Epoch - 10

<-Previous
~*~
I heard several explosions from above, followed by what sounded like metal legs skittering.

"Starling," a voice said from inside my helmet. "You in the Vault?"

"I'm in the outer area," I said. "At the main door. I've never gone inside the primary--"

"Code is three four nine," Sumerset said. "Get inside. You take care of the lady with the metal hands?"

"Yeah."

"Good, going that way."

"Did you get past Scourge and the others?" I said. Another explosion rattled from above.

"Yeah."

"...how?"

"Shenanigans."

Right.

I pressed the code into the keypad; the immense metal disk in front of me rumbled and clicked before slowly rolling aside with a series of heavy clanks. Through the opening I could make out the steady flicker of fluorescent lights.

The place was immense--probably as big as the rest of the bunker on its own. And every inch of it was crammed with jaw-dropping amazement.

A golden statue of what looked like a Greco-Roman God. The bleach white bones of something that resembled the xenomorph from Alien, suspended inside a block of amber. A suit of medieval steam-powered armor. A sword suspended in a case--its translucent blade fractured light into a thousand different geometric patterns. A twenty foot wide mechanical hand that looked like it'd been torn off a giant robot straight out of a 50s sci-fi novel. A metal tripod with delicate spider-like legs of bronze and withered tentacles dangling from each of its sides--at its top was a glass egg that contained the long-dessicated corpse of some near-unfathomable horror.

"Dear God," I whispered.

"Yeah," I heard Sumerset say over the communicator. "That's what I said when Donnie showed it to me a few years back."

"What--what is all this stuff?"

"It's the history of the Skull, kid. All the shit they've confiscated--they've kept under the table. Because it was too dangerous, because it was too weird, because somebody had to keep an eye on it. If it were to be found, half the stuff in here could rewrite the history books."

"We're--we're not seriously going to blow all this stuff up?" I asked as I walked down the stairs and into the Vault. "God, Sumerset--this stuff--it's amazing. There's a crystal here, a jewel--I can see myself coming down the stairs a few seconds ago in it. I can see--it's like it's dividing time--"

"That's an aleph. Stay away from that," Sumerset said. "Dangerous as fuck. Everything in here is."

"But it's all so--so--"

"Wonderful," Sumerset said, and now I could hear his voice behind me--he was stepping down into the room, following my footsteps. He had a pronounced limp, and I could see a bruise above his temple, but otherwise he looked alright. "Yeah, it is. But it's also down here for a reason, Sue."

I turned to Sumerset, then back to the stuff. Then back to him. "Can we... Can we take any of it?"

"It's your stuff. But I wouldn't recommend it," he told me. "All of it represents a danger to the world."

That's when Scourge's voice crackled across the intercom.

"Sumerset," he said, and behind him I could hear the sound of gunfire--of shouting--of more explosions. "Using the Dreadbots as suicide drones. Clever. I assume you and Daysdale are in the Vault, now."

"Don't answer him," Sumerset said, his voice low. "Let's just get this over with."

Scourge continued above us: "I also assume that you intend to destroy this base in a misguided attempt to stop me from acquiring what I want..."

Sumerset closed the door behind us. We moved to the back of the Vault, where an immense desk sat. Its outer shell was fashioned from lacquered oak with a marble trim around its upper edge and an inch-thick plate of glass on top. Beneath the glass was an incredibly intricate network of cogs and gears arranged into an impenetrable engine of well-polished brass. A set of delicate spring-loaded levers emerged from the far corner of the device, with a large iron crank placed nearby.

"What the hell is this?" I asked.

"It's a wind-up computer," Sumerset replied.

I stared at him. He shrugged and grinned. "Second Skull had it built," he said. "It controls the Vault." He stepped forward and reached for the metal levers, tapping something in. When he was finished, he reached for the iron crank--and then stopped and turned to me.

"You should probably do this," Sumerset said, and he pulled his hand back.

"But before you do, Sue Daysdale," Scourge said, "I just want you to remember: This is your fault."

I reached for the metal crank and slid it into the palm of my hand. I felt my chest tighten; I felt my grip tremble.

"Your family's legacy--your mother's legacy--is about to be destroyed. And why...? Because it fell into the hands of an incompetent teenage girl."

I felt something hard and heavy seize my chest. Sumerset opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off.

"No," I said, my voice carrying up to the intercom. "You're wrong."

Scourge's voice fell silent; I didn't know if he could hear me or not. But just in case he could, I kept going:

"A bunch of toys in some basement isn't my mother's legacy, asshole. I'm my mother's legacy."

I turned the crank. The gears clicked into place; something rumbled far below us.

Sumerset nodded his head. "Let's get out of here," he said.

~*~
Next->

Epoch - 9

<-Previous
~*~
We hadn't gotten far before one of Scourge's team found us.

She came at me when we turned the corner; short, dark haired and tan skinned, with arms that looked as if they had been dipped in metal from fingertip to shoulder. I caught a brief glimpse of the intricate circuitry that wrapped around each appendage moments before her knuckles met my face.

There was a flash of energy followed by a solid k-thunk as I felt my eyeballs rattle around in their sockets while I was thrown down the hallway. I didn't know what was going on with her arms, but her fists were like a set of high-powered pistons--her punches felt like getting hit by speeding dump-trucks.

Sumerset lifted the freeze-ray to fire, but the woman had already ducked out of the way and down the next corridor; behind us, the steady growl of powered armor rumbled from above.

"Shit," Sumerset said, torn between the two directions. "Flanking us. Alright, you try to plow through her. Get down to the Vault. I'll handle whatever the hell is coming this way."

I gave him a look. He was an old man with a piece of outdated hardware. But he just threw me his reckless grin.

"Don't worry, kid. I'll be fine. Go. I'll meet you in the Vault."

I turned and ran.

~*~

He called himself Man-of-War. He wore a suit of powered armor with glass-plated slots for eyes and a scowl-like grill; the golden-colored ceramic armor towered at 7 feet, every inch of it bristling with weaponry. When he arrived in the hallway, all he found waiting for him was an old man with a freeze ray.

And a crowbar.

"Nice suit," Sumerset said.

"You should know," Man-of-War responded. "Based it off your design."

Sumerset pointed the freeze ray at him; Man-of-War chuckled.

"Really, now? You can do better than that. This thing'll operate at sub-zero temperatures, no problem. And ice is hardly an issue for ceramics."

"I figured," Sumerset said, and he turned the ray toward one of the pipes that lined the wall. The beam struck it, sheathing it in frost; he brought the crowbar down into a savage arc, shattering it.

A thick geyser of water swelled up and out of it, hitting Man-of-War in the chest.

"What the--" Man-of-War began, but then Sumerset fired the freeze ray again--aimed straight at the jet of water.

Frost followed the spray down to its source and up to its target, creating a frozen cage of ice that locked around Man-of-War's suit. At once, he was locked in position, his joints frozen stiff.

"You son of a bitch," he said.

"Prety much," Sumerset agreed. He turned to go--

--only to watch a single red blade scissor down and cleave the freeze ray in half.

"Good evening, Sumerset," Scourge said as he stepped out into the hall. "I was hoping we might have a chance to chat." He looked different, now--still clad in white, but with a mouth that was several inches too wide. When he smiled, his entire head seemed to split from ear to ear. Something about his eyes, too--they burned.

"Go ahead and talk," Sumerset said, and he brought the crowbar down to the control panel to his left. There was a shower of sparks, followed by a sharp hiss. A six ton glass-plated blast-door slammed down like an anvil, locking into place between Scourge and himself.

Man-of-War's gears snarled against the icy cage, cracking the frost inch by inch. Sumerset turned, pulled the crowbar out of the panel, and pulled out several wires. In only a few moments, he had coaxed a second blast door to descend--this one locking down between himself and Man-of-War. A moment later and the armored villain managed to twist his way out of the ice, breaking it with a loud crack.

Now Sumerset was trapped--locked between two glass walls and the men on either side.

Scourge snorted. "Man-of-War, would you be so kind?"

"Gladly," Man-of-War said, and he reached for another panel. Metal crumpled beneath his fingers as he yanked the front end off; a wire extended from the suit's wrist and plunged inside of the circuitry. "Shouldn't take longer than a minute."

"Now," Scourge said. His attention turned back to Sumerset. "Let's have that chat, shall we?"

~*~

The woman who had sucker punched me in the hallway was waiting for me just a few yards away. Except this time I was expecting it.

Whe she threw a punch, this time I sidestepped and blocked--only to feel a rush of energy bat me aside like I was a cat-toy. I realized then that force was extending out of her fists--I could even see it as she punched. It was like her entire arm was sheathed in a slightly larger, semi-transluscent fist made out of bluish silver energy.

"Figures," I rumbled through my helm, and then I sprang to my feet to attack.

This time, the energy took the form of a shield; my fists battered off of it harmlessly. Immediately, I thought of Paladin--was this something similar?

Before I could give it much more thought, she hammered two more blows into my torso and sent me slamming against the wall. I felt metal dent behind me.

Sumerset hadn't had a chance to explain the suit much before we left, but I could tell that the armor was doing something different--I felt it hardening and relaxing with each blow, like a muscle that clenched in response to a hit. It meant the blows were being displaced along my entire body rather than concentrated in a single spot; otherwise, I'm fairly certain that I wouldn't be able to get up after her first hit. When I sprang back to my feet after the second and third, she seemed genuinely surprised.

"Aren't you a spritely thing," she said, and then the energy shifted from fists and into a two handed sword.

"That's a pretty cool power," I said, and then I charged.

The sword came down for my shoulder. I felt it bite through the armor--but then I felt the wire-like webbing beneath tighten, locking the sword in. The woman was caught off surprise--I threw all my weight into her, throwing her off her legs and continuing to push her down the corridor.

"But you know what's an even cooler one?" I asked as I aimed for the glass plate behind her, hitting it with tremendous force--enough to nearly dislocate my shoulder. But she took the brunt of the impact. We smashed against the pane and descended together, falling over two dozen feet into the Vault.

When we hit ground, it was with a tremendous crack. I felt bones break--hers, not mine. As I slowly got up and dis-tangled myself from her unconscious figure, I could feel the wound she'd scored on my shoulder already closing up--along with the bruises from the fall.

"Being able to walk away from that," I said, and then I ran deeper into the Vault.

~*~

"You might as well give up," Scourge said, watching Sumerset as Man-of-War worked to disarm the blast-doors.

Sumerset shook his head with a smile. He had withdrawn a cigarette from his coat, and was now in the process of lighting it; once he had it good and burning, he reached in his coat for his cellphone.

"Don't bother," Scourge said. "Man-of-War's jammed all outgoing signals. No one you can call for help."

Sumerset started pressing numbers. Scourge's eyes narrowed; he shifted his attention to the distant figure of Man-of-War.

"Figure out what he's up to," Scourge said.

Man-of-War nodded; part of the wrist-plate on his arm raised up, exposing a control panel. He brought his other armored hand around and carefully started tapping buttons. A moment later and he spoke--not even the metal hum of his suit's voice could mask his puzzlement.

"Huh. He's, uh, not sending a signal out of the base..."

"What is he sending?" Scourge said, growing impatient.

"It's--oh. Just a text message," Man-of-War said. "Apparently to another cellphone somewhere in the base."

"The content?"

Sumerset finished what he was doing and flipped the phone closed.

"Let's see," Man-of-War said. "Pulling the content now. It's--hm. Apparently..." Man-of-War paused. "Huh."

"What?!" Scourge said.

"What the hell is a 'Dreadbot'?" Man-of-War asked. "And what's 'Berzerk Mode' mean?"

~*~
Next->

Epoch - 8

<-Previous
~*~
Inessa stepped into the BPA control room with all the subtle grace of an anvil landing in a pile of babies. Operators shifted from their consoles and turned to watch her as she exploded through the doorway, a folder in one hand and a cellphone in the other.

"What the FUCK is going on?" she bellowed.

"Inessa. Pleasure to finally meet you," the red-headed man sitting in her chair said. He was hard-bodied and lean; his face was weathered like ancient leather. But before that, Inessa noticed his right eye--it was missing, replaced with what looked like featureless red glass.

"Who are you and why are none of my agents beating the shit out of you for sitting in my chair?" Inessa said.

"Probably because I outrank you," the man said.

"Bullshit," Inessa replied. She turned to the operatives at their consoles. "Where are my field agents? The teams assigned to Epoch have all dropped off the face of the earth--except one, who just called my office to tell me Rockstar showed up. I need strike-teams ready right now--and someone wake up Sovereign."

"None of that will be necessary," the man said.

Inessa turned to stare at him. "Excuse me?"

"I pulled your agents off of Epoch," he said. "The one who called you--the team assigned to Mulligan and Paladin, I assume? Rockstar showed up sooner than we expected. Wasn't able to contact your agents there soon enough."

Inessa's eyes narrowed. Her hands dropped down to her waist; several operatives made themselves as scarce as possible.

The man continued to smile. "By the way," he said. "I don't think I've introduced myself."

"You are three seconds away from losing the ability to eat solid foods," Inessa said. Her knuckles cracked. "So keep it short."

"Murdoch. Percival Murdoch. But you can call me Percy," he said, and then he held out his hand.

Inessa stared at it, then back at him. The frothing rage evaporated in an instant, replaced by a slow, dawning dread. She stepped back. "You're--"

"A mild-mannered government agent. Who, as I mentioned before, outranks you." Percy's smile deepened.

"Why have you been activated?" Inessa said. "Why are you throwing Epoch to the wolves? What the hell is going on?"

When she didn't take his hand, Percival lowered it. "Operation King-Slayer."

"You," she said, breathless with shock. "You're the one who--the mercenaries who brought back Scourge. The recent rash of prison breakouts. You've been--you've been working with--"

Percival drew the gun from the holster and fired it with a single, fluid motion. Inessa looked down, staring at the hole that had suddenly appeared in her chest. She looked back at Percival, bewildered.

"Why--?"

"I wanted to have the chance to meet you before I killed you," Percival said. "And as to the why, it's simple--initial psych analysis places the likelihood of you running off and informing the involved parties of this operation at over 63 percent."

She crumpled to the ground. The operatives in the room stared at Percival--several of them were clearly unsure of what to do. He turned to them and smiled, reholstering his gun.

"Ladies and gentlemen. As of twenty four hours ago, I have Alpha Authorization. That means I could tear out the President's heart and eat it on live TV and there isn't a court in the US that could touch me." His smile twisted into a scowl; the red glass eye started to burn. "Now get back to your fucking posts."

~*~
Next->

Epoch - 7

<-Previous
~*~
"We've got another Skull," Sumerset said.

We were in the bunker, now, sitting in front of one of the monitors. He'd brought up a still image from a newsclip--just a brief figure, nearly a silhouette. Black suit, skull helmet, and something else--a sword strapped to their back.

"This is just what I need," I said, and then I shook my head. "Any ideas who they might be?"

"Not sure. According to the news clips, they stopped an armed robbery. Quick, silent, professional. This is the only footage so far, but witnesses reported that whoever they were, they didn't say much. No one's even realized that this Skull ain't the Skull."

"God damn it," I said. "What the hell is--"

"Relax, kid. This sort of thing is more common than you might think. Some smart ass sees you on TV, figures they can do the job better, puts on a cape, presto. Hell, might not even be that," Sumerset said. "Might be a whole new cape with a similar theme."

"So what do we do?"

"Keep an eye on them, try to see if we can't arrange a meeting. Whoever it is, they seem to be on the level," he said.

"A sword," I said. "I mean, seriously. How tacky can you get?"

"Heh. You might be surprised. You know, Elizabeth--the second Skull--she actually used a--"

Sumerset was cut off by the sound of a sudden alarm. We both jerked up in our seats; Sumerset hit a few keystrokes and pulled up the monitor.

"Is that the bunker alarm?" I asked. It sounded different than how I remembered.

"No," he said. "That's the one for the house above."

"Huh?"

The screen flickered and flashed. For a moment, I saw a series of images--a shot of the living room, the upper hallway, the porch. Then the camera stopped on the kitchen--and that's where Sumerset stopped it.

The front door had just been blown off.

Scourge and three other figures were calmly walking inside.

"Oh, shit," I said.

"Fuck," Sumerset said, and he pulled out his cell-phone. He hit auto-dial and cradled it to his ear; a moment later and he snapped it off. "Jammed."

"What the hell?" I asked, leaping to my feet. "He got his head blown off. He's supposed to be dead. What does it take to kill this guy?"

"This is bad," Sumerset said. "He knows your name, Sue."

"Okay. Okay," I said. "Just--we need to make a move, do something--"

The alarm suddenly deactivated. The lights flickered; the monitor in front of us turned off.

Sumerset and I both stared at the screen, then turned to each other.

"That isn't supposed to happen, is it?" I asked.

"No," Sumerset said.

"Greetings and salutations, Miss Daysdale." The voice rumbled through the bunker's intercom. It was unmistakable--I remembered it like it had been only hours ago. Scourge.

"Fuck," Sumerset said. "He's broken into the security system somehow."

"What? How? We just saw him a second ago--"

"He's probably been planning this. Likely has a team. I bet at least one of them's got the ability to control machines, or some shit like that," Sumerset said. "We need to get the fuck out of here. Now."

Scourge's voice continued above us: "In case you're wondering, I'll tell you your current situation: You're surrounded. I've got a man jamming every feasible signal you could send out of this facility. And as of this moment, we're putting your bunker into lockdown mode."

"What the hell is lockdown--" I started, but my question was answered shortly. Yellow and red lights flashed everywhere; immense metal doors started to slam down over the exits and passageways.

"Door, now," Sumerset shouted, and I didn't think. I just scooped the old man in one arm and bolted for the closest door I could find, diving in with Sumerset over my shoulder. We rolled--I heard him grunt and groan as we hit the ground. Behind me, the door clamped into place; I stumbled up to my feet and looked around.

As luck would have it, I had thrown us into Sumerset's workshop--where several of his projects were set and mounted.

Sumerset groaned beneath me; I helped him to his feet. "Okay," I said. "Anything in here we can use?"

He looked around. His eyes settled on something in the corner. "Ain't finished yet, but yeah."

My eyes followed his. A powered suit--smaller than Arsenal, but bulkier than the Battle Suit--was stashed there, out of plain sight.

"Skull-Buster," Sumerset said. "Was supposed to be a surprise. Help me over to that circuit box--gonna jam the doors, buy us a few minutes for you to put it on."

~*~
The next few minutes were more terrifying than anything I'd experienced prior.

It took me several tries to lock the chest-plate into place before I realized my hands were shaking far too hard to get a good grip on it; I took a moment to even out my breathing and tried it again. I felt a surge of relief when it made a distinctive click, followed by the return of that gnawing, growing fear.

I knew my options were precious few. Scourge was back, and he knew my name. What's worse, he had come to my house--come to where I live--likely with every intention of killing me.

We were cut off from all the considerable resources of the facility. We had no time to plan, no time to prepare. All we had was a half-finished suit, a wheezing old man, and a teenage girl who couldn't keep her hands still long enough to activate a helmet.

Sumerset worked at the door's circuit board, one screwdriver between his teeth and another in his hands. Every so often he'd grunt, and the lights would flicker; on occasion, he'd glance my way and correct me as I put on the suit. Other than that, though, neither of us spoke.

I think we both figured that we wouldn't be getting out of here alive.

"Got it," Sumerset said, and the door made a loud clunk. "Disconnected most of them from the main system. Whoever's controlling the bunker'll have to force their way through the rest of the doors--one by one."

I shifted in the suit. It felt strange; beneath the armor plating was a sleek black fabric that felt like it was stuffed full of wiring. When I finally managed to get the helmet on, the fabric produced a low hum--nearly inaudible. The only reason I noticed it was because I could feel it against my bare skin.

"It feels weird," I told him.

"Don't worry," he said. "It'll stop anything short of an anti-tank round." He looked at me. "Alright, we're getting out of here."

"Sumerset--the formula," I said. "All the stuff in the Vault..."

"Yeah, I know. He ain't getting it," Sumerset said.

"What are we going to do?"

He reached for something inside his desk. It took me a moment to recognize it--one of the retro-future ray guns I had seen in a display case when I had first stepped into the bunker. He pointed it at a far wall and fired; a brilliant blast of light lanced toward it, splashing outward into an expanding web of frost. When it was done, he turned to me.

I stepped forward and swung my mailed fist into the wall, shattering it with a single blow.

"He's not going to get a goddamn thing," Sumerset said. "We aren't just leaving. We're setting off the self-destruct mechanism on our way out."

~*~
Next->

Epoch - 6

<-Previous
~*~
"Brian? What are you doing down there?"

Woot tugged his goggles down and left them to dangle below his throat. What was left of his current project sat in front of him, crudely dissected; various parts had been soldered, hammered, and stapled together into something resembling robot vomit.

"Nothing, mom. Just, um, working on a project."

"You aren't taking apart the refridgerator, are you?" she asked. "I told you to throw that thing away."

"I am absolutely not taking apart the fridge," Woot replied. "That is not a thing that I am doing." He shoved what was left of the refridgerator on the floor behind his workbench.

"Well, good. Just make sure everything's cleaned up before you come upstairs," she said. "Dinner's ready."

"Be right up, mom," Woot said, wiping the grease off his hands and running up the steps. When he got there, they'd already taken the cheeseburgers off the grill and brought them inside; Woot washed his hands and took a seat next to his little sister.

"So," Mr. Daniels said, passing Woot the ketchup. "I noticed those gentlemen in suits already left."

"Mmnh?" Woot said, his mouth crammed full of burger. He swallowed, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and shrugged. "Oh, yeah. Probably changing shifts or something. Or maybe whatever was going on with that mask guy is through."

"I hope so. Really, all this nonsense," Mrs. Daniels said. "And it scarcely has a thing to do with you!" The doorbell wrang; Mrs. Daniels stood up and wiped her hands on a towel. "I'll check and see who that is. And don't wipe your mouth off on your sleeve, Brian. For God's sake, use a napkin."

"Mmnph-mmph," Woot mumbled.

The rest of the family continued to eat--Woot, Mr. Daniels, and Woot's baby sister, Janine. A minute passed in silence; Mr. Daniels looked up toward the hallway where Woot's mother had disappeared.

"Brian? Go check on your mother, see what's taking her so long."

Woot grunted before he finished a burger and sprang to his feet. He darted off down the hallway to the porch; there, he found his mother standing in front of two figures.

Except standing was the wrong word. One of the figures had an arm around her throat; she struggled briefly as they plunged something into her neck. There was a dull crackle of electricity followed by a spasm--and then she slumped to the floor.

"Mom!" Woot cried out, only to halt when the figure lowered the taser and depressed the trigger several feet from Woot's nose.

"Sh. No sudden movements. No shouting, no yelling, no noise," the woman said. She was dressed in a long gray coat with a trilby hat--beneath it, Woot could see a face that looked like it had been carved out of marble. Her hair was a thick, rich tangle of gold; her skin porcelain, her lips as red as blood. But it was her eyes that made something in Woot's belly squirm--they were pure jet black.

Her companion was wearing the same coat and hat, but had a considerably different look--rather than a face, Woot could see what looked like a survelliance camera beneath the hat. The lens glowed a bright, even red, and when he--she--it spoke, it was with a distinct metallic hum: "GREETINGS AND SALUTATIONS HUMAN. WE COME IN PEACE."

The woman produced what sounded like a long-suffering sigh. "No, Tech-Head. We do not come in peace."

Woot took a step toward his mother. "Look, uh, I don't know who the heck you guys are, but--"

The taser crackled again. Woot froze.

"Well?" the woman said, addressing her companion. "Scan him."

"SCANNING, MISS NOBLE," Tech-Head said. He stared at Woot for several seconds; the air around them seemed to hum. After a moment, the robot appeared to be satisfied. "SCAN COMPLETE. THERE ARE NO TECHNOLOGICAL DEVICES OF NOTE ON HIS PERSON."

"Good," the woman said--and then she lunged with a grin.

A spark of lightning snapped out like a whip, exploding across Miss Noble's chest. The coat burst into flames as the lightning produced a thunderous krack-kow and sent her hurtling through the door--she hit it head-on and smashed straight through it, tumbling down the front steps and on the lawn.

Woot's shirt smoldered; the leather harness beneath the fabric bore several dozen miniature tesla coils, each pointed outward and buzzing with a charge. Woot dropped down besides her mother and picked her up, dragging her back to the kitchen; Tech-Head turned from him to the still-smoking body of the woman outside.

Miss Noble sat up, her eyes blazing with hate.

"You said no technological devices of note!" she roared. She sprang to her feet and charged back into the house.

"AFFIRMATIVE. HE HAS NO TECHNOLOGICAL DEVICES OF NOTE ON HIS PERSON," Tech-Head said as Miss Noble sprang past him, her hands extended like the claws of a tiger.

Woot nudged his mother aside and intercepted her, swinging his hands together like a sledge-hammer. A swirling ball of lightning formed just above his knuckles and struck the woman mid-leap, producing another ear-splitting krack-kow. This time, she smashed through the porch's glass window, shattering the frame on her way out.

"What the hell do you call that lightning thing?" she shouted from outside.

"A SERIES OF METAL STUDS SOLDERED TO TWO LEATHER BELTS AND ATTACHED TO SEVERAL ALKALINE BATTERIES VIA COPPER WIRING," Tech-Head said. "LIKELY DECORATIVE."

Woot had managed to drag his mother back into the den; there, he snatched something from behind the couch with his other hand and pointed it at Tech-Head. "Eat electrified justice!"

"THAT IS A TOASTER MOUNTED ON TOP OF A GLUE-GUN WITH A DIODE PASTED ON THE SIDE," Tech-Head said. "THERE IS NOTHING PRESENT TO GENERATE SUFFICIENT POWER FOR ME TO 'EAT ELECTRIFIED JUS--'"

Woot squeezed the trigger; a blue bolt of etherized energy flared out and slammed Tech-Head directly in the chest. The robot flew back, crashing through the window directly next to where Miss Noble had been sent before. When he landed on the front lawn, he sat up and turned to the still-sprawled Miss Noble.

"I DO NOT THINK I LIKE THIS HUMAN," Tech-Head said.

"Shut up and kill him," Miss Noble growled.

~*~
Brick hadn't set foot outside in his father's orchard for longer than a few seconds before he heard the voice:

"Don't move."

Driven by instinct, he shifted his weight off his crutches and moved to turn--and found himself rooted to the ground. It wasn't just that he couldn't move; it was as if he didn't even want to.

"The hell is--" he began, but he was cut off by the fist.

The bald-headed girl was around his age, dressed in a low cut tank-top and jeans. Every inch of bare skin was covered in black ink tattoos--they swirled over her flesh in barbed spirals and twisted talons, as if to covet it for their own. And when her fist hit his face, he could swear he detected the faint odor of sulfur.

The fist hit hard enough to sunder stone--but he did not budge.

"Thing you might not know about me," he said, dropping the crutches. "I don't bruise easy." He shifted his weight and balled up his fists, keeping his guard up. The person who spoke had been a male--which meant she wasn't alone.

"I figured," the girl said, and then she sprang back. The fact that her fist wasn't a mangled heap of shattered bone meant that she had super-strength and was hard as fuck. Neither spoke well for Brick. But so long as he could take things slow, she wouldn't be able to score a serious hit on him.

That's when he heard the boy's voice again, somewhere behind him.

"Run forward."

Shit, Brick thought, a moment before his feet started to obey. He was still recovering from his injuries during the last fight; stabbing lances of pain shot up through his legs. But that wasn't bad part.

The bad part was that Brick's invulnerability relied on him standing still. The slower he moved, the harder he was to hurt. And if he was running at breakneck speed, that meant...

The girl grinned and reeled her fist back for another punch.

~*~
Next->

Epoch - 5

<-Previous
~*~
"I'm just saying. My aunt is old school, alright? Just behave around her. Please," he said. "For me."

Paladin and Jack Mulligan stood on the doorstep to the former's house--Paladin was out of uniform and Mulligan was in his usual shirt and tie. He had a cigarette perched between his lips.

"So," Mulligan said. "No smoking, then?"

"No smoking," Paladin told him, and he plucked the cigarette out of his mouth and crushed it into the sidewalk. "Frankly, I'd prefer it if you just tried to keep your mouth shut. No offense."

"Yes, dad."

The door opened; Paladin's aunt--a large woman with burnt walnut skin who was several heads taller than both of them--promptly enfolded her nephew in her arms and pulled him into the house.

"Good God, boy," she said, squeezing Paladin breathless. "Men in suits've been stomping around here all day. Something about 'protective custody'. I've been worried sick."

"I'm sorry, auntie," Paladin said, his voice sheepish and meek. He wriggled out of her grip. "It's been a rough few days. Some mask got loose and made a lot of threats toward Epoch. Society doesn't want to take any chances, so they're keeping an eye on us and our families."

"That's well and fine, but--who exactly is this?" she asked, her eyes suddenly centered on Mulligan. The boy stiffened and straightened his tie restlessly.

"Oh," Paladin said. "This is, uh, Jack. One of my teammates. I don't think you've ever met him--"

"Oh, yes," she said, reaching out to give Mulligan a hug. "You're the one he never brings by--always got some excuse. What was it last time?"

"Wouldn't know myself, ma'am," Mulligan replied, bearing the hug as best as he could. He grimaced and gave Paladin a dirty look; Paladin just shrugged.

"He was, ah, off fighting--I think it was the Murder King?" Paladin said. "The one with the crown."

Aunt Sylvia finally released Mulligan and shook her head. "So many ridiculous names. You don't have a ridiculous name, do you, Jack?"

"Folks call me Mulligan, ma'am. It's my last name."

"I'm glad to hear that. Says a lot about you when you have a good, solid, Godly name," she said. "And the costumes--skin-tight--wretched, sinful things. You don't wear anything like that, do you, Jack?"

"No, ma'am. This is my costume," Mulligan said, gesturing to his shirt and tie.

"Good. A man who wears a uniform to work--a real uniform--that's respectable," she said. "I'm glad to see at least someone here takes his work seriously." She shot a look at Paladin, who shuffled in place.

"Jack doesn't have a secret identity like I do, auntie," he said. "I gotta wear something to--"

She waved her hand. "Forget it, I shouldn't have brought it up. You're here to relax and see family, not get lectured. I've got something on the stove--you boys hungry?"

Mulligan and Paladin exchanged looks. "Yes, ma'am," they replied in unison.

~*~
After dinner, Mulligan ducked out into the backyard to have a smoke. The skyline was dark, now; but if he squinted just right, he could still make out the distant glow of Metro City.

He was getting ready to stub the cigarette out and head back in to help Paladin with the dishes when he realized he wasn't alone.

"Evening, Jack," Aunt Sylvia said.

"Ma'am," Mulligan replied. He quickly dropped the smoke and twisted his heel on top of it. "Sorry, just--"

"Don't worry about it," she said. Something about her voice unnerved Mulligan--it was sharper, now. Quick and to the point. "You're not the behavin' sort, are you, Jack?"

"Ma'am?"

"I'm no fool. I can tell when someone's doing their best to be something they ain't."

Mulligan shifted awkwardly and turned away. "Palad--James. He asked me to."

"Well, I do appreciate it. I can tell it's not something that sits well with you--keeping your tongue down."

"Is it that obvious?"

"A lot of things are obvious," she said, and then she gave him a hard look.

"Oh," Mulligan said, and this was followed by a blink, and another more emphatic 'Oh'.

She sighed and shook her head. "Just tell me this much. Is my boy in trouble?"

"I guess. I mean, we're always in trouble. Comes with the job," Mulligan said. "This mask--Scourge--he's particularly dangerous. Tends to get a lot of other masks to work for him. But so long as I'm with James, he's safe."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Is that something you can guarantee?"

"Yes, ma'am." Mulligan grinned. "I'm one of the few people who can."

~*~
Outside, the agents posted in the van across the street grew restless.

"I don't even see why we're here," one of them said. "It's not like anyone's going to show up. Scourge would have to be a moron to go after these guys. We could call down Sovereign on them."

"Bureaucracy," one of the other agents said. "Have to justify our pay-wages somehow. Besides, I heard Scourge once managed to beat the Sovereign."

"What? You're screwing with me," the other agent said. "Scourge? We're talking about the same guy, right? The one with the dopey skull theme?"

"Yeah. Apparently, he was serious business back in his day."

"Right," the other agent said, and then he laughed. However, his laughter promptly stopped when something flickered across his headphones. "Hey. Do you--uh, hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That sound--it's kind of distant. Coming from some of the bugs we've got positioned around the street. It sounds--uh. Can you listen to this, make sure I'm not hearing something?"

The agent reached for the second set of headphones and put them on. For a moment, all he could pick up was static and noise--the chirp of crickets, the sound of wind against the microphones. But then he caught it--something distant and building. The sound of...

"Music," he said, staring straight ahead with shock. "That's... definitely music."

"Someone singing," the other agent agreed. "Like--uh--"

"Maybe we should call this in."

"Maybe it's just a band practicing?" the other agent asked.

"Yeah, but let's call it in anyway," he said, and he reached for the radio.

As soon as he flicked it on, the same song they were hearing in the distance started playing over it.

"What is this?"

"Oh, shit," the other agent said. His eyes were locked on one of the monitor screens. "Oh, shit."

When the first agent turned to see what his partner was looking at, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

"Get your cellphone. Call Sovereign. It's him," he said. "Scourge recruited Rockstar."

~*~
Solid granite stomped down on asphalt.

What had started as a straining melody was rapidly building. Every surface capable of resonating with a pitch was now carrying the song; it rumbled from car windows and crackled across radios, TVs, and speakers.

In house after house, people tried to turn off or adjust their devices--only to receive a sharp, electrical shock. Once the Rockening had begun, no mere mortal could hope to stop it.

Clad in a black studded leather jacket and with a sunburst brown Jimmy Page Signature Les Paul in his hands, a man made of solid rock walked down the suburb street. Behind him, the music grew to a deafening roar; as he reached the house and van, he opened his mouth and began to sing:

"You've been... THUNDER-STRUCK!"

Every car window on the street exploded outward as the sound swelled into a wave. The van's front-end buckled and disintegrated beneath the force; the wheels slid off the ground as it jack-knifed to the side and crashed to its side. The windows at the front of the house popped like firecrackers as a network of cracks spread over the stairs.

Paladin exploded out of the front of his auntie's house, clad in his uniform of shimmering white. His first priority were the agents in the van--he darted across the street and flung himself on top of it, turning one arm into a over-sized crowbar and shoving the sharp end into the grooves of the door. With a grunt and twist, he popped the door off its hinges and reached inside.

"Society," he said as he plucked the first gasping, bloodied agent out. "Did you call them?"

"Can't," the agent said. "He's--all our equipment, it won't do anything but play that song--"

"Run. Find a phone. Something, anything. Call backup, now," Paladin said, and he dropped him to the street. He reached for the second agent, just as he heard Rockstar starting up another guitar riff--

"I was shaking at the knees--could I come again please?--the ladies were too kind--you've been... THUNDER-STRUCK!"

Paladin snarled as the sound lashed out and struck him like a spear; even sheathed in his armor, it was like getting hit by a missile. He was thrown from the top of the van and hit the side of a telephone pole--timber cracked behind him as he slumped to the ground.

The second agent stumbled out of the car and gave Paladin a look. Paladin shook his head, mouthed the word 'run', and struggled back to his feet. Then he immersed himself in a full suit of gleaming white armor.

"It's a school night," Paladin said over the rumble of music, an immense sword and shield appearing in his gauntlet-sheathed hands. "Let's turn it down a bit, huh?"

Rockstar grinned. "I've only got two settings," he said. "And the other one rocks harder."

~*~
Next->

Epoch - 4

<-Previous
~*~

"Somehow I find myself questioning the historical authenticity of that movie," Red said as we emerged from the theater.

It was a Saturday night; the first Saturday off for me in a long while. I'd spent it doing something I hadn't done in ages--going out on a date.

The movie was The Society of Distinguished Gentlemen. Kind of an 'Extraordinary League' rip-off. Mark Twain, Spring-Heeled Jack, Nikolai Tesla, Roderick Usher, and the Skull join forces in the late 1800s to fight Napoleon as he leads an army of undead Confederate soldiers out of Hell to conquer all of England.

According to the blurbs, it was based off of real events. Needless to say, I thought it was the greatest movie ever.

"I think I totally should be getting royalties for that," I said. "I mean, that was awesome and all, but come on. Totally using my bad-ass family name."

"If you were registered, you could have all manner of movie deals, book deals, even a line of toys--"

"Would they have karate chop action?"

"They would. And accessories! Like a pretty pink unicorn," Red said, and then she fluttered her lashes at me.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Red grabbed my hand and pulled me toward a movie poster. She pointed toward what looked like some sort of cartoon, clearly excited.

"It is a new Miyazaki movie!" she said.

"Miya-wha?"

Red turned and stared at me.

"What?" I said.

"Valley of the Winds? Spirited Away? Princess Mononoke?"

"Yeah, except for that last one, those are all definitely words," I said.

Her stare shifted into a glare, except not as harsh. "They are movies. Excellent ones. Ones you must see!"

"Are they cartoons?"

"No! Well, I mean, yes, but--"

Now I was just teasing her. "Okay, I'll watch your cartoons, but you've got to watch my copy of 'Big Trouble in Little China'."

She narrowed her eyes; the lovely curve of her mouth pulled into a line. "This 'John Carpenter' of yours is a terrible, troubled man, and I will see no more of his movies."

"Look, is this about 'The Thing'? If I knew that seeing a decapitated head sprout spider-legs and skitter across the floor would make you squeamish, I wouldn't have--"

Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of a low whistle. I turned and caught a glimpse of several teenage boys behind us, lurking like a pack of wolves; several of them were grinning our way. They had probably noticed we were holding hands.

Red saw them, then saw the look I was wearing. Her face shifted into a frown. "Sue."

"What?" I said, looking back to her. "I'm not going to do anything."

"Sue. Let's go."

"It's fine," I said, and I took a step toward the boys.

"Please."

"I just want to talk."

"Sue." She had force in her words, now; I could almost hear the sparks of electricity beneath her tongue.

Something about the way she said my name made me hold back. The boys kept on grinning; reluctantly, I stepped away.

We walked out on the street. For a long time, we didn't speak.

Tired of what it had to say, Red broke the silence.

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what," I said.

"You were going to hurt them."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do, Sue. Empath, remember?" She looked up at me; there was still a trace of violet lightning in her eyes, but it was fading. "You wanted to hurt them."

"But I wasn't going to. Not unless they made a move first."

"So that was your plan? Instigate a fight?"

"I don't know," I said, shuffling my feet and staring at the ground. "I wouldn't have really hurt them. Just, you know."

"Just humiliated them," she said.

"I'm tired of people treating me like I'm a freak," I said. "If it isn't the muscles, it's something else."

"But it's not just that," Red said, her voice gentle. "There is something else, isn't there?"

I stopped walking; my eyes remained locked on my shoes. "I miss her," I said, and I felt my breath rush out of me, like I had just gotten punched in the gut.

"Who?"

"My mom. She always knew what to say to make things better. To make me feel better. I know--she's been gone for a long time, now, and I really should be over it," I said, and I felt my stomach twist up into knots. "But... I feel like, if she was here, she'd know exactly what to tell me to make everything okay. And sometimes, the fact that she isn't here anymore, it just hits me, and--"

Suddenly, Red wrapped her arms around me and hugged me close. Hesitantly, I reached to hug her back; she kissed the dampness from my eyes and pressed her forehead to mine.

"It is okay to miss her, Sue. She sounds like she was a wonderful person. And for what it is worth, you are not a freak. You are a hero," she said.

We held each other for a little longer before we hesitantly pulled away. We slipped into an alleyway where Red whispered words of magic and floated into the air; I gave her a goodnight kiss and she flew off.

I was feeling a little better when the phone-call came. I flipped the cell open and brought it to my ear as I stepped out of the alley and back into the street.

"Get back here now," Sumerset said, his voice drawn and stressed. "We have a situation."

~*~
Next->

Epoch - 3

<-Previous
~*~
The prisoners at the Blackmoor Correctional Facility had a highly complex social hierarchy with one underlying rule: The more freakish you looked, the more respect you received.

All the gangs were lead by powers; none of the leaders cleared class 4, but being able to punch through solid stone or take a lead pipe to the head was more than enough to put them at the top of the prison's foodchain.

New inmates without powers quickly learned their place--they either joined a power-lead gang for protection or tried to make it on their own. And the ones who tried to make it on their own had proven to be prone to often fatal accidents.

Despite this, there was one old man in Blackmoor's cafeteria who ate by himself. He was not a power; at a glance, he wouldn't come off as dangerous at all. And yet he possessed a sort of defiant dignity despite his age and situation.

Initially, one of the top gangs had arranged for an encounter in the laundry room. Rather than one injured and humiliated old man, they ended up with several gang members in the infirmary. Shortly after this, one of the prisoners discovered who he actually was, which only made the situation all the more embarrassing.

They'd been upstaged by a goddamn cartoon.

This time, the gang's leader--a gray-skinned man who's rocky, angular flesh had earned him the name 'Blockhead'--confronted the old man in person. He was flanked on either side by two of his bruisers; they made their way to the table where the old man sat, eating alone. The chair groaned beneath Blockhead's weight as he made himself comfortable.

"Enjoying your mashed potatoes, grandpa?"

The old man shoveled another helping into his mouth, chewing steadily. "Mmmn."

"You understand what's gotta happen now, yeah? I was just gonna rough you up, first. To send a message--that you don't make it in here without paying respect. But now that you've sent my boys to the infirmary--now that we know who you are--it's gotta get ugly."

The old man ate steadily, savoring his bites. His eyes lifted only to scan the walls--the prison guards had silently withdrawn.

"Mmn."

"It's nothing personal. But I can't have shit like that on record, you understand? If it was to get out that Blockhead got upstaged by you--by a normie--a goddamn circus freak--"

The old man's eyes narrowed.

Blockhead grinned. "So just be a good old fuck and take your beating like a man."

The old man put his fork down and pushed the tray away from him. He still held the spoon in his right hand; he pushed his thumb against its back-end, bending it down.

Blockhead snorted. "What? You're gonna start some shit? You know who the hell I am? I'm fucking Blockhead--my skin is jacketed in solid granite. The fuck can some unpowered norm like you do against that?"

The old man had bent the spoon into a boomerang. With a flick of his wrist, he threw it. It twirled through the air and soared over the heads of several prisoners before it began to arc back--just in time for Blockhead to turn his face straight into it.

When it hit, the metal hilt stabbed into Blockhead's left eye.

Blockhead screamed. One of the gang members leapt to his feet, shouting; Boomerang Kid had already reached for his tray and flipped it straight into the other gang member's face. He followed it up with his foot, slamming the heel of his shoe into the tray and kicking back into a flip. He landed on top of another table as prisoners scrambled to get out of his way.

With a grim smile, the old man reached down for more spoons.

~*~

Several hours later, Rick Bishop--otherwise known as the Boomerang Kid--was deposited in solitary confinement. Blockhead's gang had been thoroughly trounced; the cafeteria was littered with metal spoons bent in the shape of boomerangs. One of the guards had mentioned that Boomerang would be facing a whole new series of charges.

He didn't much care about that.

Alone in the dark, he was left to his own thoughts and memories--until the voice of the guard outside interrupted him.

"Visitor," he said, right before the door came open with a metal clank and hiss.

"Eh?" Boomerang winced and turned from the sudden light. Visitor? In solitary? Was that even permitted?

"Hello, Ricky."

Boomerang's eyes fought to see through the brightness, but he didn't need to see the man's face--the voice was enough. He grunted. "The bloody hell? How'd you manage to get in here?"

Scourge grinned. "I've got friends in low places. How's it been?"

"Rough," Boomerang said. "Wankers keep disrespecting the theme."

"Yes, well. It is rare for the present to respect the traditions of the past."

"What you want, anyway? You come to spring me?"

"I've got a job for you, Ricky."

"Another one? Didn't the first one go belly-up?" Boomerang narrowed his eyes. "And hey, ain't you supposed to be dead?"

Scourge shrugged.

"Yeah, yeah, fair enough," Boomerang said, pulling himself up to his feet. As he did so, his eyes finally adjusted. He gave a start. "...blimey, Scourge. You look like--like, uh."

Scourge grinned. "I've undergone a change, yes. Both physical and mental. I've had an epiphany, Ricky."

"A what-sit now?"

"Playtime's over, old friend. I'm putting together a team. 'The Skeleton Crew'." Scourge's grin grew an inch too wide; his face seemed to be split in half by it. "The first thing we're going to do is take out Sue Daysdale's friends."

~*~
Next->

Epoch - 2

<-Previous
~*~
"Scourge," I tell Mulligan. "His body. Downstairs. Backup incoming."

Mulligan narrows his eyes and nods. Another dull explosion rumbles from downstairs. He gives me a look; it's one I know all too well.

"Let's go," I tell him, and we move.

It's not hard to figure out where the explosions are coming from. The elevator shaft in the lobby is exposed--the doors have been crudely blown apart. Smoke and light ascends from below.

I wrap one arm around Mulligan's waist--bands of white swing around his shoulders and under his arms to reinforce my grip. Then I encase my other hand in a shell of energy, grab hold of the elevator wire, and shift my weight over the space below.

We descend amidst a shower of sparks.

Three floors down and we hit bottom. This doorway's been blown off its hinges too; inside looks like a lobby. Down the hall are more char marks along with the shattered remains of part of the wall--someone didn't want to bother with any more doorways it looks like. We clamber out of the shaft and start moving forward.

"Society inbound in 60 seconds," I hear Holly say.

We step through the wall and into the sterilized laboratory beyond. Several steel shelves are mounted on the wall; at least six have been pulled open, baring sets of slabs with bodies. The fifth mercenary is on the right side of the room, standing over one of the bodies--the cloth has been pulled back, revealing the bloodless remains of a recently dissected Scourge.

The mercenary empties what looks like a vial of blood into the hole in Scourge's head.

"Fuck," Mulligan says as he charges forward. I make a ball and chain from my left fist and sweep it out past Mulligan's left flank, aiming for the merc.

I feel the shock of impact roll through the chain and up into my arm as I score a direct hit on the mercenary's chest. His suit absorbs most of it, but he's still sent reeling back. The vial clatters to the floor just as Mulligan reaches Scourge's corpse.

One thing I'll always say about Mulligan--he doesn't waste time. The baseball bat descends in a savage arc, hitting what's left of Scourge's skull again and again. I turn away with a grimace while Mulligan does his work. No clue what was in that vial, but if the intent was to bring Scourge back to life, Mulligan's going to make damn sure it doesn't work. And then--

Suddenly, Mulligan stops, hurls the bat aside, and runs straight at me.

"Run," he snarls.

When Mulligan tells you to run, you damn well better run. I don't stop and ask questions--I just turn and obey. A few seconds later and I hear the sound of something cracking behind me, followed by a scream.

"What the hell is--" I start.

"Merc," he says between gasps. "Scourge killed him."

"Scourge--Scourge is alive?!" I ask.

"Class 2 threat," he responds. "At least."

"What? Are you screwing with me?"

"Up," he tells me just as we reach the elevator shaft.

I sprout a set of spider legs from my back; each one ends in a human hand. Creepy as hell, but it gets the job done. With my arms around Mulligan's waist, we start to climb up the shaft. Somewhere beneath me, I hear the sound of metal bending and cracking.

That's when I notice Mulligan's nosebleed.

"Jesus--Jack," I tell him. "How many times did you--"

"Hundred and eighty seven," he says. "Move faster."

Something is moving fast behind us. I try to look down, but the shaft below is little more than darkness and smoke. As we reach the ground floor, I emit a set of legs behind my back and use them to kick off the shaft's wall, throwing us both back to the floor.

Without another thought, I twist around and make a wall with my left hand, blocking off the shaft.

"Won't hold him," Mulligan says. "We gotta get the fuck--"

"Society has arrived," Holly says.

A brilliant, burning light explodes behind us; we both feel warm air hit our backs. A teenage girl in jeans and a t-shirt steps through a freshly opened portal of swirling blue.

Behind her, I can see silhouettes emerging.

"Move," Mulligan says, grabbing me by the shoulder and pulling me up. "Fucking move!"

"They're here," I say as he pulls me up. The wall I've made flickers out of existence as soon as my hand moves away from it; meanwhile, I see Society members pouring out of the doorway. "We're fine--"

"We need to warn the rest of Epoch," Mulligan says, shaking his head as he shoves me through the portal. "The mother-fucker is back, and he knows our names."

~*~
Next->

Epoch - 1

<-Previous
~*~
My name is James Montgomery. I am seventeen years old, and I have the greatest job in the world.

Some kids work retail. Some kids mow lawns. Some kids shovel fries.

I fight crime.

My PDA's beeper goes off during World History. I turn it down and glance up to Mr. Brinkley. He's in the middle of explaining the fall of Rome when he catches my look and gives me the nod.

As far as everyone knows, I'm a volunteer firefighter. If they were to give the station a call, an operator would pick up and act the part of a surly department deputy too busy to deal with suspicious teachers. If they were to look online for fire reports, they'd find that it lines up with my sudden absences. If they were to 'drop by' the station and ask about me at any time during the day, they'd meet at least three separate people armed with embarassing stories about the one time I ran into a burning building and rescued a sex doll.

I get up and jog downstairs, fishing the tiny earpiece out of my pocket. As soon as I've got it in, I click it on.

There's a brief crackle of static followed by the voice of a young woman: "Good afternoon, Paladin. I'm Holly; I'll be your handler for today."

"Cool," I tell her, keeping my voice low as I make my way out of the hall and onto the street. I pull out the keys and hop on my moped, mounting my PDA on the handlebar. Meanwhile, Holly starts feeding the PDA directions; my destination pops up on a map, plotting a route.

I start the moped up with a rumble and slip out into the crowded street. As I drive, Holly keeps talking.

"There seems to be a small problem, sir," she says.

I was never comfortable with the way handlers always call me 'sir'. The vast majority of them have ten years on me. "Paladin's fine," I tell her, keeping my voice just above the growl of the moped. "What's up?"

"Mulligan has responded to the beeper, but he hasn't turned on his headset. I've got a handler standing by for him, but--"

I try not to grin. "Did you check his file?"

"Hm?"

"Should be a memo in there about that. He doesn't work with a handler."

The long silence that follows tells me right off that we're going to have one of those conversations.

"Sir--ah, Paladin," she says. "It's protocol for all registered capes to have handlers. Refusing the aid of a handler is a flagrant violation of--"

"Check his file," I tell her. "It's authorized."

"Paladin, handlers exist to--"

"Yeah, I know. I need your help. He doesn't. Can you tell me what's up?"

"There's a situation at the Dresden Center. Several Class 4s--tech-based, initial reports say."

"How many?"

"At least four."

I do the math. Don't like the result. "One of our team-members is still recovering--got injured a while ago. Anyone you can contact to play pitch-hitter?"

"One moment." A few seconds of silence, and then: "The nearest substitute cape is a Class 3. She can be there in thirty minutes."

I grimace. Still, it's not too bad. With Mulligan there, things should be fine.

The police have the city block squared off; they've started evacuating. I pull the moped into an alleyway far off from the crowds, stash it by a dumpster, double-check to make sure no one's in eye-sight--and then change.

Doesn't take more than two seconds. I just think of clothes--of the hair, of the mask--and conjure them into reality. A costume of glowing white engulfs me; I feel the tangled threads of dreadlocks sprouting from my shaven head.

I kick my feet--immense pistons made from hot white light engulf them, firing off like cannons. I'm propelled up the side of the building to the rooftop, where I quickly run to the edge--and then, after a quick check to make sure no one's beneath me, I leap down--extending stilts from my feet to hit the ground long before my momentum becomes dangerous.

I slowly retract the pillars until I'm on the ground. Several police officers confront me--more than a few of them stare at me with clear disapproval.

I can understand the irritability; I'm half their age and three times as effective. Frankly, it doesn't bother me. Never liked cops anyway.

"Mercenaries," the one in charge tells me. "At least four of them."

"Hostages?"

"None. They've got power-armor and guns that can punch basketball sized holes through walls. Figured they were at least Class 4s," he says.

I nod my head. Usually, Cape-Busters would be called in to handle a situation like this--but they're stretched pretty thin these days. I start moving toward the front of the building.

The cop behind me gives me a look. "You're just walking in? Where's your back-up?"

"On the way," I say, and then I grin. My entire body is promptly engulfed in a gleaming suit of brilliant white armor--a giant shield in one hand, a big nasty spiked mace in the other.

The cops step back. Most of them have seen it before, but it still throws them off.

I charge straight for the front doors.

The men inside don't waste any time. Their guns start popping like firecrackers as soon as they see me charging with my shield in front of me. Rounds hit my shield--I feel the vibration all the way down in my bones--but it hardly slows me down. By the time I reach the front, the gunfire has died down.

The glass walls rupture. I carve an eyeslot in the center of the shield with my mind; immediately, I count four men armed with what look like high-powered rifles and wearing fibrous black power-armor. Newer models, I think.

One goes for me, bringing a spiked fist down for my shield. I make the joints in my armor solidify as I step forward, taking the blow; then I pivot, swinging the mace around and hammering him in the flank. He's batted aside with a sickening *crack*, crashing into one of the others. Two more shots hit my back, nearly rupturing the armor--I mentally reinforce it and continue my spin, extending the mace until it turns into an enormous fly-swatter.

It hits both of the attackers, smacking them across the room. They land in a heap.

"Receiving update," I hear Holly say in my ear. Then: "Oh, uh, crap."

"What."

"I've just been informed that the Dresden building is currently being used as storage for--"

The rest of her words are drowned out by the sound of a Sonic Inducer; one of the two mercs I hit with my initial barrage has gotten up and is firing a pure wall of noise at me. It rips through the armor--makes my molars rattle. I groan, stumbling back, holding the shield out in front of me.

And then I hear the dull roar of a V8 engine as several tons of American-made chrome rip through the front end of the building. A bright tangerine orange 1970 Plymouth Road Runner tears through the shattered window pane, hurtling straight for the guy with the sound-gun. He doesn't get a chance to react--there's a loud *SMACK* as he rolls up across the hood and tumbles off, hitting the ground with a thud. The car fishtails as its driver hits the brake, bringing its flank to stop only inches away from the room's far wall.

When you have the ability to do near-infinite replays, you always know how to make an entrance.

The door clicks open; Mulligan steps out in a shirt and tie. The man he just hit groans, stumbling to his feet; Mulligan turns to face him.

"Wh--what--who the hell are you?!" the merc asks, grabbing the side of Mulligan's car for support.

"Who am I? What, are you dense? Are you retarded or something? Who the hell do you think I am?"

Mulligan reaches back, unsheathing his Louisville Slugger.

"I'm the goddamn Batman."

The bat descends with a solid thwock, sending the guy to the ground. Briefly, I wonder how many tries it took Mulligan to get that line exactly right. Gonna have to have a talk with that boy later about frivolous power usage.

But all thoughts about that immediately bleed away when I hear Holly's voice crackling in my ear:

"Sir? Paladin? I've just received a critical update," she says. "I'm calling for Society reinforcements to be portaled in."

"Eh? We got this--"

"The Dresden building is where the Scourge's body is being stored," she says.

Right on cue, Mulligan and I hear an explosion somewhere below us.

~*~
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