[b]JUNE 22, 2018
THE SECOND DAY OF SUMMER
9:07 AM, EDT
CLEVELAND CITY HALL[/b]

“. . .and frankly, it is a privilege and an honor to welcome such excellent representatives of the superhero community to this great city.” The voice of Mayor Stanley Kaganovich echoed across the steps of City Hall, amplified by a microphone that had proved unnecessary. No Clevelanders were here to take in his speech, just heavily armed police officers and numerous members of the world press. The journalists were decked out in flak jackets and steel helmets, like they were embedded in Baghdad rather than standing on the street of an American city.

It'd be easy to mistake the place for a warzone, though. Sandbags were being piled at key points, the National Guard shouldered rifles and grenade launchers as they manned checkpoints. None of the escapees had yet made a move, but the air was heavy with dread.

The Mayor, bleary-eyed and sweating under the weight of his Kevlar vest, still smiled gamely and carried on with his speech. “Indeed, we owe a debt of gratitude to the people of Columbus, Pittsburgh, and Louisville for their generosity in permitting their sons and daughters to aid us in this time of crisis.” There was a smattering of applause as the Mayor turned around, shook hands with each of the three colorful figures fidgeting awkwardly behind him. First was Damselfly, who had flown in from the state capital on the same gossamer insect wings that now caught the morning light. Next was Joe Magarac, the hulking man of living metal recently arrived from Pittsburgh. And Grand Slam, Louisville's champion, his powerful enchanted baseball bat safely holstered on his back. Photogenic, presentable, inspirational heroes- the kind any politician would want standing behind him when he appeared on national television. Not like some of the others that had been arriving in town.

The Mayor turned back to the assembled press, tried to smile again. It was clear the man had not slept at all the night before. “Indeed, I urge any and all vigilantes who wish to help out to report to duty at police headquarters. If we all work together, we can overcome this dark hour and emerge from it better and stronger. From-”

The Mayor abruptly broke off as a young aide leaned over, whispered in his ear. The pretense of a smile disappeared, and his already waxy face turned even paler. In what was clearly a well-rehearsed routine, Cleveland Police emerged, submachine guns at the ready, and quickly escorted the Mayor back inside the building.

“The Mayor will be taking no questions,” the aide said into the microphone to the bemused attendees. “We have received reports of a situation unfolding.”

[b]BEACHWOOD PLACE MALL[/b]

Even in a time of crisis, nothing can stop the young and fearless from flocking to their favorite places. This upscale shopping mall in a quiet, well-to-do suburb was no exception. The teenagers were on summer vacation, it was hot and the place was kept at a comfortable 68 degrees, everything they desired was sold there. Besides, what did they care about supervillains? That was downtown stuff. Things like that just didn't happen in places like Beachwood.

Unnoticed among the crowds of shoppers was one young man in particular. To be fair, Arthur Rasmussen hardly looked out of the ordinary. Sure, his black hoodie and messenger bag were maybe a little too much for the summer heat, but he never attracted a second glance. 

Rasmussen hadn't been anyone special at the time of the White Rain, just a 20-year-old political science student at Case Western. Like so many other college students, he flirted with radical politics- anarchism, Marxism, Maoism, a different one every week. But when Arthur Rasmussen became one of the Caught, he stopped flirting and he stopped being known as Arthur.

Now he was called Uprising. 

Uprising stopped at a convenient bench, gently set down his messenger bag and peeled off his heavy sweatshirt. Underneath, he wore a black T-shirt crudely emblazoned with a letter A surrounded by a circle. Reaching into his messenger bag, he quickly tied a black bandanna around the lower half of his face as a crude mask. Nodding in satisfaction, Uprising closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated.

And then there was two of him standing there. His double appeared similar in every way- same height, build, and clothing.

Then there was four.

Then eight.

If anyone had bothered to count instead of gaping in shock, this exercise stopped in less than ten seconds when there were two hundred and fifty-six completely identical men standing in the food court of the mall.

“People of Beachwood!” 256 voices boomed, in perfect unison. “You have become weak! You have diluted your essence in your quest for material things! I and my brothers have come to show you the way! Your prison could not contain us or the truth of our message. This place, this shrine to consumerism, it has distracted you from the lies you have been forced to swallow every day of your lives. You are worth more, and we will make you realize this!”

On that note, the hundreds of duplicates broke ranks and began smashing nearby shopfronts, tearing apart the wares. The clones of Uprising worked in silent teams, none had to ask for help in lifting a bench to heave through a window or dogpile storekeepers who were foolish enough to resist. Others began to pile furniture and other fixtures in front of the exterior doors, preventing anyone from getting out- or in.

Uprising had the mall at his mercy- and with it hundreds of terrified hostages.

[b]CLEVELAND METROPARKS ZOO[/b]

Although the sun had long since risen, it was nearly completely blotted out over the zoo, today open only to essential staff. Above, a thick, swirling curtain of thousands of birds and flying insects maintained a vigil, too thick for for any aircraft or many flying heroes to penetrate. 

On the ground below, Jessica Schlesinger stepped over the body of yet another dead zookeeper, his throat crushed by her powerful hands. That sort of task was trivially easy when, like her, you were 6'6” and muscled like an Olympian. That was at least part of the reason they called her Mama Bear. 

“Alright, babies, you're free now,” she said as she used the keys taken from dead keepers to open the enclosure for the zoo's two prized Siberian tigers. Vicious cats, the world's largest, with claws that can slice through the sides of commercial cars, they bounded out and glared directly at Mama Bear.

But instead of tearing her to bits, the two tigers instead gently rubbed their heads against her like common housecats, then prowled by her side like watchful bodyguards. Mama Bear smiled, then began the walk to the next enclosure, leading a growing parade of newly released animals- buffalo, lions, giraffes, African elephants, wolves, kangaroos, and more. They walked in harmony, the herbivores unafraid of the carnivores and the predators doing nothing to their usual prey.

The White Rain had given Jessica Schlesinger a unique ability- the ability to telepathically influence animal life. Intense, exhausting hours of focus had even allowed her to communicate with her own cells, willing herself to grow much taller and stronger (and yes, bustier as well, she had not conquered her own vanity). With her new insight into the minds of animals, she had found them superior to humans in many ways and began striking out accordingly. A city detective investigating her had been bitten to death by his own dog, a dairy farmer had been trampled by his cows. Her greatest triumph, and the victory she had been sent to prison for, had been the kidnap of several hunting enthusiasts and releasing them naked into the forest. One by one, guided by watchful animals, Mama Bear had hunted them down and killed them with a high-powered rifle.

But now the time had come to truly strike a blow, to release these poor prisoners and make this city safe from predatory humans.

“Oh, this will come in handy,” she noted to herself as she came across the body of yet another keeper. This one had had the presence of mind to grab one of the zoo's stockpile of firearms, evidently to protect himself from Mama Bear. It might have worked if her friends the mice and squirrels hadn't swarmed the man and tore at him with their sharp teeth.

She admired the rifle. An elephant gun, a Winchester .460. That round would stop a charging rhino in its tracks- or give an armored superhuman food for thought if they tried to interfere. 

Mama Bear continued her deliberate freeing of prisoners, a long chain of enthralled animals in her wake.

[b]CLEVELAND DIVISION OF POLICE HEADQUARTERS[/b]

“Well, it's started,” Police Chief John McCullough said to himself as he hung up the phone, massaging his temples. He reached into his desk drawer, felt around for the bottle of Bushmills, and helped himself to a generous slug despite the early hour. 

“God help us now.”