Ultimate One Universe - Genesis

[Carnage27]

Southside, Metropolis​

"Thanks a ton, Clark," Chloe Sullivan smiled as Clark finished up helping her move a chouch into the new Boys and Girls Club for the neighborhood. The two had been working together as social workers since Kent moved to the big city, and she was the one person Clark actually considered his friend in Metropolis. Spending half your time at work and half your time flying around the city protecting its people was hell on your social life, that was for sure. "There was no way I was getting this by myself."​

Chloe was like him in the sense that she was always looking out to help the people around her. She was from New York City, originally, but came to Metropolis for school and fell in love with the place. Clark had to admit even he was amazed at her dedication for the city and its poor. And the people of Southside were the poorest of the poor. The area was ruled by the Intergang, who flooded the streets with drugs and violence. The desperation was so palpable in Southside the area had unofficially been renamed the "Suicide Slum".​

"Don't worry about it," Clark shrugged congeniantly. "Besides, no one can lift these old things by themselves. I think they were built to hold up against rhinos or something."​

"Next time we'll give Superman a call," she joked. "He keeps swearing in the news all he wants to do is help. Good. He can lift the next couch."​

Kent had a hearty laugh at the irony. Of course he had to allow Chloe to think she was shouldering some of the weight of the couch, but in reality he had it under control the whole time. It was one of the fine balancing acts Clark had to learn as he developed his powers. The ability to hold back when fighting as well as the need to mask his powers while socializing with those without them. It was an odd tradeoff.

Playing along after the laugh and pushing up his glasses, he said, "Could you imagine that? Superman going around Metropolis answering Craigslist adds?"

"Mmm, I know what kind of add I'd want him to answer," Chloe winked at Kent, and he did his best not to blush. Instead he shot her a surprised look, to which she responded, "What? He's cute."

"There's barely a visible picture of him," Clark laughed, trying not to sound too defensive on the subject. Keeping his secret identity, he knew, was going to be his hardest task in Metropolis. In that day and age, when everyone had a camera in their hand, his image as Superman would get out. To combat that, he made Clark Kent as much Superman's opposite as he could. Thick rimmed glasses, unkempt hair, and baggy clothes hid his far more imposing stature while out of his costume. But his disposition was the real change. Superman, in his mind, was strong, confident, and just a bit stuffy. Clark was laid back, a bit unsure of himself, and scruffy. He wasn't sure how long it would last, but it was the only way he knew how to protect those he loved.

"Clark, he can lift a plane! He can fly! Have you ever seen Aladdin?" she asked incredulously. "Mama wants to recreate 'A Whole New World' with a superhero, okay?"

Clark, in turn, raised his hands and conceded the point.

"You wanna grab a beer?" Chloe asked as the two hopped into Clark's truck. He wanted to say yes, but he also knew he had scheduled a patrol for that night.

"I can't tonight," he apologized. "But how about tomorrow?"

"Deal," Chloe smiled.

**********​

A ripple went through the air as Superman flew calmly over Metropolis. It was too subtle for most people to feel, but his super senses picked up on it immediately. Clark wasn't sure what it was, but it seemed to throw him slightly off balance.​

The source of the wave was quickly discovered when the sound of sheering metal and screams of terror reached Superman's ears. He sped off towards thei origin, only to find an apartment building floating over the street. He swooped down and attempted to catch it, but as he did it moved like a baseball bat and swatted him out of the air.​

He slammed into the street as the screams of the people inside the building continued. Clark shook off the cobwebs just in time to see the building falling towards him. He threw his hands up and caught the domicile before calling to the people inside, "Everyone get out! I can't hold it for very long!"

It wasn't a lie. Whatever was controlling the building was pressing it towards him as if it was a man's heel and he was an ant. Every muscle in his body screamed as he fought the force, but he needed to save these people. He could barely see them file out of the building one by one as his vision blurred.

There was another thing he noticed across the street as well. That was a man wearing some sort of mechanical harness on his body who seemed to me gestruring towards the mass of steel and brick sitting in Superman's hands.

Before Clark could get a good look at him, however, someone called out saying the building was clear. Nearly immediately, Clark's strength gave out and the apartment complex tumbled on top of him. He could hear people outside crying, believing they had not only lost their possessions, but also the new hero of Metropolis. Superman wasn't dead, of course, but he hurt like hell. Even for him being burried by steel and rock was uncomfortable.

Composing himself, he dug himself out of the rubble and shot into the air. He turned to the civillians, "Is everyone okay?"

"Yea, Superman," the man who yelled the all clear earlier confirmed. "I made sure everyone got out okay."

"Good job," Clark managed a half-hearted smile before turning to where the mysterious man had once stood. He was obviously gone, but at least Superman had a slim view of the man who had nearly killed dozens.​

 

[Saved]

The Story So Far ...

Spoiler

Then: Youngest member of the Special Crimes Unit, Detective Barbara Gordon along with her partner Sergeant Jean DeWolfe was investigating the sale of a dangerous mystical weapon known as "The Gem." The masked thief known as Red X staged a coup to steal the weapon - the thief's attempt to harness the power of the Gem caused a dangerous discharge of cosmic energy. When the smoke cleared, Sergeant DeWolfe was found dead, the Gem missing, and Detective Gordon paralyzed from the waist down. Unbeknownst to anyone, the Gem was fused to her spinal cord - not only healing the detective's injuries, but granting her the cosmic powers of the Gravity Gem.

Now: Barbara Gordon works as a Detective on the Bludhaven Police Force. She is accompanied only by her mandatory partner, Psychiatrist Karla Sofen, who monitors the Detective's psychological state. But off the clock, the detective conducts her own investigations with the aid of the Gem bound to her spine as the masked vigilante known as Moonstone.

[Barbara Gordon]​

[The Story][x2] - Bludhaven; Police Department

Sofen and I walk up the stoop into the building; snickering pleasantly as we go. The whole car ride back she's been sharing war stories from her time as a negotiator on the NYPD. Sofen still puts me on edge, but after this ordeal I may have soften up towards her a bit. Finding out she used to be a Blue Blood sort of ... took a few of the barbs on her hide away.

My skin tingles and my body feels weightless; it's a light but gripping high. I suppose I'm still coming off an adrenaline rush from the hostage situation which may explain my current euphoria. Any day when both the suspect and the victim make it out alive with no casualties is worth celebrating.

"I knew there was no rationing with the man," she starts as I fade back into our conversation. "His eyes were dilated and every vein in his arms and neck was bursting through his skin."
"What was it? Amphetamines?" I ask as we walk through the double doors.
"Desperation," she says slyly. "As enforcers, we often see everyone as either guilty or not guilty. High or sober. But after you've been in that world enough - after you've seen practically everything - you realize something enlightening. There is no drug as dangerous as a man who has nothing left to lose."

The seriousness in her voice is mitigated by my lifted mood. Still, her point sticks to my mind like a posted note. I start to say something, but we're interrupted by an officer who approaches boisterously.

"Well, well, well. Shrink and Barb-ie," he says condescendingly.
"Marc," I reply in a palpably irritated tone.
"I heard what happened with Marsha and Marcus Sullivan. Nice work, you two."
"We make a good team," Sofen speaks in her usual monotone.
"I'll say. The boy is safe. His mother is being processed. She's a real nut."
"Did her tox report come back, yet?"

"Not yet, but she's definitely on something. I'd guess a raw stimulant of some kind based on her behavior. I'm surprised you were able to handle things without firing a shot."
I put my hands on my waist, "Keeping my record as clean as possible."
"Right, right, right."

I turn to Sofen and grin. As she glances at me, she shoots me a quick smirk before returning to her emotionless norm. Marc begins flipping through a clipboard overflowing with white pages and a lull in the conversation arises. Quickly, I become distracted, and my eyes begin darting around the hub. I see a few officers at the water cooler laughing as they exchange stories. A few feet to their right, Officer Pike is rubbing his forehead methodically as he files a report.

Suddenly, my eyes catch the outline of a face I don't recognize. He's dressed in a suit; but not that of a detective. It's too clean and pressed. Expensive too. I turn to Marc, "Who's the Calvin Klein model?"
Marc looks up from the clipboard and follows my motion towards the unknown man. "Oh, that's Special Agent Daniel Ketch."
"Special?" I ask, pressing my tongue against the back of my teeth as I take another gander at the man. "What's special about him?"

Marc pauses as he flips the paper work forward on the clipboard. He clears his throat and begins to speak, but his eyes stay strangely averted from mine. "Well, I figure now's as good a time as any to break the news to you. He's a government investigator assigned to a high profile case."
"High profile? This is Bludhaven. How high profile can it get?"
"He's investigating the death of an official." He thrusts the clipboard into my chest and I grab it instinctively as he continues, "Captain Blake's dead. You've been reassigned to homicide."

Marc moves to leave, but I grab his arm and hold him still. "Wait a minute," I start as I try to process everything he just said. "Captain's dead?"

"Mmhm. Found him late last night on the roof. He was burned alive."
"What?"
"We're all as shocked as you are, Gordon."
I release his arm. "Burned alive?"
He ignores me. "Agent Ketch is here to get as much information as he can. Expect some kind of interview; he's talking to everyone. Try to be nice." Marc turns again and begins making his way down the hall.

"Wait - Marc! Who reassigned me to homicide?"
"Captain Blake," he yells back before taking a left and disappearing down another corridor.

I stand in silence for a few minutes as I try to register everything. Captain Blake is dead? Burned alive? Now we've got black suits poking their nose around here trying to find out why? Aside from all of this, I'm reassigned? Why? Why would Blake reassign me? And why would he do it hours before his death? Something about this just seems ... off.

"I realize you're probably deep in an inner monologue right now," Sofen begins - he voice pulling me out of my mind. It's creepy how well she knows me. "But the Special Agent is making his way over here so you may want to get yourself together."

Before I can speak a word, I feel a finger tap my shoulder. A chill runs down my spine. How unsettling.

I turn around to the Agent before me; smiling politely. His stare is piercing. Damn, his eyes. They're like topaz crystals - so clear I can see my reflection. "Hello, Detectives. I'm Special Agent Daniel Ketch, but you can call me Danny. I'll be drinking your coffee for a couple days."

Boy, I wish you'd drink my coffee...

"Actually, she's not a detective." I correct him abruptly. "She's just the therapist who follows me arou-" I stop, correcting myself this time. "Detective Barbara Gordon. My friends call me Babs. You can call me Detective Gordon."
He smirks. Impressed by my wit, no doubt. I would be.

Sofen shirks off my bubbly over-friendliness and extends her hand. "Dr. Karla Sofen. A pleasure, Agent Ketch."
"Danny," he tells her again.
"Right. Well, if you excuse me, I have some work to do. Nice to meet you, Daniel. Barbara, I'll see you later." With a wave she does an about face and leaves me alone. I didn't need a wingman, anyway.

"Is she always so robotic?"
"Oh my God, I know, right? No, but, she's like that all the time. It's like having a Vulcan as my partner."
"Live long and prosper."
"Alright, a fellow dork. Finally, someone who gets my references. That's a nice change up." He chuckles quietly to himself. He's trying. "So, anyway, you're here to find out who killed the Captain, right?"

"Correct. My bureau takes the death of a law enforcement officer seriously; especially if it was someone high in the chain of command."
"He was burned alive? On the roof of a police department? How does that even happen?"
The room goes cold for a moment, and I shiver for a second time. "I don't know, Detective." His mood shifts in sync with the room's vibe. "It was quite heinous. He suffered greatly. Whoever did it, did so without remorse. This was no accident; it was planned."

"You think you're going to figure out who the culprit is, Holmes?"
"That's part of my plan. Captain Blake deserves vengeance."
"Vengeance? That's vigilante talk; that's not Police vernacular."
He smiles in a strangely kind yet mysterious manner. "I don't look like a cop, do I, Detective?"
"No," the word lingers on my tongue.

"Rest assured; I'll find Captain Blake's killer."
"I'll help anyway I can."
"Good. I look forward to it, Detective Gordon."
"I was just screwing around before," I change the subject to alleviate the awkwardly dark and brooding turn this conversation has taken. "You can call me, Barbara."
"I will." He extends his hand and I reach out and grab it for a quick shake. "I'll let you get back to your work. It was nice meeting you."
"Likewise. I'll Ketch you later." I laugh at my own joke; ending it with a shameless snort. He smiles like before and nods generously.

"I hope so, Barbara." Without another word, he walks on and makes his way across the room toward the staircase. I keep my eyes on him until he moves out of sight.

"Well, Danny, you're not going to be the only one looking into things." I pull my sleeve up and swiftly check the time on my watch. "My shift ends in five hours. Looks like this case will have to wait until after hours."

****​

 

[Carnage27]

Katherine Kane's Apartment
Cherry Hill, Gotham​

Detective Kane sat huddled over her laptop searching for anything she could find on Joseph Rigger. It had been five days since Batman had given her the name, and so far she had found frustratingly little on the man known as Firebug. He was a ghost for all intents and purposes, and other than a few warrents from overseas all she could turn up was rumor and speculation.​

"What are you looking at?" Renee came up behind her on the couch and wrapped her arms around Kane. "Joe Rigger? Who the heck is that?"​

Kane shifted uncomfortably in her partner's arms. She hadn't told Renee what the Batman had said to her on the roof the other night. Kane new working with the vigilante was poison now, and she was worried what Montoya would think about the idea.​

"I think he's our arsonist," Kathy finally said after a long, awkward pause.​

"And why's that?" Montoya asked suspiciously.​

Kane glanced sideways at her, "Promise you won't kill me?"​

"I'll do my best," Renee smirked.​

Kathy took a deep breath and blurted out, "Batman told me it was him."​

Renee's eyes narrowed, "Batman. The person everyone else thinks is behind this. The person who could have gotten you killed. The person who was at the second crime scene."​

"Actually I saw him at both of the first two," Kathy muttered.​

"Kathy!" Renee yelled in surprise. "Colluding with a known fugitive could cost you your job."​

"And not working with him could cost us Gotham," Kane shot back. "Renee, look at the MO of the arsonist. He clearly doesn't care how many lives he takes. Batman saved almost thirty women and didn't even kill the men who were holding them. He went into a buring building to save that girl. Rigger's files say he's remorseless and possibly even enjoys innocent victims. Batman put us on the right trail."​

Renee pondered Kathy's words. Kane rarely backed down when she thought she was right. Her convictions and confidence in herself was one of the things that had first drawn Montoya to her. But still, there was no proof the Batman could be trusted yet, no matter what he had done. Still, Renee saw no other option.

"Fine," she nodded. "Let's take it to Gordon."

**********​

Gotham Major Crimes Unit​

"Sir, we need to talk," Kathy said as she entered the Lieutenant's office. "I don't think the Batman is our arsonist."​

"Neither do I," the grizzled veteran responded. "What do you have for me?"​

Kane was taken aback by how readily Gordon had already dismissed the company line on the arsons. She slid the file in her hand onto his desk, and Gordon started reading, "Joseph Rigger, alias Firebug. His motives and history match up with what we have here. Name came across the FBI database when I was looking into it. We find Rigger, we find who employed him."​

Gordon looked up from the file at her almost as if he sensed the lie, but went back to reading as he said, "Good work."​

The two went into the bullpen, and Gordon called out, "Alright, everyone. We have a new target in the arson case. Joseph Rigger. I want you to canvas the city for him. Go over street camera footage. I want Rigger found."​

**********​

Wayne Manor
2 days later​

It had been a trying week for Bruce Wayne. Three more attacks by the Firebug had scorched areas of Gotham, and Wayne was no closer to finding the location of the villain. On top of that, the Batman had continually been blamed for the attacks, making his nightly activities even more scrutinized. Loeb's police force was out in force each night, which hampered Batman's ability to move throughout the city.​

The news of the day was on the TV in front of him as he pondered Gotham's situation, and what he saw showed him the rest of the world seemed to be just as chaotic. All over the country other vigilantes seemed to be popping up like wild fire. Metropolis's Superman and New York's Spider-man were chief amont them.​

But one story held his gaze longer than the others, and that was the increasing hostilities between Latveria and Symkaria. Latveria's leader, Victor von Doom, was sure to declare war. It was his nature, and Bruce knew that more than most. Doom was a spiteful, dangerous man and one of Bruce's former brothers in the League of Shadows. Bruce had thought him dead after Wayne's escape and attack on the League, and seeing him emblazoned across world news meant more of the League was likely there with him. They'd come for him eventually. Bruce knew this. Doom was not a man to let potential enemies lie, and the League did not take kindly to strangers.​

Talia's image next to Doom stung Bruce the most, however. His love's image with that monster made the bile rise in his throat. She was the one thing he struggled to let go of as he decided to rebel against Ra's and the League. Seeing her reminded him of those hard decisions.​

"Any leads?" Alfred, who had been hovering in the room's doorway, asked. Alred knew all about Bruce's history with Talia and Doom, and more than likely wanted to get Wayne's mind off of it.​

"None yet," Bruce shook his head. He had his suspisions, but nothing solid. All of the targets were Falcone and Maroni, negating those two as suspects. That left the Bertinelli's, the Odessa, or the Kingpin. Bruce didn't believe Franco Bertinelli was possible of something like this, so it was most likely one of the other two. "I have ORACLE going through surveilance cameras in the city right now to catch a glimpse of Rigger. Hopefully he turns up."​

"Bruce," Alfred turned off the TV, "you need to stay focused."​

"I am focused, Alfred," Wayne dismissed his mentor.​

"The look in your eyes when she came on the TV said differently," Alfred retorted. "You chose your path. You chose Gotham. Now you need to focus on it."​

He left Bruce to his own thoughts. Alfred was right of course. Bruce felt the pull of his old life thanks to the TV. But that was a life he left behind. Wayne had chosen his course, and that was no longer a part of him. Now it was Gotham that mattered most.​

"Batman," ORACLE's voice echoed through Wayne Manor, "target sighted."

"Location?"

"Gotham City Hall."

"Prep the Batmobile," Bruce commanded as he sprung up and towards the secret entrance to the Batcave. "I'm on my way."

**********
​

The Batmobile roared through the streets of Gotham towards City Hall with Batman behind the wheel. Whoever had hired Firebug was truly out of his mind if he wanted to burn down City Hall. Cobblepot's regime was built and thrived on peace between the crime families of the city. Burning that symbol of peace to the ground meant there would be no turning back. Gotham would be plunged into chaos.

"ORACLE," Batman said through his comm, "patch me through to Detective Kane."

"Kane," the cop answered the phone.

"Detective. Rigger is at City Hall," Batman cut to the chase. "Bring a squad and meet me outside."

"Copy that. What are you going to do in the mean time?"

"Stop him," was Bruce's answer.​

 

[Sentarous]

Kathleen Duquesne's Apartment
Uptown, Gotham City

“What about working for the family?”

Yeah, my little talk with Tony last week got to me. Though if I’m going to be honest I am regretting sitting down with Kath to talk about it—working for my father is the last thing I really want to do. I have nothing against how I got here but I almost feel suffocated, and the destruction of Louie’s was I guess a wakeup call but I still uncomfortable about leaving. It’s like… every time I realize I could get out of the city for good my mind goes full guilt trip mode. I don’t need me telling me that I suck if I leave.

Regardless, I shake my head as a firm ‘no’.

“I don’t think that’s me.”

“Not to mention I don’t think dad would let me. He already tries to keep out of the loop as it is, so if this all goes up in a fire I’m not involved in it. He’s afraid of what might happen.”

“My dad’s just a jerk.”

I laugh. Carlton Duquesne is rigid and he spooks me a bit, but he’s done right by my family. He’s always been pretty strict with Kath which is why college was a sort of “glorious liberation” for her even though we didn’t go far for our education. I was surprised that she didn’t head off to art school in some place like Metropolis or Gateway. Maybe she just wanted a little space rather than a lot—or maybe it’s Gotham, it’s a city that makes you feel bound to no matter how you fight it. Looking at some of our famous people like Bruce Wayne that pretty much proves it. Who disappears to come back to the place that ruined your childhood? That’s crazy.

“Men are jerks.”

She laughs. “Don’t even get me started, Helena.”

She just suffered a bad break up with this guy named Langstrom, I don’t really have much of an opinion seeing as I only met him once and he was weird even for the smarty types that Kath seems to go for.

“But yeah,” Deciding to change the subject here, I can’t have Kath moaning about Langstrom for an hour. Not good for either of us. “I’ve put in some applications to Gotham Global, Wayne Enterprises, Gotham National Bank, and Pemberton Financial. Maybe I should’ve taken a different major in college—finance isn’t getting me the calls back.”

“What would’ve you picked? Your second choice was what… Education?” She laughs.

“Thank you Kath, mocking my academic intelligence is making this day awesome.”

“I’m sorry, but you a teacher? Get real. Besides it’s not very economical.”

I roll my eyes. “Coming from the art major, yeah, economical.”

“Oh come on, don’t be mad.”

“I’m not. It’s just frustrating to not have a job when our best friend is working her butt off at the Gazette and you are selling your first painting out of college to some big shot.”

“I know right?”

I sigh, “Kath.”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry. I’m sure someone is going to call you back.”

Maybe.

 

[Morden Man]

I’d forgotten about Angela. As I step through the door into her apartment she's there waiting for me with an unimpressed look on her face. Something tells me that if she knew what had happened last night she'd look even less impressed than she currently did.

“Where were you last night?”

This is where I should tell the truth. This is where I should tell her I broke my promise to her and got involved in someone else’s problems, despite her insistence otherwise. This is where I should be honest.

“Ted and I went for a couple of drinks last night after Tom’s fight. The old man got too licked to drive home, so I dropped him off at his and crashed in my old bedroom.”

“You promise?”

I’ve already broken one promise this week. One more broken promise can’t hurt, can it? Once this whole thing has blow over, I’ll never tell hurt another lie again. I’ll be honest with her, be the boyfriend that she deserves, and maybe even give her that child she wants so much.

I take her by her hands and smile.

“I promise.”

“Good. I’ve got to get to work but we’ll talk tonight? It feels like forever since we’ve spoken properly.”

She plants a kiss on my lips and makes her way towards the door with a smile.

“Tonight it is then. I’m looking forward to it already.”

********​

As I walk into Wildcat’s I see Ted working Tom and another boy out in the ring. He sees me walking in and keeps working for a couple of minutes, eventually calling the workout to a halt and motioning to both boys to give him a little bit of time. As Tom walks by me I can sense his apprehension. They know about what happened and that means so does Ted.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.”

Ted takes off his gloves and throws them down on the floor beside the ring.

“Save both of us the time and effort and skip the lecture,” I say with a shake of my head. “I already heard it all from Foggy last night.”

“Ah, Franklin saved the day again. That would explain it.“

Ted had always been fond of Foggy, though he never called him that. He’d hoped that by sticking with me that maybe I’d make it out of Hell’s Kitchen and become some big shot lawyer too. No such luck.

“Any word on Austin?”

“Miles went to visit him this morning. Fractured eye socket, few broken ribs, should be out in a little while.”

“Good.”

The two of us stand in complete silence for a few moments. I can see that Ted’s itching to say something. He thumbs his way through his grey whiskers as he so often does when he’s anxious and then clears his throat.

“I understand what you did and I understand why you had to do it. Heck, twenty years ago I’d have done the exact same thing in your position. Ten years ago even. But this place is meant to be a safe haven for these boys, a place they can come to get away from their worries and troubles, and learn to channel their anger towards something more productive.“

“What are you saying?”

I know exactly what’s he saying. And I know that he’s right too. They’re all right – Angela and Ted all told me not to get involved and I didn’t listen. Foggy would have said the same if he were around too. I knew that and I did it anyway.

“You need to speak to them. Half of them think you’re some type of hero for what you did and the other half are scared to death of you. Either way, they need to know that what happened last night isn’t what this place is about and they need to hear it from you.“

I nod in agreement and Ted gathers the boys. Most of them come from Hell’s Kitchen but some of them travel across the city to train with Ted, none of them are much older than thirteen or fourteen and the youngest is barely eleven. Some come from homes where there’s no food on the table at the end of the day, some come from money, but within these walls they’re all the same. Blank slates.

“I asked Mr. Grant if I could speak to you all this afternoon because I think there’s something we all know that needs to be addressed. Last night, after hearing about what happened to Austin, I decided to take matters into my own hands and ended up in a physical altercation with Austin’s father that had to be broken up by the police.”

“What does altercation mean?”

“It means fight, idiot.”

Tom punches Miles in the arm and the boys start chatting amongst themselves. Ted clears his throat and they fall silent in a second.

“Let the man speak, Tom.”

“Regardless of what someone’s done, regardless of how strongly you feel about something, there’s always a better way to deal with your problems than by using your fists. I grew up in this neighbourhood and I know how rough it can be out there sometimes, but believe me when I say that the only people that are proud of being good with their fists are people that weren’t good enough at anything else. Be a doctor, be a lawyer, be a teacher, go and do something with your lives that will help other people. Whatever it is you choose to do, don’t look up to me for what I did last night. It went against everything the sport of boxing is about.”

Miles puts up his hand and I nod in acknowledgement of it.

“I don’t get it. Boxing is about hitting people, Mr. M.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Miles. Boxing is about restraint. It’s about channeling that anger and destructive energy and knowing when and how it’s sensible to use it. Do you think when Mr. Grant was heavyweight champion of the world he the fastest man on the planet? Or the strongest? Or the fittest?”

“If you listened to his stories, you might think so.”

The response brings a smile to my face and I can see Ted shaking his head in disapproval at the back of the group. Not at Tom for interjecting but at the suggestion that there was ever anyone stronger, faster, or fitter than he was in his prime. He might have been getting up there in years but he certainly wasn't getting any less proud as he age.

“Heh, you’ve got me there. My point is this: what separates those people in life that are successful from everyone else is that they know when to act and when not to. Last night I was on the wrong side of that and I let myself down, I let this gym down, and I let you all down in doing so. Hopefully we can move on from this and focus on what we’re all here for in future.”

As I stop talking, Ted steps through the assembled group and points in my direction.

“What do you think? Have we heard enough?”

Once again Miles puts up his hand and waves it around impatiently to catch my attention.

“Depends," Miles says with a grin. "You planning on beating the crap out of anyone else?”

“Nope.”

“Then I guess we’re cool.”

The group bursts into laughter and they begin to talk amongst themselves once more. Ted gives me a proud look, before clapping his hands together loudly and throwing a boxing glove in the direction of one of the boys.

“Well alright then. That's enough talking for one morning. Let's get back to work, women!”

 

[MST3K 4ever]

​

The Joker and his crew studied the building plans of the Warner Theater very carefully around a table.

The Joker paced around as though he were a lion sizing up his prey. Finally he leaned over and asked, "What do you think of my plan boys?" He looked around and said, "Don't be shy say what you feel I can take it, but just remember if you really hurt my feelings I just might cry. And no one likes a sad clown."

He leaned in closer and said in an almost growl, "Especially if that clown is me."

The three henchmen nodded and said very affirming things such as, "It's great boss." "Fool-proof." "Couldn't have thought of one better myself."

The Joker took a step away wiped away a mock tear and said, "Thank you boys I'm so humbled. I just wanna thank you all from the bottom of my heart. Now we got about seven hours to kill, so what should your ol' Uncle Joker do now? Hey I got an idea!."

The Joker put on a purple trench-coat with a purple fedora, and "It's a pleasure to have been working with you boys, and you have certainly earned your paychecks."

The Joker pulled out six stacks of hundred dollar bills and put them on the table and said, "Boys go live it up! Who knows what might happen tonight, and besides there's to be no robbery tonight. We are out to create our own art. Got it?"

The henchmen nodded, picked up the money and left.

The Joker said, "Why do I have the nasty feeling I'm gonna have to repeat that line several times tonight? oh well live and learn. Time for me to have some fun."

The Joker then sat down in a chair, pulled out an L-Pad and began tweeting to J-Lo.

 

[MST3K 4ever]

Alexis sat at her glass topped desk in her office on top of the North AlexisCorp Tower. She peered out of the windows and admired what she refereed to in her own mind as "her kingdom." When she thought that she was the unofficial ruler of one of the most powerful cities on the planet Alexis always smiled. Not to mention she was the head of the most power company on the planet with a charitable foundation that rivaled any other on the planet.

She smiled and said, "It's good to be the Queen."

Just then her L-Soft A-I program Alexander lightly pinged and Alexis said, "Yes Alexander"

The computer replied in a voice that was like that of Tim Curry's as it said, "Your online Daily Planet is ready."

Alexis replied, "Excellent Alexander bring it up on the plasma, alert Percy I want my Chai-Tea now, and of course music program 23 for background noise."

Alexander replied, "Of course Miss Luthor."

Alexis said, "And alert the staff no disturbances at this time. I want some peace and quiet at this time. Anyone calls take a message, and if anyone approaches my office doors have security escort them out."

Alexander replied, "Yes Miss Luthor."

Alexis pressed two buttons on her desk that activated her plasma screen as a selection of Bach began to fill the air. The headline immediately caught her attention.

Alexis couldn't believe it. The Superman Myth was no longer a myth, and he was here in Metropolis. The ramblings of Lois Lane and her mysterious Superman amused Alexis. Lane, it killed Alexis to admit this, was a reporter unlike any other though. In the sense that Alexis' usual spin and open-ended answers couldn't stonewall her. Lois had constantly been a pain in Alexis' side. She even went so far as to turn down the position of Press Secretary for AlexisCorp. They played nice in front of the cameras, but it was all an act. There was deep seething hatred underneath it all.

For the most part Alexis could more than hold her own against Lane, but something like this was not something Alexis was ready for. Something like this could give Lane a huge edge in their rivalry/feud.

Not to mention this Superman. He was a complete unknown factor. One that Alexis needed to know more about if she was going to hold onto her title of "Queen of Metropolis."

Percy entered through his private entrance put the drink on the desk top and asked, "Anything else before I go to take the limo for it's check-up?"

Alexis didn't even look at Percy as she waved a dismissive hand and said, "Take your time Percy. I got some homework to do."

Percy bowed slightly and left. Alexis said, "Alexander prepare a new file..."

 

[Carnage27]

She was alive. Sue Storm had no idea how it was possible, but she was alive. Those were her first thoughts as her eyes opened to a world of blurry vision. Her rapid breath was the first thing she heard, and the heavy metal chains that bound her wrists and ankles were the first thing she felt. As her eyes adjusted, Sue saw she was being held in some sort of dungeon. The room was dark, with only a few flickers of light providing illumination.

"Ah, the female's awake," a sardonic voice said beside her. To her shock, she found a raccoon staring back at her when she turned to find its source. He spat on the ground after she was staring for a few moments, "Yea, well you ain't that great lookin' neither."

"I am Groot," a deep, melodious voice bellowed from the shadows. From the darkness leaned a giant, smiling tree.

"Whadda ya mean be nice? I don't gottan be nice if I don't wanna," the raccoon shot back at the tree.

"Susie?" Johnny's voice came from the other side of her. Her brother, who looked as awful as she assumed she herself did, crawled from the shadows towards her with a half-hearted smile. "It's about time you woke up."

"Johnny, I'm so glad to-" Sue cut herself off with a blood-curdling screech as her brother spontaneously burst into flames from head to toe. "Johnny!"

"It's okay, it's okay," the younger Storm tried to comfort his sister. "It's been happening ever since I woke up."

"It doesn't hurt?" Sue was amazed at the phenomanon. She had never seen anything of the sort before. She could feel the heat coming off of her brother, and it was fairly intense, enough to cover him in third degree burns instantly. However, Johnny concentrated and the flames disappeared, leaving him unscarred. "But how?"

"I believe it was the cosmic rays," Reed's voice floated towards her and seemed to get closer with every word. Before she could answer, his head came into view attached to an elongated neck. "I apologize for the mode I must speak to you. But my location on the other side of the room dictates it."

"Do you ever use normal words, Brainiac?" the raccoon sighed next to Sue. It was in that moment she decided she liked him.

"I am Groot," the tree said again, almost as if he was agreeing with the rodent.

"As I was saying," Reed paid little attention to the small creature, "I believe we were bombarded by cosmic rays when the X-1 began to break apart. You remember our theories on cosmic energy."

"We thought the radiation might have use as a sort of solar power for star ships," Sue nodded. "But we never had an opportunity to test it."

"Indeed," Reed continued. "Well I believe the rays affected our genetic code. Normally the amount we were bathed in would have killed us, but I think traveling through hyperspace as we were helped save our lives in some way. I am still performing the calculations."

"Yea, we know you're performing the calculations," the raccoon sighed.

Sue looked around before turning to Johnny, "Where's Ben?"

"Right here, Sue," a gravelly voice said from in front of her. What she had thought was a crumbled pile of rocks from the old dungeon began to shift and move, revealing a humaniod form. Its eyes opened, revealing those of Ben Grimm. He instantly took notice of her reaction and turned away, "Yea, I've been getting a lot of that recently."

"Oh God, Ben," Sue held back tears. "I'm so sorry."

"Yea, yea, yea," the raccoon interupted again. "It's all very touching."

"Don't you have a heart, raccoon?" Sue shot back.

"What. The. Hell. Is. A. Raccoon," the furry creature asked through gritted teeth.

"He doesn't like that," Johnny told her. "His name's Rocket."

"And this is," Rocket presented the tree.

"Let me guess. Groot," Sue smiled at the tree. She didn't know what it was about it, but it put her at ease when she looked in its eyes. It was also a fascinating creature. A sentient plant capable of speech was an amazing discovery. His planet clearly had a completely different evolutionary build from earth.

The tree grinned and bowed respectfully, "I am Groot."

Sue bowed her head back in greeting before asking, "So do we have any idea where we are or how we got here?"

"Dunno how you got here," Rocket said as loud footfalls came from the corridor leading into their prison, "but I think you're about to find out where you are."

A veritable brigade of grey-unifromed guards entered the cell and began screaming at the group to get up. They slapped new, high-tech shackles on the six of them, and immediately Reed's body returned to normal and Ben seemed sapped of his strength. They were pushed down a hallway towards the bright sunlight outside. When there, Sue found herself in a gleaming colosseum filled with a vast assortment of alien races. They threw trash at the group and cursed at them as her and her friends were assembled on a podium.

The crowd cheered as horn instruments played a fanfare and a large curtain opened on an elevated platform opposite where Sue now stood. As it revealed its contents, she saw a hulking, yellow alien dressed in fine purpl garb stand and wave to the crowd. He came to the edge of the platform and stared at the six prisoners before sweeping his arm to the people, "Citizens! Welcome to the Arena! Today we will see these six exotic creatures fight for their survival as they are hunted by the Arena's greatest champion...DRAAGA!"

On the other side of the lower platform, across from the six prisoners, rose a terrifying visage. Grey-skinned, massive, and dressed in nothing but barbarian garb, Draaga appeared and raised his axe to the crowd, who went wild with bloodlust. Draaga's body was strong, but covered in scars from his many battles.

"The contest will last a glaactic standard day," the leader continued, "if any of these cunning beings manage to survive that time, they will be spared. For that is the law of Warworld and your compasionate and caring leader Mongul!"

Sue looked around in panic as the crowd chanted Mongul's name.

 

[Carnage27]

Gotham City Hall​

The Batmobile screeched to a halt outside the opulent city government building, ripping up the grass of the well manicured park surrounding it. The building was not yet burning. That was good. The bad thing was he had no idea where to look for the Firebug and whether or not the maniac had already set the thermite bomb that would melt the flesh off of him if it detonated anywhere near Wayne.​

"Oracle," Batman spoke to the computer, "scan the building's security cameras and tell me where Rigger is. I'm going in."​

"Affirmative, Batman."​

The cockpit of the car slid open, and Bruce sprung out, landing quietly beside the vehicle. Once he was clear, the Batmobile locked itself down, ensuring no one would be able to get into it. Bruce had the car synched to his biometric levels. Any other person that attempted access would be shocked into unconsciousness.​

Batman fired his grapnel to the roof of the hall, ascending like a bolt. He landed on the limestone facade of the building with a dull thud, opening a skylight and dropping down into the second floor. The building was dark and quite, which put Bruce on edge. Each creak of an old floorboard or drafty breeze had him ready to attack Rigger. Wayne found it odd there were no guards on the premises to be found. If Cobblepot was as dirty as Bruce suspected he was, the vigilante figured the halls would be swarming with guards protecting the mayor's potential secrets. It was possible, of course, that Oswald was merely confident enough in his standing that he didn't believe he needed them.​

"Batman, the arsonist is in the city council chambers," ORACLE reported.​

"Copy," Batman responded and made his way there. Bruce had toured this building many times as a youth. Its history, as with the history of Gotham, was fascinating. Parts of it, including the council hall, had stood since the city's founding in the early days of the British colonies in America. It had seen witch trials, arguments over slavery, civil rights, and other important issues before falling into the hands of corruption and crime. Gotham wasn't always the den of crime it was today. No, at one time it was a welcoming beacon for settlers, immigrants, and all those that sought freedom. Bruce hoped it could be that again.​

Coming to the second floor entrance to the council chambers, Batman stopped before opening the door. He didn't know how Rigger worked, but there was a good chance he could have booby-trapped these entrances. He searched for another means of ingress. He spotted on after noticing an air duct running into the meeting place. Wayne slid into it and emerged from the other side silently.​

The smell of old wood met Bruce's nose as he crept quietly around the viewing area looking down on the council floor. The area had been refurbished many times, but Gotham was keen on keeping the history of the city intact. Even though the current version was probably only a few decades old, it smelled like it was centuries older.​

Below, amid the desks and chairs of the Gotham city council was a man clad in armor tinkering with a device. Bruce could tell the Firebug was wearing gear that would protect him from the intense heat of a fire. It was something like a firefighter uniform, but lighter and added protection. The arsonist for hire was certainly committed to his work. Still, Batman knew he'd have to be well clear of the bomb before detonation. That was his opportunity.​

The Dark Knight stayed in the shadows and watched as his target left the room before he leapt down to the first floor. He approached the bomb with caution, worried that a slight move may set it off. Luckily, he found that it was well made. Rigger was a professional through and through. But what he also noticed behind the bomb took him aback. There, hogtied and ready to be roasted alive were the guards Bruce had expected. Rigger had left them awake to die. Batman assured them, "Relax. You're going to be okay."​

He inspected the bomb again, noticing the firing cap was to be set off electronically. Bruce smiled to himself, pulling a small device off his belt, he attached it to the electrical control. The small EMP would render any signal given to the bomb null and void, ensuring it wouldn't go off. With the bomb neutralized, Batman proceeded to stalk his prey.​

Following Firebug down the hallway, Batman slunk stealthily until he found the villain near the front door of City Hall, laughing to himself. From his belt, Rigger pulled the detonator and pressed the plunger. When nothing happened, Batman taunted, "Disappointed?"​

Firebug spun on his heels, flung his arms up, and released a stream of fire from his suit towards the vigilante. Bruce rolled out of the way. As he came out of his roll, he chucked a bola from his belt around Firebug's legs, sending the attacker hard to the ground. He sprung off the balls of his feet, landed on Rigger, and ripped the flamethrowers from his wrists. In the same motion, he tied Firebug's hands to ensure he didn't go for any other weapons as well as unmasked him.​

"You're done, Rigger," Batman growled. "You're going to rot for all the people you killed."​

"What do you care, Bat?" he spat back. "I made your job a little easier."​

"You killed innocent people," was the vigilante's response. "That's all that matters."​

"Innocent people?" Firebug laughed. "You just don't get it, Batman. This is only the beginning."​

"It's the end for you," Bruce said simply. From outside, he saw the lights of the approaching police cruisers. He left Rigger to them and went back to the Batmobile. When he got there, he found a small, green package outside. It was wrapped in a purple bow and adorned with question marks. A quick scan revealed the inside contained nothing but a simple USB flash drive. Bruce picked up the box, entered the vehicle, and plotted his next destination.​

**********

​

Gotham Major Crimes Unit

"Who hired you?" Lieutenant Gordon asked Joe Rigger who was now dressed in a prison uniform instead of his high tech fire suit. The Gotham bomb squad was busy ensuring the device he had left at city hall was disarmed completely. Batman had delivered Rigger as he promised Kane he would, but so far Firebug wasn't being as cooperative.

"Someone who could afford me," Joe smiled.

"Cute," Gordon rolled his eyes. Rigger wanted a deal here, Jim was sure of it. "Listen, I can't promise you anything. You pissed off a lot of powerful people in Gotham. I'm sure you know that. I'm sure you know hoe this town works, too. If you stay here, you're as good as plant food. But if you work with us, I'll send you to FBI custody away from the people in Gotham that no doubt want you dead."

"Now that is what I wanted to hear, Lieutenant," Firebug chuckled deeply. "You scratch my back and I scratch yours."

"So?" Jim shifted uneasily in his chair. "Your employer?"

"Franco Bertinelli," Rigger responded quickly. "His man came to me. Dunno how someone from Gotham found me, but I don't ask many questions. Franco's man said he was looking to move up in Gotham's food chain and needed help. They wired me the money and a list of targets. Then I got to work."

**********​

Gotham Public Library

Bruce sat in the chair in front of one of the computers at the public library and inserted the jump drive into the CPU's USB port. He was too cautious to put something so suspicious in one of his own units. It more than likely contained a virus or tracking algorithm that could lead an enemy to his identity.​

As the computer booted up, the drive's programming took over and on the screen appeared one of the question marks from the box, and a voice repeated, "No legs have I to dance, No lungs have I to breathe, No life have I to live or die And yet I do all three. What am I?"​

Batman thought for a minute before saying, "A fire."

The screen flickered for a second before the question mark was replaced by the silhouette of a skinny man in a hat, "Well done, Batman. Though I have to assume that was an easy one for you."

"Who are you?" Batman grilled the man. "How did you know where I'd be?"

"Using a public computer. Clever," the man ignored the vigilante's questions. "You are going to be a fun one."

"Answer me," Bruce was angry.

"Oh please," the other laughed, "your strongman, creature of the night, fear mongering doesn't work over a screen, Batman. I knew where you'd be because information is my trade. As for my name, you can call me Mister Reese."

That made the light go off in Bruce's head, "The Riddler. Enigma. You're a criminal information broker."

"You've heard of me. I'm flattered," Riddler bowed. "I"m sure you want to know why I'm here. I'm here because Gotham is about to be thrown into the fires of chaos. Chaos isn't good for business, Batman."

"So what?" Bruce was confused. "You work internationally. What does Gotham mean to you."

​

"It means everything, Batman," the Riddler became more serious. "The Firebug was just the beginning. As we speak there are elements in this city to turn Rigger's fire into a nuclear explosion that will consume the world if its allowed to burn unchecked. The war that is coming to this city will affect all, and it will shape the face of crime in the twenty-first century. I want to see that new face. But my question is, Batman, are you really ready? Blood will run red in the streets. Gotham will crumble before it can be built again. Are you really ready for everything this city will throw at you? At your family? At your friends? Because it will. It's going to test you. It's going to rip you apart if you're not ready, and I'm not going to throw my support in your corner if you're not."

Batman had no idea what Riddler was going on about. He was a man fighting the mob and corruption, nothing more. He knew things would get violent, but Bruce thought Enigma's warning was completely overblown.

"You're damn right I'm ready," he snarled.

"Good. I'll be in touch."​

The feed was cut, and a surge from the USB drive fried the public computer, covering the Riddler's tracks.

**********​

Gotham Major Crimes Unit

Detective Kane waited pantiently for Batman on the roof of Major Crimes. She had sent what she hoped was a coded message across the police scanners. It was a bunch of nonsense to anyone listening, but Bruce got it loud and clear.

"Detective," a voice came from behind her that made her jump out of her skin.

"Can't you ever just say 'hi'?" she yelled at the vigilante.

Before Batman could ask, Gordon stepped out of the shadows. Bruce cursed himself for not being more careful. He knew he'd eventually have to speak with Gordon, but he was hoping that would come later in his fight. The waves of doubt radiated from the head of Major Crimes, "You're a hard man to reach."

"Sometimes," Bruce answered stiffly.

"Can you say more than one word at a time?" Gordon asked impatiently.

"Did Rigger give you a name?" Batman demanded.

"Bertinelli," Detective Kane answered.

He would have been lying if he didn't say he was slightly taken aback. The Bertinellis weren't the type to pull something like this. His intel didn't say they had gotten this desperate. After his interaction with the Riddler, he was especially wary, "That doesn't fit their MO."

"Not at all," Gordon agreed. "But I gave him a deal. He gave me a name. I need to trace the lead."

"Putting that out there puts Bertinelli and his family in a shallow grave," Batman responded. "Can you keep this in Major Crimes?"

"Not if I'm going to get into bank records to chase down the money," Gordon shook his head. "I'll need DA authorization for that."

Batman sighed, but knew what he had to do. There was only one man to trust in the DA's office, "Harvey Dent. Don't involve anyone else. Understood?"

Gordon wanted to say no, Bruce could feel it. But he also felt something reawakened in the old cop, and that was a sense of hope and the spirit to fight. Jim had always done things by the book, but Gotham had changed. The Batman was most likely the best way to get things done whether he liked it or not.

"Understood," Jim finally nodded.

"Good," was all that was heard as Batman retreated back into the night.​

 

[Morden Man]

Angela and I lie in bed breathlessly. I look at her body and smile. Though she’s glistening with sweat, she’s never been more beautiful to me than she is at this moment. How could I ever have been so stupid as to risk all of this?

“That was incredible.”

I push a strand of her out of her face and kiss her on her forehead.

“You’re incredible.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re just saying that because of the pheromones.”

“I mean it, Angela. I know I’ve been a little distant over the past couple of weeks and that’s not been easy for you, but I feel like we really turned a corner tonight.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.”

She stares at me with a broad smile that lets me know that she appreciates me opening up for once. It has been a difficult couple of weeks for us. We’ve been spending less and less time together since Angela started at The Bugle and everything that’s been happening at the gym has made being around me a chore, I’m sure. I’m going to change that.

I stand up from bed and reach for my boxer shorts, pulling them on as I walk towards the hallway.

“You want anything from the kitchen?”

Angela smiles.

“Some water would be nice.”

I feel my way down the hallway in the dark, holding my hand against the wall as I walk, and eventually find my way to the kitchen. All those hours Dad spent trying to convince me to eat my vegetables so that I could “see in the dark” were obviously wasted – I can barely see a thing. I fumble about for a glass and run the tap for a few seconds before I start to fill it up.

“I was thinking we could maybe go to that new restaurant that opened up across town at the weekend? You know the one with the cute little serving girls? I was talking to Ben at work today and he said it’s meant to be pretty nice there.”

Ben? Before I have a chance to ask I notice movement out of the corner of my eye on the street below. There’s a car parked opposite Angela’s apartment that I don’t recognise with two people inside. It’s too dark to see their faces, but something about it makes me feel uncomfortable.

“Sure thing.”

I shake my head and take a mouthful of water before heading back to the bedroom.

“Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? I have you, don’t I?”

I lean over and kiss her forehead again as she takes a sip out of the glass. Once she’s done, she places the glass on her bedside table and leans in to me and rests her head on my chest.

“You’re so sweet.”

********​

Ted and I start shutting up the gym after another long day at work. As we do so he tries to engage with me in the normal banter about Angela, having kids, marriage, and everything else under the sun. Today I’m not in the mood. The other night has put things into perspective. In getting caught up in that mess with Austin’s dad and the pleasure I had taken in beating the crap out of him, I’d lost sight of what’s important to me. The people I loved.

What if I wasn’t imagining things last night? What if that car was something? My being here puts Ted and the kids at risk. I know it was probably nothing and I thought I’d extinguished the thought from my mind at the time, but the thought has dogged me ever since.

“You’ve been walking around on eggshells all day, kid. What’s wrong?”

I know what I have to say, I know what I need to do, but it almost hurts for me to say the words.

“I was thinking about maybe taking some time away from the gym, given everything, and doing something else for a bit.”

Ted’s face shifts from a look of fatherly concern into one of utter shock. For as long as I can remember I’ve seen Ted every day of the week, been there to help him open up in the mornings, and help him close up at night.

“What? Why the hell would you want to do that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been working here in one shape or another for the past decade. Maybe a change of scenery would be good for me.”

I can tell from the look on Ted’s face that the prospect of having to run this place alone isn’t one that appeals to him. For his age Ted is in pretty good shape as you’d expect from a man that spent the best part of four decades in a boxing ring. It wasn’t his body that let him down so much as his mind, as he’d got older the “grey moments” as he’d call them came more and more often. Nothing serious, but serious enough that Ted had slowly begun trying to hand over the reins.

“Have you spoken to Angela about this?”

I shake my head.

“I can’t speak to Angela about it.”

“Let me guess: you failed to mention your little run-in with Austin’s dad? Is that what this is really about?”

As always, Ted sees straight through my façade. Sometimes I underestimate how well he knows me.

“The other night night whilst I was at Angela’s I could have sworn I saw a car sitting on the place. Two guys. I couldn’t make out their faces. What if it had something to do with Cao? If whoever that was can find me there, they can sure as Hell find me here.”

Ted shakes his head matter-of-factly and places his hand on my shoulder.

“You’re being paranoid. If Cao was a somebody you’d be in the ground already. You need to calm down, stop chasing shadows, and get on with your life.”

If only it were that easy.

“You’re probably right," I say with a sigh. "I just have a bad feeling about this.”

“What else are you going to do? Hell’s Kitchen is all you know, Murdock. It’s all your father knew and all his father knew before him. One day I’ll be in the ground, you’ll be running this place, and this whole thing will be a distant memory.”

I smile unconvincingly at the sentiment.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Ted said with a pat of my side. “Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

It wasn’t much of a pep talk, but I couldn’t argue with most of it. Hell’s Kitchen is my home and boxing has been my calling for as long as I remember. If I left Wildcat’s it wouldn’t be long before Ted was overwhelmed by the workload, I’d probably be unable to find work elsewhere, and Angela would end up leaving me for some big shot lawyer whose paycheck might actually help her make rent at the end of the month.

Get on with your life and stop worrying about nothing, Murdock. You've got it pretty good at the moment.

 

[Byrd Man]

Harry S Truman Building
Foggy Bottom, Washington, DC


"What are the cliff notes on Genoshsa?"

US Secretary of State Robert Kelly leaned back in his office chair and threw a baseball up into the air with his right hand, catching it barehanded in his left before repeating the process. Gathered around his desk were four members of his personal staff and the four highest-ranking members of State's African Affairs Bureau.

"It's not a country per say," said one of the staffers. "Genosha is the old name of a small island chain three hundred miles northeast of Madagascar. It was once a patchwork collection of tribal islands all linked together in a loose confederation until the French colonized it."

"So who owns it now?" Kelly asked without looking away from the baseball sailing through the air.

"The French own all the islands together under a prefecture. The islands have their own governments and elect themselves with French oversight."

"Dammit. I hate dealing with the French foreign minister, he's a close-talker with halitosis. Before I give him a call, run me through the details as we know them."

"For the past two years the Genosha island chain have been a hotbed of mutant protests. While the islands themselves have a combined populations of nearly a half million, nearly a quarter of that figure are believed to be mutants. The human governments have been anti-mutant for years, treating mutants like second class citizens and denying them certain rights. It's started to boil over into protests and violent--"

"Yeah, yeah,"Kelly said with a handwave. "Escalation, crackdowns. Time for the US to drop its dick on the table and chide some people. Got it. I'll make the call to France and voice my concerns, see if they can step in. That'll be all, thank you. Rita? If you could stay behind?"

The staffers scuttled out of the room. Kelly laid his baseball on the desk and looked towards the phone beside it.

"What should I say?" he asked, looking up at the young woman left behind.

The young, blonde woman smiled and removed her glasses. The image of a mousy looking woman in a conservative business suit faded away, leaving a curvy woman in skin-tight leather.

"You'll tell the French exactly what I want you to tell them," Mastermind said with a purr. "And if you're a good boy, we'll have playtime afterwards."

She sauntered around the desk and climbed into Kelly's lap. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear.

"Are you going to be a good boy, Mr. Secretary?"[

"The best," Kelly said with a dopey grin.

******​

Xavier's School for Higher Learning
Westchester, NY


Scott Summers paced down the hall of the school's sub-basement. Jean Grey and Buddy Baker leaned against the wall and watched Scott pace.

"Have we considered Sugar Man's lying?" Buddy asked with a raised eyebrow. "You know, that what a bad guy does..."

"He's looking for Sugar Man too, Buddy. But he's looking for Magneto as well on the off chance Sugar Man happens to tell the truth. Even if mutants are a minority it takes time to find a needle in a stack of needles."

Jean looked towards Scott.

~I understand your anger, Scott.~

~I'm not angry, I'm anxious. Get out of my head.~

~Don't lie to a telepath, honey, especially one that doesn't need telepathy to catch your mood.~

~That's the second time Sugar Man has beaten us. The first time it was understandable, we were raw and green back then. Now, with all of us trained and with so much at stake, we lay an egg... I lay an egg, and it could cost us everything.~

~Don't beat yourself up over this, Scott. We could have beaten Sugar Man, but he didn't fight fair. That doesn't diminish your abilities to lead us. Keep your confidence up.~

"Just FYI, guys. Your whole having a secret psychic conversation loses its secretiveness if you both stop and stare at each other in silently."

The door leading into the Cerebro chamber opened up with a hydraulic hiss. Xavier strode out and towards the three X-Men waiting for him down the corridor.

"I couldn't find Sugar Man, and Erik is wearing his helmet... but I found Bolt. And wherever Bolt is, Erik is not far away."

"Where are they?"

"Africa."

*****​

La Digue Island
Genosha Island Chain



The small group of mutants huddled around a radio in the shack they called their base of operations. They were each dirty and bloody, bruises and cuts all over their bodies. As raggedy as they were they were the most successful group of anti-government protesters on the island. The mutants in the four island chains were all finally fighting back from the brutal government that treated them like animals.

<The state police in Nosy Be captured sixteen of our brothers today,> the radio operator said in French. <They are scheduled to be executed for treason. They are martyrs for the cause. Their executions will be a national holiday when the new mutant government rules these islands-->

<Turn it off,> one of the mutants said, shaking his head. <I cannot listen to anymore of this bull****>

<Sixteen mutants are going to die today,> one of the others asked, getting in his friend's face. <Does that mean anything to you?>

<We were once sixteen, yes? Then we were thirteen, then ten, and now six. Tomorrow we will be less, and less. They are winning, they will win. It is only a matter of time.>

<What if I could offer hope?> one of the others asked.

They turned and stared at the man. He was the newcomer of the group, an American who spoke French and even the obscure dialects of the island. He was middle-aged and paunchy looking. He told them his mutation was an ever-evolving intelligence. Nobody believed him until he fashioned a working single shot pistol out of a kitchen sink.

<What if I told you that I have friends elsewhere who are watching and waiting to join our fight? My name... it was Dr. James Bradley, I used to be a doctor in America. I tried to fight for our race the only way I knew how and I was arrested and accused of crimes against humanity. I was freed form my prison by my friends and I renamed myself Nemesis after the god of vengeance.>

<What can you hope to offer, old man?!> the younger mutant spat back. <Who can you possibly send to help us?>

Nemesis smiled and pulled a metal disc from his pocket. The others in the group gasped when they saw the black M on the field of blood red.

<Magneto sends his regards, gentlemen. Welcome to the Brotherhood of Mutants.>

 

[Eddie Brock]

"Bartholomew Henry Allen!"

The young boy with a mop of blonde hair perks up at the sound of his full name. Holding his breath, he fumbles with the flashlight momentarily before extinguishing it with a soft "click." The scramble is too little, too late, however, as the room beyond the sheets pulled over his head is suddenly bathed in light. Sheepishly, the young Barry Allen crawls out from beneath the blanket fort he had constructed for himself.

Leaning against the now open doorway, arms folded across her chest, stands Nora Allen, Barry's mother. She shares the same golden blonde hair as her son, and the look in her eyes makes it clear that she's in a no-nonsense mood. Arching a single eyebrow accusingly at Barry, she announces, "You were supposed to be asleep fifteen minutes ago." Before the boy can open his mouth to protest, Nora holds up a dismissive hand. "I don't want to hear it, Barry. I do not want to be rushing around tomorrow morning all because you overslept after staying up all night."

Realizing there's no way to win the argument, Barry merely hangs his head. "Okay, Mom," he answers in a resigned tone.

Nora's stern expression softens slightly. "Okay," she agrees, allowing herself a smile. She unfolds her arms and stands up straight. "I'll see you in the morning, then." She turns for the door as her hand finds the light switch on the wall. "Good night, Barry. I love you."

"I love you, too," Barry replies. He sinks back onto his bed, grabbing at the discarded sheets and pulling them tight around his shoulders. Moments after he closes his eyes, the room is cloaked in darkness once more as the lights go out. Barry listens as his mother closes the door. He waits to hear her footsteps fading away softly as she makes her way down the hall. After what feels like an eternity of waiting, he bounces back up and throws the sheets over his head.

Upon finding the flashlight, Barry clicks it on and returns to his hidden trove: a small stack of vintage comic books sealed in plastic bags. Sitting cross-legged, Barry fans out the collection of comics, admiring the colorful covers which adorn the front page. The images have begun to fade slightly; some comics have small tears and creases. These once belonged to Barry's grandfather, who collected them during the War. For a long time, Barry wasn't even allowed to touch them. It wasn't until he was old enough to appreciate their fragility and importance that Henry, Barry's father, allowed his son to open the plastic bags and read the stories contained within.

By this point, Barry had read and re-read the stories so often that he could recount them from memory. Yet they fascinated him all the same. Barry's favorites were the ones which told the exploits of Captain America and the Invaders. As he traces his finger across the fan of comics at his feet, Barry remembers the famous faces as clearly as though they were his own family.

Namor the Sub-Mariner. A strange, pointy-eared man who often ran into battle wearing little more than a swimsuit. Yet Namor was strong enough to lift a German Panzer tank above his head, and bullets bounced off him as though he were made of lead.

Union Jack. The British response to Captain America. Strong, fast, and incredibly agile. Rushing the front lines with a dagger on his hip and a Webley .455 pistol in his hand, it was often said that there was no surer shot working with the Allies.

Doctor Fate. An enigma in a golden helmet and matching cape. This master of the mystical arts often flew across the battlefield, raining down spells and all manner of arcane power on the Axis forces.

The Flash. Wearing a winged helmet and boots in honor of the Roman god Mercury, the Flash lived up to his name, streaking across enemy lines quicker than the lightning bolt which adorned his chest. The Flash was the fastest man ever born.

Hawkman. A winged wonder who was every bit as fierce as he looked. Hawkman would swoop down from the skies, terrorizing the Invaders' enemies from above with his mighty mace in hand.

Bucky Barnes, the Star-Spangled Kid. Whenever Barry would play pretend at being one of the Invaders, he would always choose Bucky. His friends often teased him for it, but Barry didn't care. As far as he was concerned, Bucky was the luckiest member of the Invaders. Why? Because all throughout the War, he got to fight alongside...

Captain America. The greatest hero that ever lived. A true sentinel of liberty who ran headlong into battle, taking on all comers with his indestructible shield. Captain America was the embodiment of everything a hero should be: fearless, loyal, and ultimately self-sacrificing. He gave his life to foil a Nazi plot to destroy the world, and in doing so gave kids like Barry the chance to grow up and idolize him.

With a smile on his face, Barry reaches for one of the Captain America comics at his feet. In it, Captain America and the Star-Spangled Kid infiltrate a Nazi compound to stop the infamous Red Skull from opening a portal to a dimension filled with hideous monsters. Just as Barry is gently sliding the comic free of its plastic containment, he hears a loud crash coming from inside his house.

"NORA!"

Barry jumps at the sound of his father yelling. Dropping the flashlight immediately, Barry scrambles out of bed and onto his feet. He shuffles over to his bedroom door, all the while listening to continued sounds of crashing and dull thuds that seem to be coming from downstairs. Barry throws open the door, shielding his eyes momentarily from the bright lights in the upstairs hallway. The moment his door is opened, Barry hears all the commotion at full volume. Behind it all, there's a faint "whoosing" sound - almost like someone left a window open on a particularly windy night.

Barry descends the stairs cautiously. By the time he reaches the bottom, the house has gone silent. He turns the corner into the foyer which connects all the major rooms in the house. Immediately, it's clear that something has gone wrong. There's shattered glass all along the floor from some broken window somewhere, one of the houseplants has been knocked over, and there are various papers and clothes scattered around the hall. As Barry steps carefully towards the living room, he realizes that the house isn't completely silent.

He can hear his father sobbing.

Tiptoeing around some broken glass, Barry finally comes to the doorway which opens onto the living room. It has fared no better than the hallway, it seems. The couch has been overturned. Various knick-knacks have been knocked off the mantle above the fireplace. The curtains have fallen down on one side, pooling lifelessly on the floor. And there, at the center of it all, Henry Allen kneels, cradling the lifeless body of his wife. He's so distraught that he hadn't heard Barry's approaching footsteps.

Though he's still young, it doesn't take Barry long to realize what he's seeing. His mother's head hangs, unresisting, at an awkward angle. Her eyes are half-shut, her mouth agape as though silently screaming. In the distance, Barry recognizes the sound of approaching sirens - though he can hardly hear them over the pounding of his own heart. And when Barry's father finally turns to look at him, tears streaming down his face, it's more than the young boy can take. He spins on his heel and dashes for the front door. He throws it open and stumbles out onto the street, where a crowd of concerned onlookers has begun to gather.

Then, just as he feels the heat of tears welling in his eyes, Barry Allen begins to run...

 

[Morden Man]

It was Friday night. At Wildcat&#8217;s Gym that meant it was pizza night. It was an initiative Ted and I had started two years ago that seemed to have done some good. We set up a projector in the gym and, whether you trained at the gym or not, you could come buy for a couple of slices of pizza. It had proved to be a pretty expensive venture, as homeless people from all across Hell&#8217;s Kitchen tended to show up for the pizza and leave, but it helped to keep some of the boys out of trouble too. To boys like Austin whose father&#8217;s liked a drink more than they should Friday night was always the worst. Now they had somewhere to go where all of that couldn&#8217;t affect them. Some people look forward to leaving work on Friday night, I look forward to staying at work.

Week by week we&#8217;d take it in turns deciding which film we&#8217;d watch. This week it was Ted&#8217;s choice. That meant, much to the boy&#8217;s chagrin, a black and white film called &#8220;Paths of Glory&#8221; with Kirk Douglas in it. They chattered amongst themselves whilst scoffing down pizza, trading stories about their weeks and talking about the weekend ahead. It brought a smile to my face to see them so relaxed after the week we&#8217;d had. Ted on the other hand was teeming with frustration at the hubbub going on throughout his favourite film.

&#8220;No respect,&#8221; he muttered. &#8220;Absolutely no respect. This is Kirk Douglas here, the man&#8217;s a legend, and you boys are more interested in talking amongst yourselves. You don&#8217;t know what you&#8217;re missing.&#8221;

The boys turn to me confused and I shrug in bemusement. Ted loved movies. For a man that had grew up in Hell&#8217;s Kitchen too poor for the movies and without a television, his taste in them was surprisingly eclectic. He&#8217;d wax lyrical about the merits of Stanley Kubrick and Alfred Hitchcock if you ever gave him the chance.

Sat on the edge of the ring with a slice of pizza in hand, I smile broadly as a sense of achievement washes over me. I hadn&#8217;t done badly for a high school dropout with a criminal record. I&#8217;d given back some, tried to help some people where I could along the way, and even though I was the only living Murdock, I&#8217;d constructed a family all of my own here. Ted had fed me, housed me, tried his best to keep my nose clean, and here I was in one piece. Miles, Tom, and the boys adored him despite how hard he rode them in the ring and his strange choice in movies. Things with Angela were looking up and even though Foggy and I had left things on a bad note I knew I could always count on him. Austin would be out of the hospital soon too.

How could I leave this? Why would anyone ever want to? This was my home, the people in this room were my family, and the future was bright. That&#8217;s all that mattered.

At least until I heard the footsteps.

The sound of three sets of footsteps making their way towards the entrance of the gym breaks me from my ruminations. In the pit of my stomach a sensation I can only describe as pure dread comes over me. I know why the three men are here before they&#8217;re even through the door and there&#8217;s nothing I can do about it. There&#8217;s nowhere I can run.

First through the door is a tall black man with unkempt hair and an uneven smile, followed by a man as large as I&#8217;ve ever seen wearing a wooly hat, behind both of them comes Austin Cao&#8217;s father bearing a venomous grin. My chickens have finally come home to roost.

&#8220;We&#8217;re looking for Matt Murdock.&#8221;

Ted stands up from his seat.

&#8220;He&#8217;s not here.&#8221;

The light from the projector shines directly in his face as he beckons some of the boys to stand behind him. He knows as well as I do what this is, he knows why they&#8217;re here, and he knows they&#8217;ll see through his feeble attempt at lying. I climb down from the ring and clear my throat.

&#8220;It&#8217;s fine, Ted. I can handle this.&#8221;

The men turn in my direction and I see the venomous grin on Cao&#8217;s face stretch even broader as he lays his eyes on me. Several of his teeth were missing, there were scabbed over scrape marks over his face, and he was sporting two black eyes. He wasn&#8217;t a pretty sight before our encounter and from the looks of it was even less of one now, but that spiteful grin was still there.

&#8220;I almost didn&#8217;t recognise you there without your hat on,&#8221; Cao said with a laugh. &#8220;Then again, it&#8217;s better to be short a hat than eight teeth. I wonder how many I&#8217;d be left with if the police hadn&#8217;t arrived when they did?&#8221;

&#8220;You put a thirteen year old boy in the hospital. You&#8217;re lucky I left you with any at all.&#8221;

Cao rolls his eyes at the reference. I mention his thirteen year old son sat in a hospital bed somewhere, a hospital bed that he put him in, and the best he can do is roll his eyes. He certainly is a piece of work.

&#8220;There you go again telling me how to discipline my own son,&#8221; Cao says with a grin. &#8220;My associates here are Turk and Grotto. You might remember Turk from that night at Josie&#8217;s.&#8221;

Neither Turk nor Grotto is familiar to me. Had I seen Turk&#8217;s messy before I&#8217;m sure I&#8217;d remember it and Grotto was the amongst the muscliest human beings I&#8217;d ever seen in my life, there&#8217;s no way I&#8217;d seen either of them. I think back to the car sat outside of Angela&#8217;s that night and the two figures obscured by darkness and wonder whether it was them. It had to be. Who could it have been?

&#8220;I can&#8217;t say that I do.&#8221;

&#8220;I was the one that put the gun to that cracka head of yours,&#8221; Turk says, pulling a gun from his waistband. &#8220;Looked kinda like this one here, if I remember correctly.&#8221;

Turk points the gun in my direction and I lift my hands into the air with a grimace.

&#8220;Ah.&#8221;

There&#8217;s an audible gasp from the boys, Ted stands in front of them and shields them protectively as Turk thumbs the trigger of the gun with a smile. There&#8217;s something about him, the way he talks and carries himself, it&#8217;s clear that he&#8217;s the one in charge here. Cao&#8217;s a pawn in all of this and Turk is middle management.

&#8220;There&#8217;s no need for violence,&#8221; Ted says, his voice shaking. &#8220;We can work something out here.&#8221;

Grotto crunches his knuckles and places a finger against his lips. From a man as big as he is it&#8217;s worth a thousand words from the other two&#8217;s lips. I didn&#8217;t know what they intended to do with me, but something told me that Grotto&#8217;s fists and my face were going to become acquainted soon.

&#8220;The children don&#8217;t need to see this. Let them leave, Turk.&#8221;

Turk looks across at them and smiles.

&#8220;No, they can stay and watch. See what happens when some daredevil thinks he can undermine Mr. Slaughter&#8217;s authority by beating on one of his men.&#8221;

There&#8217;s no doubt in my mind that I try to run they&#8217;ll shoot me where I stand. If somehow I manage to make it past them and away from there I don&#8217;t doubt that they have the resources to find me again, where I do end up hiding. And if somehow they don&#8217;t they&#8217;ll come back here and torch the place to the ground, probably with Ted and the boys inside. Running isn&#8217;t an option.

I smile in Ted&#8217;s direction, the light of the projector still flickering across his face, and walk towards Turk and Grotto with my hands in the air without a word. Whatever is about to happen is going to hurt. But I&#8217;m not afraid.

Turk lands the first punch. It&#8217;s hard, but I&#8217;ve taken harder before. It knocks me back a step or two but I stay on my feet in time for the next one, Grotto this time. His punches hit like a freight train and I&#8217;m knocked to my knees, blood pouring from my mouth. I look up at them and smile defiantly without saying a word and am greeted with a knee to the face from Cao, then another, then another, before I fall to the ground completely.

"Please stop!&#8221;

Miles voice cuts through the beating.

&#8220;You&#8217;ll shut your mouth, kid, or you&#8217;ll be next.&#8221;

Turk lifts his gun in Miles&#8217; direction. Miles falls silent in an instance. I reach a bloody hand up to Turk&#8217;s trouser leg and tug on it to try to take his attention away from Miles. It works. The beating begins again, they laugh as they take turns to rain blows down on me. There is no respite. Grotto lifts me onto my feet and holds me up whilst Cao punches me in the stomach repeatedly. I do my best to remain silent, not to cry out, to take the beating I&#8217;ve earned with a shred of dignity. That doesn&#8217;t last very long.

I&#8217;m bleeding now. Bleeding a lot. Turk hands his gun to Cao and Cao hits me repeatedly over the head with the butt of it. More blood, blood everywhere, more blood than I thought was possible. I think of all the lessons Ted and my father gave me as a child, all the times I stood ringside and watched unable to help them as they took beatings, and I whimper. Though I swore I wouldn&#8217;t, I whimper like a child from the pain.

Slowly the punches draw to an end. The same can&#8217;t be said of the pain. There is a clipping noise that I recognise as the sound of Turk&#8217;s shoes pacing the gym.

&#8220;Let that be a message to all of you. Eric Slaughter is the law in Hell&#8217;s Kitchen. That makes my associates and I here fully deputised lawmen. Should any of you so much as sneeze without Mr. Slaughter&#8217;s permission, we&#8217;ll be back for the rest of you. And I promise, we won&#8217;t be half as gentle as we were with Murdock here.&#8221;

The sounds of their voices are faint. I can barely hear them, barely hear anything, but warmth begins to envelope me and I figure it&#8217;s my own blood seeping out of me. It only takes a few seconds for the smell to hit me and I realise what&#8217;s happening. Grotto is stood over me urinating on me. I do my best to roll away from him, but I&#8217;m in so much pain that I can barely move. I think I&#8217;ve broken everything.

&#8220;Oh Grotto, really?&#8221;

Grotto laughs as he wiggles around with a grin and I can feel the warmth hitting my face and neck. There&#8217;s nothing I can do to stop him. I try to open one of my swollen eyes and through it see Ted standing there shielding the boys &#8211; his face is blood red with rage and his fists are clenched so tightly they&#8217;ve turned white. I shake my head softly in his direction to urge him to stay still and he gives me a resigned nod.

Grotto zips up his trousers and sends one of his heavy boots directly into my stomach. I&#8217;m in so much pain I can&#8217;t even cry out in pain anymore. He shrugs at my pained silence and looks toward Turk for direction. Turk wipes his bloody hands clean on a towel hanging from one of the boxing ring&#8217;s ropes and then looks around the gym. His eyes rest on the picture of my father in the corner of the gym and a wry smile appears on his face.

&#8220;Let&#8217;s get out of here. This place smells like old people.&#8221;

With that they&#8217;re gone. I hear the sound of their footsteps making their way outside, followed by car doors slamming shut and driving off into the distance. Through the pain I think I feel someone&#8217;s arms wrap around me and I feel Ted&#8217;s wrinkled hands holding my face close to his chest.

&#8220;It&#8217;s going to be okay,&#8221; Ted says, cradling me. &#8220;Please son, please, please don&#8217;t die on me. You&#8217;re all I have, Matt. Please stay with me.&#8221;

As my vision fades slowly and my blood begins to run cold it sets in that I&#8217;m dying. I&#8217;d never see Ted or Foggy again. Angela and I would never have move out of the city and have children as we&#8217;d planned to all those years ago. This is where it would end. All those dreams, all those hopes, would end in this pool of blood tonight. I swear, God, if you let me survive this I&#8217;ll do things differently from here on out. I&#8217;ll make it all right. Please.

 

[Carnage27]

Arena Designation L-W
Sector 73​

Before Sue could say anything, she was ripped from the colosseum where she stood and found herself mired up to the knees in muck. A thrash from next to her made her realize Rocket was submerged in the mud. She reached down and pulled, releasing the fury creature from a terrible end. He spat the remnants of slime out of his mouth, "Ugh. Thanks."​

In front of them, Mongul's face appeared out of thin air, "Hello, brave prey. You and your hunter have been transported to one of my many game reserves across the galaxy. You have a galactic standard day to try and survive my champion. If any of you manage to do so, you will be granted your life and your freedom. Good luck."​

Sue took the time to look at her surroundings. They had been deposited in a swamp filled with purple mud and a growth of sickly brown weeds. A few hundred yards away was a wood with trees of the same color, save for the occassional sight of a dull blue. The sky was a muted, dark green, but the air itself smelled fresh and clean. At least there was that.​

"An Einstein Rosen bridge," Reed mused, clearly not focused on the situation at hand. "Fascinating."​

"What are you babbling about?" Ben asked him.​

"An Einstein Rosen bridge," Sue responded. "Like our warp drive. But way more advanced."​

"That's because Warworld wasn't created by normal people," Rocket chimed in as he climed up onto Groot's shoulder and scraped the mud off his fur. "Only the Gods can use hyperspace to its full advantage."​

"Gods? What Gods?" Johnny's question was laced with disbelief.​

"What Gods? Where the hell are you from?"​

"Terra," Reed responded, finally in the moment.​

"Terrans? Ugh, I hate Terrans," Rocket moaned.​

"I am Groot." Even the tree seemed to stick his nose up at them after that realization.​

"Come on, Groot," the raccoon patted his companion on the head. "Maybe if we get away from these losers we have a chance to survive. Draaga'll be too busy killing them to find us."​

As the tree lumbered through the swamp towards the tree line, Sue called out, "You can't just leave! We'd have a better chance sticking together!"​

"Trust me lady," Rocket called back, "we wouldn't!"​

"Bastard," Johnny spat where the two had stood moments before. "So what do we do? We need to survive one galactic standard day. How the hell long is that?"​

"It's about 48 hours," Reed said matter-of-factly. He still seemed to be off in his own little world over how they had been transported here so efficiently. Sue, on the other hand, wanted to know how he knew so much about alien cultures.​

"And how do you know that, Reed?" she interrogated him. "And how did you know Earth was called Terra here?"​

"I don't have time to explain," he shook his head. "We need a plan for now. The rest will have to wait."​

"Fine," Sue agreed. She would get the information she wanted out of Reed later. For now they needed to survive this maniac's game. "Ben, you have the most survival experience. What do we do?"​

"Head for the trees like them," Grimm commented. He had survived months in Iraq behind enemy lines after his plane was shot down. That experience would mean everything to them here. "We'll need to find shelter. Maybe some sort of food and fresh water, if there is any. Those are the three most important things."​

"You heard the man," Sue followed the path Groot made in the mud. "Let's move."​

 

[Andy C.]

​

"Keep your eyes open, boys," shouted Captain Federov over the roar of the diesel engine underneath them. "We still don't know exactly what we're looking for."

Above and behind him, Private Savinski sat atop the turret of the massive Russian T-90, his eyes scanning the dense forest on either side of the road as he nervously swept the barrel of the massive 12.7mm heavy machine gun in a slow arc in search of targets.

Earlier that morning, the 3rd Symkarian Armored Division moved in to enforce their presence in the Hassenwood region, a contested area on the border with neighboring Latveria. Latverian soldiers, spurred on by the madman who now sat on their throne, had been responsible for multiple incursions across the border, attempting to break the treaty between the two nations and claim the land as their own.

Negotiations between the nations had failed, and the Symkarian Parliament voted unanimously to mobilize their armed forces in preparation for conflict.

The 3rd Division's orders were to establish a perimeter along the border and repel any opposition along the way. However, they had been intercepted before reaching their destination. Their last received transmission was a garbled call for reinforcements, as well as a report of heavy casualties, before communications were jammed completely.

Hence, Private Yorgei Savinski, barely nineteen years old, found himself on the machine gun of a second-hand Russian tank, part of a column sent deep into the Hassenwood to avenge their comrades.


"What the hell do the Latverians have out there?" Yorgei thought out loud. "They were always just gypsies and sheep-farmers."

"It's got something to do with that new Lord Protector of theirs," said Kresimir from the left-forward hatch. "Latvies were always cowards in a fight, but this Doom guy.....I hear he never appears in public without that mask. And that he impales his political enemies, like Vlad Tepes did."

"Enough with the chatter," Federov chided his men. "The Latvies are just men, and their leader is a lunatic, not a bogeyman or--"

Savinski had the breath punched out of him from the pressure wave of an explosion. Ahead of them, the tank leading the column burst into a black and orange spray of fire and smoke, shrapnel flying in all directions. Yorgei's ears rang from the thunderous noise.

"Enemy contact!" Federov shouted. "Someone tell me we have eyes on the target!"

The column of tanks scrambled, the massive armored vehicles crashing through the brush to form a wider line. As the T-90 rolled up alongside its fellows, Savinski saw a solitary figure standing in the middle of the road.

The man was tall, covered from head to toe in shining armor obscured by a dark green cloak. The air around him buzzed angrily as arcs of yellow-white energy crackled off of his gauntlet-covered hands.

"Oh God, it's him," Yorgei said, his breath shortened and a lump of vomit rising from his gut. "Oh God, oh God--"

"Quit crying and open fire!" Federov shouted. Snapping back to sanity, Savinski shook his head, aimed the heavy machine gun at their enemy, and squeezed the trigger.

The massive gun ripped into the air with an angry staccato barking, shaking against the Private's grip as he blasted round after round of lead at the armored man. On both sides, the other tanks joined in, flooding the road with a lethal hail of gunfire. The road around the enemy erupted into a cloud of dust and smoke as it was obliterated by the Symkarian tanks.

After a sustained thirty seconds of fire, the gunners relented, allowing the smoke to clear......

.....only to see the armored man standing tall, completely unfazed. Not a single dent or chip on his armor, not a thread on his cloak out of place.

Around him, they could see a yellow translucent bubble, a brief flicker and puff of smoke whenever a dust speck came into contact with it. Doom-- if this were indeed Doom, and not some double disguised as him-- was using some kind of force field.

"Fire the main guns!" Federov shouted.

Savinski was shaken again, the entire tank rocking from the massive THUMP of the T-90's cannon. Again, the column joined in chorus, annihilating not just the road, but most of the surrounding forest with a cataclysmic volley of shells.

This time, Doom did not wait for the smoke to clear.

Pencil-thin beams of yellow light streamed forth from the smoke, each one piercing one of the Symkarian tanks. T-90s were armored thick enough to withstand RPGs, armor-piercing sabots, anti-tank missiles, and allegedly even a nuclear blast. These light beams, however, cut through them like tissue paper.

Flames erupted from the wounded tanks, the roaring fires not quite drowning out the screams of men trapped inside as they burned.

Out from the cloud of smoke and dust strode Doom, his hands still crackling with that hateful yellow energy. He barely seemed to notice the bullets and shells slamming into his force field, only to be disintegrated on contact. Slowly, almost lazily, he lifted a hand, spreading his fingers, and from those fingers lanced out four more thin energy beams, slicing through the armored column with no apparent effort.

The tank next to theirs was punched straight through, then blasted apart as the ammunition inside detonated. The crewmen were reduced to burning wet pulp, and Savinski was nearly thrown from his position.

"God in Heaven, it's a massacre." Federov muttered. "All units, fall back, I repeat, fall--"

There was another angry buzzing sound as a thin yellow line whipped vertically down the front of Captain Federov's body. He sputtered and gargled for a brief moment, before the left half of him slid back down into the tank's cabin, while the right half slumped limply against the hatch.

"No, no, please God no," Savinski prayed frantically as he tried to pull himself out of his position and climb out of the turret. This monster, this Demon, was going to slaughter them all. He could not die here, not like this. He had to get away before....

Another angry buzz, and Savinski's world went white with pain. He felt a sharp blow across the front of his face, then another against his back.

....when his senses returned, swimming and blurred but still there, he found that he was on the ground, off to the side of the tank.

He was vaguely aware that the lower half of his body was not there. He was too dazed, his senses too faded, to really grasp what that meant.

The world around Yorgei grew ever colder and darker, not enough air in his lungs to scream, not enough feeling left in his body to move. What little of his mind was left shouted desperately to whatever higher power might listen, to spare his life.

In his clouded, draining eyes, he saw Doom, not even breaking his stride as he walked through the remains of the Third Symkarian Armored Division.

"I shall not be much longer, my beloved," Doom said to someone over long-range communications. "Ubu and his men shall gather the dead from this place once I am finished. They will be needed for what comes next...."

Yorgei Savinski tried to scream, but nothing came out as he slipped into darkness.

 

[Carnage27]

​

Clark Kent's Apartment
Metropolis​

Clark stirred in bed, and for the first time he could ever remember, he was sore. Getting beaten around by an apartment building would do that, he figured. It made him regret not being able to catch the man that was behind the attack. Not to mention the fact taht Kent had no idea what provoked it in the first place. The domicile was a random, nondescript apartment building. Thousands of them lined the streets of Metropolis. Why that one?​

Of course, the other option was the attacker had no good reason to pick the location he did, which scared Clark more. Evil people with a plan were scary, but evil people with no end game were even scarier. He knew he needed to find and stop this madman, but he honestly had no idea how to do so.​

Kent stumbled out into his living room and flipped on the TV before he began to make breakfast. Nearly immediately, he wished he hadn't. The face of G. Gordon Godfrey appeared in the middle of one of his trademark rants, "As I've been saying this whole time, Superman and his ilk are a problem. Yesterday's attack proves that. No matter how powerful Superman is, there will always be evil doers that escape his sight until they kill people."​

"I don't agree in the slightest, Mr. Godfrey," a familiar voice retorted. Clark was suprised to find Lois Lane sitting across from Godfrey. "Superman saved every living soul in that building. If it wasn't for him, people would be dead today."​

"And if Superman wasn't here, neither would this man," Godfrey shot back. "This man, who we've gotten unconfirmed reports may be the infamous Magneto, was here to test Superman. To see how far he could push the so-called hero."​

"Do you have proof of that, Gordon?" Lois asked. "I didn't think so. Until we have proof that Superman is making Metropolis a more dangerous place, I will continue to support him. And if he'd like to give an interview on the event, I'm available."

"Well...that's weird," Clark mused to himself.

"Well there you have it, folks," the camera cut back to Godfrey and he pointed at Lane. "More of what I've been telling you. Superman and his masked friends across the globe have fooled the good people into believing they're here to help. So they'll just watch as the superhero vigilantes take over or kill us all. Make sure you tune in tomorrow for continued coverage, and as always, I'd like to thank our sponsor AlexisCorp for their continued support."

**********

Later that night

Superman set down on the roof of the Daily Planet where Lois Lane was waiting for him, "Glad to see you got my message."

"It was kind of hard to miss, Lois," he smiled at her. "Something tells me you're not looking for an interview."

"No, I'm not," she shook her head. "I wasn't sure to bring this to you, but I got another ping on it after the attack last night."

From her purse she produced two papers and passed them to Clark. Lois was tentative, he could tell. He took the pages and looked at them. They were from the warden of Stryker's Island Prison asking for Superman to come meet an inmate of theirs.

"Wonder what this is about," Superman said outloud to himself.

"I don't know, but it sounds important," Lois added.

"You're right. I better check it out now."

**********

Stryker's Island

"Right this way...uh...Superman," the warden says as he leads the Man of Tomorrow through the prison. "I honestly didn't think you'd come, but he was insistent."

"And who is this prisoner who gets to request things from the warden?" Superman asked what was on his mind since her arrived. It seemed to be highly irregular.

"Oh, he'll tell you about that," the warden said as he opened an incredibly heavy looking door to the area where the prisoner was kept. "As for why he gets requests...well, he's been here the longest. And he's helped out when we need it."

Superman walked into the cell area and the warden waited for him on the other side, "Sorry, Superman. Orders."

"I understand," Clark nodded before continuing into the cell area. At the end of the long hallway was a dull light. As Clark got closer, he realized it was a lamp sitting next to a reading chair. Superman realized he wasn't in the area leading to the cell, he was in the cell itself. It was bigger than the Kent farmhouse. He saw he was now in the library.

"Well, you are a specimen," an old voice says from the chair as it spins, revealing an old, decrepit man. "The television certainly doesn't do you justice, Superman."

"Well, you wanted me," Superman shrugged. "Here I am. Now...who are you?"

"Who I am, I do not know," the old man admitted. "One day I woke up and I was smarter than any man to ever walk the earth. I took up crime. I was good at it. The best of my time. I don't know my own name, but the world knows me as the Ultra-Humanite."

Clark gasped audibly. There wasn't a person alive who didn't know the name of the Ultra-Humanite. He had been the birth of the evil genius and super villain. He had been a frequent thorn in the side of the Justice Society of America after the war before he was believe to be killed in his final ploy.

"You're dead," was all Superman managed to get out.

The Humanite smiled, "Yes, to the world at large I am. I tired of my chosen profession. I tired of...making mistakes. Some rather large ones. So I faked my death and went into protective custody. I have been helping the authorities with difficult cases ever since."

It was all a bit much for Superman to take in. All he could manage was, "Why me?"

"That's the question I was waiting for. It's you, because you are the hero this world has been waiting for since Captain America was lost in the war," the Humanite paused at the mention of the world's greatest hero. "Sometimes I wonder how different things would be if...Alas. But I see the same spirit of justice in you. Yet you possess power he never could. You could rule this planet. Instead you try and protect it. That is why I chose you. That is why you're going to help undo all I have did."

"What you've done?" Clark sat down in a chair across from the Ultra-Humanite. "You've been inactive for decades."

"And when I was active I was smarter than every man on this planet," the Humanite's voice was full of remorse. "I looked for everything that could challenge my vast intellect. In doing so there's a good chance I opened the planet up to threats beyond terrestrial."

"Alien threats?" Clark's ears poked up at that. If he wasn't the only alien on the planet people could be in danger.

"Yes, Superman. Now, tell me about the man who can move buildings."
​

 

[Saved]

The Wild Pack ​

In the haunting emptiness of space, the devilish glow of the harsh planet below stands alone. A nomad in its own solar system, Ysmault's crimson oceans shimmer even from the void above.

A rectangular craft breaks into the frame. Slowly, it orbits the barren planet below; casually locked within the planet's gravitational pull. It is the Providence - home of the intergalactic Mercenary team known as The Wild Pack.

Within the control room, Nathan Winters sits in the captain's chair positioned before a wide array of blinking screens and flashing buttons. His right eye glows mysteriously in the shaded room. As he leans back in his seat, the ship's computer actively follows its orders at the beck and call of the technopathic mutant. With only his thoughts he is able to speak with the artificial intelligence. Over the years, he has formed a friendship with the AI of Providence; a relationship the other members of the crew could never foster.

Footsteps break the silence behind him. Nathan looks up as Neena Thurman, codename Domino, approaches softly.

"Having fun up here all by yourself?" She asks in a playfully sardonic manner.
"I wouldn't call it fun - more like relaxing." The lights on the computer board before him blink in a methodical pattern. Nathan grins. "We have fun, I just wouldn't call a full diagnostic the most enthralling of experiences right now."

Neena tilts her head curiously. "Talking to the ship?"
"Yes," he smiles. "Providence likes to over analyze everything I say."
The ship hums loudly.

"A little moody for a spaceship, isn't she?"
"When you've spoken with as many digital constructs and intelligences as I have, you come to realize they're not so different from us. They have personalities too. A reflection of the specific coding of their programming. They may not have the free will that we possess, but, then again, I'm sure a higher being may same the same of us."

Neena shakes her head as she lets out a long sigh. "Talking with you always leaves me in awe, Nate."
"A symptom of good conversation."
"Oh wait, did I say awe? I meant a headache."
The screens flash.
"Providence found that humorous."
"Thanks, Providence. I'll be here all week."

"Any word from Slade? He's been down there awhile."
"It's almost been an hour. He'll be finished soon."
"Why do you think he goes down there? The bounty hunter I talked to back on Chi'Tauxx-12 had some rather nasty legends to tell about Ysmault."
"Homeworld of the damned filled with the souls of those who couldn't die."
"Chilling tales."
Nathan grins. "The world is inhabited by the imprisoned peoples of the Empire of Tears. A group who's reach far expanded their grasp. At one time in the ancient past, they sought out to conquest of the galaxy, but their exploits conflicted with another's battle for control; the Guardians. A war ensued for decades of bloodshed. Ultimately, the Empire of Tears sucummed to the Guardians, and as punishment, the Guardians imprisoned them on the hellish world for all eternity."

"I think I'd rather believe the legends than that." The story is almost too much for Neena to handle. Earth's atrocities and corruption were something she'd become jaded to over time, but the skeletons of space's closet have reminded the mutant of emotions of which she'd long since become numb. Fear and paranoia used to be as alien as the worlds she's visited over the last two years. But now, they're more common to her than breathable air.

"How do you know all this, anyway?"
"Slade's told me," he reveals. Neena seems almost shocked. "The prisoners of Ysmault are immortal. The accounts he's relayed to me are from first hand witnesses."
"You're the only one Slade trusts, you know that?"
"Maybe not the only one."
"No offense, Nate, but what is it about you that Slade finds comforting enough to open up? He's so cold and reserved; we all have demons, but sometimes I wonder if there's anything human left inside his mind."

Nathan rotates the chair to face Neena. "I suppose its the same reason the rest of you find it easy to speak with me."
"I'm glad the Shroud put you in charge."
He smiles warmly. "Thanks, Domino."

A high pitched whine pierces the calm atmosphere. The light on the comlink flashes in a pulsing pattern. "Incoming call - open the com, Providence."

<"Nate-y-Nate. Calling all cars, calling all cars."> His voice speaks over the sounds of gunfire and chaos. A background of blood curdling screams and violent roars is muffled behind metal clanging against bone.
"Slade?"
"Oh, come on, Nate, you don't recognize me? It's Wade! Merc with a mouth? Come on, man, I don't confuse you with Neena or Frost!"
"You're right, Wade, my mistake. What's your situation?"
<"Well, I'm done down here. Things got a little out of hand, so I'm going to need a Taxi pick up.">
"Understood. Can you hold out for another five minutes?"

<"Wait, Hold on."> An uzi unloads an entire clip before a monstrous shriek echoes over the radio. Wade grunts as he drops the spent clip and slams another into his weapon. <"No! No! I called no tentacles before we started. Hey- HEY!"> A sword slices through flesh - it is followed by a sound similar to a sprinkler with a clogged spout. Wade's breathing fills the silence for a moment before he responds. <"Sorry about that- my date was getting a little handsy.">

"Hey, Wade," Neena calls out happily.
<"Dom! Hey, girl, how you doin'?">
"Better than you, it sounds."
<"Psh, that's impossible. It's like McDonald's down here; I'm lovin' it! You should join me for a date sometime. I know the perfect place - it's this little mountain side that overlooks the ocean of the martyrs. When the moon rises over the horizon and causes the arterial blood-red water to glisten, its like a scene from a Nicholas Sparks movie.">
"I'll have to decline," she looks at Nate and flashes him a smirk. He reciprocates.
<"Too bad, Dom. You're missing out. Sorry, Nate, what'd you ask me?">
"Can you hold your position for five minutes, Wade?"
<"Oh yeah, no problem. Just don't make it six.">
"Bite off more than you can chew?"
<"No, I just don't want you to waste any more time on exposition. The audience is bored, Nate- people want to see the action and suspense, not read bricks of heavy background just to set the tone.">

"Turn on your beacon, Wade. We'll be there shortly."
<"Roger, Roger.">

Nate switches the comlink off before turning back to face the control panel. He flips a few switches and types a command into the keyboard. "Providence, I've locked onto Slade's position. Set a course and prepare for atmospheric entry."

"Sounds like he may have a situation on his hands."
"No, this is normal."
"If it's so hostile and dangerous, why does he go down there anyway?"

A smile smoothly creeps over Nathan Winters' face. He gives Neena a look of concealed amusement; as if he knows a joke he refuses to tell.

"To exercise."

 

[Morden Man]

In the middle of the hospital room is Matt Murdock. His face so heavily bruised and with so many tubes hanging out of him that it was almost hard to tell it was him. Ted Grant sat chewing his nails impatiently as he watched over him. On the far side was Foggy Nelson, who had dropped everything upon hearing about what had happened and made his way to Hell’s Kitchen. Despite how the two of them had left things last time they had spoken, Matt was still his best friend. He had to be there for him. He had to be there for Ted in case Matt didn’t make it.

“Do they have any idea when he’ll wake up?”

Ted shook his head.

“The doctors say it could be anything from a week to a month,” Ted says with a sigh. “They have no idea how he survived the beating he took.”

“He always was as tough as nails.”

“Just like his dad.”

The sad smile on Foggy’s face evaporated at the mention of Jack Murdock. He had never heard Ted mention him before and had known not to mention Jack in front of him whilst growing up.

“You should go home, Ted. You’ve been here all night. Go home, have a shower and a shave, I’ll stay with him tonight.”

Ted shook his head again and continued to chew on his nails.

“I can’t leave him here, Franklin, God knows I’ve failed him enough for one life.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I should have stopped them. I should have protected him. He came to me the day before and told me he thought he’d seen people sitting on Angela’s place.”

“You warned him at every possible junction not to get involved and he ignored you over and over again. The only one that could have protected Matt Murdock from himself is Matt Murdock.”

Ted opened his mouth to respond, but noticed Angela walking through the doorway and swiftly shut it. Understandably she had been asking about what had happened with Matt ever since she arrived at the hospital, but Ted didn’t feel like he was in a position to tell her anything. Foggy had told himself that as Matt’s attorney he had a duty of confidentiality to him. It wasn’t an excuse that had gone down well with Angela.

“Every time I walk into the room you stop talking. I know there’s something you’re not telling me, I’m not a complete idiot. Matt was hiding something, wasn’t he? What was he mixed up in?”

Ted avoided Angela’s gaze and stared at his feet whilst trying to muster up the least offensive answer he could think of.

“All that matters is that he’s still alive.”

Angela shook her head angrily and gestured towards Foggy in the hopes he would provide her with some support.

“I’m his girlfriend. I don’t deserve to be kept in the dark like this.”

“And I’m his father, Angela.”

The look on Ted’s face betrayed the fact he was shocked at the sentence that had come out of his mouth. The sentence that Angela would retort with would shock him even more.

“Last time I checked Matt's surname was Murdock, not Grant, and maybe you ought to remember that next time you trying living through him.”

Ted stood up from his seat and pointed at Angela menacingly as if to indicate that she had stepped over some invisible line, before Foggy cleared his throat and stepped between them in an attempt to de-escalate the situation.

“I think we all need to calm down.”

Without so much as glance of recognition from either of them, Angela and Ted spoke as if with one voice.

“Shut up, Franklin.”
“Shut up, Foggy.”

Foggy laughed nervously, clearly taken aback by the belligerence both of them had managed to muster.

“Or not.”

He encountered people in a similar state of stress on a daily basis. Clients that felt hard done by would quite often resort to raising their voices and, on the odd occasion, acts of violence. He’d learn over the years that the best way to deal with people when they were like that was to be as disarming as possible – to talk in hushed tones, to appeal to reason, and to appear as nonthreatening as possible. The latter being Foggy’s specialty.

“If you’re not going to calm down, then I’m going to pull rank given that I'm the only one here that’s slept in the past twenty-four hours and insist you both go home and get some sleep.”

After a few minutes of arguing, Ted and Angela relented to Foggy’s request and made their way out of the hospital room.

“Peace and quiet at last, eh?”

Foggy smiled and pulled up a chair next to Matt’s hospital bed. He placed his hand on Matt’s side and thought about all the good times they had shared, how much he owed his success to Matt’s support over the years. He’d never made it out of Hell’s Kitchen without him and regardless of what Matt had done, regardless of what Matt had caught himself up in, he'd always be there for him in his hour of need. Because he knew that Matt would always be there for him.

 

[Eddie Brock]

​

"Hey, you doing alright?"

Iris's voice pulls me out of my thoughts and draws me back to the present. As I turn my head to look at her, I can't help but give half a smile. I don't think there's any shame in me admitting that Iris is the most beautiful woman I've ever had the pleasure to know. Even on a day like today, when her brown hair is thrown back into a messy ponytail and she's all bundled up in preparation for the colder weather of fall, her blue eyes still have that same sparkle as the first day we met.

You see, I've got chemistry to thank for bringing Iris West into my life. Introduction to Chemistry, to be specific. It was my freshman year at Central City University, my first year living in the city proper. I was excited, nervous, hopeful... you name it. And Introduction to Chemistry was my favorite class. I had always enjoyed science, and that class was just a stepping stone on the path to where I am today.

Iris? Not so much. She was a Communications major, just trying to get her college-mandated laboratory science requirement out of the way. Why she chose chemistry of all the options, I'll never know. But while she was certainly no scientist, Iris was clever in her own way. It didn't take her long at all to recognize my success in that class, and she quickly approached me for help. And I, being the dumbstruck fool with a crush, wasn't hesitant at all to offer it. Somewhere along the way, amidst late night study sessions and homework reviews, we actually became close friends. We even dated, briefly, though if you blinked you might've missed it.

Now, Iris is an up-and-coming field reporter with GBS News affiliate here in Central City, and I'm a forensic scientist with the Central City Police Department. But on our days off - few and far between though they may be - we find the time to get together over a cup of coffee at Jitters. I often joke that the local coffee chain would go out of business without Iris, but that actually might not be far from the truth.

Iris reaches across the table and puts her hand on top of mine. "Barry?" she says, a hint of concern in her voice. I feel her give a little squeeze, the warmth of her hand seeping into mine. "I just know this is a hard time for you, y'know," she begins, "with the anniversary coming up and all."

The "anniversary." It's a gentle way of phrasing it, but I appreciate her tact all the same. In a few weeks, it'll have been fourteen years since my mother's death. Iris may call it an "anniversary," but a jury of my father's peers called it "voluntary manslaughter." They sentenced him to fifteen years in a state penitentiary. When they locked my father up, they signed his death warrant. You see, before being arrested himself, Dad was a detective with the CCPD for more than ten years. And cops? They don't last long in prison.

I understand why that jury did what they did, and I understand why the judge carried out the sentence. There was no other reasonable explanation for my mother's death. The facts didn't point to any other conclusion. Even I hadn't seen what had happened that night. But I knew my father didn't do it. I just didn't have any way to prove it. Eventually, that's what drove me to forensic science. I couldn't clear my father's name, but at least I could spare other people from being convicted of crimes they didn't commit.

"I'm fine, Iris," I reply, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze of my own. "Really." And it's the God's honest truth. Look, not a day goes by that I don't think of my parents or wish that things had gone differently. But living in the past isn't going to bring them back. The only thing I can do is try to honor their memory by living each day and trying to be the person I know they would have wanted me to be. "Thank you for remembering."

Iris holds my gaze for a moment before nodding. As she turns to look out the window, she brings her cup of coffee to her lips. I smirk.

"That's probably your third cup of the day already, huh?" I ask with a grin.

Iris wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "Fourth," she corrects me, holding up four fingers.

I shake my head, laughing. "You know, you've really got to cut back on the caffeine," I warn her. "One of these days, you're just going to vibrate through the floor or something."

She glares at me half-seriously as she takes another sip. To Iris West, caffeine is no laughing matter. "You think Sally Floyd ever takes a day off from coffee?" she asks rhetorically, in reference to the GBS News anchor and journalistic legend. "Actually, she probably does. I bet she's even a morning person. Ugh." Tilting her cup back, Iris takes a long swig before setting the half-empty cup down forcefully. "But if I ever want to get off these lame 'human interest' pieces and do some real field reporting, I need coffee. All the good stories go to Joy freakin' Mercado! I mean, what does she have that I don't have?"

My thoughts go to Iris' station rival, a statuesque - if somewhat vapid - blonde reporter by the name of Joy Mercado. I open my mouth to say something, and Iris holds up a threatening finger.

"If you say a single word, Allen, you're getting a lap full of hot coffee," Iris warns, and I think better of responding. Once she's done staring me down, she continues her rant, "All I need is one - one - groundbreaking story to fall into my lap. Is that too much to ask?" Shaking her head, Iris gives a resigned sigh and looks back up at me. "But enough about me. How are you? How's work?"

I meet her gaze. I'm clever enough to see through an attempt that weak. Arching an eyebrow at her, I say, "If you're fishing for a lead, you know I can't talk about ongoing investigations."

Iris smirks, evidently impressed at how quickly I sniffed that out. As she leans back in her seat, she shrugs. "Hey, can't blame a girl for trying." After polishing off her cup of coffee, she asks again, "But seriously. Off the record. How are things?"

I think for a moment before responding. "Quiet, actually."

Iris gives me a curious look. "You almost sound disappointed."

I shrug. "Yeah, well, quiet usually means there's a storm right around the corner..."

 

[Carnage27]

Wayne Manor

Bruce sat alone in the manor's study as the winds whipped up outside. The tree in the garden's branches scratched against the nearest window like a monster attempting to gain access. This had always been Bruce's favorite room in the large house, even as a child. The books that lined the high walls held stories that captivated him for hours, especially when his father was the one telling them. During the holidays it was where the Christmas tree stood, and the fire that burned in the hearth was the warmest he had ever encountered. Now it acted as yet another location for meditation, something he desperately needed after his encounter with the Riddler some nights before. The criminal's criptic comments about the war coming to Gotham had him worried, even if it was something he had prepared for.

"Still overthinking the Riddler's words, Bruce?" Alfred asked from the door of the study before taking a seat across from Wayne. "You can't let something like this paralyze you, Bruce."

The billionaire scoffed at the idea, "I'm not paralyzed, Alfred. But this war is a game of chess not checkers. I just need to figure out my next move. Jumping into something head first without thinking isn't going to get me anywhere besides dead. I need to find out if the Riddler's words are exactly what I think they were, and that's going to take a bit of time."

"And what do you think they were?" Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"A warning that the person Joe Rigger claimed to be working for was nothing more than a lie," Bruce explained. "Bertinelli had no reason to stoop that low. He hadn't lost city market share in the years since Maroni came to power, and his own code of ethics are in direct contrast to Firebug's MO. But proving it wasn't Franco will be difficult. I traced the money. It came from a Bertinelli fund, but through an intermediary whose identity I can't decipher. That's the key here."

"But who would want to frame the Bertinellis?"

"Someone who wants the traditional three families of Gotham at each other's throat," Bruce had figured that part out nearly immediately. There was much to gain working in the shadows of a gang war. Whoever framed the Bertinellis wanted to steer clear of attracting the attention of the Falcones and Maronis. That much was obvious. "So far I've only got two people on my radar for that. The Kingpin is an obvious suspect. He's wanted to control Gotham for a decade, and doing so would give him a veritable stranghold on East Coast organized crime. The other is the Riddler himself."

The Englishman didn't see the sense in that, "Why would he put you on a trail that led back to him?"

Bruce shrugged, "No clue. He may be testing me for some reason. Or he thinks I'm not clever enough to come back to that deduction. But even if he's not involved with this, he has designs for Gotham, and I need to know what they are."

The Riddler was the most dangerous type of criminal. He was as smart as they come, and knew that information was the real power of the world. He had sold American secrets to China, and Chinese secrets to America. He had evaded the most powerful governments on the planet for decades, and seemed to do so with ease. He had no loyalties other than to his own substantial bank account. Whatever his plans were, they were sure to be deadly.

"Well, I hope you can take on night off," Alfred said, passing a piece of paper to Bruce. "This came from Mr. Fox yesterday. You've been invivted to a gala and Lucius says you need to go."

Bruce galnced at the invitation and sighed, "Oh not Sionis, Alfred. I'm not in the mood for that."

"Fox knew you'd say that," Alfred laughed. "He also said that you saving Wayne Enterprises and foiling Sionis's hostile takeover nearly ruined the man's company. The least you can do is make an appearance."

"Fine," Bruce grumbled.

**********​

Sionis Concert Hall
Downtown Gotham​

The car pulled up to the oppulent concert hall the Sionis family had built decades before in the heart of Gotham. The great, gothic facade was one of the grandest in Gotham and the pride of the city's architectural style. Large gargoyles adorned the cathedral-like structure, and were designed to look as if they were singing rather than snarling. Still, Bruce had always thought they looked far more menacing than they were intended to be.​

Alfred opened the door, and Bruce put on his false face, "Thank you, Alfred. I'll call when I'm ready to be picked up."​

"As you wish, Master Bruce," Alfred responded in an exaggerated form of his accent. To the outside world he wasn't the military man and mentor Bruce saw him as. The people of Gotham and the tabloids thought Alfred Pennyworth was nothing more than Bruce's butler and servant, a role that Wayne knew Alfred hated to play up. Still, he was good at it. "I shall wait for your call."​

Bruce strolled down the red carpet in his new Armani suit as the cameras flashed in his face and reporters yelled questions his way. Some asked if the rumors about him dating pop star Alison Blaire were true. They weren't, though the two did have a wonderful dinner a few months back. Others wanted to know where he would be spending the holidays. Others yelled accusations that his company was poisoning the earth, even though Bruce had worked diligently at making his company as green as possible. He merely smiled and waved to them all, knowing they'd all be content to merely get a picture of him.​

Playing billionaire wasn't Bruce's strong suit, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it deep down. It was an effective cover, but on top of that it allowed him to relax. He didn't need to be Batman on nights like tonight, and he figured that was important to preserve his sanity in this fight.​

Once inside, however, Bruce remembered the part about this he didn't like, and that was other rich people. They saw themselves as overly important cogs in society. They acted as if the world would stop is they disappeared. Bruce hated that.

Bruce weaved his way past those he was looking to ignore, exhanging pleasant smiles with them instead of words. The interior of the concert hall was nearly as breathtaking as the outside. The marble columns and ornate frescos that covered the walls made one feel like they were in the middle ages rather than modern day. He made his way through the throng to the bar, and asked for a simple green tea.

"Tea, Bruce?" a melodious voice floated over the din of the crowd and the orchestra attempting to play over them. "My how times have changed."

He turned to find the stunning visage of a woman smirking back at him. She was only an inch or two shorter than him, and her lithe body was poured into a simple, low-cut black dress. Around her neck was a string of dimonds, but her eyes were what drew Bruce's stare. They were piercing, and ones he had stared into at a time that felt like a millenia ago.

"Selina?" was all a surprised Bruce was able to muster. Selina Kyle had been his first love. Or at least teenage Bruce thought she was. In reality, it had been nothing more than two kids being stupid, but the flood of nostalgia was still strong standing in her presence. She was someone Bruce had never imagined he'd see again, yet here she was.

"On the nose, tiger," she purred in his ear as she passed him on the way to the bar. She ordered herself a cocktail before coming up next to him again, "Long time no see."

"No kidding," he smiled, regaining his composure. "You look terrific."

"Speak for yourself," she laughed as she looked him up and down. "You look like you could bench press a VW."

"Well, I eat right," Wayne joked. His thoughts drifted to what Alfred would say at something like this. Probably a quip that if he pretended to have fun he might have some by accident. "What are you doing with yourself?"

She downed the rest of her drink, and grabbed him by the tie, "We can small talk later, billionaire boy. Let's dance."

Once on the floor, she pressed her toned for against him and the pair began swaying to the music. Bruce knew what she was looking to do and gazeded into her eyes, "Looking to put on a show, Selina?"

"You caught me, Bruce-y," she gave him a puppy-dog look. "But a social climber like myself can't give up an opportunity to be seen with my ex-beau back from the dead. Think of what all the papers will say."

"Oh I know what they'll say," Bruce smiled mischeviously. Selina was always looking out for herself, even back in high school. She was desperate to escape the slums where she had been raised and make a name for herself. By the looks of things, she had succeeded. "Is that what you do now? Make money off the tabloids?"

"If it worked for the Karhdashians, it can certainly work for me, someone with an IQ above zero. You and I both know how a girl with a certain skill set can get ahead in life," she smiled before reprimanding the look he gave her. "Oh get your mind out of the gutter, Wayne. Not like that. Gotham rewards the shrewd, and I'm as shrewd as they come."

"Always looking for the unconventional route, Selina," Bruce said as he dipped her. He had to admit she was a fantastic dancer. The two seemed to be paired perfectly on the floor.

"Well, we all can't be born with billions, Bruce," she spun away from him and began to fade in the crowd. "Call me sometime. I'd love to catch up some more."

Before Bruce could follow her, the orchestra stopped playing and Roman Sionis took the stage. He was a tall, powerful looking man of eastern European descent. His grandfather had fled Europe during the war, and founded Sionis Pharmaceuticals in the fourties. Roman's father had built it into a powerhouse before passing it to his son. Roman was a shrewd businessman, but had been losing ground to the recent titans of industry. His failed attempt to gain some of Wayne Enterprises' assests during Norman Osborne's take over attempt had nearly ruined him.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," he quieted the applause from the crowd. "I'm all glad you could come tonight. As you know, our benefit tonight is to support those living with the horrors of leukemia. Your money tonight will help those who cannot afford their own treatments, and to help those that are losing their fight to be more comfortable. But, we at Sionis Pharmaceuticals believe in a world without this horrible cancer, and tonight I am happy to report that we have a breakthrough in this fight. As most of you know, brilliant scientist and leukemia sufferer Michael Morbius has been working tirelessly on a cure, and he assures me that by year's end, we will have just that."

A cheer went up through the crowd, and even Bruce Wayne applauded loudly for that.

**********​

Sionis Pharmaceuticals​

Selina Kyle had ditched the slinky black dress for a catsuit of her own design complete with a pair of night vision goggle over her face. The Catwoman was a name only the most powerful of powerful knew, and even less knew who she really was. But they all knew that if they needed something stolen, she was the one for the job.​

The guards of the building were half blind, and she had little trouble reaching Sionis's office. Once there, she carefully pulled the finger prints she had pulled off his glass at the party and placed them on the scanner to unlock the door. She knew two of the prints were only partials, but Roman's security system was antiquated. The door slid open after the scan, and she slipped in, closing it behind her.​

Once inside, she opened a comm to her employer, "I'm in. This program of yours better work. If not, you paid me for nothing."​

"Oh, it will work," Enigma responded to the master thief. "And I'll be on my way to being several million dollars richer."​

"You and me both, pal," Catwoman said greedily as she plugged the USB device into Sionis's computer. This computer and the one Michael Morbius carried with him at all times were the only ones with access to the drug Morbius had been working on. In order to get to it, Selina was hired by the Enigma. Simple as that. "Okay, it's done."​

"And now I have the building blocks to the cure," Enigma sounded giddy. "My employer will be pleased. I'm wiring you the money now, Ms. Kyle."​

"Don't use my name," Selina snapped as she crept her way towards the exit.​

 

[Eddie Brock]

"... and with the game tied here in the seventh, the Diamonds are going to turn to their bullpen and call upon the lefty specialist, Fred Myers. Myers, a product of Alice Springs, Australia, is known for his nasty curveball, which he throws in that distinct sidewinder style. Myers has appeared in..."

"You know, I like this guy," John announces as he glances over at me. I often try to set aside time for bonding with my foster father, and baseball has always been a shared passion between us - this year, especially, as the Diamonds find themselves locked in tight pennant race in the American League Central. John leans back in his armchair, cradling a half-empty beer as he runs his hand through his hair. He's into his forties now, but middle age has been kind to him so far. What few grays he has blend seamlessly with his light blonde hair.

I take a sip of my own beer as Myers throws his first pitch, a fastball down and away for a strike. Turning to John, I ask, "So, no Jesse tonight?" referring to John's biological daughter and my foster sister. At first, I will admit that it was weird having a sister, but I actually grew to like being a big brother. Jesse's still in high school now, but I think she's got a bright future.

John shakes his head. "She's with her mom," he answers without taking his eyes off the TV. His blank expression doesn't betray what he's really thinking, but it's obvious that there's more going on beneath the surface. Growing up, I was a little too preoccupied - or perhaps too naive - to see it, but John and Libby Chambers were unhappy. They kept it together for myself and Jesse's sake, but the cracks in the foundation were always there. The truth was that they were high school sweethearts that just got married too young. As John once explained it to me, Libby was never fully satisfied with what her life had become. Finally, when they felt that Jesse and I were old enough to process it, they announced that they were separating. Jesse chose to stay with John, and that was that.

I turn my focus away from John and back to the TV, just in time to see Myers record a strikeout. John gives a little victorious fist pump, and I clap the back of my hand holding the beer. Wanting to break the silence hanging in the room, I say, "I'll bet she's really getting into the college search, huh?"

John chuckles. "Oh yeah," he replies emphatically, raising both eyebrows quickly to show how he feels about that idea. "She's got all these grand designs of places she wants to apply to and visit, everywhere from New York to Coast City." He laughs again. "You know, sometimes I have to remind her that her old man is working on a high school teacher's salary." John teaches mathematics at the local high school, a fact he was quick to point out when Jesse was picking her classes. Somehow, it didn't persuade her. "Which reminds me!" John says suddenly, dropping one shoulder to reach into his pocket. "I've been saving up and thinking of treating myself." Producing his phone, he taps the screen a few times before passing it across to me.

I take the phone from him, furrowing my brow as I look at the screen. He's pulled up some Craigslist advertisement for a shiny, red muscle car.

"What do you think?" he asks once he sees the recognition register on my face.

I pass the phone back as I tease, "I think you're too old to be driving a car like that." I flash him a wry grin.

John shakes his head disappointedly, taking one last glance at the car before returning the phone to his pocket. "I'll have you know," he begins in a defensive - if lighthearted - tone, "I used to drive a car just like this back in high school." When he sees the look of surprise I give him, he nods. "Oh yeah. Once upon a time, I actually used to be cool. Back when I was the quarterback for the varsity team, they used to call me--"

"Johnny Quick," I interject, rolling my eyes with a smile at the lame nickname. John, however, has always found it endearing. I think he just likes being reminded of the glory days.

"That's right," John answers proudly, choosing to ignore my judgmental tone. He leans forward a bit in his chair as he really gets into the story. Nevermind that I've heard it a dozen or more times. "Oh man, Barry, I'm telling you. I was at the top of my game! If I hadn't blown out my knee in the second game of my senior year..."

Nodding, I finish for him, "You'd be playing for the Cougars today."

John smirks. "Heh. Maybe I do tell the old war stories a bit too often," he admits aloud.

I shake my head, taking a quick swig of my nearly empty beer. "Nah," I reassure him. "You know me. I'm a sucker for a good war story." We each smile at each other and turn our attention back to the Diamonds game.

 

[Carnage27]

The Batcave
Wayne Manor​

Bruce sat in front of the ORACLE mainframe as news reports from all over the world filled the multiple screens. One detailed the situation in Symkaria and Doom's continued push into the region. Another focused on the so-called Superman in Metropolis and his struggle with a man who lifted a building with his mind, with some wondering whether it was the terrorist known as Magneto. From all over the planet and America came stories of heroes like Batman appearing in droves. Bruce wasn't egotistical enough to believe they were following in his footsteps, but he also knew there was often more to these happenings than coincidence. The world was one a ledge, and it seemed to be taking a deep breath before a plunge.​

"Are you worried they're following your lead?" Alfred asked as he came up behind Bruce.​

"No," he shook his head. "This was going to happen no matter what. The Justice Society gave the world a blueprint it wasn't ready for after the war. This is people giving it a second shot. What I'm worried about is that they won't have my control."​

That was one thing Bruce was confident in. He had received the best training anyone on Earth could ever hope for. But even if he had half of what he learned, he was just a man. There was only so much damage Batman could do. But Superman was something else entirely. He bench pressed and apartment building like it was a toy. If someone like that wasn't careful he could level Metropolis by accident. And if he turned out to be an enemy...well that was something not worth thinking about until it happened.​

"The world's filling up with people who can do things our parents couldn't even dream of," Bruce continued talking to the man that raised him. "The Society was just a few. Now we have thousands of mutants displayin vast amaounts of power. Most will use them for good, or not at all. But the ones that use it for the wrong reasons..."​

"What are you saying?" Alfred stoked the conversation. "That they should be rounded up? Or at the very least documented?"​

"No," Bruce answered quickly and definitively. "No one should be treated like a criminal before they've done anything wrong. Especially people who did nothing to deserve their station in life. Mutants are people too. But it feels like we're on the edge of something, doesn't it?"​

"It does indeed," Alfred nodded. "Things have been changing so fast the past two decades. One has to wonder when it will boil over."​

"And whether we'll be ready when it does."​

**********​

Gotham City Hall​

"We're losing control, gentlemen," Mayor Cobblepot lamented to district attorney Hamilton Hill, commissioner Gillian Loeb, and councilman Rupert Thorne. Thorne was a newcomer to Cobblepot's inner circle. He had often dealt with the mayor, as Thorne was an intermidiate between the mob and the city government. But at a time like this Thorne needed to give Oswald everything he knew. "Once the name is dropped on who hired the arsonist, everything we've worked for is going to be gone."​

"You're not wrong," Thorne interjected. "No one's happy, mayor. At this point they're looking for any reason to go at each other's throats. It's no more games once this name comes out. Falcone or Maroni will off them and their entire family. Then they'll go after each other until one one is standing. The bug and the bat have them scared. They know if they don't adapt, they're gonna die."​

"Speaking of the Bat," Oswald sneered at Loeb, "where are we on that?"​

"No where," the head of the GCPD admitted. "He's a ghost. We can't find to pick anything up.​

Cobblepot balled his fists, "And do we have a clue who hired the bug?"​

Both Hill and Loeb shook their heads, but Hill was the one to speak, "Negative. Gordon's keeping it close to his chest, and Dent is as well. I'm in the dark."​

"Good," the mayor snapped. "If we can keep the name hidden, maybe we can diffuse the anger before we had a damned bloodbath on our hands."​

**********​

Sionis Pharmaceuticals​

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S GONE!?" Roman Sionis screamed at the IT guy looking over his computer. He had been called away from the gala the night before by security when they found someone had broken into his office and tampered with his computer. The video of the event showed a woman dressed in a theif suit enter the office easily and make off with the data she stole from his computer. It was no doubt the infamous Catwoman who was said to stalk the streets of Gotham.​

The IT worker recoiled at the show of anger. The poor man had been slaving away at the computer for nearly 24 hours with no success. He looked up meakly at his boss, "I don't know what to tell you, sir. Everything on your computer was taken and replaced by a virus. Some next level stuff. I don't even know where to start."​

"You're fired!" the CEO burst out before turning to security. "Get this bum out of my building."​

As the whimpering man was dragged from Roman's office, the businessman sat down and lit a cigarette. The formula was on that computer. The formula that was going to help him take over the world, figuratively speaking. Now it was available to the highest bidder. His one shot to save his company gone in a puff of smoke.​

Unless he could have the forumal finish and tested before it got into their hands. He picked up his phone and dialed Morbius's extension, "Michael? It's Roman."​

"How bad is it, Mr. Sionis?" the whispy, sickly voice on the other end asked.​

"Bad. We need to finish this project before it gets out to the world and someone else can copyright the completed formula, Michael," Sionis commanded the doctor. "I completed my part of the promise, Morbius. Now you finish yours."​

**********​

Morbius's Lab​

"Uh-Understood, Mr. Sionis," Dr. Michael Morbius answered his boss. The proto formula had been stolen. That's what that conversation meant. Michael had made progress on it since he gave the copy to Roman, but it was still years away from human testing. At least, that's without the pressure of having Sionis breathing down his neck.​

He rolled his chair over to the freezer and opened it. Morbius picked up a vial of the newest batch and rolled it in his hands. He stared into the blood-red liquid knowing that the cure for him and thousands of others stood untapped in that vial, and he knew he would be the one to unlock it. The drug was ingenius, if he did say so himself. It mutated the blood cells of the body to literally eat the cancer away. In a way, it was a new form of cancer that repaired cells instead of mutating them.​

Morbius placed the vial back in the freezer before returning to his computer and his work.​

 

[Carnage27]

After the group had reached the the woods, the split off to get their work done quicker. Before long, they had a stable campsite and Sue had a moment to sit and catch her breath. It was a miracle they were all alive and healthy at this point, she thought. But there was a lingering fear in the back of her head. All of the others had displayed amazing, if not frightening powers, since they had woken up. Sue had yet to see how the cosmic rays had reshaped her. Was she a ticking time bomb waiting to go off? Or was she not lucky enough to get a power?

Her biggest worry, however, was how much Reed already knew about their current situation, "So I think it's time to know why you know so much about how aliens look at Earth, Reed."

"Yes," he nodded, "I suppose it is time to discuss that. I really wanted to tell you all. I truly did. I had contact with an extraterrestrial when we first started to work on the X-1. He said our work would change humanity and the galaxy forever. He also mentioned that it would have to be us four that went up in the ship. He said we'd put Earth into a place of prominence in the galaxy!"

Sue's fists were so clenched during his story that she felt the circulation being lost. She stood and seemed to tower over Richards, "And you didn't tell us? You didn't say some mystical space man told you us four were destined for something? For all you knew it was a trap. For all you know he wanted us to end up here!"

"I was standing on the brink of the greatest discoveries of human existence!" Reed shot back. "How could I not act in the face of that?"

"I don't care about you acting," Sue growled. "But you endangered my family's life. You endangered Ben's life. Look where we are now. All because some mystery man promised you what you wanted to hear."

"I enjoyed not being a rock man," Ben grumbled.

"His name was Metron," Reed said quietly. "He said it was imperative."

"Obviously not imperative enough for you to tell us," Johnny seethed and walked away from the campsite.

Sue followed her brother and put her arm around him, "I'm just as mad as you are. But unfortunately we need the jerk to get home."

"You have a plan, don't you?" Johnny had always expected Susan to get him out of jams with her smarts. He was always getting into trouble, and she was getting him out of them. This time they were in it together, but she was still going to save them somehow.

"I do," she nodded. "The wormhole generators? There has to be a control for them here as well. We can use them to get off this rock."

"If it doesn't have Earth we'll be flying blind," Reed added. He had been listening. Of course he had been listening.

"Well, maybe we can ask Metron for directions," Sue quipped angrily.
​

 

[Carnage27]

Shuster's Bar and Grille
New Troy, Metropolis

"Are you kidding me!?" Chloe exclaimed. "Manning better than Brady? You're out of your mind, Kent."

The two of us were at a local watering hole down the street from Clark's apartment. It was a nice place with a good beer selection and decent food. Most would have probably been surprised to know Superman liked to sit down for a beer every once in a while, but it was even more harmless than one would think. Clark's biology metabolized alcohol nearly instantly. He couldn't get drunk if he tried.

"If greatness was measure by championships alone," Clark started to explain, "Dan Marino would be considered a bad quarterback. All I'm saying is Manning has the records, and has the longevity. Brady's great, Peyton is just a bit better."

"I think you just root for a fellow Midwestern good ol' boy," Chloe teased. She then looked past Clark and waved towards the entrance. He turned to find a guy with bright red hair coming towards them. He grabbed a seat and Chloe introduced him, "Clark, this is my friend Jimmy Olsen. Jimmy, this is Clark Kent."

"Pleasure to meet you, CK," Jimmy extended his hand.

Clark wasn't sure about the instant nickname, but shook Jim's hand none the less, "Nice to meet you, Jim."

"Jimmy and I met at college," Chloe explained. "Been friends ever since."

"Go Bulldogs," Jimmy added in as he tipped his beer to Chloe.

"What do you do, Jimmy?" Clark asked, continuing the small talk.

"I'm a photographer for the Daily Planet," Olsen responded after a long sip from his glass. "I work with Lois Lane. Right now I'm on the Superman beat."

"Cool, huh?" Chloe smirked at Clark.

He nodded in agreement and tried to hide how nervous he had now become. This man was one of the ones trying to take pictures of him nearly every day while he was on patrol, and he was friends with basically the only friend Clark had in the city. One good picture was all it would take for him or Chloe to put one and one together. That was not a fun thought to have.

"Pretty wild, isn't it?' Clark finally said. "You think he's a mutant or something?"

"Nah," Jimmy smiled. Clark could tell he loved talking about this. He was as passionate about the subject as Lois was. Thankfully, he didn't have the same crazy look in his eyes she often got. "We've never seen a mutant with so many powers, right? I think he's some kind of alien."

"Come on, Jimmy!" Clark acted flabbergasted. "Aliens? That's crazy."

"Maybe, maybe not, CK," he shrugged. "Whatever he is, I'm glad he's around."

**********

Intergang Headquarters

Bruno Mannheim stood in front of the TV and cursed himself. His plan wasn't going exactly as he had thought it would. His supplier had given him the metal manipulating suit, and he had ordered his man to take out Superman. He hadn't of course. But even more worrying was that he seemed to do it easily.

"Whadda ya want me to do, boss?" Johnny Nichol asked the Intergang head. Johnny was loyal. He may have not been the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but Mannheim knew he'd listen to everything the mob boss said. That's the important part when giving a man unlimited power.

"Next time, don't play around," Mannheim snarled. "Goad him into making a mistake. The rest? Leave up to me."
​

 

[Misfit]

Physics Class
New York City

"Soooo, Ronnie, whatcha been up to?"

"Umm.. Nothing.. Nothing at all. I haven't really been doing anything lately." Certainly not mastering freakish amounts of power that would make Jesus jealous. Nothing. Cuz that's totally all I've been doing. Coming up with a good alibi is hard. If I play things right, maybe she could be my alibi. For years now, Ronnie has had a secret looming over him. The astonishing abilities he had ranged from creation of heat and flame, to rearranging the elements themselves. Getting girls wasn't really a superpower as much as a hobby. "But, if you want," he said with the sly smile of a car salesman, "we can do something, maybe you and I can see a movie."

Some 'mutants' tried to stay out of sight or keep themselves out of the public view. As a football player and bona fide jock, Ronnie's since decided to just keep his mutation secret by not using it. Plus, even he wasn't stupid enough to try not getting caught transforming in plain sight. At least, that's what he told himself. One person who'd been paying close attention to him since middle achool was Casey Krinsky, and it had nothing to do with his powers.

"Well.. I-I, ummm.. yeah, we can do that."

As she said that, Ronnie stared at her blushing red cheeks. She was kinda cute, in a socially awkward kind of way. Why didn't I ask earlier? he wondered. It wasn't that she wasn't pretty, and she wasn't out of his league. Casey was fairly popular, but Ronnie had always been Mr. Cool. Snapping himself out of the wonderous trance he'd fallen into, Ronnie then quickly said, "I'll see you tonight then."

Without a word, Casey walked away. The smile on her face said it all.

As she walked away, Ronnie turned his attention to the front of the classroom. The regular teacher wasn't there. In the snobby, old bat's place was a slender woman with hair dyed a shimmering teal. She was in a bright pink dress. All the guys in the room were talking about her, whispering back and forth. The girls were just as curios, though less 'interested'. When she turned around, she leaned against the board and greeted the class. Something seemed off about the way she looked, but the harder that Ronnie tried to think about it, the greater the haze of confusion within his cranium became. Finally his head

dropped. Slamming against his desk, Ronnie fell unconscious, just like each and every one of his classmates around the room.

Ronnie Raymond is Firestorm
In
The Worst Headache Ever​