POW!

DING!

DING!

DING!

“Ladies and gentlemen! Please give a round of applause for the winner of the bout! All the proceedings will be given to the winners of today’s betting game!”

This had been Logan’s life for over the last decade. Just when he thought he could ignore living a violent life entirely, his bestial instincts continued to push him forward and drove him into competing in the Canadian underground fighting scene. So far, he’d made a name for himself within the business, his special gifts allowing him to win matches after matches and making a decent amount of money for both himself and his darling back home. Despite vowing to lead a tranquil life, he wasn’t planning on retiring just yet. He’d been fighting against his animalistic tendencies his entire life, yet overtime, he came to learn that it was simply impossible to erase them completely, as it’d been embedded into his genetics since the moment he was born. So instead of using those tendencies to hunt and claim one’s life like he used to, he instead opted for something far less harmful, even though he sometimes ended up crippling his opponents due to what was hidden beneath that short, hirsute exterior.

It took time for half of the crowd to warm up to Logan, yet despite their eventual support, he didn’t quite buy what they were saying. He was clearly nonchalant, just blowing the cigar glued between his crusty lips, not even bothering himself to celebrate his triumph with his so-called supporters. He knew, deep down, that they were only in for the money, just as much as he was. They cheered on him and rooted for him solely because he was the best at what he did, and that he could help them win the betting games, not that they really liked him, anyway.

The feral competitor watched, as the officials dragged his opponent’s limp figure out of the mock-up stage situated at the back of the spacious bar. He could sense that the man’s heart was still pounding under that toned chest, albeit weaker than how it was prior to the final blow he gave him. He could hear some of the attendants legitimately wishing that he could’ve finished his opponent right there and then, though he’d (inwardly) made it clear that he would’ve never claimed another human being ever again. Just when he thought he could’ve picked the cash and gone back home already, another announcement—and probably the last one—was addressed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the final challenger!” the announcer initiated over the mic, as an Asian man in a Taekwondo uniform stepped into the stage. Given his enormous size, he seemed like he could give Logan a run for his money. “Hailing all the way from Seoul, South Korea, please welcome the undisputed national Taekwondo champion, Hwa Rang Ree!!”

As if to emphasize his immense capability, one of the officials hurled a brick in the direction of Hwa Rang, in which the latter reciprocated by tearing the brick in half with just a high-angled, axe kick. The crowd was jaw-dropped, mesmerized by the display of velocity and raw strength. Finally, they thought, somebody could hit as hard as the undefeated Wolverine himself. As he soaked in the roaring support from half of the astonished crowd, Hwa Rang closed the distance, tightening the black belt around his hips and taunting Logan.

“Oi, shortie! Think you’re so tough, huh? Well, you better give it up now ’cause you’ll be facing the man who’s gone face-to-face with Richard Dragon.”

Logan didn’t seem intimidated. He’d faced karateka who could shoot fireballs and kung fu masters with lightning-fast kicks before, so a Taekwondo champion shouldn’t be any different, should it? He merely grinned, his sharp canine bare. “Wanna try your luck?” he taunted back, slowly cracking his knuckles. “Bold of ya to say that to one o’ the big boys. I can beat you with just two or three moves at best.”

“Heh. We’ll see about that, wimp!”

DING!

DING!

And the announcer rang the brass bell gripped by his hand. Both Logan and Hwa Rang circled each other, stances assumed, waiting for the right moment to maul each other. The crowd watched in anticipation, beginning to place their bets as the betting game started. They were fairly divided, with half of the crowd voicing their support for the defending champion, while the rest rooted for the challenger to break the champion’s impressive winning streak.

After being in countless battlegrounds, Logan knew it was better to appear weak when he was strong to give his opponent a false sense of security. So when Hwa Rang bombarded him with alternating kicks, Logan decided to let them connect with his bare torso, absorbing the impact of the hardhitting lower limbs. He was yet to topple on his back, still capable of withstanding each and every swift kick thrown in his direction. He was more surprised that his opponent—a flatscan—hadn’t even broken his bones yet after his feet grazed against his skin, given the strongest metal contained underneath. Perhaps, the Taekwondo champion was truly as powerful as they made it out to be. Growing frustrated, Hwa Rang boosted the strength of his swinging lower limbs before turning around to deliver a leaping side kick, his bare ankle firmly knocking the Wolverine’s dark temple.

WHAM!

The hammering ankle managed to force his eyes shut, his wrinkled face scrunching and the cigar between his parting teeth hurling out of his mouth. Logan staggered a few feet back, feigning unsteady as he dropped himself on one knee. Hwa Rang frowned and gnashed his teeth, slanted eyes glaring as he approached his kneeling opponent.

“Aigoo! Why won’t you fight back!?” he protested, then kicked Logan’s ribs, the tip of his foot faltering his lowered form completely. Logan fell on his torso, the impact erupting a loud, metallic thud across the ligneous floor. “How did you keep winning? Are you even the same Wolverine they told me?”

Although barely harmed, Logan flinched, his toned arm around his ribs as he attempted to pick himself up. He pressed his free palm atop the floor, letting his hand support his entire weight. Little did Hwa Rang know, Logan had intended to retaliate when he least expected, and it appeared that his turn was now when his opponent had started to get a little too confident for his own good.

When the prideful Taekwondo champion raised his leg then slammed the back of his foot against his back, the Wolverine—to everybody’s surprise—reflexively held him by his calf, already assuming a crouching position. Hwa Rang gasped and widened his eyes, completely shocked. As he rose out of his prior position, Logan delivered a devastating elbow smack across his opponent’s leading leg, the metallic impact audibly crushing his bones.

CLANK!

CRACK!

“Agh… Ssi-bal!”

Once Logan released his grip, Hwa Rang set his injured leg down, holding his thigh in pain. He stood unsteadily, barely able to move, let alone retaliate now that one of his two greatest assets had been fractured and disjointed. Like most Taekwondo practitioners, one of Hwa Rang’s greatest strengths was his kicks, and Logan—having mastered a wide variety of martial arts disciplines known to man—was aware of this.

Now that he’d been robbed of his ability to deliver devastating kicks, Hwa Rang was left with no choice but to utilize his fists to good use. And it showed. Once again, like most Taekwondo practitioners, Hwa Rang wasn’t taught to refine his fists to perfection, so by the time he flailed Logan over and over, none of his flails managed to connect. Instead, it only seemed like he was flailing the air the whole time, while the Wolverine continued to step left and right out of harm’s way.

When Hwa Rang deployed a sloppy right cross, Logan caught him by surprise, as he held him by the wrist, his opponent’s knuckles mere inches away from the bridge of his nose. With a sharp snap, he squashed and twirled his wrist, bringing his unfurled hand below his mandible.

“Arghhh—!!”

The rabid Wolverine continued to tighten his grasp, applying bigger and harder pressure to the already damaged forearm. He gauged his opponent’s reaction, his oriental features wincing and his larger fingers twitching uncontrollably. He couldn’t say he enjoyed the look on his visage, but in a no holds barred match like this, he had to give his all to gain an upper hand, even if it meant wounding his opponent with the certain appendages stowed under both of his hands. Of course, he wouldn’t unsheath his secret weapons, unless somebody decided to bring a knife to a fisticuffs. So instead, he pulled Hwa Rang closer, their foreheads collided, a staggering headbutt given.

CLANK!

THUD!

The Taekwondo practitioner was stunned, red fluids making their ways out of his nostrils. He covered his visage upon impact, awkwardly wobbling back with hunched shoulders. The roar of the crowd intensified, both excitement and frustration filling the atmosphere. The Wolverine’s die-hard supporters rejoiced, hopping and flailing the air, as they urged him to finish his opponent. Meanwhile, those who’d counted on Hwa Rang were enraged—some booed aloud, while the rest just walked out of the bar before the outcome was even determined.

As for Logan, he couldn’t bother. Despite the encouragement from his supporters, he still refused to kill. Instead, he tried to end the bout with a sweeping leg, his smaller figure ducking beneath the gigantic challenger. The sweep collided with the outside of his calf, toppling Hwa Rang on his back with a loud smack! With one hand and one leg injured severely, the Taekwondo practitioner laid still for the next couple of minutes, struggling to recover from all the attacks. He blinked his eyes a few times, his vision blurry, unable to keep them opened for a bit longer. Rushing into the mock-up stage, the referee initiated the count, all while checking on the laid competitor’s condition.

“One… Two…”

Still no reaction was elicited. The referee continued the count, reaching “five” and “six,” yet despite the loud cue, the best that Hwa Rang could give was a mere twitch of his fingers. It was palpable that he was starting to black out. The referee lifted his healthy arm, trying to make him react to the gesture, but to no avail. He did it again and again, and still no signs of consciousness were found. Instead, Hwa Rang’s arm continued to slip away over and over, lacking the strength and energy it once had. As the count reached “ten,” the referee stood and gestured at the announcer to ring the brass bell, putting the bout to a halt. The winner had been decided.

DING!

DING!

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have our winner!” the announcer stated over the mic, then strode towards the center of the stage, his echo slightly overwhelmed by the concoction of cheers and boos. “And he is still your undisputed champion. The Untamed, The Uncanny… WOLVERINE!!”

Standing back up, Logan cracked and stretched his neck, hissing and letting his canines bare, not bothering to give the rioting crowd a look. Love him or hate him, they could say all they liked about his performance, as long as he was coming home with a monster-sized cash. As he lazily strolled towards the unconscious Hwa Rang, Logan spewed a small drop of saliva onto his visage, glaring at him with a hint of mockery.

“Rookie…”

He turned around, then pulled an unused cigar and a lighter out of the pocket of his trousers, clicking the lighter on and lighting the cigar’s tip until it became hot red. He stowed and sucked the lit cigar between his crusty lips, silently absorbing the crowd’s restless roar. With his nonchalance at full display, the Wolverine combed through the crowd and shoved plenty of attendants aside, much to their exasperation. The bruises on his face and torso were miraculously cleared, and he was ready to make his way out of the mock-up stage.




Logan didn’t plan on leaving the bar just yet, even as the bout was finally concluded. Sporting back his dark leather jacket and white undershirt, the feral midget approached the counter, intending to savor some alcoholic beverage before he could call it a day. He took a seat and tidied his jacket’s shriveled fabric, about the same time the owner of the bar closed in on him from across the counter separating them.

“Got anything to drink?” the owner asked, his voice one of familiarity.

“Beer, please,” Logan simply answered, then as the owner left to prepare his order, continued to savor the cigar held by the corners of his lips, the emitted foggy trail thickening and clouding over his head.

He paid attention to his surroundings, his heightened senses always on alert, as if believing that threat was always around the corner. Who could blame him, after all? For all his life, Logan had been fighting and getting himself into the hottest conflicts possible, having survived both physical and mental torments that he couldn’t even quite remember anymore. It left him with such a huge mental scar that he decided to isolate himself in the middle of nowhere, avoiding troubles as best he could. It couldn’t help when the entire world had been witnessing a great resurgence of superpowered individuals—something that even he, a mutant, wasn’t certain when the trend started to peak and whether or not this was only a fad.

When his vigilant eyes fell upon the wall-mounted TV perching by the other end of the bar, Logan couldn’t be any truer. Most of today’s news reports revolved around several names who’d been making waves over the past year due to their otherworldly gifts. There was a spiderling combating a humanoid shark, a so-called Nordic lightning deity preventing a plane from crashing, and even what seemed like a mysterious virus plaguing the entirety of Capitol City where a certain ‘Green Lantern’ patrolled. Every story felt like it was stripped out of pages of comic book magazines, and each passing day felt like a major event worth catching up.

However, despite the positives of having men and women in their masks and capes guarding the entirety of the world, there were (also) talks about regulations—how these gifted individuals (especially mutants, inhumans, and metahumans) needed to be reduced into something more… manageable. This was further emphasized by today’s headline: the announcement of Sentinel One developed by Lex Corp. Logically, Logan was supposed to be concerned since he was part of the specific population this machine might be targeting, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care, nevertheless. He thought the world out there was full of all kinds of crap and nonsense, thanks to the flawed, predatory system that continued to prey on those weak enough to support themselves. The world needed changes, but they certainly wouldn’t come from him. Because the last time he did try to make a genuine change, the same system failed him, treating him no less than a breathing, walking weapon to help the government win the fight against the Axis. And given the (mostly) peaceful solitary he’d been living in over the past couple of years, being a saviour was the last thing that’d ever cross his mind.

Yeah, who the fuck gives a shit whatcha do out there? The world ain’t gonna change. I’m just gonna mind my own business.

But perhaps, life had other plans for him. By the time he was going to savor the beer served, somebody had shoved his head from behind, close to making him choke on his own beverage. Logan let out a faint cough, wiped his moistened lips, then looked past his shoulder, discovering that the culprit was none other than the enormous man he fought beforehand. After having half of his limbs palpably restructured, Hwa Rang had to walk around with a crutch propping his unsteady frame, the bridge of his nose bandaged and his injured arm held by an arm sling. He reciprocated Logan’s apparent—or perhaps, feigned—obliviousness with a glare, a furrow drawn by his eyebrows.

“Oi, gae-sae-kki!” he exclaimed, scoffing the smaller man with the Korean equivalent of ‘son of a bitch.’ “Don’t lie, I know you were cheating. You used steroids, didn’t you?”

“’Roids?” Logan snorted. “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Of course, you know!” he continued to accuse, pushing his shoulder. “Nobody can hit as hard as you did. Just admit it!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. You ain’t got no proof that I did. Besides, the hell would I lie?” Logan argued nonchalantly. “Just face it, bub, I won and you lost. And I bet you fair and square.”

“Urgh… Ssi—”

Then, Hwa Rang stifled, right before another cuss word could leave his mouth. His mind immediately took him back to when the bout was still going. He remembered how Logan absorbed all his kicks with relative ease—how he was barely battered after having to endure rounds after rounds of stiff, punishing attacks. When his foot grazed against the Wolverine’s torso and temple, it felt like he was kicking the surface of a metal, instead of flesh and bone. With that in mind, he came to one hypothesis.

“Ah… I see now,” Hwa Rang muttered. “You’re a mutant, aren’t you?”

“’Scuse me?” Logan questioned, his keen eyebrow arching, neither admitting nor denying.

“So, it is true,” Hwa Rang said, quickly drawing a conclusion. “That means, I have every right to kill you right now.”

Reflexively, the Taekwondo champion revealed a higonokami from beneath his gi, his healthy hand unfolding the traditional weapon. He attempted to charge and thrust the knife in his opponent’s direction, trying to exert all his energy despite his crippled condition. Logan, having read Hwa Rang’s every move, quickly stood out of his seat to (finally) reveal his own secret weapon: three metal appendages that struck out of his knuckles with a loud…

SNIKT!

The Wolverine turned around and swung his claws backhanded, their sharp, pointy tips grazing against Hwa Rang’s functioning forearm. A wild burst of red kicked out of his wrist, the higonokami tossed away. In a fit of rage, Logan charged in his opponent’s direction, harshly pinning him against the wall behind. He gripped his throat tightly, lifting and pointing the tips of the Adamantium claws at the other bruiser.

“Jugeullae!?” Logan snapped with an accented voice, threatening the Korean man with the Korean equivalent of ‘do you want to die!?’ Hwa Rang swallowed, now legitimately frightened, his crippled frame quivering. “You’ve broken two arms and a leg. Would be a shame if I gotta cut your—”

BANG!

Logan’s words were cut short when a loud banging noise exploded, a miniscule hole forming close to Hwa Rang’s dark temple around the wall. He darted his gaze past his shoulder, finding the owner of Gastown Bar closing in on them with a hunting rifle in his hands. The owner pointed the foggy muzzle in his direction, his visage firm.

“Get your hand off that man, mutie,” the owner reprimanded. “You’re not welcomed here.”

Logan was already too exasperated to talk. For a moment, his gaze leaped between the owner, Hwa Rang, and the rest of Gastown Bar, noticing that he’d drawn unwanted attention from other patrons. Thankfully, the bar wasn’t as bustling as it was when the impromptu tournament was being hosted, so not many people would’ve watched him tear the bigger bruiser from limb to limb. Not that he planned on doing so, anyway.

Eventually, Logan did as the owner told him, but not before chopping the barrel of his rifle with his claws like a hot knife through butter. The owner gasped, jaw-dropped, as he tightened his grip on the now decapitated rifle and distanced himself from the clawed berserker. Hwa Rang slid to the floor in a sitting position, wincing in pain, all while the rabid Wolverine withdrew his appendages.

SNAKT!

Holes were formed around his knuckles as the result of the metal appendages being drawn out, though they patched themselves up in less than a minute. Logan rummaged through his pocket, revealing a stack of notes banded together with a strap. He pulled just a couple of Canadian bucks, then shoved them against the owner’s clavicle, prompting the latter to hesitantly pick the cash the Wolverine had earned through the prior bout with trembling hands.

“Keep the change,” Logan told the owner with a scowl. “I ain’t comin’ back here.”

For a few seconds, Logan refused to move his glaring eyes away from the owner, given what the latter had just told him beforehand. As much as he couldn’t care less about the current political climate, he did take slight offense whenever some flatscans chose to refer to him with such a demeaning term.

Once the front door was reached, Logan took a moment to flick his jacket, then retracted his cigar away from his lips, blowing a scoffing puff of smoke towards the owner and Hwa Rang. He might not fully realize it, but as he walked out of Gastown Bar, a tall, mysterious figure had been observing his every move from the deepest corner of the building. Said figure was an equally feral man with long auric hair and sideburns, his cowboy hat casting shadows upon the upper half of his face. He grinned at Logan from afar, his fang-like canines revealed.

“Not bad, runt,” the ferocious blonde mumbled, almost to himself. “Talk ’bout embracin’ yer inner beast. Ya gonna hafta to do that one day.”

As he took the last sip of his alcoholic beverage, the ferocious figure readjusted his furred coat, then left his table, seemingly tailing the smaller Wolverine.

FIN.

"Because I'm going to kick your ass, Pendejo."

Tiger seemed to recoil, then froze. Weighing the situation, his large predatory eyes looking over Jaime and then around the room, his whole body tensed, Jaime knew that the Tiger was re-evaluating. Plotting and planning his next move, this was exactly what Jaime wanted, time to organise his thoughts and figure a way out of here.

The Tiger began to shake, perhaps his bluff had worked better than intended. Perhaps this alien truly feared Jaime and whatever power Kords Scarab gave him-

<I AM NOT A PRODUCT OF THIS KORD, I AM A PRODUCT OF DAMAGED ENTRY>

Well, whoever,

Tears formed in the Tigers eyes, his mouth opened and he tipped his head back in a mighty roar... Of laughter. Clinging to his belly and holding onto his side his whole body convulsed.

It wasn't the reaction Jaime was going for, but it was still a valid distractionary tactic...

<RECOMMEND ARMING OFFENSIVE SYSTEMS: SONIC CANNON, PLASMA CANNON.>

"Si, let's vamanos."

By some unknown instinct Jaime raised his right arm, his hand disappearing as the blue and black of the suit reformed into a cylindrical cannon, it pulsed blue and he could hear the sound ring out. The suit highlighting the blast so he could see it travel towards the Tiger, who stopped laughing and dove down below it.

"You amused me-" The Tiger lunged, catching Jaime in the chest and sending him tumbling through the air. Wings deployed out of his back, a thruster formed and before he hit the far wall he came to a stop, hovering uneasily in the air. He raised the mechanical arm towards Jaime, and it glowed.

<WARNING ENERGY BUILD-UP DETECTED> Jaimes own arm raised in reply, shifting and warping into an energy cannon. It began to build up its own energy, glowing brightly as it accumulated. He could feel it travelling from the scarab in his back down his arm. It was like a heat, but it didn't burn.

"-but armies flee before me-" He fired, the bolt of energy racing towards Jaime as he twisted his hips to move out of the way causing his own shot to go wide. Jaime struggled to maintain his balance, nearly falling out of the air. If such a thing were possible. Managing to right himself he turned to aim for Titus again, but he was on the move. Miss, Miss, Miss.

"-Generals bow at my feet-" Titus ran as he spoke, firing in quick succession, miss, miss, hit. Jaime winced as the heat burst through the suit and twisted him down and out of control, slamming himself against the wall, he pushed himself back, trying to spin himself back around.

<INBOUND OBJECT>

Jaime felt the pressure crack against his back, the claws around his throat. Then he felt the wall give way beneath his face as it was slammed into the wall. He could almost feel his brain rattling around in his head.

<YOU MUST CONCENTRATE JAIME REYES>

Everything blurred as Titus roared behind him, right in his ears. Then suddenly he felt himself thrown backwards. Limp on the floor, his muscles refusing to comply with even the basic of commands. His brain still spinning and rattling to and fro. Titus walked up to him, leaning down over him the blaster arm held directly in his face, the intent clear.

"This is the last time I ask welp, where is-"



Sam yowled in fear as he rapidly approached the kerb, then he felt a burst of energy flow through him. It was like the power of a star, coursing through his veins. Every cell, every nerve. Every fibre of his body felt alive, energy enveloped him, making his legs seemingly disappear as he shot off up into the air. The wind rushed through his ears, his vision processing everything with lightning speed. He had to be the fastest person on the face of the planet. That statement is getting less and less true as he pushed past the sound barrier. Feeling the boom as the air was displaced around him, soon the light blues, greys and whites faded away to black. Dots of light appearing scattered across the cosmos.

Yet still he didn't slow, instead, he pushed on. Feeling the pull, a call to something. Which is when he saw them, the small group of what had to be alien ships coming right towards him.

---

---

"We got another one!"

"Confirm that Brandt!"

"It's confirmed!"

The screen changed, as an immense energy reading over a small nowhere town called 'Carefree' in Arizona. It appeared to grow in both intensity and speed, heading straight up towards the sky.

"Bogey is leaving atmosphere-"

"Holy Hannah would you look at these readings-"

"-Power levels off the scales!-"

"Wait a minute, this isn't good-"

The screen shifted slightly, highlighting a sector of space that seemed to have several vessels clumped together. Based on their current trajectory they seemed to be heading towards somewhere called... El Paso Texas.

"Get the commander on the phone, we're going to need the Warbird."

Rallying the last of his strength, Bailey balled up his fist and went for that final last ditch attack. Maybe it was futile, but he had to try at least something against these bastards. He let out a howl as he launched himself from his knees into a mighty leap... Only to go all of 4 feet forward and landing in a puddle. Everything was suddenly quiet... Wait, why wasn't he in pain anymore, I mean, apart from the mildly scraped knee from landing on asphalt. He rolled over and looked around. Everything was gone. Everyone was gone. That van blocking the Alley, the goons attacking the old man, the old man himself. Bailey lay flat on his back for a second, hands balled up into fists hitting himself in the head with his balled palms as tears began slowly forming.

Was he REALLY that pathetic? So insignificant that he didn't even deserve to be killed? Not even worth taking with them to study for his power? He wiped away the tears and curled his legs in, trying to kip-up, but the maneuver failed and he only succeeded in splashing more fowl puddle-water around. Must have been more damaged than he though, but again, he wasn't in any pain. He looked to his arm... Hang on, a bullet had ripped through that only a few minutes ago. His healing was good, but not That good... Or was it? Had he mutated again? Was it maybe something to do with danger? Well, there was no point in sitting here, feeling sorry for himself. He rolled onto his side and pushed himself up to his feet, looking around to grab his mask that he had lost in the fight. He couldn't see it... Wait, they took his mask, but not him? Maybe they had taken samples of his blood. God knows there was enough left around after that fight. This was bad. In any case, he needed to get back to F.E.A.S.T. to plan his next move, go after Lord's men.

He reached out his hand and pressing his fingers into his palm to quickly sling a Web to swing back, but nothing happened. He looked down at his wrists and didn't see his Organic Webspinners. Panic quickly set in, running to the wall, he pressed his palms to the wall and tried to climb, but they simple scraped along the coarse brick. He balled his fist up to punch the wall, before realising that, if he had REALLY lost all of his powers, then breaking his hand would definitely make the situation worse. He saw a discarded metal pipe near him. Running over to it, he grabbed it and tried to bend it. Nothing. Not even a peep.

"Oh yeah..." another tear formed in the corner of his eye. "Oh thats perfect." He broke down to his knees. Now he was alone in this world but without his powers. Now he wasn't even The Amazing Spider-Boy. "WHATS EVEN THE POINT?!?!?!? YOU WANT ME TO BE SPIDER-BOY!!! THEN YOU TAKE IT ALL AWAY!" He screamed into the aether. He wiped a small drip of snot that ran from his nose on his sleeve. Feeling slightly better from screaming. He then got to his feet, before looking around. Right, he needed his civilian clothes... he looked up to the nearby high-rise he had left his backpack with his clothes webbed to. "Darnit, how am i supposed to grt up there?" he looked around and saw a clothes line out of one of the windows above him, a fairly large hoodie hung. Bailey remembered promising his mom that he'd never steal... But he couldn't go out in his supersuit. Alright, grab the hoodie, go back to F.E.A.S.T. and grab some actual clothes, then bring it straight back. Thats borrowing, not stealing. Climbing carefully up the Fire-Escape, he looked into the window to see that nobody was home. He pulled the hoodie over to him and wriggled into it. It was at least 6 sizes too large for him, but any port in a storm. To make matters worse, it wasn't even a New York Giants one. "Ewwww, Gotham Knights, he sighed. With the hem around his knee's, he took a deep breath, pulled the hood over his head, rolled the sleeves up so he actually had his hands free and walked out onto the busy streets.

He was a small boy, powerless in the middle of New York. An oppressive regime was out to get him and everyone he knew. It was like walking through the lion enclosure of a Safari Park wearing a suit of bacon. That being said... Everything seemed less on edge than a few minutes ago. After an hour of walking, he made it to Time Square, all of the electronic billboards flashing and glaring brightly. Adverts for various drinks, broadway shows... That's... Not right. Where's the big one that's always playing anti-mutant Propaganda? This world was too... Too normal. It's like it was trying to lull him into a false sense of security. Walking past a newspaper dispenser, he looked into it.

"President Cuts The First Ground Of New Subway Route" was the headline and the picture was... Who the heck is that? It's definitely the President, wearing the seal, smiling for the camera, the headline calls him it, but that wasn't... He looked around frantically. This place, this world, where was he? He set off at a run towards F.E.A.S.T. But only made it about a block before he had to stop, panting and weezing heavily. Oh yeah, powers were ABSOLUTELY gone. With his Spider-Powers, he could have easily run from one side of this city to the other without breaking a sweat, but now... No matter. He took a few deep breaths, before continuing to walk. Every person that passed him almost gave him a heart attack, like any one of them was about to go "GOTCHA!!!" And grab him and shove him into a black van and before he knew it, he'd be on Madam Monstrosities slab again. As he walked, he suddenly realized something. His tongue moved about his mouth, wait, he still had his fangs. He walked up to a nearby window, grabbed his lip and lifted it, opening his jaw to look at them. Well, they were still there. At least if he needed to, he might be able to paralyze people. Oh yeah, that'd be REAL heroic.

"LOOK, UP IN THE SKY! IS IT A BIRD? IS IT A PLANE? NO, THE AMAZING BITING BOY! WITH THE ABILITY TO BITE PEOPLE, HE VALIANTLY SAVES THE DAY AND SENDS BAD GUYS TO GET RABIES JABS"

He sighed deeply. He REALLY did not want to start crying again, but boy was this making it REALLY hard not to. Finally making it to F.E.A.S.T. he walked up the steps, past several homeless people. Making it in, he looked around and walked over to the front desk. He didn't recognize the woman behind the desk. Not Old Lady Parker.

"Ummm... Excuse me? My name is Bailey Briggs. I'm checking in." He said. The woman leaned across the desk to look at him in his ridiculously oversized Gotham Knights hoodie.

"Bailey Briggs, give me a second..." She typed away on the computer for a second. "Alright, first time registering, i see." Bailey's heart went through the floor at this point.

"N... N-No, i live here." He felt his heart thumping loudly in his chest. "Me and my Mom lived here before..." The tears began flowing again and he put his head down so she couldn't see.

"Oh dear... Are you sure? Because we have no record of any Briggs ever being here before. Did your mother use a different name? Was she... Maybe trying to make sure your father didn't find you?" Bailey didn't even know his father.

"Don't you remember when Madam Monstrosity attacked F.E.A.S.T. and took a bunch of us away to turn into animal-people?" The woman behind the desk, at this point, simply smiled and he could tell from her face that she was about to humour him.

"Oh, i get it, you're one of those Hero-player kids." She winked at him. Bailey didn't want to cry again, not in front of someone like this, but there wasn't much else he could think to do. At this point, he ran into the main building, looking around, a bunch of the homeless that he recognized were here.

"Jasper, don't you remember me? It's me, Bailey?" The man looked at him confused. He ran over to an older lady. "Penelope, don't you remember that cake mom managed to scrounge together for your birthday?" Another confused eyebrow. He ran towards the small room that he had been staying in, only to look in and see a family, 2 parents and one older kid in there, clearly struggling at the time, just as his mother had been. None of his stuff was there. That picture of his mother and him on that trip to the Everglades... He broke down, tried not to cry, then fell over onto his side and pulled the hoodie entirely over his head, letting out a rather undignified series of noises as frustrations were let out into the hoodie, most likely the same amount of tears that had been wept into it when the Knights lost the Superbowl to the Bronco's 2 years ago.

"Yo..." A voice called out. Slowly, Bailey emerged from his fabric cocoon and looked up to see that the older kid in the room had opened the door and was looking down at him. He rubbed his eyes and looked up at her. She was a good couple of years older than him. "Hey, kid." She said, looking down at him. "What's with the waterworks?" Bailey slowly pulled the hoodie back into a comfortable position, before looking up at her.

"I'm..." He couldn't even think of what to say to her.

"Name?" She asked. He took a deep breath, then sighed.

"My name is Bailey Briggs and... I'm all alone..." He replied. The girl looked down at his costume and pulled the hoodie off of him, he sat there in his spider-costume.

"Big fan of Spider-Man?" She asked.

"Yeah, i know him." Bailey slowly wiped tears on the sleeve, cheering up a little since someone was actually talking to him as a human being. He pointed to the Spider symbol on his costume. "He kinda stole my gig though." The girl turned around and said something in a language he didn't understand to her parents.

"Alright, Bailey. The name's Christina. Come with me."

****

Bailey and Christina sat on a wall just across from F.E.A.S.T. outside, Bailey explaining everything to this complete stranger. She never interrupted him, save for a few clarifications here and there, never questioned the validity of his story, taking it at face value. -and so after i tried to save the old man... Everything went weird and then i woke up and i didn't have my powers. I tried to come home to F.E.A.S.T., but nobody remembers who i am and you and your folks are now living in my room."

"So... You need to find the weirdo's who stole the old man, stole the President and changed everyone's memories around to remember nothing of it. And they REALLY had Mutant Death Squads roaming the streets?" She exhaled loudly. "Heavy..." She got to her feet. "Well, Mr Briggs, you spin a good yarn." Bailey hung his head.

"You don't believe me, do you?" He hung his head. She bent down and picked his chin up to look her in the face.

"Dude. You are 11 years old. I know a couple of guys who live over on West 50th who are kicking themselves because they couldn't make that kinda stuff up." She smiled. "Alright, we call one of the heroes. Maybe Batman? Ask him to help you track down those guys, then you get your powers back, rescue that old man and bing, bang, boom, maybe i could get some powers to and be, like, your sidekick? She asked. Bailey smiled and laughed a little.

"You wouldn't want to be the Hero?" He asked.

"Oh, heck no, too much limelight. Plus, if the fanfic boards are anything to go by, the sidekicks are the ones who ALL The girls are after." Bailey raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you mean boys?" He asked, so innocently that it didn't occur to her that he may not understand what he was implying.

"Those too." She grinned sinisterly. "Alright, we'll need a couple of high powered torches, a butt-load of rubber bands a-" At that point there was an explosion nearby. Looking around, they saw massive plumes of smoke coming from the next street, the squeal of tyres ringing out. "Ah crud, another Supervillain attack. Best get back inside." She sighed. She looked both ways, before reaching her hand out for him to grab so that they could cross back to F.E.A.S.T. Bailey looked to see this big, brutish creature stomping along the end of the street.

"Christina, get inside!" He called, before instinctively reaching for his hood, not finding it. He grunted. Suddenly, a fist knocked on his head.

"Yo, Bailey. If you remember, you don't have powers anymore!" She grabbed him. Bailey looked at the great beast, then at Christina and then at F.E.A.S.T. itself.

"If i don't lure it away, then who will?"

"SPIDER-MAN! OR LITERALLY ANYONE WHO'S NOT A LITTLE KID!" She yelled. She then pointed at F.E.A.S.T. "Alright, you go to Safety, i'll lure it away." She ordered, before running off down the street towards the beast. Bailey ran after her, of course, she was taller and faster than him. Getting close to the creature, Christina found herself barely able to even approach it, let along try to distract it from the searing heat pouring off of it. The Troll smashed both of it's arms into a building. Christina moved away from the falling rubble, waving her arms and trying to get its attention. HEY, BASTARD TORCH!!!" She yelled. The Troll heard the intent in her voice and looked down. "Oh, i did not think this one through." She gulped, panicing, she backed up as fast as she could, falling onto her backside. Suddenly, the large hand reached for her. The heat searing into her skin, she felt like she was about to burst into flames. Then respite, even the slightest amount, as she saw the sillouhette of Bailey run in front of her.

Bailey wasn't sure what this would accomplish. He wasn't even sure if this would make any difference. But he knew that he needed to do something to save her. Time seemed to move slowly as he did this. It was like he had his Spider-Senses back. That flaming beast seemed to stop dead. He looked down at his hands. He looked back at Christina dumbstruck. "Ummm... Christina? He waved a hand and she didn't respond. Turning, he saw one of the doors to the buildings next to him glowed with a golden light. He looked at the Fire Troll. He moved towards it, but even if time had stopped, the heat hadn't.

"Bailey..." A voice came from the door. He turned and looked at the door. "Bailey..." He slowly walked towards it. As he pushed on the door, he suddenly found himself in the middle of space. Black, glowing void before him, only a rock beneath his feet. 5 thrones sat before him, 6 large statues. He recognized several of them. Hercules, with that lion skin wrapped around him. Atlas holding up the heavens. Zeus the king of the gods... The others he didn't recognize. Atop the middle throne in front of him was an old man, glowing white hair, glowing white eyes and a glowing lightning bolt on his chest.

"Ummm... Excuse me, who are you?" Bailey asked the old man. The old man slowly got to his feet, he slammed his staff into the ground and suddenly, he took on the form that Bailey recognized all too well. "YOU ESCAPED!!!" Bailey yelled, excitedly. He ran up to the old man and hugged him. The man was rather taken aback by this. OHHH, I WAS SO WORRIED, I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT THEY WOULD DO TO YOU, I WAS SO AFRAID I HAD FAILED!!!" He yelled. The man was taken aback, but patted Bailey on the back.

"Your concern is most gratifying." The booming voice replied. He stomped the staff again, changing back into his previous form. "Did you know that you didn't have your powers when you threw yourself in front of that girl? To try to stop that Fire Troll?"

"No..." He replied to the old man.

"Then you are brave... But foolish..." The old man turned back to go to his throne. "You tried to fight a creature 100x your size to protect a girl you've only just met." Bailey looked down, but then looked at the old man.

"I don't care that i've only just met her. I'm a hero. I will save people even if i've never met them." he groaned.

"Yes, you do that. No matter how much the odds are stacked against you. When those agents for that vile beast in the oval office attacked me in my weakened state. You didn't hesitate." He replied. "That is a rare trait... A trait that The Rock has been attempting to find."

"Do... Do you know what happened to me?" Bailey asked.

"I do..." He replied. "And i can tell you what you want to know.

"I want to know... But i want to save Christina first." He said. "You have the power to save Christina. Save her and you can keep whatever secrets you want." The man turned and looked at the boy.

"Why do you think i will do one or the other?" The old man asked.

"Then...?" The wizard smiled.

"Maybe i am willing to save those who i have never met, because it is the right thing to do?" He laughed a deep, hearty laugh. "If you wish for me to save her, then all you have to do is as i say." Bailey nodded. He slammed the staff down on the ground again. "Take the staff." Bailey walked towards the old man, his fingers grasped the staff. "Now... Speak my name..." Bailey looked him up and down, then looked at the statues.

"Zeus?" Bailey asked.

"That is but one of them." He replied. "My name is power itself. My name is the Wisdom of Solomon, the Strength of Hercules, the Stamina of Atlas, the Power of Zeus, the Courage of Achilles and the Speed of Mercury..." Each statue glowed golden as he explained each of his powers. Bailey looked at each of them.

"Wisdom, Strength, Stamina, Power, Courage, Speed... Wsssp..." Bailey tried to make those into a word, before he then looked at the others. "Wait... S-h-a-z-a-m..." He was about to say it when the old man put his finger across the boys mouth.

"Remember. My name gives power, but it also takes the power too." He said. "When your city is safe, return to me and i will explain everything... Now speak my name." Bailey's lips opened.



Those words echoed across the universe. As if the very gods themselves heralded his ascension, he was enveloped in golden light and he was back on the streets. Christina looked and saw before her was a giant of a man, towering at 6'6, his firey red locks blowing in the breeze as he stood his hand outstretched



The Fire Troll looked confused as it reared back its hand, balled into a fist and threw it at the man. the man balled up his own fist and threw it to meet with the Troll's. A great BOOM rang out as their powers met, the Troll retracted his fist, howling in pain. Christina looked up at the man, who took a few steps towards her and extended a hand.

"Hi, Christina, it's me. I told you i was a hero." He smiled.

M A R T I A N M A N H U N T E R
M A R T I A N M A N H U N T E R

Bronx/Manhattan to Brooklyn
New York City, USA

Jones had been walking along the river near the harbor, enjoying the breather of a shift end, when a fiery orange suddenly filled the sky. Distantly, he heard the screams and running as many sought to sensibly run from the monstrosities, sometimes feeling them brush against him as they passed. He though remained frozen, staring as one, then two, then more giant men of fire stood out of the water, only standing slightly smaller than the Statue of Liberty. He sought to move, to twitch, to scream. His limbs though were leaden and his throat refused to obey. And the giants moved into the city, causing others' screams to grow louder.

Visions filled his mind: the burning house, the execution furnace, the figure of Malefic The Doctor as he prepared the-

"Lu-Lu, Come Back!" The shout from across the bank finally turned his eyes. To his horror, a young boy, completely oblivious, was running after a beagle puppy towards the giants. A giant's footstep shadowed from above as the boy tried to pull her out from under a bench. "Come on girl. It's alright."

In a flash, he flung himself over the river, not even noticing his skin shifting to green to better accommodate the sudden telekinesis. Then he barreled himself into the boy and the dog, and rolled the three of them right out of range as the fire giant completed his step.

The boy looked up at him in shock. "What-?"

"It's not safe here." Then he took them and sped them to where the first responders had started to gather people to take to safety. "Stay with them and stay out of trouble, you hear."

"I will." The boy hugged Lu-Lu closer to his chest even as she squirmed. "But Mister Martian, my folks-"

"I'm sure they'll join you soon. Just stay with the firemen." Then he shot back through the air to where the giants were, completely missing what the boy had called him as he attempted to keep moving, keep thinking, and not freeze up again. People's lives were at stake! The fire giants had to be contained/directed out of the city somehow, but how? Could he somehow call them back into the water? The water...He couldn't touch the fire, but maybe the water would do something? IF not at least distract?

There was at least one giant terrorizing a stopped train. If he didn't do something quick, those passengers would be sitting ducks. Swallowing tight, he flew past the giant's head towards the harbor, telekinetically felt for the water, then pushed it like a wave at the giant. Then he called out telepathically to all the giants (a call that could easily be picked up by any nearby telepath) "Desist in this attack, vile foes of fire!

---

Nearby on a news helicopter...

"I still say you're crazy." The cameraman looked warily at the still flaming giants below them.

"Don't care if I'm crazy! This will be sure to catch some supers!" The lady reporter grinned as she manned the helicopter controls. "And it will be the most valuable news feed in existence. So keep that camera rolling!"

"It's rolling! It's rolling! Hey, who's that green guy?"

"Don't know! Wooo! Must be a newbie. Geez, that's a score. Let's go down closer!"

"Please, Millie, let's not go down closer!"

---

Kansas City
Kansas, USA

Ash'r came hurried to the meeting, within the most isolated table they could find at this bar. "Guys, you're going to want to see this..."

"Not now, Ash'r." Le'i sighed. "We're still trying to figure out how to actually get to New York."

"But this involves New York!" Then he shoved the phone into the center of the table, showing the live newsfeed of the Fire Troll attack. And going up against those trolls...

"No."

"It couldn't be." Both Whites turned even more pale.

Dr. Benjamin eyes widened. "What in the moons is the Martian Manhunter doing here?!"

W O N D E R W O M A N
W O N D E R W O M A N

It was days like this that made Cassie question her life choices. Instead of partying on the weekend, like any normal young adult would, she had been scouring the local redwood national park for an undocumented cave entrance. And why was Cassie doing this? As crazy as it sounds, the prior night, while she was working late at the Gateway City Museum of Antiquities, a statue of Ares—technically Mars, as it was a Roman sculpture—miraculously animated and spoke to her. He claimed that Cassie’s deadbeat dad was the king of the Gods, Zeus. He suggested she could find the answers she had been searching for in a nearby passage to the underworld.

Honestly, Cassie was only humoring the request of this supposed Ares because she had grown up reading the Percy Jackson books and the idea of being related to Zeus amused her.

Cassie rested her aching feet as she sat down on a nearby log next to the trail. She emptied the dirty from her tennis shoe—she definitely should have worn hiking boots for this excursion. But at least the wooded trail provided plenty of shade to escape from the blaze of the Californian sun.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Songbirds warbled their melodies through the woods’ canopies. The leaves of the redwoods rustled from the light breeze grazing against their foliage. Even the buzzing of bugs echoed in the distance. Cassie leaned up against the gentle slope behind her, as she continued to enjoy her brief escape from the concrete jungle that Gateway City was.

Well, Cassie would have enjoyed the pleasures of nature, had she not found herself tumbling backwards. When Cassie had approached this section of the trail, she did not find any underground entrances: the hill’s foliage had not even spread to where the log rested against it. Yet somehow this opening spontaneously appeared without any visible indication of its existence. Was this just a coincidence or was this the opening she was looking for?

Pulling out a flashlight, Cassie descended into the depths of this hidden cave. Fortunately, her petite stature allowed Cassie to advance through the otherwise claustrophobic and cramped passage. After several yards into the cave, the tunnel opened to a spacious cavern. Her flashlight revealed puffs of vapor billowing over the rocky floor and a decrepit pier long hidden within the twilight. The waters of this underground river splashed harmlessly against the wharf’s support beams.

The ancient planks creaked beneath Cassie’s feet. The sounds of her footsteps against the wood and abandoned coins plopping into the water below echoed throughout the cavern. Despite her flashlight, the cave’s darkness shrouded the opposite shore, assuming it was within eye shot.

“These shores are not meant for the living,” a ghastly voice echoed from behind Cassie.
As Cassie turned to face whoever had just addressed her, the aged plank beneath her snapped. She tumbled into the dark water beside the dock. Panic washed over Cassie as her head submerged below the murky water’s surface. Fortunately, shallows flanked either side of the wooden structure. Nonetheless, she sprung up to her feet and, parting her drenched hair, turned her attention to the figure standing before her.

A hooded figure piloted a rickety boat, now docked next to the pier. A shriveled arm grasped a rusted lantern that dangled before the figure. In the other hand, he clutched an oar. Despite his cloak shielding his face, the figure continued to glare at Cassie. Now stuck in an awkward staring contest, while soaked and shivering, she inched towards the river’s shore.
“Well, I’m just be going now,” Cassie said. Even though she broke the silence, the hooded figure did not respond. As she received no reply, Cassie bolted.

Once outside, the warm rays of the sun welcomed her. The hill behind her gave no indication that an entrance existed. Yet, when she pressed her palm against the earth, her hand passed through the hill, into the cave.
“Well, I doubt anyone will believe this tale.”

Soundtrack

---

"C'mon man! Ketchup on a hot dog, really?"

Ronnie stared back incredulously at his friend as he sprayed lashings of the red sauce over his dinner. Putting just a little too much on if only to annoy his friend.

"What's your problem? Suddenly decided you're from Chicago over Queens?" He rebutted, raising the greasy fast food treat to his mouth as the two began walking away from the food stand.

"Nah, man. That's not the point! It's mustard or nothin'! Even relish would've been better!"

"He's right you know." The voice of Martin Stein, renowned scientist the world over and currently literally living inside Ronnie's head rent free rang out.

Ronnie opened his mouth to reply, then realising his mistake shut it quickly and thought his answer. "Oh, big surprise the Milwaukee native sides with the Chicagoans. What're you going to argue about next? That Jeffrey Dahmer was the best serial killer too?"

"Woah, woah woah! That's a low blow young man. Milwaukee has so much more than just serial killers and mustard!"

Ronnie shook his head, choosing to continue the argument with his friend over the elderly Jewish man living inside his brain. After an hour or so of arguing, long after their hot dog debate had subsided and their attempts at picking up any girls had fallen flat, the two sat on an old rusted bench near the water. They had their hands in their jacket pockets, New York never got any warmer at night.

"You sure you don't need a place to crash again man? You're always welcome at mine, I know what it's like arguing with parents. Hell, you should've seen how my mom shouted at me after I came back with that stolen Playstation."

Ronnie shook his head. "Nah, man, it's cool. I've stayed long enough. I've got another place to stay for the night anyway, thanks though."

"No worries, brother. I'm not sure I should let you in after those unsolicited opinions about hot dogs earlier anyway."

The two dapped each other up and went their seperate ways. His friend going back to the warm embrace of a proper bed, Ronnie disappearing into an alley where no one was watching. Ronnie glanced around the alley to make sure no one was watching. The streetlight at the corner flickered once, twice, and went out completely, probably a coincidence, probably not. He sighed.

"Alright, Doc. Showtime."

A low hum started in his chest, spreading out through his arms until his fingertips glowed like cigarette embers. Then the light bloomed, swallowing him in a sudden flare of gold and red. The air rippled with heat, and when it faded, Firestorm stood where Ronnie had been, his head burning with nuclear energy as two hoops of atoms circled his body and then faded into nothing.

"Still not used to that part." he muttered, shaking off any lingering chaotic energy.

"Nor am I!" Martin's voice replied inside his head, the tone halfway between pride and exasperation. "Please remember that we are currently sharing the same molecular structure. Try not to do anything reckless."

"You mean like this?"

Ronnie crouched, the pavement beneath his boots cracking as the air ionized around him. Then whoomph he shot upward, a comet of red and yellow arcing over the rooftops. The city shrank below, the Hudson becoming a dark ribbon lit by streetlights.

The wind whipped around him, tugging at the flaming trail above his head, carrying the faint smell of ozone. Higher and higher he rose until the skyline disappeared beneath a carpet of cloud. He hovered there, surrounded by silence and clouds.

"Y'know," he said, looking down at the sleeping city "I think I get why birds do this. It's peaceful up here. No noise, no people, no-"

"Oxygen," Martin interrupted sharply. "Ronald, we should not be lingering at this altitude. You require focus to maintain molecular cohesion. If your concentration slips-"

"Yeah, yeah, relax, Professor. I'm just gonna rest my eyes for a sec."

"Ronald..."

But he was already stretching out on the cloud, the vapour hissing faintly under his weight as he shifted his atomic density to nearly zero. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it beat cardboard and concrete.

He folded his arms behind his head, eyes half-closed. "See? Perfectly fine." He let out a yawn as he spoke "Light as air. Feels like sleepin' on cotton candy."

"I must reiterate, this is not a sustainable-"

A snore cut him off. For a few blissful minutes, Firestorm floated among the clouds, glowing faintly like a stray ember in the dark. Then, as he drifted off into blissful REM sleep, his concentration wavered, and his atomic density began to skyrocket.

The cloud gave way with a gentle whoosh.

"Ronald!"

He woke with a shout and plummeted, tumbling head over heels through the mist. His flaming aura flickered wildly as he spun, cursing between screams.

"Okay! Okay! You were right! You were - ahh! - right!"

Martin focused his mental energy as they fell. Steadying both his and Ronnie's consciousnesses until Firestorm caught himself about twenty stories up, hovering shakily with his ego bruised.

"Alright, maybe sky-napping isn't my thing."

"Astonishing deduction, young man."

He sighed, descending toward the glow of the city. The fire dimmed, the golden aura faded, and when his boots hit the pavement in a narrow alley, he was Ronnie again.

He slipped between two dumpsters and down into the basement stairwell, pushing open the metal door to his makeshift home.

"Home sweet home..." he muttered.

The boiler room was just as he'd left it: wires, old abandoned machinery, a few pieces of cardboard he'd arranged into a makeshift bed.

"Perhaps next time you’ll consider sleeping on something solid." Martin said dryly.

"Yeah, yeah. Add it to the list." Ronnie murmured, pulling his jacket over his face. "Right under 'don't fall through the sky.' and 'no mustard on hot dogs'."

The faint glow beneath his skin pulsed slower and slower until the room went dark, save for one flickering bulb and the soft rhythm of a heartbeat that was no longer solely his own.

---

One of the lesser talked about negatives of being homeless is how boring it can be. Ronnie must have walked up and down all of New York two or three times now - or at least, that's what it felt like.

His old, battered sneakers were holding up against all odds, but soon enough he knew he'd need to change them. And that meant one of two things, either stealing, or going back to his mother. At this stage stealing seemed like the better option. He hadn't seen his mother for ages now, not since the experiment that altered him forever. He just couldn't bring himself to face her, not after accidentally transforming in his sleep and almost burning their flat to the ground.

She'd lashed out at him, blaming it on Ronnie smoking in his room. He'd allowed her to believe this, it was much easier to run away if she was mad at him.

He let out an exasperated sigh, resting his elbows on a railing overlooking the water as he pondered just how he was going to work his way out of this situation.
"You're thinking about your mother, aren't you?"

"Marty what did I tell you about rooting around in my head!"

"I wasn't. It's not exactly hard to tell."

"Well....yeah...I guess I am then."Ronnie admitted under his breath, staring out across the East River. The surface of the water shimmered faintly under the hustle and bustle of the city. "She probably thinks I'm dead, or in jail. Maybe both."

"You know, running away is rarely the scientific solution to a problem," Stein replied gently. "She's your mother, Ronald. I'm sure she'd rather have you home than out here hiding in the cold."

"Yeah, but she didn't exactly sign up for the whole ‘son who glows like a nuclear meltdown’ package, y'know?" He kicked a loose stone over the edge, watching it plop into the water. "How do you even start that conversation? 'Hey, mom, remember how you always told me to be something special? Turns out I'm a human atom bomb! Oh, and better yet I'm being hunted by corporate agents!'"

"You're hiding, Ronald." the older man said matter-of-factly. "And I don’t just mean under this bridge."

"Yeah well she already thinks I'm a burnout. Guess I just proved her right in a way she didn't expect."

A low rumble cut through their thoughts. Ronnie instinctively looked up to the sky, dreading the thought of rain. It wasn't thunder, instead it was something coming from much deeper, much older. The railing beneath his arms vibrated, and Ronnie frowned, looking down the river.

"...Did you feel that?"

"Indeed. Seismic activity. But not tectonic, I've felt enough earthquakes to know this feels different."

The water began to ripple violently, sending shudders through the dock pylons. A flash of orange illuminated the horizon, followed by another. Steam and heat radiated through the air like a dragon was emerging from the depths.

"That can't be good..."

The surface of the East River boiled. A column of fire burst through the waves, twisting into a shape that was far too large, far too alive. Then another followed, and another.

Martin was within the Firestorm Matrix - a name he had come up with himself for the consciousness he now resided within. It felt alien, yet at the same time oddly familiar. At will he could see through Ronnie's eyes or return to this place, where Ronnie's vision displayed on a huge screen like a 24 hour news channel.

Martin rushed over to the office chair in front of the huge keyboard, its keys a mixture between English, chemical symbols, and a third unknown language that he seemed to instinctively know. Behind him was a library full of uncountable books, which in his short time here he'd only just began to scratch the surface of.

"Ronald, those lifeforms are composed of molten silicate, their internal temperatures exceed 1,200 degrees Celsius!"

"So...not friendly then?!"

"Decidedly not!"

The ground split as one of the creatures hauled itself onto the bank, molten claws digging furrows through the concrete. Steam hissed off its skin, and the scent of brimstone filled the air.

Ronnie stumbled back, shielding his face. "Alright, okay, okay, that's definitely new! What the hell is that thing?"

"Unknown. But given our current situation, I would recommend transforming immediately!"

"For once, I actually agree with you!"

He threw his hands forward, heat spiraling from his fingertips. The air shimmered, atoms colliding in a bright, violent burst. A halo of golden plasma enveloped him as Firestorm re-emerged, flames roaring to life above his head.

"Alright, big guy..." he muttered, the nuclear glow intensifying around his fists. "You picked the wrong borough."

The Fire Troll turned, eyes glowing like a furnace. It let out a guttural bellow, something between a roar and a landslide and swung its huge arm at him. Firestorm shot upward in a burst of heat, the creature's molten fist smashing through where he'd been standing a second earlier, splintering a wall in a shower of concrete.

"Martin! Tell me how to beat lava monsters before I get turned into soup!"

"Direct combat would be ill-advised! Try reducing their heat! Absorb the excess energy, redirect it!"

"You say that like I know how to do that!"

"Now would be an excellent time to learn!"

He gritted his teeth, hovering over the burning street. He reached out, palms open, and the world seemed to slow. Heat surged toward him = into him - and he felt his entire body vibrate with power.For a moment, it worked. The nearest Fire Troll staggered, its blazing surface cooling to dull rock.

Then the second one struck.

A torrent of magma exploded upward, slamming into Firestorm midair. He was thrown back, smashing through a billboard and tumbling into the street below and skidding through a line of concrete until finally crashing into a wall.

"Agh! God damn, Marty!"

"Ronald, focus! You're losing control of your plasma field!"

His aura flared wildly, melting the asphalt around him. Panic and exhaustion blurred his concentration. The sky itself looked like it was burning now, smoke rising over Brooklyn's skyline, flames reflecting off the water.

"We didn't start the fire..." He sung to himself almost pathetically. Firestorm rose from his battered position and dusted concrete and dust from himself.

A small crowd of New Yorkers had begun to gather near him as they flee'd from the trolls. A portly looking gentleman glancing back and forward from where the monsters had emerged from, and Firestorms burning head suddenly jumped to an unexpected conclusion.

"Hey! He must be their leader! Look he's a fire-guy too!"

"Uh..."

"Yeah!" Called another voice from the crowd. "Lighter head ova 'ere must be controllin' them!"

"Guys, really, I'm one of the good guys!"

"Get 'im!"

Suddenly Ronnie was being pelted with anything that was laying around. Rubbish, skateboards, newspapers, hotdogs (without ketchup), you name it.

"C'mon guys I'm one of you!" Ronnie ducked as a half-eaten pretzel bounced off his shoulder. "For Pete's sake I grew up in Queens!"

"Oh it gets even worse! You're in Brooklyn now, hothead!"

"Ronald, perhaps we focus on the lava monsters and not the civilians?"

"My thoughts exactly, prof!" He rocketed upward, the shockwave scattering paper and garbage down the street.

He caught sight of one of the Trolls looming over an elevated train, a massive claw scraping against the track. "Okay, subway monster's top of the list. Let's go!"

Below, a flash of green tore through the smoke. Someone or something perhaps - was moving between the Fire Trolls like a fighter jet dodging through missiles. The figure seemed to create a wave from the harbour, the water casting towards the troll about to claw the train in half.

"That's new!" Ronnie murmured, already diving. "C'mon, Prof. Let's make a good first impression."

He streaked down beside the Martian, a trail of red and gold cutting through the haze. "Hey, Green Guy!" he called over the roar of boiling water and fire. "Hope you're not the one starting this barbecue!"

Without waiting for an answer, he hurled a concentrated blast of atomic energy at a Troll who had clambered its way up onto the track behind the Martian. The ball of concentrated energy colliding with the monster's knee. The creature stumbled, before Firestorm followed it up with an uppercut that sent the Troll tumbling down off the track and onto the street below.

"Finally, a sensible use of our abilities."

"Yeah, teamwork makes the dream work, Professor."

He hovered shoulder to shoulder with the alien hero, the light from their combined powers reflecting across shattered glass and molten pavement.

"What's the plan here, big Green?" He asked, trying not to show any nervousness through his voice. To tell the truth he'd never seen this guy before, but he had to have more experience than him with stuff like this, right?

Right?

M A R T I A N M A N H U N T E R
M A R T I A N M A N H U N T E R

Brooklyn
New York City, USA

'Big Green' stared for several moments as a new fiery being decided to fly right next to him and start talking. Jones couldn't even focus on the words he was saying for a moment as he focused on not being impolite and fighting the urge to scream in terror from a boy who was clearly trying to be friendly?

Seeing him punch the Fire Giant though showed that yes, he was on his side, and also, might not be the best at thinking through his actions. He could work with it though. Whatever he did to the giants seemed to work at least. Then he came back up to him.

"What's the plan here, big Green?"

Big Green? Why-? Oh... How in the moons had he shifted without noticing?! Focus! Plan. The boy was asking for a plan.

"We need to get these, giants, out of the city and back into the harbor. It's the best way to decrease any civilian casualties. He then sent another water wave at a different giant. "One of us needs to draw the giants towards him within the harbor while the other tries to herd them out of the city and back into the harbor. Which do you believe you'd be best at doing?"

---

Metropolis
Blake Family Residence

Donald lounged on the living room couch, watching the news, while petting his new cat that he dubbed, "Sir Midnight". He was just going to name him Midnight, but the cat had a strange noble feeling to him. Donald's life changed drastically after the Toyman incident. He was now a fully recognized hero in Metropolis with the Daily Planet's stamp of approval. Unfortunately he couldn't use his new status for any extra privileges or else he'd risk exposing his identity. He tried to visit his crewmates in the hospital afterwards, but they were in comas and no one outside of family was allowed to see them. Had he visited them as Thor first he doubted he would have had a problem visiting them. The owner of the demolition company had informed him that each member of the crew would receive quite a substantial insurance settlement for nearly dying on the job. A benefit for living in a world where villain attacks were becoming more common. He was going to use his payout to get himself his own place so he wouldn't bring any trouble to his parents' doorstep now that he officially had his own supervillain, one that didn't mind hurting others to take out his enemies. He still wasn't sure how he found him the first time and knew that he was Thor. That worried him.

His train of thought was interrupted by the news broadcast being interrupted by a live report from New York's Daily Bugle. He leaned up instantly when he saw the fiery creatures terrorizing the city. "What the hell?" He asked to no one at all since only he and Sir Midnight were in the room. He noticed a green man working to stop the creatures, but there were so many out there that he likely would've needed help. He squealed internally. Would this be his very first superhero team-up? He glanced over to the wall by the door where his mom hung his front page interview with Jackee from the Daily Planet. He placed Sir Midnight on the floor and said, "Daddy's gotta go. Don't give my parents trouble while I'm away."

Donald jumped up from the couch and walked over to the coat stand where Mjolnir hung by the wrist strap. "Mom, dad! I'm going to New York!" He picked up his mighty hammer and opened the door. He swung the hammer wildly before launching into the sky with it leading the way.

Sir Midnight pranced over to the open door's threshold to see Thor transform and disappear in a flash of lightning. This could be a fascinating experiment. There was no way he was going to miss this. Green light surrounded the cat teleporting him away to New York to watch the show as it unfolded.

---

Rain clouds could be seen shadowing the city of New York. There were no signs of them in the sky before and it seemed like they formed out of nowhere. Heavy rain started to pour down all over the city, but not enough to flood the streets. Thor's aim was to hinder the flaming giants and assist the firefighters in dousing out the fires that were spreading. He didn't want to make things worse for the civilians at the same time.

Thor flew to the area that he recognized on the live broadcast to see one of the giants charging fire in their mouth at the overzealous helicopter that was getting a little too close to the action. "Hey, Ugly!" He called out, catching the beast's attention at the last moment. It prepared to fire its blast at him, but he drew faster. He launched Mjolnir at its jaw causing its mouth to close creating a fiery explosion in its mouth. He knew it wasn't likely to take direct damage from its own flames, but he did what he intended in saving the copter and reporters inside. He recalled Mjolnir and summoned a large bolt of lightning from the clouds above sending the behemoth crashing to the ground.

Thor flew in front of the helicopter's flight path and shook his head at the pilot. "You all need to get out of here!" He yelled over the sound of the rain. "It's not safe!" He turned to see a wave of water coming from the harbor to douse other flame giants. That must've been another hero and one who could manipulate the elements as well. He flew over to find the green man from his TV and a man with fire for hair working together to protect a train. He was surprised to see that his rain had no effect on the latter's flames. New York had some interesting heroes. How was this his first time coming here? "Hey, do you two need any help?"

---

"Ooh, we gotta get snickers too! And skittles! You got the sharing bag of doritos right? Better make that two - Eel ain't the sharing type." Called Patrick over the aisles of the petrol station, cradling a selection of snacks in his slightly elongated arms, long enough to hold his banquet but not enough to arouse suspicion from the pimply teen manning the counter.

Zatanna clutched her head as the coffee machine filled up her cup. They had barely been on the road a day and already she'd regretted recruiting this idiot. Part of her wished Woozy had been the one to come along instead of Eel. At least Woozy didn't talk this much.

She poured her coffee, the smell just strong enough to cut through the sugary chaos behind her. Patrick was somehow managing to juggle crisps, soda, and a pack of Twizzlers all the while yammering on about how they needed even more snacks.

"Patrick, we're supposed to be blending in, not restocking a vending machine."

"Ahh, come on Zee, I've never been on a road trip! Hey do people still make mixtapes? I guess everyone just listens on their phone these days, huh?" he replied, dropping another armful on the counter. His grin widened when the teenage clerk's eyes darted between the pile and his oddly stretchy reach.

"I don't think my car even has a mixtape player." she muttered, handing over a crumpled twenty and any coins she had in her bag.

The kid rang them up, unimpressed. "You guys part of a convention or something? Didn't realise Super-Con was in town."

"Something like that." she said with a smile that killed any follow-up questions.

Outside, the night air was thick with humidity. Zatanna balanced her coffee as Eel sauntered out behind her, plastic bags full of snacks swinging happily by his sides.

"Alright, I got chips, chocolate, soda, and ice cream. We're covered."

"You bought ice cream? Pat, it's going to melt!" she said, sliding into the driver's seat.

He sat next to her clutching the tub of 'Abra-Caramel-dabra' ice cream. "You make a fair point. However my counter point is that it has a funny name and we can just eat it now!"

Their conversation was interrupted by the unmistakable thud of something heavy landing on the hood of the car. Zatanna froze mid-sip. Patrick's spoon of Abra-Caramel-dabra stopped halfway to his mouth. A set of clawed fingers curled over the windscreen, scraping down the glass with a sound that made every hair on Zatanna's neck stand up.

"Please tell me that's a raccoon."

"If it is, it needs a serious manicure."

The 'raccoon' wasn't a raccoon, of course. It was huge, just a bit smaller than the car itself, with skin the colour of burnt clay and horns that curled up and outwards towards the night sky. It crouched on the hood of her car, peering through the windscreen at the two, grinning with a mouth full of teeth like knives.

Behind it, two more of the creatures dropped from the petrol station roof with a heavy crunch of asphalt. They had the same half-demonic, half-industrial look: cracked horns, wires braided through muscle, and faint Alchemax insignias carved into their forearms like brand stamps.

Zatanna's coffee hit the dash as she threw the cup aside and fumbled for a spell.
"Back! Kcab!"

The word shimmered in the air, the sound twisting backward like a record in reverse. The demon on the hood shrieked as an invisible force slammed into it, hurling it back through the air and into a row of parked cars.

"Whoa! You're actually magic?! I thought that was a joke!" Patrick yelled, half in awe, half terrified, clutching his ice cream like a stress ball.

"Less talk, more help!"

One of the remaining demons lunged for the passenger side door. Patrick flinched, then instinctively stretched. His arm shot out like a rubber whip, coiling around the creature's neck. He stared at his own arm, wide-eyed.
"Uh, oh."

The demon thrashed, yanking him halfway out the window. He stumbled forward, his limbs twisting and looping until he looked like a human slinky. With a grunt, he snapped his arm back like a beyblade cord sending the creature furiously spinning head first into a gas pump.

The pump exploded in a burst of flame, the shockwave knocking both of them flat.

"Patrick!" Zatanna shouted, coughing through the smoke.

He popped up from behind the bonnet, his features rippling back into place with an audible pop.
"Yeah! Totally planned that!"

The third demon burst from the flames, roaring, molten cracks glowing along its skin. Zatanna threw her hand up again.
"Emalf ot tsurc!"

The spell sparked - literally. The fire around the demon hardened like cooling lava...for about half a second. Then it cracked and reignited twice as bright.

"I think you made it angrier!" Patrick shouted.

A low guttaral laugh came from the demon as it continued its advance

"Hey, uh, just for the record, Zee? Your magic's great, ten outta ten for presentation, but - uh - maybe it's time for Plan B!"

"What's Plan B?!"

"Run away!"

The monster swung a claw at them. Patrick caught it mid-swipe, his body flattening like taffy to absorb the impact. The ground beneath him cracked. He gritted his teeth, arms stretching impossibly wide to hold it back.

"You are one ugly muthafucka!" He spat, face to face with the demon now as his face shifted into something that decidedly resembled the famous leading man from Predator.

Zatanna steadied herself, heart pounding. She wasn't her father, she wasn't even close. But she didn't need to be. She focused, the words almost catching in her throat before she forced them out:
"Dnuorg dniheb mih nepo!"

The asphalt behind the demon split open, and it started to lose its balance as it struggled against Patrick. He allowed himself a smile before his chest erupted with a third fist that hammered the demon squarely in the chest and sent it reeling backwards, his stretched leg already waiting behind to trip it up. It fell into the burning fissure with a roar and just as quickly as it opened the ground closed up.

Silence followed. Just the hiss of melting tarmac and fire.

"...So that was Alchemax, huh?" he said after a moment, kicking a bit of ash off his shoe, which was actually his foot just shaped into a shoe. "I thought they just made, like, painkillers and stuff."

"Guess they've expanded their product line."

"Yeah, well I'm not sure how well 'Man-made horrors beyond our comprehension' will sell." He collected the tub of ice cream from where it had rolled to on the ground nearby. You know, for our first team-up, I'd say we handled that pretty well."

"You set a gas station on fire."

"Yeah, but-!" He gestured vaguely at the smouldering crater. "-we're alive! That's a win!" As if on cue the roof of the gas station collapsed and the pimpled teen ran out screaming.

Zatanna rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.
"Get in the car, Patrick."

"You know, at first I wasn't big on the whole 'super team' business, but it's really growing on me!" He beamed, hopping in the now scratched up car with a smile.

As they pulled away, the camera of a nearby lamppost whirred to life, tracking their escape. A faint, synthetic voice crackled through the static.

"Targets located. Contact confirmed."

"Awwww man, the ice cream melted!"

The White Mountains, New Hampshire

---

“You would do well to take my concerns seriously, Marr-Vell.” The director of the program was fuming, as he often was, while the being he addressed remained focused on the holographic screens before him, tracking performance parameters as he pondered.

“Your own lack of imagination is not my concern, Director. We both know that should you try to make the changes you wish that ‘your’ superiors will step in.” It had been a long time since Mar'vell had lived among the Kree and he played the game of human office politics as well as any, despite no longer wearing the disguise of a human scientist within the inner circle of the Warbird program.

“It is ridiculous, she is barely more than a child, insubordinate and distracted by school of all things.” The man continued to rant as if Mar'vell had not responded. “She holds near infinite power within her, we could simply strap her up to a turbine and revolutionise our military without having to deal with her distractions.”

Mar'vell had come to care for, or at least appreciate, a great many humans. Some, however, continued to openly present the most base aspects of the species as if it was something to be proud of rather than overcome. He allowed that disdain to touch his words.

“Your technology is a thousand years away from being able to harness and store the energy of the Nega-Bands and Miss Danvers unique physiology has already enabled her to surpass what even they could produce. What you would create is an exceptionally bright light bulb.” Now Mar'vell turned towards the Director, his alien features set in a mask of contempt. “And even if not, I am doubtful your superiors would prefer an improved nuclear reactor over the most effective precision weapon on the planet, because you could not handle crew resource managing a single young woman.” There were few who would speak to the ranking brass of the Pentagon in the manner Mar'vell did, considering his official rank within the system, but he knew the truth of the matter. They provided him the cover to remain hidden on Earth, but they required his willing capabilities far more.

“This discussion is not over, Doctor.” The sneer he received in turn was a far more savage expression of Mar'vell's own, as the Director turned to step away from the platform on which Mar'vell worked.

“No, I don’t suppose it is.” The alien spoke, before turning back to his holograms, now expanding to present the information of the threat assessment from SWORD.

Present activity within the mountain-base that house Project Warbird momentarily halted as a concussive boom rippled through the air, a loud enough sound to push through the layers of rock and bunker that made up the hidden facility. It was nothing but a slight distraction to those within but there was the possibility several surface level trees had been ripped from their roots closer to the hidden entrance to the base. Already the Director was yelling a new set of expletives in the brief moment before Carol Danvers walked into the grand Central chamber of Project Warbird Command.

“Operative you have been warned multiple times to bleed speed well before your arrival to the facility.” One of the calmer members of staff helpfully stepped in to provide the feedback directly to Carol as the Director fumed from his place among the banks of computer terminals.

"Sorry Jim, but the summons did say it was an emergency!” Carol chimed happily, patting the man on his uniformed shoulder as she walked past, her eyes momentarily falling on an empty greased paper bag on a worker's desk.

"Is catering in at this hour? I'm starving.” She looked forlornly at what once likely contained any variety of pastries she could have enjoyed.

“No…. Although that is strange, current estimations are that your energy conversion means you no longer require traditional sustenance. You could simply subsist of energy created by energy exhange, from light and heat, ectera” Jim mused as he walked beside her, gently maneuvering the young woman to prevent her being distracted further by the possibility of pastries and instead towards the briefing platform.

"Like a plant?”

“Not at all like a plan-”

"Hang on, am I going to get fat sunbathing!?” Carol stopped in place, fixing her eyes on Jim with all the intensity she had the Hyrda facility.

“....I suppose it would be important to continue to use your powers to expend excess energy when in hotter climates.”

"Jim if I don't fit in my prom dress I'm going to ‘expend excess energy’ hunting you down.” Carol fixed him with an even more theatric scowl, flicking two fingers from her eyes to his, before laughing. "Don't worry Jim, more cushion for the p-”

“Operative Warbird!”

"Sorry Captain I'm on my way!” Carol replied before she zipped through the air the remainder of the way to the central briefing platform, sending a rustle of papers from desks as she did. Despite apparently following orders she first headed towards Mar'vell who offered the young woman a brief dip of his head.

“Car'ell, you must remember to visit more outside of mission briefings. Present company is far too predictable.” He motioned around him towards the suits and uniforms of the Project with a show of amusement towards.

At first Carol had loathed Mar'vell's use of her mother's birth name for her, but over time she had grown used to it. The idea of another family who might want to have her in it overpowering the alien presumption. "Sorry Mar'vell, finals have been kicking my ass worse than Hydra.” She gave a dramatic sigh, before turning to regard the same holograms as Mar'vell. The Kree symbols that floated across them were no great mystery to her, unlike the rest of the room. "What have we got?”

“Two alerts, actually. Some amount of trouble in New York, and an alert from SWORD, the detection of an extraterrestrial anomaly they believe to be non-friendly.” There was no doubt someone more formally connected to the US military had been planning to brief their superpowered asset, but with Carol finally on topic no one deemed to interrupt.


“Well New York is closer, shouldn't we deal with that first?” Carol placed a hand on one hip as she flicked a finger ‘through’ the holograms, manipulating the view for her own benefit.

“Thankfully, Operative Warbird, you are not responsible for strategic decisions. The priority of the extraterrestrial threat is an order right from the top.” The Director, General Erickson, spoke rather than have Mar'vell reply. “The administration feels an alien threat would be an ideal public launch for Warbird.” He did not add that a further consideration was the presence of political considerations in New York.

“Oh nice. I'll remember to smile for the cameras.” Carol spoke with no obvious sign of irony as she turned to regard the ‘screen’ once more. “Alright so….space.”

“You have done this before.” Mar'vell offered supportive, placing a hand on her shoulder. To which she gave a somewhat nervous nod.

“Sure…for a few moments.”

“All our testing suggests you need no further protection, the cosmos is yours to master.”

“I do like the sound of that.”

---

Location: New York City/Brooklyn

---

"Robbie, are you sure this is the right choice?"

"You ask this after we drove across country, ese?"

The sound of the 1969 Charger roared throughout the streets of Brooklyn, sheer power from the engine turning quite a few heads. A classic like the 1969 Charger was rare, and Robbie would normally soak in the attention, playing up for the crowd. His car was one of the crowning achievements and yet for once he wasn't focused on the people around him, his mind occupied with sheer anxiety.

"Try breathing. Inhala. Exhala."

"Ralph, I know how to breath. I like you Ralph but, I wish you weren't in my head all the time."

The Charger pulled into a parking lot connected to Brooklyn Bridge Park, its namesake sitting stunningly within the water, overlooking the park for all to stand at awe at. Robbie had never seen it before, a sight that drew his awe despite the reasoning for why he was here. He only wished he could be visiting under better terms, but for now he needed to focus on the situation at hand. Parking and stepping out of the Charger, he could hear Ralph rambling in his head, having to tone out the man to even hear his own thoughts. Every step into the park was heavy, the laughter of children playing, and adults talking echoed through his ears before his eyes finally connected with those of the man who brought him here....Eli Morrow.

"ELI!", Ralph screamed from inside Robbie's head, turning the boy's black, the temperature of his body beginning to rise, taking every bit of Robbie's control to keep Ralph from turning them into the Rider.

"Stop, Ralph. There are kids here."

Eli's gave his nephew a grin that exuded malice, his own eyes giving way the same blackness that permeated Robbie's own eyes.

"Oh little Roberto, its so nice that you came."

"Tío, why?" Robbie's voice broke as he asked, as he loved Eli as a kid, having a bond that seemed so easily broken by his uncle, but now he could see so malevolent behind those eyes, and feel what he felt in himself when he first became a Rider.

"Roberto, I needed to see you. I heard so much about the rider in Los Angelos but, you know what really caught my eye? The charger. A one of a kind. Did you know that I'm the one who convinced your father to add those rims? Oh my brother was so stupid."

"What do you mean 'was'? What is going on?"

"Oh my poor little Robbie, you missing your parents? My my where is Gabe? Are his legs still garbage?" Eli let out a maniacal laugh as he spoke about Gabe.

Robbie's face would scrunch up into a scowl and his words would burst from his lips in rage, "DON'T MENTION HIS NAME, BASTARD!"

"Or what? You'll punish me for my sins?"

"How do you know abou--"

"Because boy, I am like you. You can tell. And that's why I called you here. I wanted to see just how badly you wanted to see me. How badly you wanted the answers that you would travel all this way and leave your baby brother behind. See my little nephew, I'm going to do terrible things and I want you to know it was me. I want every waking moment to be agony for you because you'll know that you could've stopped me."

Robbie and Ralph both were in awe of everything that Eli spoke upon, and yet they knew he was right. With Eli being a rider, if he was not lying, would mean a fight that would endanger everyone in the general area. Two riders locking in combat would spell doom for the general vicinity, and Robbie could not take that chance no matter how much Ralph wanted to tear Eli apart. Every muscle tense, blood vessels ready to burst, and steam pouring from the pores on his face.

Screams erupted from the civilians within the park, pointing and gasping at the sight lurching from the East River, fire trolls ascending from the water. In a matter of moments fire were raging across the borough, the trolls attacking anything and everything in sight.

"Well champ. Aren't you gonna help these people?"

"Robbie, we punish Eli NOW!"

"Please Ralph. We do this to protect people and right now people need our help. You're a hero, remember?"

Robbie gave a glance to Eli, his twisted smile making his stomach churn, but now was not the time. They'd find him again, his sin acting as a beacon, and crimes that will weight heavy on both souls of the rider. He hated it despite knowing that right now saving people from the fire trolls was the immediate danger and he needed Ralph to feel the same way.

"Let's ride."

Robbie turned from Eli, dashing straight for the charger, his body beginning under go the process of becoming a rider. The skin on Robbie's face began to melt away, giving way to the skeleton underneath, flames bursting forth, and his mouth opened wide to let a demonic roar that filled the park. The moment he touched the charger, flames engulfed it from bumper to bumper, the wheels covered in flames and as he jumped into the rev the engine, flames erupted from the engine.

He pulled from the lot, the engine screaming, racing through the street to the first fire troll he could see. The troll was attempting to burn a building filled with people, and Robbie acted quickly. The Hell Charger drifted around the debris, chains covered in hellfire shooting forth from the vehicle and wrapping around the troll's head. Revving the engine, he used the supernatural horsepower to give the needed force to pull the creature to ground, slamming its head and crackling the earth underneath. The hellfire continued to burn upon the troll, giving the beast a level of discomfort and pain but, it did not completely stop its rampage. The troll would now be facing punishment at hands of the Ghost Rider.