[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/CAJhOXG.png[/img][/center]


[h3]Metropolis[/h3]


On any sort of map or realtor directory the Queensland neighborhood was called Lane Hill, but everyone called the six square block area “Little Lagos.” African immigrants from all over the massive continent settled the neighborhood starting in the early 20th century. Back then it was one of the few places on the American eastern seaboard Africans could find refuge among those with a similar background. And while it was truly a pan-African mix of nationalities, the higher than average concentration of Nigerians gave it the nickname of Little Lagos. 

Ever since the early 90’s a new subgroup of immigrants had found their way to Little Lagos: Wakandans. Citizens of the secretive little nation had fled to America for many different reasons. Most of them were members of Wakanda’s lowest caste and sought a chance at improving their lot in life, some were attending Metropolis University on student visas. Some of those students might go back home after their studies were complete, but plenty more would stay. But the biggest percentage of Wakandas who called Little Lagos home were the dissidents. They arrived on American soil seeking political asylum after committing the ultimate sin of disagreeing with the government.

Odwa was one of those dissidents. These days he spent twelve hours driving an Uber around the city, but once upon a time he was a very powerful man inside the borders of Wakanda. He was good at his job. Too good, it turned out. A decision was made that Odwa was too dangerous to be kept alive. He'd used every bit of his resources and influence to get out of Wakanda alive, one step of his hunters. He’d reached America with nothing but the clothes on his back, but he’d made it here alive and under the protection of the most powerful nation on the planet. 

And now he was here. And where was here, exactly? A small two bedroom apartment on the fourth floor of a walk-up building. Odwa sat in a recliner eating his frozen dinner while he watched television. He enjoyed watching the old American sit-coms of the 1970’s, one of the many cultural things that never made its way to Wakanda. Odwa finished his Salisbury steak and started on the mashed potatoes as the next episode started. The upbeat theme song blared through the TV's small speakers. From a rooftop across the street, an unseen figure watched Odwa intently.

[img]https://i.imgur.com/CrdmdEe.jpg?1[/img]

[i]“Come and knock on our door... (Come and knock on our door)[/i]
[i]We've been waiting for you.... (We've been waiting for you)[/i]
[i]Where the kisses are hers and hers and his,[/i]
[i]Three's company too.”[/i]




[hr]




[h3]New York City[/h3]



The Presidential Suite of the Waldorf Astoria was aptly named. Every president since Herbert Hoover stayed on the 35th floor of the hotel. Calvin’s security detail and entourage took over the suite, the entire 35th floor, and both the floor above and below it. Calvin stood at the window that overlooked Lexington Avenue below. He could hear the heartbeat of a sniper placed on the roof of the building across the street. His guardian angel, a Secret Service sharpshooter that could drop any person from a mile away. Again, great protection for any other president besides him. He heard static from somewhere across the great cacophony of noise that was New York City.

[i]“Eyes on target. Black SUV, coming up Park Ave. Parking outside Waldorf Astoria. Standby.”[/i]

That wasn't just his security, but something else. Agents talking in short, clipped sentences about a target on the move. It shouldn't be too much of a surprise, thought Calvin. The UN General Assembly was meeting today. Calvin wouldn’t be the only head of state present in the city, and he definitely wouldn’t be the only person under surveillance. 

“What’s up?” Pete asked.

“Nothing,” Calvin said, shaking his head. “Just lost in thought. Maggie, where are we on the UN agenda?”

Secretary of State Maggie Sawyer peered over her reading glasses at the notebook in front of her. Maggie, along with Pete, Calvin, and the always present Secret Service agents, were the only ones in the room.

“Most of the Security Council want to vote on some kind of resolution and action on the Myanmar coup. But we’re getting pushback from China and Russia.”

“Like always,” said Calvin. “And all it takes is one veto from one of them to stop any resolution dead in its tracks. What else?”

“The secretary-general is trying to push through some kind of worldwide agreement on rolling back fossil fuel usage and slowing climate change.”

Calvin nodded and didn’t add anything else. That was the issue with the UN. They could make resolutions and pledges, but they were generally toothless as an organization to enforce anything. There were no levers of power for them to access. So the secretary-general and general assembly could adopt as many resolutions as it wanted, it still wouldn’t stop places like China and even the United States from its continued pollution. It was like trying to use a hall monitor to stop a bank robbery.

“And those are probably the bullet points for you,” said Maggie. “The rest of their agenda is developing economic growth in third world countries, expanding healthcare and internet access, stuff Ambassador Brand can handle--”

“Mr. President,” Secret Service Agent Ross came through the door. “You… uhh, have a visitor, sir.”

“Who?”

Before Ross could answer, he saw the two breathtakingly beautiful dark-skinned women in red dresses. Despite their beauty and high heels, Calvin knew the [i]Dora Milaje[/i] were without a doubt two of the three deadliest humans in this room. Their king was the deadliest. They flanked him on both sides. He, of course, wore a simple black outfit. Black pants, black shoes, and a black tunic. Fitting attire for the Black Panther.

“President Ellis,” T’Challa, King of Wakanda, said with a slight bow. He introduced himself before continuing. “I am so sorry for the intrusion, but I wished to stop by to introduce myself and talk over some things. Is that okay?”

Calvin glanced towards Maggie and Pete. They both seemed as confused by his sudden appearance as Calvin was. But while Calvin Ellis didn’t know T’Challa, Superman was well acquainted. T’Challa very rarely did irrational and unpredictable things. And there was an additional wrinkle. Calvin could hear the continued squawk of walkie-talkies and surveillance chatter from somewhere else. 

[i]“I’ve got eyes on him. He’s… with the president? What should we do? I mean... what can we do but wait?”[/i]

Whoever these people were, they were watching T’Challa. And they were Americans. 

“Guys,” Calvin said. “Can you give us the room? That’s everyone, both American and Wakandan bodyguards.”

Calvin noticed the hesitation with both his Secret Service agents and T’Challa’s escorts, but eventually everyone complied. Calvin waited until the doors to the suite were closed before speaking.

“I didn’t think you usually made an appearance at the UN,” said Calvin.

“I normally don’t,” said T’Challa. “But part of my ongoing pledge to open Wakanda up includes things like this, I’m afraid. But I’m not here to discuss government business, old friend.”

“Is it to do with the Americans watching your every move?” asked Calvin.

“Yes,” T’Challa nodded. “I believe the Black Panther has been framed for murder, Calvin. I need your help to clear my name.”