Threshold - 13

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~*~
"Just think about it," I said.

"No chance in hell," Bonesaw replied.

"Come on. This is like, the most awesome idea in the whole history of awesome ideas."

"No. It's fucking stupid."

"Skull and Bones," I said. "How can you refuse to see the awesomeness of that?"

"I'm not changing my name," Bonesaw said.

We were in the back of the Tank; Sumerset was driving. Red was up front, with Anna, me, and Bonesaw in the back. It'd been rough convincing Red to come with us--even rougher convincing Bonesaw.

They'd spent several months as mortal enemies. Then, after one night, they suddenly weren't. To say things were awkward was a bit of an understatement.

I was doing what I could to cut the tension, but it was an uphill battle.

"Anna, back me up on this," I said. "Skull and Bones--great superhero duo nickname? Or greatest?"

"Uh," Anna said, giving a look toward Bonesaw--who proceeded to glare. "Actually, I think it's already been used."

"Huh?"

"Yeah," Sumerset said up front. "One of the previous Skulls. Had a teenage sidekick named Bones back in the seventies."

"Wait--we get sidekicks?" I said. "Why didn't anyone tell me we get sidekicks? And who was this Bones person, anyway? Anyone I know?"

"No. It was actually--uh, himself, as a kid," Sumerset said.

All three of us stared at the back of Sumerset's head. I think even Red was peering at him critically from the side.

"He was his own kid sidekick?" I asked.

"Uh, yeah. Some sort of time-travel bullshit. Look, it was complicated--the seventies were really weird," Sumerset said.

"Anyway, it's taken, so forget it," Bonesaw said. "Fuck. I don't even know why I'm here."

"Because it is important," Red said.

"It's. It's," Bonesaw replied. "Use a fucking conjugation for fuck's sake."

"I have--" Red shifted, and cleared her throat. "I've been trying to adopt a more natural speech pattern."

"Relax, Bones," I said. "The ceremony won't take more than thirty minutes, anyway."

"You can heal really fast, right?" Bonesaw said. "I'm just asking, on account of how I'm gonna stab you in the face if you call me 'Bones' again."

"It's important that we do what we can to remember the ones that Voodoo Jones claimed," Red said. "The ones we could not save--"

"Fucking waste of time," Bonesaw said.

Red turned to face Bonesaw; her eyes briefly burned with lightning.

"What?" Bonesaw said. "Did I offend your delicate sensibilities, princess?"

"Bonesaw," he said, his voice low and quiet. "Apologize. Now."

I don't know if it was Sumerset's tone or the climate of the car, but rather than shooting back with something 'smart', Bonesaw folded her arms, slumped into her seat, and grunted. "...yeah, fine. Sorry."

Red's eyes were still burning, but she no longer looked like she was about to fling a lightning bolt into the back seat. Her jaw stiffened and she turned back to the front. "...apology accepted."

We drove in silence for a while after that. It occurred to me only then that this might not work. Anna was clearly terrified--Red was barely keeping her composure--and Bonesaw was an absolute dick.

Then Sumerset started talking. "You want to know why you're doing this, Bonesaw? Because you helped him. You fought his battles for him. You fought Red for him. You got a fucking obligation, here, so pay some respect. The only reason we haven't thrown your ass to the Feds is because we assume you didn't know. About the runaways. About the sacrifices. About the spell."

Bonesaw didn't say anything for a good long while; instead, she just stared down at her feet. She looked miserable--like she wanted to claw her way through the floor.

When she finally did say something, her voice was tinier than I expected. "I--I didn't know. I swear to God. I didn't, okay?"

"Okay," Sumerset said. "I believe you."

"I believe you too," I said.

"Me too," Red said.

"That don't mean you ain't got shit to answer for," Sumerset said. "But you don't have to answer for it alone."

We arrived in the Stix shortly thereafter. The ceremony was brief. I was surprised to see how many people attended--how many people were willing to come to the Stix to pay tribute. Of course, the fact that several high-ranking members of the Society were standing on the podium probably went a long way to making everyone here feel safe.

Sovereign was there, along with the American version of Blink--a pale dark-eyed woman in a sleek yellow suit and domino mask. There were a few others I didn't recognize--but Anna quickly pointed them out and told me who they were and what their powers were.

Red and I were out of costume, of course. As far as Metro City was concerned, the Stix had been saved by the Society--somehow, that didn't bother me. Bonesaw didn't have a costume, of course, and she got more than a few stares--but people were smart enough to keep their distance. If anyone remembered her association with Voodoo Jones, they weren't speaking up.

The speakers gave a few pretty speeches. Sovereign stood up and surprised me--talked about the Society's miserable response time and how they could have saved so many more. Then he apologized and flew off, mentioning a rockslide in California.

Shortly after that, they unveiled the monument. It'd sit in the middle of a small park in the space where Voodoo Jones' hideout had once been--a stone plinth that bared the names of his victims. It had taken several weeks of work for Wytch to drag the names out of the Gray--according to Red, she had to call in quite a number of favors, and she hadn't been able to get them all back. But Gina McKennith's name was on it--along with William Richardson. I knew that'd make Red feel a little better, at least.

One name in particular was missing, of course. Jones' hadn't left so much as a scrap of meat behind--and from what Red had told me, Wytch thought it was poetic justice to leave his name devoured by the Gray. In time, he would be forgotten--and no one would even remember that he existed.

When it was all done, Sumerset took us back home to eat. Bonesaw complained, but he just gave her a look and told her that we had things to talk about.

Once we were back into the car, I passed out the cell phones to Red and Bonesaw.

"Nothing really special about them," I said. "Sumerset modified them. We can track wherever they are, and they've got a few special numbers programmed into them. Secure communication lines."

"Special numbers?" Bonesaw asked.

"I was thinking, and talking to Sumerset and Red," I said. "Bonesaw, you're going back to the Stix, right?"

"Yeah," Bonesaw said. "I mean, I guess. It's gonna be rough for the next few months, now that he's gone. New players'll move in and try to take over. But if I'm around there... they might not be so quick to get violent."

"First off," Sumerset said, "if you need a place to stay--a place to eat--our door is always open."

Bonesaw didn't reply. She just looked down at the car floor and nodded.

"Second off, if you need help, that's what the cell phone is for," he said.

She lifted her head and looked between us. "What--huh?"

"Like you said," I replied, "it could be rough. You might need backup. Red and I--we can help you. As long as what you have in mind is saving people--saving lives--stopping crime--we'll give you a hand."

"Why?" Bonesaw said.

"The Stix is important to me, too," Red said. "I was not there for as long as you, but the people there--many of them are my friends. But I can't stay there, Bonesaw. At least this way... I can do something to help."

"As for me, I'm just in it because I like busting heads," I said, and then I grinned.

"This is like--you guys realize this is like a super-team," Anna interrupted. "That's what you're talking about, here. A three-girl super-team!"

"Oh fuck," Sumerset said, groaning. "I'm not Bosley."

"Who?" Red asked.

"So, does this go both ways?" Bonesaw asked. "If you need my help--"

"Only if you want it to," I said. "But--yeah. I mean, Sumerset told me that you did totally head-butt a demon. I could use that sort of crazy, sometimes."

"...I need to think about this idea," Bonesaw said, toying with the phone. "But--I think I like it."

~*~

Several days later, Anna descended down the elevator and into the bunker. Sumerset was working on soldering a circuit-board together, with several components laid out on the table in front of him.

"Okay," Anna said, grinding her fist into her eyes. "Exactly why did you page me and ask me to come down here alone?"

Sumerset continued working without looking up. "Been thinking."

"Okay?"

"Ain't gonna be doing this handler thing forever," he said. "Eventually, I'm gonna have to retire."

Anna became very, very quiet, very, very fast.

"Now, I ain't talking about tomorrow, or next week, or even next year," Sumerset said. "But eventually? Someone else is gonna have to take over. So, I figured. You're her friend. You know gadgets. You even managed to do the job once in a pinch, when I wasn't around."

"Oh my god," Anna said. "Ohmygod. You are--are you seriously--ohmygod." She clapped her hands together and squealed. "Are you serious? Please tell me that you are serious."

Sumerset gave her a cold stare. "Okay," he said. "The creepiness factor, right now? It's about up to here." He held his hand horizontally at his neck. "I need you to bring it down to around here." He dropped his hand to his stomach.

"I swear to God that I will be the least creepy handler you have ever trained," Anna said, stifling another squeal.

"Yeah, okay, see, you're still pretty high on the creepy--okay, look, we'll work on that," Sumerset said as he set the circuit board aside and started to rub his temples. "Anyway, I thought it'd be a good opportunity for you to learn some stuff. How to build what I build, repair what I repair--that sort of thing. Maybe you could even help out with some of my projects. Learn some engineering. You like engineering, right?"

"I love engineering. If engineering was a guy, I would marry him, Mr. Sumerset."

"Jesus Christ, kid!"

"I'm sorry. Right. Don't be creepy," she said, quickly nodding. "I can do this. Um. But--why isn't Sue here?"

"I want to keep this under the table for a little while," he said. "I'm working on a project--thought it would be a good introduction for you. And I want it to be a surprise," he added with a grin. "C'mon, I'll show you."

He lead her deeper into the bunker, toward one of the workshops. There, beneath a wool blanket, was the bare bones of a freshly welded exoskeleton. It was small--very tight looking. And by the size and shape of it, it had been designed for someone of Sue's approximate height and width.

"Is that--what is this?" Anna asked.

"Battle Suit 2.0," Sumerset replied. "Thought we'd sink our talons into the gear in the Vault and build Sue a little birthday present. I call it the 'Skull-Buster'. You in?"

"In the least creepy way possible," Anna replied.

~*~
Next->

Threshold - 12

<-Previous
~*~
The lightning and wind came to a halt as the old woman landed.

As the magic abated, she looked older--and weaker. When she saw Red, something sad flickered across her face.

"Red," she said. "I've been looking for you."

I had instinctively put myself between them. Red shifted behind me, sitting up. "Yes?" she replied, and I could sense the chill in her tone. "What is it that you want?"

"I'm so sorry, Red."

I stepped aside, looking between them. They both had that similar dark, ruddy skintone--and their eyes were the same. I put two and two together. "Wait," I said. "You're--like, you're her mom?"

"Grandmother," Red corrected. Her voice was strained, quivering between two extremes. In the distance, I could hear the screech of arriving fire sirens. "You are sorry? About what?"

"For staying silent," she said. The sirens were building. "For never making it clear that my life--my home--is always open to you. Unconditionally."

Red tried to stand up, but she was still too weak. I stepped forward to brace her; she took my arm thankfully and leaned heavily. "When mother threw me out," Red said, picking her words with care, "I did not know whether I could turn to you. You had taken her side before..."

"My daughters have always been a weakness of mine," the old woman said. "But not this time. When I found out that she had abandoned you, I..." She grimaced. "...we had a talk."

Red's eyes widened. "You... Is she, ah, is she--alright?"

"Yes. But I tore a hole in her roof and set her prized azalias on fire," the old woman said.

I could tell Red was trying not to smile. She shook her head a moment and wobbled; I snaked my arm around her waist and steadied her. "I--thank you, grandmother," she said, her tone trembling. "I am sorry that--"

"No," the old woman said, and there was thunder in her voice again. "You don't apologize for anything." Then, the thunder dimmed, and her tone became meeker. "...that is to say, I'd rather you not. You have nothing to apologize for. Red--if you're willing to forgive an old crone for her mistakes, I want you to come home. With me. I understand if you would rather not, but--you would not have to speak with your mother again, not until you feel you're ready. If ever. And in the meanwhile, I could teach you. My magic."

I felt Red start to buckle against me. Her head was pressed to my shoulder, her arm around my waist--and I was aware that she was crying. "I was terrified that you would reject me. I could deal with that from mother, but not from you."

The old woman stepped closer and reached her arm out for Red; Red took her hand and shifted her weight from me to her grandmother. They embraced; her grandmother kissed her on her forehead. "Never," she said. "My children are precious to me. I will always love you for what you are."

The sirens had become a terrible shriek, now; behind me, I could see the approaching fire engines and ambulances. As I stepped back to give them their space, I heard Sumerset's voice crackle from somewhere behind me on my pack.

"Starling? You out there?"

I pulled the spare radio transmitter out of the pack and cradled it into my ear. "Here," I said. "Red's okay."

"Wytch show up?"

"Old lady who throws lightning?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah," I said. "Uh, she's Red's grandmother, you know."

There was a long silence.

"No shit," Sumerset said. "Huh."

"Yeah. Is... the demon--?"

"Dead as a doornail. Bonesaw's here, too. Voodoo?"

"Smear on the concrete," I said.

"There's a spare mask in your backpack. Upper left compartment--same spot the radio transmitter was in. Pulls out like a kleenex. Put it on before anyone sees you. I'll pick you up near Voodoo's complex."

"Well, uh, actually, if it's all the same to you--do you mind if I stick around here for now? I want to make sure Red's okay, and, um--"

I heard Sumerset snort on the other end. "Yeah, take care of your shit. Just don't let anyone see your face. And remember, you ain't a registered cape."

"I'll remember," I said, and I turned back to Wytch and Red.

~*~

When the EMTs arrived, they placed Red into one of the ambulances. Wytch said she would meet her at the hospital, but she wanted to attend to the fire along with the firefighters.

The paramedics gave me a strange look when they saw me in the stretchable Skull mask, but they were used to this sort of thing. While they searched the area for more people, I managed to get a moment alone with Red while she sat up in the ambulance.

"Everything good, then?" I asked her.

"I think so," she said, and she gave me a weak smile.

"So, uh..."

"I suspected that you were the Skull all along," she said, and then she looked down at her feet. "I thought that you had a good reason for saying otherwise and I thought I would not question it."

I gave her a long look. "...you suspected even when you told me about the--uh, you know--the whole kissing thing?"

She blushed, but didn't answer. That was answer enough.

"So," I said. "Um. Do you like... the PWF?"

"The PWF?"

I grimaced. "Stupid question, I know. It's, um, you know. Just a dumb game--"

"I love the Powered Wrestling Federation," she said. "But I have not had an opportunity to watch for many months. Has Justifier successfully defended his title from the Litigator?"

I blinked, grinned, and shuffled closer. "Yeah. Y'know, my handler--um, the old dude--he mentioned he could get me tickets if I ever wanted to go and watch it in person. He knows the Justifier from back when he was just starting out, see, and--"

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

Now it was my turn to blush. "Oh--no, no, nothing like that, I mean--I know how awkward that'd be, especially given we hardly know each other, and you've been through so much tonight and--um, okay, yes, I am totally asking you out on a date," I said.

Red was smiling, but she looked reserved. "I think--I think I would like that very much. But... there are things I should probably explain about myself, first."

"If you mean the whole, you know, thing between your mother and you, and how Voodoo Jones was disrupting your magic--I think I already understand," I said.

She looked up at me with those bright molten brown-gold eyes, her expression one of surprise. "...you do?"

"Well, I don't understand everything," I said. "But I think I got the basic gist of it--that you're, like, a girl trapped in a boy's body?"

"No," she said, and there was a hint of the same thunder I heard in the Wytch's voice earlier--and a flicker of something. Dark, violet electricity that weaved its way between her burnt fingertips. But in the next moment, it was gone. "...that is not perhaps the best way to put it. But you are within the correct ballpark."

"Okay. But, y'know, I just really like you," I said. "And if that's enough for you--it's enough for me. We can sort the details out later."

It was then that I noticed her hand--the one with the burns--had slipped atop of mine.

"That is enough for me," she said.

~*~

Takes me a good fifteen minutes to peel myself out of what's left of the old Arsenal suit. Bonesaw has to give me a hand--carving with serrated blades while I give her directions. More than a few times, I feel the brief pinch of an edge getting too close to meat.

When I finally emerge, the place is crawling with paramedics. Bonesaw disappears in the crowd; a crew member sees me wheezing for breath and pulls me to the back of one of the ambulances. Gives me an oxygen mask, a pat on the shoulder, and a quick lookover.

I wave him off to help somebody else. Somebody who needs it.

It isn't long before I feel that familiar tingle of electricity at the back of my spine--and realize I'm not alone. I pull the oxygen mask off and look up.

Wytch is perched on top of the ambulance, peering down at me.

"So, what," I say. "Is the Y supposed to represent your rejection of the patriarchal values inherent in the letter 'i' or some bullshit like that?"

"Why do you do that?" Wytch asks.

"What?"

"You always pick fights when you don't have to. It's like you want me to reduce you to a pile of smoldering ash."

"Maybe I do," I say, and then I lean back into the car. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I'm old, cranky, and I just got my shit handed to me by a demon, okay?"

"A demon?" she asks. "You didn't give him that whole 'Eat Math and--"

"No," I tell her, emphasizing it a little too much. "Ugh. Goddammit. And now my ward's off doing fuck knows what--"

"Actually," Wytch replies, floating down besides me, "I'm fairly certain she's currently in the back of an ambulance on the other side of the Stix, making out with my granddaughter."

"...wait, what? Seriously?"

She nods.

"Fuck," I say. "Just what I need."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" she asks, giving me the old stink-eye.

"Nothing against your kid," I say, waving my hand. "Just teenage romance. More stress than I need right now, you know?"

"Remember when I told you that I approved of her coming out as a woman? With the Skull identity?" she said.

"Hell, look, I said I'm sorry," I tell her. "I'm honestly not looking for a fight anymore--"

"That's not what I mean," she says. "Let me finish, you old goat. I didn't approve because I thought it was progressive. I approved because it tells me that she's making the identity her own."

I give her a long look.

"She's inherited a mantle that's been worn by three generations," she says. "Each new Skull brought something different to the table--each made the Skull their own. Lived with the mask on their own terms. I think it's important that you let her do that."

"Maybe," I reply, lost in thought.

"Also," Wytch said, her voice becoming softer, "when are you going to tell her?"

"Tell her what?"

"That you're dying."

I grunt. "The fuck you on about?"

"Sumerset. I worship Kali, not the Care-Bears. I can smell death a thousand yards away. You reek of it," she says. "What is it? Cancer?"

I sigh and shake my head, surrendering. "Kind of, yeah. Leukemia. And lung cancer. And heart-problems. Like my body's just fucking had it."

"And you're still standing?" she says. "How long do you have?"

"A few months," I reply. "I've been taking regular shots of a diluted Skull Formula since last January. Susan gave it to me before she passed."

"Goddess's teats, Sumerset. You know what that will do to you? To a non-power?!"

"Cuts my life expectancy in half," I say. "Also means I get to stand, talk, breathe--walk--"

"--up until the day your body burns itself out and you drop dead mid-step," she cuts me off.

"Ain't it like you said? We gotta deal with our shit on our terms. Well, this is how I'm dealing with mine. I ain't gonna spend my last few months in a bed, Wytch. I'm gonna spend them doing something."

"You have to tell her. When you go--who will she have?"

"Her aunt'll be out of rehabilitation by then. Hopefully she'll have her shit together enough to finish the job her sister started."

"And who's going to help her with the other half of her life?" she asks. "Who's going to be her handler?"

"I've... been thinking about that," I say.

"Tell her, Sumerset. For the love of the Kali, tell her. She deserves to know," Wytch responds, and then she flies back into the night sky.

I watch her go, then reach for the oxygen mask again. And start to think.

~*~
Next->

Threshold - 11

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Threshold - 10

<-Previous
~*~
Violet-red lightning rips through me and out my fingertips. It is more power than I have ever held--and as I try to seize control, it burns.

What is left of Voodoo Jones growls and whimpers from the hole I have made for him. He gurgles--his charred, misshapen claw grips the edge.

"Boy," he croaks.

"No," I say, and I summon the lightning once more.

He shrieks as the energy carves through his meat and bone. He has filled the resulting gaps with his shadows. There is very little of him left.

Before my very eyes, he is becoming a Lurkling.

"Begone," I tell him, and I release the lightning again. This time, I feel it spear through my chest, and I grimace.

He is thrown back. His form flattens to the far wall before growing deeper and darker. When he charges again, there is nothing left--nothing but blackness, claws, and eyes burning with hate.

"Boy," he screams.

I meet him head-on. Magic flares up my limbs as he hits; the force of his charge carries us both back. I dig deep and summon all the power I can, pouring it through him--

--just as I feel my back hit the wall, feel it crumple, feel the cool night air around us as we tumble down toward the street, several stories below.

~*~

"Status report," I say.

I wrap the suit's fingers around a nearby traffic light pole. Iron twists and snaps; I swing it around like a baseball bat and smack the charging demon straight in the face.

God, it feels good to be Arsenal again.

"I asked for a status report," I repeat.

"Evacuating citizens into a nearby church," Esmerelda responds. "Any idea where Wytch or Jin are?"

"Negative on both. Neither carry communicators."

"Dealing with the mother of all Lurklings," Widget says. "You okay over there, old man?"

"Fine. Just beating the shit out of a Class 2 demon."

"Oh, Christ," Esmerelda says. "You didn't give it that terrible 'Eat Math and Die' speech of yours, did you?"

"What? No! I mean, fuck no, I wouldn't do that--"

The demon gets back up. He tries another charge--I ram the pole like a lance. The upper end crumples against his chest as he gets closer, but I hold my ground and push.

"Wytch and Jin will do their own thing. Always have," I tell them. "Meanwhile, sent Skull to back up Red. If either of you got the time, I'm sure they could both use your help."

"ETA on Society?" Widget asks.

"Ten minutes," I tell him. "But I'm not counting on them, and neither should you. Sumerset out."

As soon as I cut the radio off, the demon seizes hold of the pole--and pushes back. The end I've got jams into the suit's torso; the exoskeleton underneath the kevlar clamps together and displaces the impact throughout the frame. I start to pull back ,intent on closing the distance between us again--

--and that's when I feel the sharp lance of pain shoot through my chest.

"Fuck," I say, and then I'm starting to gasp for breath. "Fucking--not now. Not right now."

It's another dyspnea attack. Can barely breathe. Like a goddamn cinder block squeezing down on my lungs.

If I was smart, I'd open the channel and call Esmerelda in. She could be here in a tenth of a second, flat--Class 2 would be a rough tumble for her, but she could take it. But I know that would mean pulling her off evac duty--and that would mean putting lives in jeopardy.

I do the math. One wrinkly ass for a dozen or more.

The radio stays off.

Demon slams into me hard. At once, all the breath is gone--my sight gets foggy as I hit asphalt. He's on top of me, now, his claws gouging into the kevlar, looking for purchase. I try to get a shot with the sonic inducers, but the angle is all wrong.

I hear the sound of something creaking as his claws find purchase. With a grunt and snarl, he begins peeling the armor off my torso.

~*~
Next->

Threshold - 9

<-Previous
~*~

It was somewhere around the seventh charge against the demon when he managed to pin me to the ground beneath one clawed fist.

Bonesaw had been smacked through an upper level wall on one of the streets previous to this one; I hadn't seen her for the last few minutes.

The demon snarled, and his drool smoked and sizzled when it hit my suit. "I will wear your bones as my trophy."

It was at this point that we both heard the thump.

It wasn't loud, but it was hard. The sort of sound you could hear through the streets--the sort of sound that jumped out of the ground and rolled up your spine. And it wasn't just one--it was several. It came steadily, one after the other.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The demon looked up; I gritted against the pain and bent my head back as far as I could.

Something massive was walking down the street toward us.

It resembled some sort of astronaut built out of spare parts. Thick, bulky, and over 7 feet tall--it was wrapped from head to toe in grayish-white kevlar. Its arms were too short and its torso too thick; its legs were squat trunks that crushed asphalt with every step. And where its head should have been there was a glass plate--a half-sphere mounted on its shoulders and back.

Through the glass, I could see a face.

My jaw dropped.

The shrieking serenade of Lady Gaga's 'Bad Romance' ripped forward like a lance and hit the demon straight in the chest. My head was pounding--but the demon suffered the worst of it. He stumbled back and clutched at his horns, snarling with rage.

The sound died down. Sumerset's voice boomed.

"Last tracked Red's communicator somewhere back at her homebase. Go back her up, Skull. I've got the demon."

I got up to my feet, still gawking. "The hell is that thing?!" I shouted.

"Plan B," he replied, and he lifted the fists up to point past me. "Get down."

I leapt for asphalt. Another shriek of Lady Gaga--the demon howled. The kevlar body suit had some sort of sonic inducer built into the sleeves--I could see the holes along the length of its massive wrists.

Fires had broken out in the buildings around us during the fight. The armor flickered and gleamed as it walked past the inferno. It shimmered like steel--as if Sumerset was wearing a suit of armor.

"Back Red up," he told me. "If Bonesaw shows, I'll send her your way."

"You think you can handle this?"

"Kid," he told me, "I was kicking the snot out of Gods back when your mommy was in diapers. Get the fuck out of here."

I ran.

~*~

My name is Red and I refuse to break.

"I will not be shattered by his words," I whisper. "I will not be threatened by doubt. I know who I am--what I am--and nothing he says or does will change that."

I repeat the words, trying my best to believe them. My mind and body unite beneath the might of the magic and I soar higher into the night.

Beneath me, the Stix burns as it suffers under the contagion Voodoo Jones has unleashed. Lurklings--the forgotten castaways he has sacrificed to his distant, alien God--hunt for their brethren, hungry to fill the void where their names once lay. When I can, I strike at them with spells--but I do not tarry. If Voodoo Jones is the master of this infection, slaying him may cure it. At the very least, I can stop him from harvesting the names of more victims for his own dark designs.

I extend my senses into the city and search. I feel him at once; he is not hiding. To the contrary, he wants me to know where he is. No doubt he has laid a trap--he the fox and I the hare.

I do not care. I will not let his traps contain me. I will not let his words break me. I will call down lightning upon him until there is nothing but ash and bone--and then I will scatter his remains to the four winds.

I descend upon the rooftop where I sense him. The glove's blue lightning follows in my wake, gouging a hole through the ceiling. What few Lurklings he has sent to defend him are dispersed in an instant amidst the snarl and crackle of the glove's elemental fury.

Only dimly do I realize that he has come back to my home--the abandoned complex where I had made my stand. It does not matter. I extend my will through the lightning and reduce the walls around me to dust.

"Reveal yourself," I say.

Somewhere in front of me, shadows unfurl. Voodoo Jones lies within--and he wears his wretched grin.

"Hello, boy."

"Die," I respond, but my confidence flickers--and the magic wavers. The lightning hesitates before it reaches him. With a swipe of shadow, he dismisses it--and then he is leaping toward me, his limbs cloaked in claws formed from red-rimmed darkness.

I fly back before his claws swipe me. The tips carve narrow, deep paths through the wall to my left; I slide to a halt, drawing deep for more lightning. I try to ignore his words--but I can still feel his spell as it works upon me. Feel him trying to spread his diseased words into my mind.

"You want to be a woman, but you aren't one," he tells me as his claws lengthen. "You never were. These things--your dress, your glove, your magic--they are not yours. You have stolen them and cloaked yourself in lies. Out of envy. Out of jealousy. Out of pride."

He swipes. I block with the glove, wreathed in lightning--but it is not nearly enough. The magic is waning, and I am flung aside.

As I roll to a halt, bruised and battered, he continues.

"You are ugly, Red. An ugly boy trying oh-so desperately to pass as a pretty girl. Playing dress-up--wearing make-up--but it never changed who you are. Even the magic knows it. Even the spells are fleeing you--where is the lightning now? That little glove of yours only works for girls, doesn't it? It must know something you don't."

I hate myself for it, but when I get up, I start to run. I try to fly--try to invoke the glove's power--but it is not listening. I try to draw out lightning, but nothing comes.

I feel something dark and heavy form in my chest. Where the magic once burned, there is only a smothering void.

I hear him, in the distance. Coming after me, step by step. His tone has changed, now. "Of course, there is another way. There's always another way..."

The magic--the gauntlet--has abandoned me. But as I feel my eyes growing wet--as I feel despair swelling over my chest--something else intrudes.

Not sorrow. Not self-pity. Not self-loathing.

Rage.

I tear the glove's straps from my arm and rip it from my hand.

His voice continues. Closer, now. "I can change you, you know. It will soon be within my power. Alter you down to your very soul... Recreate you. Give you what it is you want."

If the magic has abandoned me, then it can go to Hell. I will not be shattered by words. I will not be threatened by doubt.

I gather what little magic remains into one fingertip and create a single burning spark. And then I bring that spark to my hand, burning into my skin. I grit my teeth as my flesh blisters.

"Help me--give me your lightning. And in return, I can release you. Free the little girl trapped in a boy's body--"

It hurts, but it only takes an instant. My mind shapes the flame as it crawls over my arm. When I am finished, I step back into the hallway and face Voodoo Jones.

He stops and stares. He did not expect me to emerge, but his look is triumphant. The shadows gather around him, and he opens his mouth to speak.

"No," I tell him, and I feel the void in my chest melt. "This is not a trap." I lift my hand, still smoldering from the fire I used to burn it. "This is my own body--on it I have drawn my signature."

Panic flashes in Voodoo Jones' eyes as he sees the markings on my arm and palm. "You--you burned the glove's runes into your own flesh--?!"

Violet-red electricity writhes across my bare knuckles. I smile, and call the magic--my magic--forth.

The air splits with the sound of thunder.

~*~

I built the first prototype back in the 60s, during Vietnam. Back then I was in the Marines--3rd Combat Engineer Battalion. Got sick and tired of seeing people die at the end of a bomb. So I decided to do something about it.

Built a suit for disarming traps. A suit that could take anything.

When the government saw what I made, they wanted one for their own. Had me weaponize it. Called it 'Arsenal'.

73 years old and it doesn't feel like I'm a day over 30. I'm back in the suit again, feeling that familiar rumble of gears--the metal twang of steel cables--as I stomp my way down the street.

Demon charges. I hit him with the improved sonic inducers, then follow it up with a punch to the face. The exoskeleton under the alternating layers of kevlar, aerogel, and shear thickening fluid accelerates my hit until it's got enough force to turn a train into twisted ruin.

The demon's nose crunches beneath my kevlar-sheathed fist. He flies back, rolls, hits a wall, and keeps going.

When he explodes out the burning building, I try not to look too smug.

"Mortal," he roars, extending his wings. "What manner of magic could you hope to bring to bear against a Duke of Hell?"

"Magic?" I ask. "Fucking magic?"

I crank the sonic inducers as high as they'll go. Windows around us explode--the exoskeleton shakes. The demon buckles and folds, his shriek lost amidst the din of sheer goddamn noise.

"Did magic build the pyramids? Did magic bring water to the desert? Did magic put a man on the goddamn moon?" I ask him. "Was it magic that humans used to drag themselves--inch by bloody inch--out of an abyss of ignorance and misery?"

The demon exhales an immense wave of flame. I take it head-on--suit's coolants kick in, cycling through the layer of aerogel and the heat-resistant kevlar. I don't even feel a tingle.

"You're up against ten thousand years of human achievement bought with blood, sweat, and tears--and you think I'm gonna break out a musty spellbook and a nugget of bat guano?!" I head-butt him with my helmet. His horns chip beneath it--doesn't even leave a scratch on the sapphire glass plate.

I grab either horn in the immense gauntlets and squeeze--then throw him to the ground. Asphalt cracks and crumples beneath his head. "I'm a goddamn engineer, mother-fucker. I'm going to kick your ass with science."

I twist, spin, and throw--hurling him straight toward the next building.

"Eat math and die."

~*~
Next->

Threshold - 8

<-Previous
~*~
It didn't take me long to reach the demon.

He wasn't paying much attention to me. Instead, he was lumbering down the street and leaving smoking craters in the asphalt behind him. Anything that got in his way was batted aside with one of those boney, clawed hands--cars, mail-boxes, street-lights.

"Hey," I said.

The demon did not stop.

The hell with etiquette. I snapped out both cattle-prods from my backpack, amped them up to full, and went for him. When I got close enough, I sprang up and stabbed both cattle-prods directly into his shoulders.

There was a dull crackle and sizzle. Wisps of smoke swelled up from where the prods had made contact.

The demon swatted me away with his hand.

More warnings crawled over my viewscreen as I tumbled across the street and smashed into the side of an apartment building. Wood and concrete gave way behind me--a sharp ache penetrated the armor and spread over my spine.

I drew myself up only to find that the demon had turned to face me.

"Begone," he said in a voice that rumbled like thunder.

I charged.

All that time leaping and cavorting around the obstacle course paid off--the demon shifted to take a swing at me just as I sprang into the air. His fist missed me by a good foot as I soared over his head and landed behind him. I twisted around and threw a punch straight for the center of his spine.

I'd say it was like punching a brick wall, except I'm pretty sure a brick wall would have cracked. He didn't.

The punch knocked him forward a little; I felt a flash of pain lance up my arm. This time, when the demon swung for me, he hit. His immense fist palmed my helmet like it was a pebble--and he started to squeeze.

More warnings flared across the screen. I gripped his fingers, trying to pry them away. I heard the material creaking beneath the strain.

"Son of a bitch," I muttered as I snapped the helmet's release lever.

My head slid free just as it cracked and crumpled. When I landed, I was in a crouch--and I went straight for his stomach. Blow after blow hit muscle and bone, denting the flesh inward. More spikes of pain flared up my arms.

This time, the demon crumpled in response. He grunted before stepping back; he threw the helmet aside and swatted me again.

I had to work on my dodges--the next hit sent me crashing through a storefront window. I managed to roll with it and let the suit take most of the damage, but when I landed in a crouch, I could feel blood on my forehead.

"Go home, little girl," he said. "Before I cut you and make you ugly."

"The hell is wrong with ugly?!" someone snarled behind him.

Bonesaw descended from behind with a set of sharpened claws. She buried them both into his shoulders, angled down toward his neck. The demon roared before he bucked backward and sent Bonesaw tumbling to the street.

I leapt out and clenched my toes. Two sets of foot-long spikes slammed their way into asphalt, anchoring my feet to the ground. I turned back and fired the splat-gun at a car in the distance, then twisted my arm and activated the crank.

Bonesaw had moved out of the demon's range; she was already sprouting more armor--an assortment of ivory blades was emerging from her body, shredding her clothes. The demon was moving toward her, preparing to breathe fire.

My whole body tensed up as I pulled the car to me. It came down to a simple equation: Which would give first? The car? The splat rope? Or my torso?

"Hey, Beelze-bubba," I shouted. "You like classics?"

The demon turned. Fire swelled and rushed straight at me; I lifted my arm to my face and twisted my head away. Tongues of flame licked at my cheek and chin; more heat penetrated the seams of my armor. My flesh was blistering.

Somewhere behind me, I felt the car's tires scraping across concrete as it picked up speed.

"Try a 1968 Chevrolet Camaro."

I cut the cord with the thumb-blade a moment before the car reached me; when I felt it hit my gauntlet, I sank my fingers into the passenger side doorway and started to spin. The momentum generated by the splat-gun was transferred into my throw--giving me just enough force to launch the car straight at the demon's face.

It hit with a satisfying *crunch*. Metal buckled and crumpled as the demon was slammed into a brick wall.

Bonesaw landed next to me and stared. "...Bruiser?"

"Long story," I said, and then: "Voodoo Jones is evil. Demon is his. You on our side?"

"Uh--wait, what?"

"Nevermind. Let's kill the demon first. Then we'll figure out which side you're on."

"Uh. Okay?"

The demon lurched to its feet and threw the car away. Now he looked really pissed.

~*~

No sooner had Wytch set foot in the Stix than did she realize it had become a whirlwind of spells and obfuscation.

The old woman stepped out of the shadows that had brought her here and narrowed her eyes. The place was brimming with magic--magic of the worst sort. It occurred to her only then that this was among the few places that she had not searched for her loved one.

She closed her eyes and extended her mind into the Stix, feeling the city's pulse. Along the flow and eddy of its streets, she felt something familiar--something troubled--something in danger.

Her eyes opened and burned.

"Granddaughter. You are here," she said, and with a flash of lightning, she took to the skies.

~*~

The young street thug ran. Behind him, something dark and hungry followed.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, ohgodohgod," he said as he darted down the alley. First, there had been the old man--the one with the fancy car who had thrown him and his friend across the street. And now, there were demons everywhere--hunting people down, pinning them, devouring them while they screamed.

And now one of the damn things was after him.

He started a prayer on his lips. Get me out of this, oh Lord, and I swear I'll go to Church and pray every Sunday, just like my mom told me, I swear on the holy Bible--

There was a streak of red and gold--and then there was a fat, short Latina woman in front of him. She was wearing a loose t-shirt, denim slacks, and a big, cheerful grin. In her arms she was holding what looked like... several boxes of freshly baked doughnuts?

"Buenas noches, Metro City!" she said.

"Lady, just shut the hell up and ru--" he started to say, but then there was another streak of color, and then--

--and then he was standing inside of a church, surrounded by at least twenty other bewildered people. Coffee was set and ready, along with the doughnuts--placed out with two signs propped up besides them. One sign was in English, the other in Spanish--the English one read:

'¡HOLA! HELP YOURSELF, BUT PLEASE TAKE ONLY ONE.

PS: ALSO, STAY HERE UNTIL I GET BACK!

<3

~The Blink'

~*~

The car came to a screeching halt somewhere on the corner of the Stix. The door opened, and a man in a wool gray coat and matching trilby hat stepped out.

"Well," he said as he cracked his knuckles, "aren't you a big one?"

Several of the Lurklings had bonded together--their forms molding into a single, monstrous shadow. Every inch of it was covered in mouths--and every mouth had a set of wickedly sharp teeth. As it lumbered forward, it caught sight of the detective--and all the mouths shrieked.

"Right," Detective Widget said, and he held his hand out. "Plasma Cannon Go!"

There was a moment of daunting silence.

The detective sighed. "Oh, right. I don't have one of those."

The Lurkling shrieked again and charged.

~*~

"Listen up," Sumerset's voice spoke through the radio channel. "Here's the situation."

Somewhere in the Stix, an old Indian woman floated above the chaos of the streets. She was clad in nothing but flip-flops and a cyan-blue nightgown--lightning crackled along her fingers and weaved its way through her writhing crown of hair.

"Shit has met fan and the Society ain't gonna show up for another thirty minutes. Which means that for thirty minutes, we're the only thing standing between these people and the legions of Hell."

Sue Daysdale and Bonesaw crashed through yet another store-front window, slamming simultaneously against the far back wall. They both grunted in unison, stood up--and paused a moment to watch the other's wounds heal up. They both grinned, shook their heads, and charged back into the fray.

"So here's what we're going to do: For the next thirty minutes, we're going to make the Stix the safest fucking place on the planet. People won't so much as get a paper-cut on our watch. You following me? We're going to do this old-school. For the next thirty minutes, no one dies."

A family ran through the Stix's streets. Long and toothsome shadows pursued--and as they did, one of the little girls tripped and stumbled. Her backpack fell open and her math homework spilled out. The howling Lurklings descended, and--

--there was a blur of red and gold. The family was left confused and blinking--they were now safely locked up inside of a church with several other of the Stix's residents. The girl's math homework sat in her lap--corrected, covered in friendly stickers, and with "¡BUENO TRABAJO!" written on top.

"I know not all of you like me--hell, some of you wouldn't spare the skin off your knuckles to save me from a grease fire. But you ain't here for my sake. You're here for the Skull's."

A dozen or more Lurklings had bonded together into a single towering entity--a multi-toothed monster that lumbered down the city streets. Tangled amidst its dozen or more limbs was a man in a gray wool coat and trilby hat. One of his arms had been replaced with an automatic shotgun--the other was extended out like a mechanical snake, chainsaw in hand.

"Because that's the one thing we all got in common. One way or another, that skull-wearing fucker has pulled all our sorry asses out of the fire. So it's time we paid our due."

High above the Pacific ocean, a lone figure soared. Her legs were crouched beneath her robes, her black hair streaming in an arc that extended over a dozen yards behind her--a slender straight-edged sword held in her left hand.

"All Hell is breaking loose. So let's give some of it back. Sumerset out."

~*~
Next->

Threshold - 7

<-Previous
~*~
Somewhere in Metro City, an old woman sat with her legs tightly crossed and the soles of her bare feet turned upward. A bowl of incense burned in front of her and a circle of chalk was drawn around her.

Her skin was the color of burnt clay, with wrinkles that ran so deep they looked as if they had been carved in; her hair was like steel wool with long trails of ink black weaving their way through it. Time had worn down her face, turning her chin into a bulbous knob and her pierced nose into a battered lump. She only wore a loose cyan-blue nightgown and a red bindi on her forehead.

When the phone rang, she opened her left eye. She gestured with her hand, coaxing the receiver from its resting spot and bringing it to her ear.

"Talk," she said.

"Hello, Witch," Sumerset said.

"It's Wytch," she corrected him. "With a Y. And yes, I can tell the fucking difference."

"Got a situation down here. Need your help."

"I'm far too old and far too busy, Sumerset. I'm trying to track down someone dear to me. Deal with it yourself."

"Got a level 2 mystic threat on my hands, along with a host of Lurklings--"

"Deal with it," she said, and she made a move to send the phone back.

"--and Daysdale's daughter is mixed up in it."

She shifted her fingers. The phone halted, quivered, and slid back to her ear. "...Daysdale? Susan Daysdale?"

"Yeah."

"As in, the daughter of Donnie Daysdale?"

"His granddaughter," he said. "She's the new--"

"I saw it on the news," she said, and her wrinkled face cracked into a grin. "Heard she came out as a woman. I approve."

"You would."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

Sumerset sighed on the other end. "Look, sorry. I ain't calling you to start an argument, Wytch. I need your help. She needs your help. Can you do this? For her sake? For Donnie's sake?"

"Fine. But let's make this quick. I've got more searching to do--and Judge Judy starts in an hour."

~*~

Somewhere else in Metro City, a member of a very exclusive club argued on his cellphone with a dinosaur's agent.

The man was smartly dressed in a long gray wool coat and a trilby hat; tufts of black hair popped out from either side, curving up. He had the look of a man who perpetually occupied his 40s regardless of how old or young he was--forever trapped in the awkward phase of his life where he was too old to be hip and too young to be wise.

As he spoke on the phone, his frustration began to mount.

"Yes, I understand that he's a dinosaur as well as a detective," he said. "But I remain unconvinced that he is a good detective. Yes, I've seen the bloody deerstalker cap he has! That doesn't mean--look--agh!"

He slammed the phone down on the table. It snapped beneath his hand, shattering into several of its component parts.

"Figures," he said as he turned away.

At which point he heard the ringing.

"Eh?" He turned back to the phone's remains, peering at it with puzzlement. After a few moments of stunned silence, he realized it wasn't that phone that was ringing--no, it was the other one. The special one.

The one he hadn't used for over two decades.

He stared at his gloved hand, dumbstruck. The ringing continued--emerging from his palm.

He plucked off the tip of his index finger, exposing the antennae. He then lifted his gloved hand up to his head, moving the pinkie in front of his mouth and his thumb up to his ear. The circuitry hummed to life as he heard a click on the other line.

"Evening, Detective Widget."

"Who the blazes is this? How did you get this line?" the detective asked. "This is a private number--"

"Relax. It's Sumerset."

"...Sumerset? I haven't heard from you for--God, it feels like a century. Not since that whole 1984 business."

"Forget that. I need your help. You still work for the Mystery Club?"

"Oh, yeah. I got a doozie to tell you--we just got this application for someone who wanted to join. Some weirdo named 'Detective Dino'--"

"Save it. Donnie Daysdale's kid is in trouble. I need you. If you work for the Mystery Club, that means you can get to Metro City fast, right?"

"Yeah. I'm there right now, actually."

"How fast can you make it to the Stix?"

The detective grinned. "How fast do you want me?"

"Immediately. Keep the old com channel open. I'll contact you with details soon."

This sounded like it would be interesting. The detective turned and stepped outside to the balcony.

"Jetpack go!"

His coat promptly inflated.

~*~

Somewhere within northern India, one monk greeted another.

They spoke in hushed tones as they stepped past the high mud brick walls that surrounded the monastery--moving beyond the temples and buildings built from fading clay.

As they walked, the older addressed the younger in their native tongue:

"The rules are simple," he explained. "Clean the entryway to the cavern once a day. Ensure that the candles around it remain lit. Replace and restock any candles that have burned out. But most important of all..."

Brash and eager, the younger monk spoke out of turn: "Is it true? Is she here?"

The older monk gave his ward a glare, but it was soon followed by a knowing smile. "You wish to see her, of course. Perhaps it is for the best--your curiosity should be quenched immediately, so it will not grow. Come."

They plunged deeper into the monastery. Past the recent walls and the newer additions--deeper still, until they reached a stairway that cleaved its way through the mountain and weaved upward. As they ascended, the architecture grew strange--the lights grew dim. A cold draft wafted down from above.

The younger monk shivered.

"We must speak no louder than a whisper here," the older said, his voice low. "Lest the sounds of our words carry to her."

"Must she remain in complete silence?" the younger asked.

"It was her request, over two decades ago, that nothing be allowed to disturb her during her meditation," he said. "And so we have seen to it--and in exchange, her presence here has protected us."

They stepped past the stairs, through an archway. Before them was an immense stone cavern--lit only by a single candle in the far distance. Dimly, the monks could make out what looked like a figure, crouched in silence.

"Who, after all, would dare set foot in the monastery where the legendary Jin meditates upon the true nature of justice?" he whispered.

It was at that precise moment that a single glaring sound cut through the silence. Both monks instantly stiffened, their eyes widening with fear. The sound was distinct and undeniable--that of a telephone ringing.

For the first time in over two decades, the distant figure rose to her feet. Both monks watched with wordless awe as she reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked like a primitive communicator.

"Speak," she said.

Neither of the monks could hear what was said. But shortly thereafter, Jin began to walk forward--approaching them both.

She was as magnificent as she was terrible; she towered above them both in robes of red and gold. Her hair was a tangled nest of ink-black that fell well past her spine--her face fierce and beautiful.

When she spoke, her voice was like a blade: "I am leaving to repay a debt."

The older monk was given an awful fright. "Bu--but--Mistress!"

She walked forward, toward the stairways. As she moved, the younger monk spoke up.

"Mistress--wait!"

Without turning, she paused.

The younger monk gathered what was left of his courage and spoke: "You must understand... the world is different, now. Much has changed since you were gone."

She looked back at him with a gaze that would cow a mad elephant. "Is there still injustice?"

"Ah... well, yes--"

"Then nothing has changed," she said, and she turned back to the stairs. "Fetch me my sword."

~*~
Next->

Threshold - 6

<-Previous
~*~
"Are you okay with this?" I asked.

"With what?" Red replied. She held on fast to my arm as we flew. Beneath us, I could see the still-smoldering footprints where the demon had walked--and in the distance, I could see him marching toward the center of the Stix.

Didn't know what he wanted or what he was looking for, but I didn't plan on letting him find it.

"Killing Voodoo Jones," I said.

"I do not know how to break his spell," she said. "There is a chance that, upon dying, this will end. I know of no other effective means to save the Stix."

"Okay. It's just, you know. He seemed to mess you up earlier, and--"

"I will be fine," she said. "Is here sufficient?"

"Yeah," I said, and I let go.

I fell a dozen or so feet to the ground. I could see the demon lumbering away in the distance, see the wreckage of cars he had thrown aside. There were people popping their heads out of windows to watch--other people were running, hiding. A few were even trying to call the police on their cells.

"Stay safe," I shouted up to Red, and then I broke out into a charge.

~*~

It isn't long after Sue and Red leave that I feel something hard clench around my lungs.

It's funny. There are words for pain--excruciating, agonizing--but no word for out-of-breath. That's what I feel right now; like I can't even get a speck of oxygen to stick to my lungs.

"Not now," I wheeze, and then I reach for the hypospray in my pocket. With a soft hiss of compressed air, it fires a shot straight through the pores of my wrist and into my bloodstream.

Almost instantly, I feel my lungs grow loose and full.

I put the hypospray away and get to my feet. Then I start moving down the stairs--without the aid of an exoskeleton to buffet each step.

Three stories down--it's a breeze when you're a kid, but the goddamn Exodus when you're 73 years old. After a while, each step is agony; I have to fold up and press my body against the railing for a minute after the first flight of steps.

Serum's barely making a dent in the pain anymore. Which is bad--I'm building up an immunity to its effects.

I fight through the pain. Try to remember that there are lives at stake. As I make my way to the second flight of steps, I flip the cover off the keypad built into the uniform's forearm and start typing up the frequency for a new channel.

When I put in the call, the Tank responds--and redirects my signal via satellite dish.

I hear the ringing in my earpiece. After the third ring--and the fifth step--I hear a click, and someone's voice.

"Bueno?" a woman asks.

"No comprehende español," I reply. "That you, Esmerelda?"

A moment of silence. And then: "...Mierda. You sound like shit, Sumerset."

"Aerobics," I say between gasps for breath. "Need help. You still operating?"

"You know the answer to that," she says. "This line secure?"

"I wouldn't call you on it if it wasn't."

"The world's already got one too many Blinks," she says.

"One more'll have to do. Daysdale's kid is in trouble."

"I heard about--mierda, Sumerset--on the news, the new Skull--is that--"

"Her kid. Yeah. Trouble in the Stix. How soon can you get here?"

"I'm already on my way. Situation?"

"I'll explain on the channel. Set your frequency to the old band we used to use," I tell her.

"...you're calling in more of us? Is it that bad?"

"Worse," I say. "I'm calling in everyone." And then I hang up.

I finish the second flight of stairs and start making more calls.

~*~

The bus hisses to a halt somewhere on the edge of home. Shrugging off my hood, I step off and back into the Stix.

Feels good to have the old street under my feet again--to be back where I belong. Where the scars aren't weird, or strange, or upsetting--where they're a badge of honor.

Except the moment I get off the bus, I sense something's wrong. My territory has been invaded--my sanctuary penetrated.

There's smoke rising up from the Stix, along with the sounds of yelling. On occasion, I hear what might be gunshots. And a distant, inhuman roar.

The bus-driver looks uneasy. I throw a look back at him. "Call the cops," I tell him, even though it won't make much of a difference. Cops don't come to the Stix. The Stix handles its own problems.

I turn and do my Wolverine thing. Bones sprout out of my knuckles--two foot long serrated blades.

With violence in mind, I head back home.

~*~
Next->

Threshold - 5

<-Previous
~*~
Five tons of purified nightmare fuel pulled itself out of the smoking hole and roared.

Every inch of it was enscribed with a harsh, masculine geography--muscle and sinew bundled together like steel cables. Its shoulder resembled a twisted iron girder; its chipped, yellow horns extended above it like a burning crown. Boney protrusions popped out of its spine, its fists, its arms, its chest--every inch of it bristled with something deadly and sharp.

It was a demon. A goddamn demon.

"Tell me you have some sort of spell to send that thing back," I said as I took a step backwards.

"I am sorry, Skull. I do not," Red replied. "In addition, I am currently paralyzed with terror."

Fair enough.

It was nine feet tall and built like a semi. Charging it was probably the second worst thing I could do. The first? Waiting for it to charge us.

So I charged.

It belched out a plume of red-hot flame. A dozen warnings screeched across my viewscreen; I felt the heat penetrate the armor and my skin itch and blister. Something hit me in the chest--and I felt something else crack. I was flung backward, rolling across stone and concrete, the far edge of the roof looming in sight--

Red caught me with the edge of her glove, using the spell to lift me up into the air and bleed off the inertia. When we landed, we were about as far away as we could get.

Sumerset kicked the door to our left open and stepped out into the darkness. He took one look at the demon, one look at us, and then lifted the sonic inducers.

"Behind me," he said. "Cover your ears, Red. Cover the rest of her, Skull."

I threw Red to the ground and obeyed, shielding her with my body. Sumerset turned to the demon--who was starting to rear back into a charge.

Sumerset's exoskeleton shook beneath the volume of the sound. In the distance, I saw several windows popping. The screech was so deafening that it even penetrated my helmet--and I groaned, tightening my grip over Red. I couldn't hear her over the noise, but I could feel her squirming.

The demon stumbled back toward the building edge. It shrieked--the sound was high-pitched enough to carry over the whine of the sonic inducers. And then it tumbled over the building's edge and toward the streets below.

The sound stopped. Either inducer produced a soft 'pop', then started to smoke. I heard Sumerset cursing over the ringing in my ears.

Sumerset had dropped down to his knees. He was wheezing and clutching at his chest. "Son of a bitch," he said between hacking coughs. "Never tested it at that volume. Blew them both out."

Red gasped beneath me as I stood up. "That was--"

"Very loud," I agreed. "Sumerset? Are you alright?"

"Fine," he said, and then he started to cough again. He twisted something on his chest--the exoskeleton's arm-pieces gave a clink, their upper joints releasing. Piece by piece, he started shedding the machinery. "Blew the joints on the framework."

I frowned under my mask. Didn't like the way he was doubled over, or the way he was shivering. Sumerset shook his head as I moved toward him.

"I'm fine," he repeated. "That thing--it ain't dead. Not even close. Stunned it, maybe. There were more demons I saw on the way up--"

"Lurklings," I said. "Red said that Voodoo is using them to wipe out any trace of the Stix ever existing."

"People have always wished to forget that the Stix exists," Red explained. "Voodoo has used magic for the past few months to enhance it. He can only sacrifice castaways to the Gray. Which is why he has been using magic to draw them to the Stix--"

"So he can make the entire Stix a castaway," I said.

"If we kill him, do the demons go away?" Sumerset asked.

"I don't know," Red said.

"Alright. Skull, we're in over our heads. Send out the SOS," Sumerset said.

I nodded and touched the side of my helmet. "S-O-S," I said, enunciating each letter.

The command word we had pre-programmed into the communicator set off a series of events. Somewhere, I knew that Sumerset's laptops were clicking on--and sending out a general bulletin. In a few seconds, the helmet crackled with the sound of a man's voice.

"This is Channel 6 of the Society Emergency Response Team," he said. "I'm not picking up a registration ID from your signal. Please give me your ID number."

"Don't have one," I said. "This is the Skull. I'm here to report one hell of an emergency."

There was a moment of tense silence. Then: "This channel is reserved for registered cape--"

Sumerset reached for the headset in his communicator helm, switching it to on. He shared a channel with me. When he spoke, I heard him here and in the hiss of the signal through my ear. "Shove the bureaucracy up your ass--we have an imminent mystical class 2 threat. All Hell is breaking loose in the Stix, and I ain't talking metaphorically, son."

"Again, this channel is only for registered--"

"My ID is Seven Alfa Roger Mike Two Sierra," Sumerset said, his voice a barely contained snarl. "Now patch me the fuck through before I invent a way to kill you with radio waves."

There was another stretch of silence--followed by a click. "ID approved," the operator said. "I beg your pardon, sir. But this is just protocol, and--"

"People are dying. Patch me through. Now."

Another click. A woman's voice spoke, now: "Location and nature of emergency."

"Stix, Metro City. Demons," Sumerset said. "Lots and lots of fucking demons. One of them is at least a Class 2."

"I'm mobilizing a strike team to assess the situation and take action. ETA is forty five minutes."

"Forty five minutes ain't gonna cut it," Sumerset said. "Portal Blink in, or--"

"The Society's top-tier operatives are not currently available."

"They're never available, goddammit! So go make them available!"

"I'm sorry, sir. They're currently engaged elsewhere, and--"

Sumerset snapped his headset off. I soon followed.

"Alright," he said. "Forty five minutes." Beneath us, there was an explosion, followed by a roar--and distant screams. Sumerset grimaced--I shuddered.

"We can't just wait here," I said.

"No," Red agreed. "I do not know how long Voodoo Jones' spell will take, but--"

"Yeah. I know," Sumerset said. "And I get a feeling the Society ain't gonna send in enough firepower. Alright. We're going to Plan B."

"Plan B?" I asked.

"Yeah," Sumerset said. "Skull. I need you to..." He took a breath. "I need you to hold off the demon."

I stared at him. "The thing that breathes fire and just took a full sonic blast, fell off a building, and lived?"

"You don't need to beat him," he said. "Just--distract him."

"Long enough for what?"

"For reinforcements," he said.

"Forty-five minutes? I don't know if I can--"

"Calling in other reinforcements," he said. "Society ain't the only players in this game." He looked to Red. "And I need you to find Voodoo Jones. I need you to find him, and I need you to kill him. Can you do that?"

Red did not look particularly pleased with this, but she slowly nodded. "I understand. If it stops his spell, it will save many, many lives. I can do this."

"Alright," he said, and then he looked to me. "Skull--"

"I know. Stay alive," I said. "Can do. Red? Can you drop me off the street, half a block away from that thing?"

She nodded. Sumerset turned, limping toward the stairs.

We moved out.

~*~
Next->

Threshold - 4

<-Previous
~*~
We were in it deep.

Shadows crawled over the armor and gripped it from every end; I could feel them flexing--working to pull me apart. The engine growled as I tried to pull my limbs free, but the darkness held.

"Red, now would be a fantastic time for you to go nuclear," I said.

She managed to hold the shadows around her at bay with the lightning from her glove; whenever any got close, long strokes of energy would shred the darkness and force it back. But she seemed to be having trouble generating enough to reach me.

That's when I remembered: Flash grenade.

I jerked my right arm hard and managed to get some slack. With as much pull as I could exert, I twisted my hand around and dislodged one of the small bombs from my backpack--I snapped it on and dropped it to the floor.

"Look away," I told her, right before the light exploded.

I heard Voodoo Jones curse as the room flooded with blinding light. The shadows retreated--and I lunged forward. I could see him now, clenching his hands over his eyes. One punch and he'd be down for the count.

Still blind, he spat a single word at me--a word that hit me like a solid wall of force from above. I slammed down to the ground--felt the floor buckle beneath me. The armor absorbed the majority of the hit, but I was still left breathless beneath the sheer weight that the word somehow exerted.

He spoke the word again. The floor cracked; I heard support beams beneath me groaning as steel and concrete creaked. Warning signs started flooding the bottom left of the helmet's view screen.

"Little help," I said, wheezing.

A wave of sound roared out from somewhere behind me. Voodoo Jones shrieked and stumbled back, clutching his ears. Red crouched and covered her own ears--she wasn't in the cone projected by Sumerset's sonic inducers, but she was close enough to the fringes. My helmet absorbed the worst of it, though it still gave me a bit of an ear-ache.

"I've got a pair of sonic inducers, an itchy trigger finger, and an mp3 player crammed full of pirated Lady Gaga," Sumerset said. "You want to dance, spell-chucker? Let's dance."

The shadows retreated. I felt the weight lift from me; the silhouette of black spider legs sprouted from Jones' back. With a skitter and clatter, they began to crawl along the wall behind him, clamboring up the stairs. Sumerset stepped forward and fired another blast of sound, but by then he was gone.

"God dammit," Sumerset said. "Gotta go after him--"

"Roof," Red said, her voice hoarse. "He's headed toward the roof."

"How do you know?" Sumerset said.

"Sense magic there," she said. "Something big."

"Can you fly us up?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Can only extend the flight magic to women."

Sumerset spat out a curse. "Fucking magic."

"Okay," I said. "Take me up. Sumerset, you take the stairs." I turned to Red, holding out my hand. "Can you do that, Red?" She didn't look very well, but the lightning around her had started to pick up again. When I caught her eyes with mine, she quickly nodded.

"I am fine," she said. "He caught me off-guard."

I wasn't sure what was happening, but I trusted her. I reached my hand out for her glove. "Take us up," I told her.

I felt that familiar tingle pass through me again. Red turned her attention above us and closed her eyes. The tingle deepened--and when Red opened her eyes, they were churning with a furious white light.

"Goddesses, lend me your lightning."

A single bolt ripped through the floor and speared up toward the ceiling; in its wake, we followed. Wood and concrete ruptured above as we flew straight up--soaring into the upper levels of the apartment.

Room after room passed by in a blur--floor after floor exploded in a flash of electricity and force. When we reached the roof, there was a tremendous krack-kow; we drifted to the ground.

Voodoo Jones stood at the center of a circle writ in chalk near the roof's edge with his hands extended. He was grinning.

"Be careful," Red said. "He has cast some manner of spell--"

He spoke a word. It sounded like how spider-legs felt--crawling up and down your back and into your ears. I shivered and stepped back; a gray, swirling fog began to emerge from where he stood.

The shadows that surrounded him began to take form. They looked like the exaggerrated silhouettes of people--extended arms, mishapen backs, lumpish heads. Their fingers extended into claws and their faces were filled with gleaming black teeth.

"What the hell," I said.

"Lurklings," she said. "Every time Jones sacrificed someone's identity to the Gray, they became a shadow--a lurkling--in his service. And now he is releasing them on the Stix. To devour it."

I took a step back. "There's, uh, a lot of them," I said. I counted fifty, maybe sixty. They were rapidly filling the space around Voodoo Jones--some of them hovered above him, others crouched on the ground. Every moment, more of them seemed to spring from the darkness around him.

"Yes," Red agreed. "Far too many. He has not sacrificed enough--not nearly enough to--"

They howled in unison, springing in every direction at once. They soared down into the city streets--some of them swooped out toward buildings, others toward the sky. Even through the helmet, the sound of their collective howls hurt like hell.

When the sound dimmed down, Voodoo Jones started to laugh. Something about it sounded deranged--like he was on the verge of cracking. "I made a trade," he told us. "I gave the Gray my true name."

"Are you mad?!" Red said. "You will become a lurkling yourself!"

"I'll buy it back when I sell the Stix to Gray," he replied, and then he stepped back out of the circle. "But don't worry. Turns out my true name was worth quite a bit more than I expected. I had a little bargaining power to spare... So I bought you both a present."

The circle where he had stood smoked and smoldered. Its center cracked--and along the edges of the cracks pulsed a red glow.

"That's bad," I said, positioning myself between the circle and Red. "I mean, that is bad, right?"

"What have you done?" Red asked him, her voice desperate and quiet.

"I summoned insurance," Voodoo Jones said, and then shadows extended from his back in the form of immense bat-wings. He gave them a sharp flap--and was pulled up into the air.

The circle exploded. A swell of sulphur and brimstone whirled up across us. An immense red fist reached out of the smoking hole, gripping the roof's edge.

Something I hadn't even dreamt of since Sunday school dragged its way out.

~*~
Next->

Threshold - 3

<-Previous
~*~
The old woman's name is Diana; she serves me tea in a small saucer and cup. It is the first time I've ever had it--it's bitter, with something acidic and sweet behind it. I like it.

"Pardon the dust," she says as we walk through her house. The place is nice, except for the gaping hole in the roof. Bits and pieces of timber dangle from the shattered structure where something--or someone--tore through every floor down to the living room.

Her eyes follow mine. She smiles. "Family disturbance," she says.

"Uh. With the husband?" I ask.

"I do not have a husband," she says, and there's something harsh in her tone. Like she's correcting me. But immediately after, she's all sunshine and lollipops: "My mother. She and I didn't see eye to eye on something."

I find a hard time imagining what this lady's mother would look like. She's already old; her mother must be Jurassic.

We sit down in the kitchen, which mostly hasn't been disturbed by whatever disaster struck in the living room. She makes herself comfortable, steeples her fingers, and gives me a penetrating look.

"Your scars," she says.

I hesitate. "...yeah?"

"May I see them?"

I reach up and take ahold of my hood, pulling it down. The response when I show someone my scars is generally horror, mixed with fascination. But Diana only gives them a glance before nodding, as if to confirm something.

"Thank you. You're proud of them, aren't you?"

"How did you--"

"It's our family's gift," she says. "We have the ability to read the emotions of those around us--sense their wants, their desires, their needs. The way you hold yourself, the way you responded when I asked to see them. You're not ashamed of them. I feel your fondness for them," she says.

"...yeah," I tell her. "I guess I am pretty happy with them."

"Good. Be proud of what you are, child," she tells me. "Now. What did you want to ask me about?"

"Your daughter."

~*~

The Battle Suit's mailed fist crumpled through Voodoo Jones' side-doors like a battering ram slamming head-first into a house of cards.

The metal door hit the floor with a clatter. I stood before the crowd, my other fist wrapped around the face of one of Voodoo's thugs.

I threw him to the ground in front of me.

"Hi. I'm here for Voodoo Jones," I told them, my voice amplified through the helmet--booming with a metallic growl. "If you value the status of your currently unbroken bones, I recommend you stay the hell out of my way."

Dozens of eyes were locked on me. Some of them looked frightened--others looked pissed. I figured just about all of them were thinking the same thing: Oh shit, it's the Skull.

In the movies, the hero goes up against one or two guys at a time while everyone else dances around like twits on the fringes. It didn't go down like that--they swarmed me like a mob. I clenched my fists, lowered my head and ran straight in.

I felt a brief resistance. Then the suit's engine snarled with power, and five of them were thrown back to the cage. Some of them were hitting me with their fists--I heard more than a few cry out in pain as their knuckles impacted the armor. At least two managed to get ahold of heavy, weighted weapons, and were occasionally swatting the back of my head ineffectually. I started swatting back.

Voodoo Jones' laughter boomed over the proceedings. He was on top of his throne on his giant wooden platform, looming over the cage. I could see him grinning in the distance through my helmet's projected screen. He started to hoot, shaking his fist in the air; more people scrambled to swamp me.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," I told them.

The wall on the south-end buckled beneath a powered foot as the shrieking strains of a cymbal crash followed by Jimmy Page's wailing guitar roared through.

Sumerset had mounted two sonic inducers to his exoskeleton's fists. He had explained earlier how, with the proper frequency and volume, any sound could be used as crowd control. His choice was particularly unsettling: Led Zeppelin's 'Immigrant Song'.

We come from the land of the ice and snow from the midnight sun where the hot springs blow... Robert Plant's voice wrecked havoc upon the crowd. People shrieked, doubled over, and stumbled out of the way--Sumerset waded into the room in his riot gear, fists extended, grinning like a cheshire cat beneath his helmet.

Voodoo Jones had stopped laughing. The people around me were backing off, now--I shoved another pair out of my way as I charged right for the cage, jumping.

The boots hissed underneath me as I catapulted myself into the air. Soaring, I landed with a crash on the wooden platform--20 yards away from a scowling Voodoo Jones.

"Piss off," he said, and he extended his fingers.

Black spikes of shadow speared out from his fingertips, weaving together into a long whip-like tendril. It struck across my chest like a cinder-block--I was sent whirling to the floor beneath the platform.

Sumerset was busy with the hordes of Voodoo's people, fighting them off with the sonic inducers--meanwhile, Voodoo was descending the steps, shadows swarming him.

"I've got magic," he told me. "The hell you got? A skull on your head? I'm quivering in my hello kitty undies."

"You know what they say," I told him, getting back to my feet. "Fight fire with fire, magic with magic..."

That was the signal. There was a dull krack-kow above our heads as something thundered through the roof.

"And shadows with lightning."

Well, maybe they didn't say that. But it still sounded pretty cool.

Red descended in a single streak of lightning. She tore through the ceiling, sending insulation and smoking rubble down on all our heads. Her glove flexed as bolts of energy crawled along her knuckles before she sent a single stroke of it straight at Voodoo Jones--and hit him straight in the chest.

~*~

"I do not have a daughter," Diana tells me.

"Are you, uh, sure?" I ask. I find it hard to believe that the spell got the wrong place. Especially not after seeing that hole in her living room--or the mention of magic. "Because--"

"I do not have a daughter," Diana repeats. "But I do have a son."

"Okay, because the person I'm talking about is definitely a lady," I tell her. "Kind of hard to miss, too. Flies, shoots lightning, that sort of thing. Goes by the name of Red."

Diana sets her tea down. There's something hard in her eyes, again. "Yes," she tells me. "That is my son."

"Excuse me?"

"My son--" Something strained enters her voice. "My son is a very confused young man."

~*~

Red flew after Voodoo Jones as he tumbled into the backroom. I followed, springing over the platform and leaving Sumerset to deal with the crowd.

The force of the lightning had sent him crashing through a cracked and broken wall and into what looked like an abandoned lobby. There were no lights here; Red's weaving lightning provided the only illumination, casting everything in a shade of cobalt blue.

It was then that I noticed the art. Across all the walls were sloppily painted images of lightning bolts--hot white streaks that flashed across brick and plaster.

"Nice graffiti," I said, and then I thought of Red's prophetic portraits. "Hey, Red, what's--"

More black spikes snapped out. One of them wound around my throat, choke-slamming me into the wall; solid concrete gave beneath my shoulder. Even through the armor, it hurt like hell.

Red unleashed bolts of energy into the darkness; we heard Jones cry out with pain. And then there was a dry, rasping laughter.

"Lightning," he said. "It's what I see in my future."

"No crap," I told him as I got up off the floor and reached for the flash grenade. "I see a lot of lightning in your future too. Oh, and hey--a lot of fists."

"You don't understand," Voodoo Jones said, and it was then that I realized why we couldn't see him. The other half of the room was engulfed in tendrils of shadow, swirling in a churning maze. "The lightning is mine."

~*~

"I didn't mean to drive him away," Diana explains, and then she looks back to the hole in the living room. "But--you must understand. Female magic is very important to us. It is our family's legacy."

I stare at her, long and hard. She continues.

"Our magic invokes the feminine spirits," she says. "Baba Yaga. Lilith. Calypso. Women who lend us their power. He never understood this boundary--that our magic was for women only. And his grandmother only encouraged him..."

"But it still works?"

"I don't know why," she says. "But somehow, he managed to learn it. Use it." Her eyes center on me. "Don't misunderstand me. I want to find him. Bring him back. I'm ashamed that I said what I did, that I drove him out. But--"

"But what?"

"He refuses to accept the fact that he isn't a woman."

~*~

Behind us, we could make out the distant strains of Jimmy Page going nuts on the guitar. In front of us, Voodoo Jones' shadows began to coalesce into something solid.

"I've had a guest," Voodoo Jones said. "Someone close to you, Red. He's told me a little secret."

Red narrowed her eyes. "It is neither a secret nor relevant," she said.

"You're forgetting how magic works, boy."

For a moment, the lightning in Red's gauntlet flickered and died; a whip of shadow snapped out and caught her by the waist. She cried out as it hurled her back toward me--I crouched low and crumpled under her weight, catching her with my arm.

Voodoo Jones stepped out of swarm of shadows, gathering tendrils about him. His grin was as gruesome as ever. "Magic relies on identity. And if you question your identity..." One of his shadow-tendrils seized hold of a brick; he swung it down like a jack-hammer. I shoved Red away and took it straight to the face--it cracked against the helmet hard. I stumbled back.

Red's lightning flared to life once more; Voodoo turned and slashed with shadows at her. The lightning caught the shadow, ripping through it and leaving nothing more than dwindling shreds.

"What have you done with William?" she asked, energy burning in her eyes.

"What do you think, boy?"

The lightning dwindled again; the shadows swelled and struck out at her, smashing her against the wall.

"The same thing I'm going to do to you. The same thing I'm going to do to all of the Stix," he said, and then all the shadows surged forward.

~*~

I sit the teacup down.

"Do you understand?" Diana asks.

"You mentioned my scars," I tell her.

"Mm?"

"You mentioned how I'm proud of them. I am," I tell her. "But there's something I think you should see."

I flex my arms. The bones emerge from my bones, sprouting from my biceps--cutting through flesh and muscle. As they emerge, I hear her gasp.

"When I first discovered I could do this, it left a scar," I tell her. "I realized that if I kept using my power, I'd keep getting more. The more I use it, the more scars I'd get."

She looks uncomfortable.

Good.

"The first scar made me ugly," I tell her. "And for the longest time, I was worried about that. Being ugly. I still am. But--at some point, I realized that I preferred ugly. Because it reminds me that it's my body. I've signed every inch of my own flesh--no one can ever tell me that it isn't mine."

"I don't see what this has to do with--"

"It's why I left," I say. "Parents didn't understand. Wanted me to stop. Told me I'd have to get therapy. Surgery. Told me I'd have to live on their terms or get out. So I got out."

Now she gets quiet.

I sigh. "I really was hoping that it'd turn out to be stupid--the reason she left. That she ran away to fight crime, or to join the circus. Something ditzy or dumb. But it's the same damn reason--she didn't want to live her life on your terms."

I turn my back and walk out.

~*~
Next->