISLAND

The prison built on Tartarus Island is an imposing, lifeless structure. It could not be anything other than a prison. Just a short distance off the harbor, the prison houses all of Lost Haven's worst criminals. It has stood since the early 20th century, and breakout attempts have been few and far between. The prison and its island are often referred to - not so affectionately - as 'The Hole,' and it lives up to its name. Once a prisoner has been incarcerated here, he is never the same again.

That much was true of Jonathan Winters. A midwesterner of humble origins, Jonathan led a rather unassuming life. He performed relatively well in school, and when it came time to go to college, he moved out to the East Coast. This was how he found himself in Lost Haven. In college, Jonathan took a particular interest in political science and economics. He studying the writing of Karl Marx and other radical communists religiously. Jonathan came to a conclusion that he was morally obligated to help overthrow the capitalist structure of America. He blew up a government building within the city. This was how he found himself in The Hole.

Jonathan was convicted when he was only 23 years-old. Twelve years had passed since then, and Jonathan's time inside had changed him. He kept to himself, shunned all contact with others, and continued his studies of communism and the promised revolution. Due to his standoffish behavior and seeming disinterest in personal hygiene, Jonathan was often perceived as crazy by his fellow inmates. But he knew he wasn't crazy. He was merely planning.

And on this day, his plans would be set into motion.

"Winters, get up," the guard barks, banging on the bars of Jonathan's cell. "Come on, you slob! You're being moved today."

At this, Jonathan sat up. Moved?

The guard slides open the cell door, complaining, "Let's move, Winters. Before the warden changes his mind about this." Jonathan holds out his hands so the guard can handcuff them. An unnecessary precaution. Jonathan wanted to leave this place, but he wasn't stupid enough to attempt a breakout. That would be suicide. "Alright." The guard places his hand firmly against Jonathan's back and guides him down the corridor.

Jonathan is led outside, where the warden is waiting. There's also an unmarked black van. "Winters, you're being transferred to another facility due to overflow," the warden explains emotionlessly. "That means that you're no longer my problem. Your personal effects have already been shipped over. You leave right now."

Jonathan looks over his shoulder at the guard. No sign of a smile or snicker. It doesn't appear to be a joke. A man in sunglasses exits the van and approaches Jonathan. Nodding to the guard, the man grabs Jonathan by the handcuffs and leads him to the van. Jonathan is shoved into the backseat, where a burlap sack is thrown over his head. Though he is confused, Jonathan does not struggle.

Jonathan feels every bump in the road as the van drives away from the prison. Then, he hears the sound of a ferry. A few minutes later, the van is driving again. It drives for some time before finally coming to a halt. Moments later, Jonathan is forcibly dragged out of the van. The burlap sack is removed, and the man in the sunglasses is standing there.

"Jonathan Winters. You have been recruited by Spectre," the man explains coldly. Jonathan looks around confusedly. This was unlike any prison transfer he had ever heard of. "As I'm sure you're now realizing, there is no prison transfer. The organization I work for, Spectre, has deep pockets and deeper influence. You've been on our radar for some time, so we've pulled some strings to get you out."

Jonathan remains silent.

"I'm here to make you an offer, Jonathan. You can come with me and hear what we have to say, or you can go back to prison to serve the rest of your life sentence and eventual die in anonymity. Your choice."

Jonathan licks his lips. He's been good about not speaking unless he needed to, but this Spectre group had caught his eye. And if they were offering an alternative to jail, Jonathan was inclined to play along - at least, for a little bit. "Alright. I'll do it. Let's go," Jonathan replies eagerly.

Suddenly, someone behind him throws the burlap sack over his head once more. Jonathan barely has time to register what's happening before the butt of a rifle slams against the back of his skull.
​

 

[Mr. Majestic]

The cheers for Youngster are all but overwhelmed by the thunderous roar of applause that comes with a blue blur of motion appears on the street. The figure races up and down the street, shaking hands at super speed.

"Nicetomeetyahow'sitgoingthanksforcomingoutandsupportingagoodcause!"

Skidding to a stop next to the other racers, the Blue Blur's body crackles with energy.

"How's it going, guys? Sorry if I'm late, there was a bank robbery in Chicago a minute ago, I took care of it. Are we ready to race?"

I look over at Blur and the only thing I can do is smile. I thought I knew how to make an entrance but he showed me.

“I hope you all have your running shoes on because after I win this I don’t want to hear no excuses.”

“Please, after I win this I’m going to ask them to get a statue of me right here in the middle of the park.” Kid quick replies.

I gaze over at Pulse’s direction wondering if he was going to make a comment himself but he didn’t. He just grabs his helmet and places it on his head.

Boy these guys have no clue how prepared for this race I am. I made this new custom just for this occasion. It protects me when I’m running from the effects of using my super speed. Since I can only use two powers at the same time now I don’t worry about that. I can concentrate just on running. This will be the first time I only just used my speed.

The gentleman with the microphone makes his way towards us.

“Okay gang before we get this kicked into another gear we have some jewelry for you all to wear.”

Fours kids then come from the sidelines with arm bracelets in their hands. Each one of the kids hands us the bracelets.

“Those arm bands if you will, that you will be wearing are made to fallow your positions during the race so we know who is winning, losing or if you happen to get off course. The rules of the race are simple. In order to win you must go around the world 4 times fallowing the track that has been made for you all to fallow. If you happen to need to make a pit stop that is no problem at all. But just know where ever the location is you got off course you must return to that spot and in order to continue racing. Who ever pass the finish line first wins and all proceeds will go to whatever charity of their choosing. Most importantly they will be known as the Fast Person Alice! I mean Alive!”

I know he feels like crap right about now.

I then slap on the bracelet devise and get down in a racing position. I look over at the Blur. Even if I lose I got to stay close to him I have to be right on him.