---

Ronnie was mid-way through pulling out his phone in an attempt to get the famous Thor to follow him on instagram when the men in black made their appearance. They moved like wraiths, swooping in almost completely unnoticed and taking control of the situation in a manner more fitting to spec ops agents than construction workers.

Many times in his life Ronnie had been standing at the wrong end of authority, whether he deserved it or not. If this was his first time making an appearance as a hero he was damn sure it wasn't going to end in them checking his record and taking him in for joyriding a year ago.

Following on from the tall, scatterbrained ginger man he began to step backwards, rubbing the back of his head as he spoke.

"Yeah, uh- I think I left the oven on? Or something? Maybe some other time!"

Before anyone could answer he turned and shot off into the sky, dodging in and around buildings until he was sure he wasn't being watched. He landed gently in an alley and with a quick burst of nuclear energy he switched back to his normal form.

---

"I really don't think my car is going to hold together after another fight like that. I've got every light possible blinking on my dash right now."

Patrick nodded as he fiddled with the radio, the speakers crackling like a dying campfire as he hunted for any station that wasn’t either static or weird religious programming about the End Times.

"Yep, this ain't exactly fit for battle either. Maybe we could get her fitted with some James Bond gadgets, guns in the front and ejector seats!"

"No way am I trusting you around an ejector seat. Plus anything out of the ordinary will only draw Alchemax to us more. They already know we're coming."

Finally the radio crackled to life, a breaking news report broadcasting information from New York that sounded like something straight from a fantasy novel.

"The situation has very much died down now, with municipal forces taking control of the situation. Still, the people of New York are thankful for their larger than life heroes. Many New Yorkers were excited to see an appearance by Metropolis' Thor, and some have commented on an encounter with a new hero reportedly out of Queens some are calling 'Lighter Head'. More on this later."

The two let out an audible laugh after listening to the report.

"Lighter head! What a dopey name!"

"Geez and I thought Plastic Man was bad!"

The rusted, sputtering car wheezed off the road and onto a dirt path that immediately sounded like it wanted to swallow the vehicle whole. The swamp around them reacted instantly: insects scattered, birds took wing, and even the hidden crocodiles seemed to decide the metal creature was not worth an encounter today. The deeper they went, the quieter it became.

Trees grew denser, gnarled roots jutting from mud like the ribs of some buried titan. Moss hung in heavy curtains. The air thickened. The headlights carved soft yellow tunnels through fog.

At last the car slowed to a crawl. It had reached as far as it could go without sinking. The two exited the car and continued on foot.

"This is it..." Patrick murmured. "Last recorded location of Alec Holland." Plastic Man's usual breezy demeanor faltered. He scanned the tree line, stretching his neck slightly further than human, less than helpful. "Feels like the kinda place horror movies start." he said.

"It does feel very Blair Witch, I can't lie..." She quietly spoke a backwards spell and an orb of light materialized in her hands, lighting their way.

Plastic Man followed, his head popping up on an elongated neck like a periscope as he peered into the murk. "Uhhhhh..." he whispered, neck retracting with an audible fwip "So quick question. Are we sure this guy lives out here and not, y'know, some sort of swamp demon? Seems par for the course after the last few times."

Zatanna shrugged. "It's all we've got to go off of. Watch your step, I saw a few crocodiles on our way in. Wouldn't want you to get eaten."

"Well, excuse me for being deliciously marbled and extremely biteable!"

They moved forward, the trees tightening around them like a vice. The smell of peat, rot, and rain-soaked wood thickened with every step. It felt like the trees themselves were moving, creeping upwards and over as if they were forming a trap of their own. Little did the two know, they were.

Then a sound broke through the silence. Something natural, but not meant to be heard by human ears. It wasn't the sound of a rabbit scurrying away, or the sound of a bird flapping overhead. It was the sound of growth.

Vines rustled, but not from wind. Moss shifted as if it was making way for someone. The darkness between two cypress trunks deepened, then rose, gathering shape, weight, and presence.

The pair froze in place, watching the figure grow in shape and size. From the shadows emerged a silhouette vast enough to blot out the moonlight with bark for skin, roots for sinew, mud and moss dripping from its form. Twin embers opened where eyes should be, glowing with life.

The Swamp Thing stepped into view, towering, terrible, and yet, sorrowful. When he spoke, the entire marsh seemed to react, almost stretching itself to listen.

"You do not belong here."

Plastic Man lifted both hands. "Alright, alright, nobody panic. The big swamp thing says we don't belong, so maybe we just - Zee, stop walking forward - Zee??"

Zatanna ignored him, steeling herself against anxiety as she stared up into the orange dots burning like fire through the green mass. "Alec Holland." she said as confidently as she could. "We're not here to destroy your swamp. We're here because Alchemax plans to. And you know exactly what they do to anything in their way."

The wind hissed through the reeds. Swamp Thing stared back at the black-haired woman, the seconds between them stretching into eternity. "Alchemax has already trespassed." he rumbled, voice like cracking branches. "They poison the soil. They harvest what should not be touched. They seek to bend nature to their will."

Plastic Man gulped. "Cool, cool, cool. So we're all on team 'Alchemax sucks' then."

Swamp Thing stepped closer. Zatanna's sphere of light flickered violently. "You come seeking information." he said. "But the truth you want is rooted in pain - mine, and The Greens. To know what Alchemax has done...you must witness it."

The swamp shifted around them. Roots curled upward like fingers. Fireflies went dark all at once. Zatanna subtly shot a worried glance at Patrick. Plastic Man leaned closer and whispered "Please tell me this is the part where he gives us a helpful monologue and not the part where we get turned into mulch."

Swamp Thing's eyes brightened. "Follow."

The vines parted, forming a path deeper into the swamp, a path that had not existed a moment ago. They followed behind the lumbering mass of plantlife, neither of them daring to speak a word for fear of nature itself taking umbrage with their intrusion. Vines closed behind them as they walked, sealing off the path so cleanly it was like the swamp had swallowed the world behind them. Fireflies drifted in slow spirals, illuminating the way with a faint green glow in formations that could rival fighter jets.

Plastic Man stepped gingerly around a patch of mud. "Y'know, if the fireflies ever start spelling messages, I'm out. We've gone from Blair Witch to Bridge to Terabithia in record time."

Zatanna elbowed him, not noticing it indent his form slightly. "They're guiding us. Be polite."
"They're bugs, Zee!"
"They're magic bugs."
"Everything's always magic with you!"

The path opened into an hollow surrounded by trees. It felt almost entirely out of place in the swamp, like it had been picked up and placed here by some unknown force. A perfectly still pool sat at the center reflecting nothing, not even the trees above it, like it refused the concept of light.

Swamp Thing stepped forward towards the pool and gazed into it, his visage not being mirrored in the water benath. "This place." he rumbled, "is where the Green remembers its pain." Swamp Thing raised his arm, and the pool began to glow.

Not brightly, but with an old, sickly luminescence, as though dredged up from the bottom of a poisoned well. Ripples twisted outward in slow spirals. The two decidedly more human individuals took a few steps closer and gazed down into the pool. The ripples continued, getting slower and slower, and as they did an image began to take shape, like an old home video.

A facility took form in the water's reflection, its surroundings almost the antithesis to what was around them. It was metallic, sterile, glaringly out of place amid swamp and root. Alchemax insignias stamped every surface. Scientists in environmental suits catalogued samples.

And on one of the tables lay something vaguely humanoid.

A proto-Swamp Thing form. Unshaped, writhing, confused, half-roots and half-flesh, as though it was trying to rebuild itself but wasn't being allowed to.

Zatanna's eyes widened. Plastic Man leaned forward, his usual quippy attitude escaping him. "Is that you?"

Swamp Thing didn't answer. The proto-form thrashed. The humans pinned it down with industrial restraints. They injected accelerants, fungal catalysts, biogenic fluids. The creature screamed, if you could call it that. It sounded somewhere between a human shriek and tree bark all at once.

The scientists chattered among themselves, none of them even flinching at the creature they were torturing. "Growth stable. Continue with sequencing."

The creature convulsed, then exploded in green fire.

The memory burned away.

The pool went dark.

The trio didn't say anything for a while, each of them avoiding each others gaze - staring up into the sky or back down at the pool.

"That thing." Patrick said quietly. "That was alive! Or it was trying to be."

Swamp Thing did not move. His massive silhouette loomed over the pool like an old tree refusing to break in a storm. "It was not alive." he corrected. "Not yet. Not fully. The Green formed a vessel. A guardian. But Alchemax prevented its becoming. At least fully." He gazed at the back of his hand, made up of twisting roots.

Zatanna interjected. "Alec Holland. Does that name mean anything to you?"

For a long moment, Swamp Thing said nothing. The swamp seemed to pause with him - the fireflies, the reeds, even the distant insects. "Alec Holland..." he repeated. "When you speak that name, the Green stirs. The soil aches." His bark-covered brow furrowed. "But I do not know him. Only I feel like I should."

Plastic Man whispered "Wow. That's existential on, like, three levels."

Swamp Thing turned away from the pool, pacing a few heavy steps as vines trembled beneath his feet "These experiments." he growled. "These attempts to force life where it was not ready to bloom...the Green remembers them in pain. This is why your enemy cannot be allowed to continue."

Zatanna nodded. "We need to stop Alchemax. We can't do it alone."

Swamp Thing's glowing eyes regarded her in silence. He was chosing his words wisely, considering every option. Humans had hurt him before, what made these two any different? "For years humans have come into this place seeking to use me. To bind me. To weaponize the Green for their wars."

Plastic Man raised his hands. "Right, right, but see we're not trying to weaponize anything. Zee here throws sparkles at bad guys and I turn into rubber furniture. We're not exactly a black ops unit."

Zatanna shot him a look but didn't disagree. "We're asking you to fight with us." she said. "Not for us. Because this, what they're doing it's hurting you. It's hurting everything. We won't force you to join us, but we really need your help. Alchemax won't stop until someone puts a stop to them."

The wind passed through the clearing, bending reeds in a circular sweep, as though the swamp itself was listening for the answer. Swamp Thing stood very still. "You come with questions, but without corruption. Without the stench of greed." He lowered his head slightly. "I...I think I trust what you're saying."

He looked at the dark pool one final time, the memory of the tortured creature flickering across its black surface. "I will join you."

Zatanna exhaled in relief. Plastic Man let his entire torso deflate in a comedic wheeze before snapping back upright. "But listen well." Swamp Thing continued, voice like thunder rolling through earth. "The world of humans is not one I am apart of anymore. Whoever this Alec Holland is - he's dead. Once Alchemax is gone I too will disappear back into The Green."

Zatanna nodded. "Then let's make sure Alchemax is gone for good."

The vines around the clearing parted on their own, revealing the path back to the car. Swamp Thing stepped aside, letting them pass and following them as they approached. They trudged back toward the rickety old sedan, Zatanna's light bobbing in her hand, Plastic Man humming nervously, and Swamp Thing following behind, towering over the two like a moving tree.

They reached the car and Plastic Man opened the back door, glanced at Swamp Thing then slowly looked back at the car, then at Swamp Thing again. "...Soooo" he said, scratching the back of his neck, "Uh, you got a Swamp Van back there? Maybe something that you can fit in?"

Swamp Thing stared down at him. "I do not."

Zatanna pinched the bridge of her nose. "Right. Okay. Great. I was looking for an upgrade anyway, We'll figure out transport."

"Yep. Totally. Easy problem. No big deal."

The car groaned under its own weight as if praying not to be involved in whatever happened next. After a long beat, Plastic Man, with his hands on his hips, thought this was the best time to mangle a movie quote. "We're gonna need a bigger car."

Swamp Thing rumbled "I will walk."

"Not across three states, you won't."

The three of them stood there in awkward silence as the swamp creaked and croaked around them. Plastic Man clapped his hands once.

"Road trip's gonna be weird, isn't it?"

Zatanna shot him a glare but didn't answer. Swamp Thing did.

"Yes."

---

New York
City Mayhem
_{@Cyrania@Half Pint@mattmanganon@Bounce@Taka@Sep}

Thor was surprised by the sudden turn of events and who this King Atlan was whose return caused the Fire Trolls to return to the sea as if nothing happened. He doubted that they'd return as his biggest fan, both literally and figuratively, questioned. It seemed like this was really the end of the attack on New York. If he had to guess this King Atlan had something to do with Atlantis, given the names. So maybe this Arthur was found after all. It couldn't have possibly been the now silent child the Green Man passed off to his father, right? After the punch he delivered to a Fire Troll he wouldn't be surprised.

He agreed with Flameo Hotman about their job being far from over. Now that the fire starters were gone it'd be easier for him to put out the flames with his rain. Thor prepared to join him in fire control when his attention was drawn to Skeletor staring him down. At least it looked like he was staring at him. It felt like he was staring daggers into his soul. He didn't know who he was or what his problem was, but thankfully he didn't seem to be some kind of Bounty Hunter looking for the prize on his head. He left as quickly as he came leaving Thor with more questions than answers about who he was and what issues he had with him.

Thor tensed up a bit when the feds pulled up. He knew Luthor's reach wasn't that far in the government officially yet, but that didn't really matter when you were wealthy in this corrupted country. He lowered his guard when the man in charge told him that he had friends in far-reaching places. He couldn't believe what he was hearing and pointed to himself with a confused expression to confirm that he was indeed talking about him. He descended to the ground after the agent took out the envelope with the insignia of Frost Industries on it. He had heard of the company, but didn't know too much about them. He reached out to receive the envelope before looking around to see that the other heroes had scattered like cockroaches when you turned the lights on. You'd think they were the ones with a bounty on their heads.

Thor thought about his options. He could leave, but he wanted to learn more about this agency and if he built a proper relationship with the government he wouldn't be seen as a vigilante. He didn't see any downside to this. "Since I'm the only one left it seems that I win the prize to de-brief. Shall we, Mister...?"

---

Loki was disappointed in today's turn of events. Not even Fire Trolls were enough to cause problems for his oaf of a brother. He even managed to make himself look better in the eyes of the public and government as well as gathered some potential allies. The one time he thought something was going to happen with the Spirit of Vengeance, nothing did. But of course the Allfather's perfect child would have a soul without blemish. But today wasn't a complete let down. He learned a lot and was interested in the fact that a Martian had made its way to Earth. But more than that it appeared that someone at Frost Industries had their eyes on Thor. Perhaps he could do something with that. He had some time before he had to return to Metropolis. Perhaps an investigation was in order.

"Debriefing?" The one in red with the lightning bolt asked. "Buddy, i barely even know what's going on other than Mr Karaku trying to kill someone called Arthur, i learned it from this- OH CHEESE N CRACKERS! I LEFT HIM ASLEEP IN CENTRAL PARK! You deal with this, i'm gonna get that guy back to the water. Don't have your guys shoot him, he seemed like a good guy, just doing his job." The young man? kid? said."Thanks, you guys. It's... It's nice to see people care."

How could Coulson help but smile at such earnestness as he watched him dart away. He hoped he could meet him around sometime. At least his greeting had been rather friendly.

Unlike with the others...

"Yeah, uh- I think I left the oven on? Or something? Maybe some other time!" Then the fiery one, couldn't be more than a teen, had darted away himself.

The other flame skeleton head didn't even say anything, just got on his motorcycle and left. And as Phil looked around, seeing gladly that his men were being quick in doing their jobs, he noted that the mysterious green one had vanished as well. Leaving only...

"Since I'm the only one left it seems that I win the prize to de-brief. Shall we, Mister...?"

"Coulson, Phil Coulson." He offered his hand for a handshake, inwardly glad that at least someone had decided to stay behind for a more full debrief. He knew that the more freelance supers were rather, skittish, around authority figures but he didn't realize that they would be that skittish. "We've been following your career with great interest. That looks like a rather secluded spot, let's debrief there. He then gestured closer to the bay, farther from where the men were scurrying about and the civilians were gathered but notably not within anywhere enclosed. Thor was given ample room to leave whenever he'd like.

"Now then, your friend talked about the Fire Giants seeking to kill someone named Arthur...What's your own perspective of the whole affair?"

"You know, as sure as I am that these killings are the work of vampires, the 'Psycho Surgeon' angle isn't one I'm entirely unconvinced of." John spoke, poking the remaining bits of bacon and scrambled egg around on his plate before forking them into his mouth.

Andrew sat opposite, one arm resting against the top of the red vinyl backrest and the other lazily holding the handle on a cup of coffee. The cheap fluorescant lighting of the late night greasy spoon diner only served to make Andrew look even paler than normal. He was almost translucent at this point. He lifted the coffee mug halfway to his mouth and gave a noise in response, beckoning John to continue his line of thinking.

"Listen, every vampire I've ever had the displeasure of meeting has been two things." John said, gesturing with his fork for emphasis, "Careless and messy. They feed, they leave a body in a heap, and off they go to ruin someone else's night or hit up some gaudy nightclub." He jabbed the fork back onto his plate. "They don't tidy up. They don't stage anything. They don't take trophies or make art installations out of what's left. They treat humans like takeaway food - wrappers and all." John leaned back, giving Andrew a pointed look. "Present company excluded, obviously."

Andrew raised his coffee cup in a mock salute and gave him a nod. "Why thank you, always nice to be appreciated."

"My point is, this feels like more than just a new Vampire coven feeding on unsuspecting college students. I've been trying to keep tabs on any movements in the city and I've barely turned up anything."

"Always the bearer of good news, John. Are you telling me we've got nothing to go off of?"

"Not quite. Everyone makes mistakes." John wiped his mouth with a napkin, then reached into the inside pocket of his coat and slid a creased evidence photo across the table. Andrew lowered his cup enough to glance at it. It was of a body - drained, pale, and dumped behind what looked like a run-down bar's service entrance. John tapped the corner of the photo. "See that? There." A smudge of something dark on the victim’s shirt, near the collarbone. "That's motor oil. Fresh. Industrial grade."

Andrew arched a brow. "Interesting, but how exactly is this a lead, John?"

He leaned forward , lowering his voice. "Three bodies so far have had the same oil on them. Same type. Same viscosity. That narrows it down to a handful of spots in the city, my bet is that's where you'll find your vampires, or at least someone who can lead you to them."

Andrew finished the last of his coffee, setting the cup down and sliding the cup away from him with a light push. "Let me guess. It's not exactly the Four Seasons."

"More like a chop shop that failed its inspection six times in a row!" John said. "Out in Charlestown. Still operating after hours. Windows blacked out. No staff willing to talk about anything. And every time I get near it?" He slid the photo back into his coat. "I feel the hairs on my arms stand up. Someone's set up shop there. And it ain't Joe the mechanic."

Andrew sighed through his nose, stood, and reached for his jacket. "Well then, sounds like a very polite group of young gentlemen waiting to be educated. I'm sure they'll be just jumping to help an upstanding citizen like myself."

John smirked, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear. "Try not to get yourself staked before breakfast."

"No promises." Andrew said, tossing a few bills onto the table as he moved to leave. "But if these idiots really are as sloppy as you say, maybe I'll get lucky."

John lit the cigarette and exhaled. "Lucky? With vampires? Sure. Stranger things have happened."

Andrew paused at the door, hand on the frame. "You have no idea."

---

Andrew approached the chain link fence like a bored zoo-goer approaching the tiger enclosure. He peered through the spaces in the metal towards the auto-shop, surrounded on all ends by towering piles of junk and destroyed cars - a twisted king's fort standing in the middle of a sprawling modern hamlet.

This was going to be harder than usual. If you could call anything 'usual' after being asleep for 20 years. Without Eclipsaria he felt like he was missing an arm, he hadn't properly gone into a fight unarmed since Venice - and that was back when Italo Disco was in full swing.

No time to reminisce about the 'good old days'. Every minute his trusty blade was in the hands of evil was a minute too long.

He gripped onto the chains, and with a mighty pull launched himself over the fence, landing on the other side as a blur. He dashed to and fro between blockades under cover of darkness, inching closer and closer until he had a clear angle of the front of the garage. The door was open and a shower of sparks was spraying out, searing the ground.

The workers didn't look like vampires, at least not from their work ethic. It'd take a lot of motivation to get a vampire - even a newly turned one to a lift a finger in pursuit of anything but themselves. Andrew suspected they might be Thralls, but for all he knew they could just be down on their luck humans working overtime for powers they couldn't possibly understand.

Men in overalls ran back and forth through the garage, they were working furiously - carrying back and forth various mechanical parts. Some were installing them into the vehicles, mostly they were removing parts. A regular chopshop, probably some wannabe gangster turned vampire who hadn't lost his taste for material goods.

Finally the boss man sauntered out of his office at the back - eyes burning red, and teeth practically dripping with the blood of some poor fool no doubt already halfway to the pearly gates.

For a moment, Andrew considered the stealthy approach. But where was the fun in that? This was his homecoming, it was time to party.

The worker gasped, almost dropping the entire weight of an engine block on his foot as the bonnet slammed shut in front of him with a mighty thud. The figure of a man with black hair streaked white suddenly appearing crouched on top of it.

"Good evening. Starter for 10 - thrall, or no thrall?"

The worker's shocked expression shifted to vitriol, he tossed the engine to the side with a mighty thud that caught the attention of the other workers and bared his fangs. They were tiny nubs compared to Andrew's - or for that matter any true vampires, and his eyes glowed only a faint red rather than the burning shade that stared back into them from on top of the car.

"Thrall then!" This made things simpler and more complicated all at the same time. At least he didn't need to hold back.

Andrew rose smoothly to his full height. In the same breath, he snapped a kick upward, the arc of his leg catching the thrall under the jaw and launching him off his feet. As the creature reeled backward, Andrew followed through with the momentum, bringing the leg back down, flipping forward, and driving his opposite heel squarely onto the crown of the thrall’s skull. The impact cracked against the concrete, pinning the creature's head to the floor with brutal finality.

The surrounding thralls froze. Tools hung motionless in their hands; wrenches, grinders, half-lifted engine parts. Each of them staring from the shattered concrete to the pale figure crouched atop their fallen companion.

Andrew kept his boot planted on the thrall's skull, body coiled in a half-crouch. Slowly, he turned his head over his shoulder. His eyes burned red, fangs glinting, fingers curled into razor-sharp claws. He was something closer to a jungle predator than a man now.

"Who's next?"

As if someone had struck an unseen bell, the garage exploded into violence. Every worker in the shop snapped their heads toward him, lips peeling back to reveal the same small, malformed fangs. All of them thralls.

Typical, Andrew thought. Give a vampire a chance at cheap labour and he'll build himself a militia.

The first thrall lunged with a heavy wrench. Andrew slid under the swing with effortless grace, catching the man's ankle as he passed. A quick twist sent the thrall crashing to the concrete. The wrench clattered from his hand, spinning upward - just long enough for Andrew to snatch it out of the air.

He swung it around in a clean arc, burying the metal head into the jaw of a second thrall leaping at him. The impact sent the creature sailing sideways into a nearby tool cabinet, the doors rattling violently as he hit and a plethora of various tools spilling out and onto his unconscious body.

Another came at him from the left, bringing a hammer down in a brutal overhead strike. Andrew rolled backward across the hood of a half-dismantled car, the hammer smashing into the metal where his leg had been a heartbeat earlier. He landed on the other side, back now to a thrall raising an angle grinder toward his spine.

Andrew snapped the wrench behind him just in time. Sparks screamed in all directions as spinning metal met steel. The wrench split in two with a sharp crack.

He pivoted right as the makeshift shield broke apart, flinging one half into the gut of an approaching worker. The man folded over with a grunt. Andrew caught the grinder's blade between both hands by the flat edges. The disk shrieked, spinning furiously as the thrall used all his strength to push the machine down toward his face.

Pain flared instantly. Andrew sucked in a sharp breath as blood welled between his fingers. A quick glance at the grinder's body confirmed what he already suspected: the blade was silver.

Of course it was.

His answer came in the form of a savage kick straight between the thrall's legs. The man yelped and crumpled, dropping the grinder. In the same motion, Andrew snapped a soccer-style kick upward, volleying the grinder over his head and across the shop.

It sailed into a thick chain hoisting a wheelless car above the floor. The chain snapped with a loud whip noise. The vehicle's back end dropped like a guillotine, slamming down onto a cluster of thralls below and sending bodies sprawling in a tangle of limbs and debris.

The whole shop shook with the impact - an improvised alarm clock announcing that Andrew Bennett was very much awake.

The office door slammed open so hard it rattled on its hinges.

"What the fuck is going on out he-?!" the boss started, but froze mid-sentence at the sight of his shop. Behind him, two other vampires sat comfortably at a stained metal table, feeding from a limp body splayed out like they were businessmen enjoying some body sushi. The boss's eyes flared. "Better question - who the fuck are you?!"

Andrew smiled. "I think you've got something of mine."

The boss was on him first. He was big, fast, overconfident, and ugly. Andrew barely had time to twist aside as a clawed hand carved a trench through the air where his sternum had been. The impact of the missed blow shattered the doorframe behind him, wood splintering across the floor.

Andrew countered with a sharp elbow to the ribs, but it was like hitting stone. The vampire snarled and backhanded him across the face, sending Andrew skidding across the concrete and into a stack of tires that toppled down over him.

He pushed himself upright, spitting out a streak of blood and wiping his mouth with his thumb. "Right." He muttered to no one but himself. "One of those nights."

The other two slammed into him from either side. Andrew ducked low, letting them collide with each other before springing upward to drive both palms beneath their jaws, snapping their heads back with a crack. They stumbled, hissing, regrouping faster than humans ever could.

One seized a chain hanging from the ceiling and whipped it toward him. Andrew caught it mid-swing, but the vampire yanked hard, pulling him off-balance and stumbling towards him. The second sank claws into Andrew's side, drawing a ragged gasp from him. Blood bloomed through his shirt.

Pain flashed in his vision. The silver from earlier was still burning in his palms and now his side was comrpimised. But Andrew pushed through it.

He twisted the chain around his forearm, braced a boot against the floor, and hauled the first vampire forward. As he stumbled into range, Andrew drove a knee into his gut, doubled him over, and then smashed his head against the raised hood of a car. The metal caved from the impact.

The second lunged again. Andrew grabbed a dangling work lamp and swung it up into the vampire's face. Glass shattered, sparks bursting and burning across his features. The creature screeched and reeled backward.

Before Andrew could press the advantage, the boss caught him from behind in a bear hug, lifting him clear off the ground and squeezing. Bones creaked. Andrew clawed at the vampire's arms, his vision tunneling as he felt consciousness fading.

"I've hit the jackpot tonight boys!" The boss growled. "Rico's gonna love this one! It's promotion time for me!"

With one last surge of energy, Andrew bucked his body forward, lifted both legs, and kicked off a wall - slamming the back of his skull into the boss' nose with a wet crunch. The grip loosened. Andrew dropped, rolled, and before the vampire could recover caught him by the lapels and flipped him straight into the windscreen of a half-gutted Jeep.

The glass spiderwebbed and the boss dropped limp, letting out groans as he struggled in vain to pull himself from the wreckage.

The two underlings came at him again, but Andrew was already moving. He snatched a length of rebar from a scattered pile, spun it once, and cracked it across the first vampire's temple. As he reeled, Andrew pivoted, driving the rebar through the shoulder of the second and pinning him briefly against a support column.

The pinned vampire screamed; Andrew ripped the bar out and swung it back around, laying both creatures out with two clean, brutal blows.

Finally there was relative silence. Just Andrew's ragged, breaths and the whirring of now broken machinery.

He staggered, pressing his hand to the wound at his side. It had already begun the healing process, but god damn did it hurt right now. A groan sounded at his feet, the boss, half-conscious and trying to crawl away.

Andrew planted a boot on his back.

"Not so fast."

The vampire hissed, coughing blood up onto the concrete floor. "Who he fuck are you?! Wh...what the fuck do you want? I'm small time! I'm no one!"

"My sword." Andrew said calmly. "And the idiot who stole it."

"I don't- I don't know anything about that!" the boss sputtered.

Andrew shifted his boot slightly. Pressing more weight down onto his spine. "You know something, or you know someone who does."

The vampire hesitated. Andrew didn't raise his voice to ask again. He didn't speak at all. He just pressed down a little more, and the boss let out a sharp, panicked gasp as his ribs began to crack against the concrete.

"Look! Please!" The vampire babbled, "I can't-I can't just give him up! You don't get it - Rico will tear me apart!"

"Rico isn't who you should be worrying about right now." Andrew said. "I am."

Finally the boss's resolve cracked like an old floorboard. "He owns a club!" the vampire blurted. "That's where he keeps it! A place downtown called Violets! You can't miss it! Purple lights. That's all I know, I swear!"

Andrew lifted his foot off the man's back. The boss immediately curled into himself, coughing blood and wincing in pain.

"See, was that so hard?" Andrew said, brushing away the dust, blood, and grime from the fight from his jacket sleeves. "You've been very helpful. And I don't say that often to scum like you."

The vampire swallowed, voice trembling. "S-so we're good? You're not gonna kill me?"

Andrew stared down at the pathetic crumpled heap of a man.. "Not yet, but if Rico is the one who turned you then your time is very, very limited. I'd book that Disneyland trip if you haven't already, time to start ticking things off the bucket list."

He drove a sharp punch into the side of the vampire's temple, dropping him against the concrete in an instant.

The auto shop was a wreck, but something tugged at Andrew's curiosity. He drifted toward one of the gutted cars, popped the hood, and peered inside. Cars had never really been his area of expertise - he'd never enjoyed riding in them, let alone learning how they worked. Give him a horse and he’d happily cross continents; force him into a bus and he'd get out at the next stop.

Still, this looked wrong. Even to him.

Too many wires. Far too many tubes running through the frame like veins. He traced the tubing deeper into the vehicle, following it past the dashboard and down beneath the passenger seat. With a flick of his wrist, he tore open the seat's underside, revealing a hidden compartment.

Inside lay rows of blood bags, neatly stowed, the disconnected tubes waiting like hungry mouths.

Andrew frowned. Why would anyone need blood circulating through a car? What purpose could it possibly serve? He retrieved several bags, stuffing them into his jacket and examining the labels on the few he kept in hand. Nothing unusual. Human blood, standard issue.

A mystery for later perhaps, but a welcome find. It meant he wouldn't have to rob a blood bank for a while.

With that, Andrew stepped out into the night. He was more battered and bloodied than he'd thought he might be by the end of this, but Eclipsaria wasn't far now. He could feel it.

---

“Come on, Carol, gloves up.”

Carol blinked as she adjusted to the sudden glare of the overhead light, the back-and-forth swing of a far too old lightbulb blazing away as it hung from the ceiling of their garage.

“Wha-” She had no recollection of what she had just been doing, but it certainly wasn't this. She tried to focus on the moments before, but found the ghost of their memory slipping from her mental grasp before she could gain any meaning from them.

“Don't tell me I'm away for six weeks and my sister forgets how to take a punch like a Danvers?... Wait, that sounds really bad.” Her brother laughed awkwardly at his own words as he took a step back from Carol, allowing her eyes to adjust enough to see him. The flood of feelings that rushed over her as she saw Steve's slightly crooked smile down at her almost sent her bawling, but again, she couldn't remember why.

“Sorry, just…distracted.” She murmured, before mirroring her brother’s smile and pulling her fists up in a guard, the weight of the gloves she didn’t realise she was wearing suddenly familiar, as much a relief as the sight of a brother she was sure she had missed until just this moment. The thud of gloves on gloves soon resumed. It was an age-old ritual between the two; there was intensity and force to their swings, but no genuine attempt to defeat the other, just a back and forth to work out the mental stress of what it meant to be a member of the Danvers family. Boxing with Joe Jnr was different for them both: the middle sibling of the Danvers family had a more competitive relationship with both siblings, but Steve and Carol were far enough apart that sibling rivalry turned into familial responsibility.

“I asked your base about my application, and they said they never got it.” Carol’s flood of relief washed away as she remembered what had spurred her on to call for this particular spar with her brother, in the limited time he was back home. Bitterness poisoned her love, curdling around her heart.

“I told you Carol, it’s not so easy. Maybe when I’m back from my first tour.” The way he spoke to her was akin to when they were much younger, an older brother dismissing his sister's wild dreams, but this wasn’t just a game.

“Two of my classmates are moving in with their siblings in housing.” The thud … thud of her gloves picked up in intensity, putting the anger of her thoughts into each strike. “You think it’s easy for me still living here? He’s getting worse.” Her words were half pant, half snarl as she got them out. She knew her brother was delaying for reasons beyond what the state and Air Force bureaucracy demanded of him. He’d always promised he’d come back for her, and now with escape in reach, he floundered.

“It’s not so simple, I have to be mindful of -”

“That’s not what you promised!” She punched, hard now. Something burst to life within her, the rage of the one person she felt she could rely on proving himself just as flawed as the rest of them, turning the key in some internal lock. The punch was hard, harder than she had meant and harder than it should have been. Steve went sprawling, a moment later looking up at her in confusion. Confusion and distrust, a look she never wanted to see on that face.

Carol turned and ran, springing out of the open garage into the frozen Boston rain, ignoring the calls of her brother behind her.

---

“Carol.”

A new voice, distant. She couldn’t see. Everything was dark.

“Carol, you have to-”

The sound drifted away again. She couldn’t see, couldn’t feel. It was just her and an endless sea of nothing.

This wasn’t so bad.

“Carol Danvers, wake up.”

More insistent now, she didn’t so much hear it as feel the voice flow through her. A communication in a manner she had felt from only one being.

“Mar’vell?”

“Only you can do this Carol, you need to move, now.”

“I…I don’t know what to do.”

“Yes, you do, Carol. Only you can save yourself. There is nothing in the past for you. Only forwards.”

She wasn’t sure if the voice was real, but she felt it stir something within her. Whatever had pushed her into this state of nothingness was holding her back, but it had been power, and power was everything she needed.

With nothing but the grit of her own determination, Carol Danvers looked within herself and found the fury of a star.

---

The lance of energy had struck her before she could react, which, when ‘she’ was the target, meant it was damn fast. A weapon that would make the most advanced destructive capability of the human race look like a child’s toy cast her away with the force to crack a continent. In a moment the golden light of the Warbird went out, and Carol was just an inert form floating through the void, trapped in the broken shell of a still body cast thousands of miles into the vacuum of space. Without the energy her body was giving off, she became invisible to even the advanced sensors of alien craft, just a girl. A dead girl.

Then she ignited all at once.

Golden light so bright and hot it blazed into white cascaded from her form. If she earlier she had been a shooting star, now she seared with the intensity of the greatest points of light in the nighttime sky of Earth. A raging fury of force as every scrap of energy the aliens had expended in striking her burst back into reality within the nuclear furnace of her body.

“My turn.”

Back on Earth the warning signals which had detected the defeat of the Warbird suddenly blazed anew with entirely the reverse findings. She blazed with enough power that she wouldn’t be safe to return home, her every strike and blow enough to ignite the air for miles around. But she wasn’t on Earth, and there were aliens to fight.

She did not seek to interrupt the fight between the two figures she had attempted to aid before with the lion-man, combat between individuals seemed a waste of the blaze of power and ambition within her. Instead, she turned it on their ships, on the chariots which now raced after her as she returned to their sensors. While she had never felt like this before, a state of being where even her sense of self seemed to burn away next to the intensity of her existence, she understood it could not be forever, but she could still make them pay.

Carol might have felt invincible, but she didn’t feel the need to find out if a second blast from the more powerful of the enemy's weapons could be enough to burst through whatever state she had forced herself into, and she ducked, weaved and flew around them with all the destructive agility she had shown before, now simply better than she had been. The burning white intensity of her form did begin to dim and shift as she did, expending itself steadily back into the more normal gold of her power a moment at a time, but hardly fast enough to be too soon for the foe.

In the midst of her graceful rampage, reality began to collapse in on itself, pulling both intact and shattered craft towards it. She felt the pull of the event horizon in an Academic sense, like the presence of her own dark reflection as she blazed with the fabric of the cosmos itself. She turned to watch its final moments, allowing it to sap from her the extreme overabundance of power she still felt, the hungering break in spacetime leeching the heat from her, while it could not claim her entirely.

As it winked out of reality she felt herself shift back to normal. Suddenly where there was simply the light of her power, her form and costume returned. She was somewhat thankful for the later, quite convinced it might have been a casualty of her transformation, but it seemed whatever could make her into whatever that was, could also restore her in full. Suddenly robbed of the dehumanising intensity of such power, she recalled the two figures she had fought with and that such destruction would no doubt have been exceedinly dangerous.

Carol whirled around, a zip of golden light as she moved, before finding them with a sigh of relief that expelled no air out into the vacuum of space. She drifted over, the waves of her blonde hair drifting behind her, not restrained by her half-mask helm.

“I think I was a bit late to whatever party that was, mind catching me up?” She asked the pair, rather hoping it didn't turn out these were the evil aliens.

---

New York
Damage Control
_@Cyrania

Thor shook Coulson's hand as he offered it. For an older man without super strength he had a pretty decent grip. “It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I'm Thor, but I guess you already knew that.” He didn't trust the government enough to give them his real name. His identity was a secret for a reason. A poorly kept one, but a secret nonetheless. He didn't want to bring unwanted attention to his parents’ doorstep. He was intrigued to hear that the government had been following his career with great interest. He knew that he was on their radar given how he had become more public with his heroics, but the choice of words reminded him of Palpatine talking to Anakin in the Phantom Menace, though this Phil fellow didn't appear to be evil, but looks were often deceiving.

Thor followed Coulson to the secluded area close to the bay and listened to his question. He gave pause before answering. If the kid with the super strength was Arthur he didn't want to turn his life upside down or cause him and his father any trouble or stress. “I'm honestly not all too sure. I arrived a bit late to the whole affair.” He answered. “They felt like an army given the task of attacking the surface and finding this Arthur. The former was probably meant to help with the latter. I didn't hear of anyone who helped us being named Arthur, but all of a sudden the Fire Trolls proclaimed that King Atlan had returned and went back to the sea as if nothing happened. This King Atlan of Atlantis must have saved us from afar.”

“That could be…” He crossed his arms. “We unfortunately don’t have much information on Atlantean politics at the moment. They usually are content to stick to themselves underwater…. How was fighting the Trolls? Were there any specific strengths and weaknesses you noted?”

The government still seemed to know more than he did. He didn't even know Atlantis existed before today. Thor took a second to think before answering. “Their numbers and ability to spread fire were the real problems. Brute force was enough to take them down and some way to remove their flames. The guy with fire for hair was able to do that. But water wasn't effective against them since they came from the sea.”

Coulson huffed. “That’s unfortunate…Still that does help us, thank you.” He scribbled down some notes, then put his notebook away and looked back up to him. “You know…If those guys came up so suddenly, they could always return. And if they return, it would be nice to have you with us to fight them off, wherever it may happen…Have you ever heard of SHIELD?”

Thor awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. After the experience he's been having lately it felt weird receiving thanks from the government. “Just doing what I can to make the world a better place, sir.” He nodded in agreement at the possibility of the Fire Trolls or something else coming to cause trouble on the surface. “Wherever I'm needed you can count me there. But no, I can't say that I have. Who or what is SHIELD?”

“We’re a global agency, not tied directly to any one government, seeking a lot of the same things you are.” He then drew out a business card. “I know with Mr. Luthor, you don’t have the most trust in governments…But if you could ever use help or would like to join us, call the number on this card. We especially got lawyers on offer.”

Thor took the business card and looked at it before putting it in the same hand with the letter that he received earlier. “I'll definitely give you a call and if you need my help, I'm sure your agency will be able to contact me when you need me. With the way things are back home I'll need your lawyers one day, but until then I rather the only one that contacts me is you. You seem trustworthy, Mr. Coulson.”

He softly smiled. “Just doing my best. I’ll make sure to arrange to be your main point of contact…Definitely enjoy yourself at the party tonight, Thor. You more than deserve it. And make sure to talk with Miss Frost. She’s a wonderful woman to have on your side.”

Party? He was going to ask what party, but then he remembered the envelope in his hand. So that's what that was. It looked like he'd be staying in New York a bit longer. Now he just needed to figure out what to wear. He doubted she wanted him in his costume. “I'm looking forward to meeting her then. Thank you, Mr. Coulson. Do you by chance know somewhere I could get a last minute tux?”

Coulson hummed in thought. ”There is a place within Manhattan near the Empire State Building that’s good quality but reasonably priced. Look for Martinelli’s. Though I don’t think she’d mind if you came in the cape and armor. From the news reports, this is meant to honor the heroes of New York. Would be a bit hard to tell who is who without being in the right outfit.

Thor thought about it for a second. If he appeared in a tuxedo for this party it'd be easier for the people back home to discover who he is if pictures got out. If he stayed in costume it'd be a bit harder even though he wasn't exactly hiding himself. “I'll keep Martinelli’s in mind. But it looks like I'll be going to this party in style.”

”And I’m sure you’ll look great for the cameras… Then his watch beeped. He reached down to click on it, noting whatever message was on there, then looking back up. ”Well, it looks like I better get back to work. I look forward to when we next meet, though hopefully under somewhat better circumstances. His glance fell to some of the more shaken civilians from the train fall.

Thor gave Coulson a nod before following his glance to the shaken civilians. With SHIELD and the firefighters working to put out the flames no one needed his rain anymore. He decided to put on a show for the civilians. He twirled his hammer in the area causing him to shoot up like a rocket. He hovered in front of the rain clouds he formed and lifted his hammer above his head. He didn't need to do this, but it was more so for the people watching. Suddenly the clouds stopped raining as they parted leaving room for the sun to shine. But that wasn't all. A double rainbow arched across the city signaling to the people below that a new and brighter day was coming.

Jaime panted. His body calming, the adrenaline leaving his system after the events of the last few minutes. That was all it had been, minutes. Everything that had happened, the torture, the nearly dying. How many times had he nearly died?. 'Nova' hovered before him, he had just said something. Not bad for our first day. What was that supposed to mean? Jaime looked all around him and he spun, seeing the gold-blazing woman zip back towards them. Looking down at his hands, still encased in the blue and black alloy that coated his entire body.

Wait a second I'm in space.

His heart thundered in his chest, his lungs burned as they ached for oxygen.

<BE CALM JAIME REYES->

“I think I was a bit late to whatever party that was, mind catching me up?”

The Golden-Girl spoke but he couldn't hear her, how could he, he was in space? How was he breathing-

<I AM SUPPLYING OXYGEN->

Was he going to die from exposure or radiation? How was he supposed to get back to Earth?

<I AM FULLY CAPABLE OF PROTECTING->

This had all happened so quickly, he had just been skating passed Kord on his way to find, Tye! What had happened to him, and his family. How long had he really been gone. No, this wouldn't do. He had to find a way, he turned and looked out into the vastness of space. In the distance he could see a faint blue dot, that had to be Earth, right? How on Earth was he supposed to get there anytime soon-

Sam drifted through space towards the so called 'Blue Beetle'. He was spiralling, Sam could see it. His eyes were wide, and as he looked around space, spinning looking at his hands his shoulders rocked back and forth as if he was trying to find air, his lungs denying him the oxygen he needed. Sam reached out through the void, and grasped onto his shoulders. Focusing on the energy within himself, Sam poured it into the helmet. Trying to make him shine brighter, for the moment ignoring the girl who had drifted her way over to them.

Not that they had needed the help.

"Hey-" Eyes still wide and unfocused. Brighter. "Hey-" More. "HEY!" That did the trick, as Blues eyes focused in on him. "Come back to me Blue, you're alright. Breathe." Sam maintained his grip, he remembered a story his dad had told him. The first time he had been in space, how he felt untethered and lost. Unconnected, it had been Titus - one of his fathers instructors, who had grabbed hold of him and brought him back.

Part of Sam felt guilty, he had never felt more free. Up here, away from everything that held him down. "You're okay Blue, we did it. We beat the bad guy-" Sam slowly let go, and drifted his way back slightly to give them an-okay degree of seperation. He nodded over to the Golden-Girl. "-A simple job for this one, she must have activated their hyperdrive to send the ships away." Sam turned to look at her. "Good job on that, by the way."

"Good Job." Jaime croaked quietely. As if his own voice threatened to betray him. Sam beamed at his new friend, trial by fire and all that. They were friends now. Whether Blue knew it or not.

"There he is, welcome back buddy!" Sam gave him a friendly pat on the back. Knocking Jaime forward, who panicked and threw out his arms to catch him, which in the emptiness of space was a fruitless endeavour.

<ALL YOU NEED DO IS THINK OF THE FUNCTION YOU WISH TO PERFORM, AND I SHALL COMPLETE THE TASK> Jaime came to a stop.

"Okay, Okay I get it." Jaime snapped, and then turned gingerly back to the other two space-borne teenagers. "Lo siento, I uh. It's just, it's been a lot." Jaime looked at the golden-girl. "It's a long story, but I think that the white-tiger-guy-"

"Titus."

"-was wanting to get this, thing-" Jaime raised his thumbs back over his shoulder, indicating towards the middle of his back. "-off me. I'm not entirely sure why but, I'm glad you two showed up when you did."

"Yeah, I guess we were all just lucky."

---

There was no such thing as luck. He had lived for millenia, seen empires rise and fall. From both the small and the pitiful to the great and mighty. He had been a conqueror, a protector and a watcher. Yet the only constant, had been him. Not through any divine hand, no command from on-high and no luck. As always it was him who controlled his own destiny, he moved the pieces as he saw fit. The Earth was just a giant game of Mehet, Chess, or Monopoly. Depending on what age you had been born.

The interloper had come for the Scarab. That which had plagued his people long ago, before he had been cursed with this eternal existence. It was this that had started the chain of events that led to his torture, he had been but a shaman then. The warrior brought terror and bloodshed, demanding subjugation. All that stood before him had fallen, so when Nabu and the Wizard had come to him with a proposal. How could he say no? His magic had always been weak, but together they succeeded in beating the warrior. Hiding away the infernal contraption where it would never be found - until Dan Garrett. He had cursed himself, once he had ascended he should have known to return for the Scarab, and keep it close. Such as the All-Father had done with his many trophies.

Humanity, as hard as they fought for survival often started the chain of events that led to their own destruction. Dan Garrett had found the scarab, and had even worn it to become the Vigilante known as the BLUE BEETLE. He had feared that Garrett would have been corrupted by its influence, but whatever residual effects its imprisonment had on it appeared to dimish its capacity. He decided not to reveal himself, but to keep his eye on the situation.

When Garrett had died, he passed the scarab on to his protege. A business-man and inventor called Ted Kord.

Ted, for all the short-comings humanities media liked to go on about, appeared to have some modicum of intelligence and had identified the scarab for what it truly was. A one man army. Still, he had not hidden it. Instead he turned it into a force for good. He had been proud of Teds accomplishments, before the arrival of Titus, the intervention of the Nova Corpsman was an interesting adjustment. Things were now being set in motion that would lead Earth down a very different path, and no matter the destination. He would ensure that his goals, were met.

With all of the commotion of new people being admitted to F.E.A.S.T. in the hours following the attack, nobody quite noticed Bailey and Christina sneaking into one of the community classrooms to use one of the computers that people used mostly to print of their resume's or go job hunting on. "Wow, you are blowing up online." She said, looking through a number of articles and youtube video's shot on phones. One of the photo's that kept being used on news sites was him stood "Heroically" in the window, holding the old man he had rescued from that burning building. His face calm and contemplative. In actuality, that face was him transitioning from "I need to get this man to safety" and into "Please for the love of crikey, don't let me end up in Yonkers when i jump." His orange locks blowing in the wind.

"Like... They want to see me explode?" He asked. She looked at him, staring at the computer.

"Wow, you're definitely not one of those iPad kids, are you?" She asked.

"We never really had the money for that stuff. Only time i used that sort of stuff was in school." He replied. "And the F.E.A.S.T. i knew didn't have computers we could use. Plus Mom wanted me to read books." Christina smiled, at least he wasn't another kid constantly pestering her to get Cocomelon on here.

"What i mean is that people are seriously talking about you."




"Wow, FOX is more rational than usual." Christina replied, reading the insane ramblings. "But this is big news. They're talking about you. Now, you need the most important thing a Hero can have."

"A strong sense of right and wrong?" Bailey asked. Christina looked down at the kid.

"Oh my god, you are the most adorable thing ever put on this earth." She replied, tustling his hair. "No, my naive little superhero. What you need is a name." She smiled. "Can't go about calling you Spider-Boy, you're likely to get sued." Bailey began looking through the computer.

"What about..." He asked. He typed out on the Keyboard Shazam.

"Shazam? Sounds like a toilet cleaner." Christina replied. "And why not say it?"

"Because when i say that word, i get hit by a bolt of lightning and then turn into the other guy and i'd really like not to start another fire."

"Good point, but that creates the problem that, when someone asks you your name, you'll turn back into a kid in front of everyone. Yeah, i think making the magic word the same as your name is just askin' for trouble." She stroked her brow. "Oooh, you've got that Lightning Bolt on your chest. What about Thunderbolt?" She quickly typed it into a search bar. "Damn, someone already got it. Some big name General or something. I never heard of him, but best probably not mess with the US Military." Bailey looked at the news articles again.

"Mysterious Marvel... What Mister Marvel?" He asked.

"Nope, Aliteration is for headlines only. And Mister? Who names themselves Mister. Captain or Major or General." She replied.

"Ooooh, Captain Marvel, love that name!" He looked at the computer and smiled. "Captain Marvel... She quickly typed in the name.

"There's a withdrawn trademark application of the name from someone in Boston, but probably nothing to worry about." She replied. She quickly went to one of the main Superhero Boards and quickly applied for a new profile, using the heroic image from the news article. "Right, just put up a basic post. Hey, it's me, the ginger Superhero from the news. I am making my official first press release on this website. My name is Captain Marvel and i am..." She looked at Bailey. "Come on, Bailey, work with me."

"Oh... Ummm... I am a kid from New York, from an alternate timeline where America is ruled by a-" At which point, a finger went across his lips from Christina.

"Bububububu!" She replied. "They are gonna think you are nuts. Reel it back. Let's just put... I am a guy from New York, like any one of you, i just want to make the world a better place. I'm gonna fight evil, right wrongs... And hoping every leap will be the leap home..."

"What?" He asked.

"Doctor Ben Song, do you not watch TV?" She scowled at him.

"I read books." He repeated.

"That's it, we're getting a TV for you to watch." She shook her head. "We're renting the entire Schwarzenegger Library and we're giving you an education." She replied.

"I started watching Junior with mom once..." He suddenly got the Thousand Yard stare.

"The Schwarzenegger Baby?" She asked. He nodded slowly. "Yeah, that's the respectable." She then continued to type. "I'm here to stay. So, the bad guys of the world had better look out for Captain Marvel!" She smiled, before hitting send. "And now we wait." She crossed her arms. "In the meantime, what's your sleeping plans?" She asked. Bailey looked down as he quickly realized he didn't know.

"Well, you're currently staying in me and Mom's old room." He said.

"And if we tell them that you're alone without parents, they'll put you into the Foster system and then that'll be just a whole matter of..." She replied, before looking him up and down. "Maybe if you Kazaamed yourself up-" She began.

"No. No, power like that isn't supposed to be used for stuff like that." He replied. "The old gang looked after me, helped me stay here... I dunno what to do now..." He walked over to the wall and instinctively put a foot on it, before scraping his shoe down and remembering that that didn't work anymore. "Can't even upside down think anymore..." He lost his hands in his scruffy orange hair, trying to think.

"Hey," Christian called. "Come with me." Leading him out of the classroom and upstairs to the small room he previously lived in. Opening the door, she looked at her parents. "Mom, dad. This is Bailey, he helped me out when those Fire Trolls attacked. He's missing his mom, can he stay with us for the night?" Mr and Mrs Xu looked at each other.

"If he helped you in that attack, then by all means, feel free to join us." Mrs Xu replied with a smile.

Ain’t as easy to hop trains as it used to be. Growing up we’d run down by the railyard and sneak through our little hole in the fence. Watch the engines surge by, iron horses running faster than our dreams. There were faster things, of course, our paps all loved NASCAR, but those stoic little stock cars had nothing on these behemoths. They cut across the country in plumes of smoke that signal their coming to the heavens, hauling everything a body could want, the very life blood of this country. It was a dream to jump onto one as it slowed and clamber up the sides like monkey bars, then stow away for a spell and watch the rest of the heartland roll on by. Could jump off quick into a field of hay and then be home in time for supper. But it wasn’t like that for the kids of today. Now there were security cameras all over the stations, making sure that no folk can get to those trains without consequence, no matter how harmless their purpose may be. That said, my purpose tonight is anything but harmless, and this is no regular old train.

Heard tell of this loco locomotive as far south as Sonora. They call it the Midnight Train. They say she’s an old steam engine with hellfire in her belly, with wheels that clack like cackling skulls, constrained by no track. Every now and again, she’ll pass on through an ordinary station in the dead of night. She’ll pick up a couple regular passengers, and ramble off into the darkness, where those passengers will never be seen again. No one knows for sure what goes on aboard that train, as dark and massive as a storm cloud. The only way to find out is to find a station and get on board yourself.

Course, I ain’t so lucky as to catch her at the station. Instead I’m straddling a motorcycle getting hotter n’ the devil’s nethers, hauling ass across open desert, chasing her taillights through the shadows and trails of her dreadsmoke. Bike ain’t mine cept the offroad tires, which I expect to be shred to shit by the end of this. I took it off some skinhead prick, figuring I’d need an expendable vehicle. Bike’s engine is sputtering a storm, spewing hot, stinging smoke and bleeding oil. My bandana keeps it all from my mouth, but my eyes are watering so hard I can taste the salt running down my cheeks. But through the tears I see it getting closer.

The Midnight Train’s end couplers stand out of the smog like the spiked horns of a huge beetle. The reversed headlamps shot out cones of blacklight into the haze, the light now just touching my front wheel. The bike jerks like a jitterbug, stuttering across phantom tracks, threatening to shake itself apart. My hands have gone numb on me, but I keep clamped on the accelerator. The engine hisses and whines like a wet barn cat while I wrestle the handlebars one handed, pulling my lariat from its holster. I hear something metallic burst and rattle in the bike beneath me and I know I got just one shot.

I jerk my arm hard and the whip slashes through the night, it catches firm on the train’s blackened rails. My cry of triumph is lost to a new, grinding, tearing sound in my engine. I push off from the footpegs and pull as hard as I can, whirling through the air before I crash into the back of the Midnight Train in a heap. I look back to the bike through the railing, crumpled plastic and cheap parts folding on themselves as it gives way and tumbles off into the desert. There’s a safe feeling, hard metal platform finally underneath me instead of rushing, scouring sands.

That feeling doesn’t last long. The wind is whipping past the train and piercing me through my snap shirt and vest, a straight chill to the bone. I push to my feet and my spurs click against the black metal. Standing here against the Midnight Train’s hide, I feel like I’m wrangling some massive bull, fighting the restraints to stay on. I stagger to the door to the first compartment. It's bigger than I am, socketed into the train’s frame on bolts bloodied with rust. I lock my hands around the door’s crank wheel and work the door open a sliver, before I dart in.

It’s a mite more comfortable inside. I slam the door shut to the howling winds and have just an instant to get my bearings. The interior of the car ain’t much. Low, fluorescent lights swing with the rumble of the engine and cast their shadows across the wooden facade. It’s simple quarters for crew, cotton beds shelved along one wall with round tables and chairs socketed to the floor for gathering. It might have been like any other train, but for the rows of coffins along the right wall, the only proper resting spot for any vampire. That, and the pair of men seated there.

Their skin is plumb white as alabaster, stretched so far over gaunt frames that I can count their ribs through their work clothes. One is dressed like an old miner, in faded coveralls slumping half off his skeletal chest, wearing a yellow helmet with a flickering light. The other is a disheveled train attendant in rags, what once might have been a fine uniform is hanging off him in ribbons. But they both have long, sharp ears, and faces marred by rotten noses and fangs jutting past their jaws. They're what I call Longtooths, thrall-things that’ve been in service past their expiration date. They've both seen me now. They rise from their seats and claw across the tables, bounding for me. I draw my modified lariat, my meteor hammer with the silver weight, but they're already on top of me.

The miner leaps at me and I duck under him into a roll, letting his face crash into the steel door. I go for a swing with my hammer as I come up, but the attendant is already too close, and catches the thick cord of the weapon in his jaw.

“This is no kinda hospitality, fellers!” I shout and yank the hammer. The attendant's tooth snaps and the weight smacks the side of his head, sending him stumbling into the rows of coffins, but now the miner is back up.

“Hsss!” He swipes me with curled claws as I whirl at him. I ignore the slashing pain across my chest and ram the heel of my weapon into his temple. His eyes boggle and I push my elbow into his throat and push us both to the door, pressing him into the metalwork. I look back to the attendant and see him crawling from a wrecked coffin, but I see something move on the far end of the compartment. The door to the next car is rumbling as someone works the lock, threatening to send more suckheads spilling in.

“No cuttin’ in!” I say. I launch my meteor and the weight crashes into the door, crushing the lock and buying me another moment. The attendant picks his moment and rushes me while the hammer is in flight, fangs bared. I drop it and grab the knife on my belt, but something hard slams into the back of my head. Stars flare across my vision and I pitch forward, but close my grip around my bowie and jerk as I fall, slashing wildly behind me. I feel my knife cut through flesh and then nothing as the miner’s body turns to dust on death. I slam into the ground at the same time as his helmet, and then the attendant is on me.

I get my legs between us and his wicked nails pass within an inch of my face, and I taste his breath, old blood and must, through my bandana as he strains to sink his fangs in. I draw the knife up and bring it between us, then release and watch as the attendant skewers himself in desperation. He dies in a sheet of dust across my body.

I hack out a cough and try not to vomit from the noxious dust as I draw to my feet. I have to be ready for what's coming next, and fast. I draw my revolver and fix it on the door. There's a loud snap as whatever is on the other side breaks the fused metal. I rest my finger on the trigger.

A figure in black steps through the door. He's tall and draped in leather, carrying a sword dripping with blood and dust. He takes a step forward and the light catches on his dark shades. I realize I recognize him, from the close crop fade to the spiked adornments on his jacket’s shoulders. He’s the man I’ve come to see; the vampire hunter called Blade.

“If you shoot, don’t miss,” he says. He’s resting his sword on his shoulder, all casual like. But I know from the set of his shoulders and hips that in one motion he could rush forward and cut me in half, and I don’t need to give him a reason.

“Wasn’t plannin’ to, pardner,” I say. I spin my revolver and slot it into its holster.

“Partner? Not a chance,” Blade’s grip on his sword is still tight as he turns his hand over and gestures, palm out, “give me back my book.”

“Was always plannin’ on it…” I grumble, pulling the slim notebook from my vest. When I mentioned I ‘heard tell’ of this train, I read it in this book. His book. I swiped it the last time I came across him, fallen from his pocket in the fracas. Seemed like it was his little monster hunting diary, all full of juicy tidbits on what his next hunt was shaping to be. Namely, his next job, taking out the head vampire honcho of this here hell train. “But if half the rumors in this thing about this train are true, you’ll need a second gun on this.”

“Yeah,” Blade says. He flicks his sword and sends all the viscera covering it to dapple the compartment's tables, then returns the cleaned weapon to its sheath. He stows the book and pulls back his coat to show off his twin holsters, “that’s why I carry two.” He turns on his heel and starts to walk back from where he came, deeper into the Midnight Train.

“Hold up! Didn’t come all this way to get left out of the festivities.” I go to follow him and he stops in his tracks.

“What are you expecting here? That you’ll scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours?” Blade asks, and he’s right to. I’ve hounded him across Texas and back, tracked him down across leylines and met him in vampire dens, knee deep in the dead, and there I’d go banging my drum about my story, what I needed from him. He’d just tune me out and set about his work, then leave me in the dust as my back was turned. But here I am, now, at the head of it, with an honest to goodness shot to make right by the man.

“No expectations, ‘cept fer killin’ every vampire I lay eyes on. I got my mission, my purpose. But that purpose has got plenty of room fer gunnin’ down extra bloodsuckers. Got silver bullets burnin’ a hole in my pocket,” I say.

“Fine. At least you have the right gear,” Blade allows. He steps forward and I go to move in time with him, but he stops and turns his head back to me, curious. “How’d you get onto the train anyway, cowboy?”

“Motorcycle,” I grin beneath my bandana, “rough stuff, I tell you what.”

“No shit. Hell of a ride,” he says, scratching his chin. I can practically see my desperate chase reflected in his shades as he thinks on it, sees the grime caking my outfit. I actually catch the edge of his mouth turning up in a smile. “Hope you weren’t attached to it.”

“Naw, it was some Suzuki import piece of garbage. Better as scrap anyhow,” I joke. Blade’s smile vanishes.

“I drive a Suzuki import.”

---

It was soon apparent to Carol that it wasn't just her who was new to whatever this situation was, while the pair had ended up making a good team, it wasn't an alliance that had existed prior to whatever this conflict had been. That was probably a good thing, at least from the perspective of her not accidentally getting the US, and possibly the Earth, involved in some wider alien conflict. That probably went against her bonus scheme.

“Oh…I can't do that.” She spoke as she motioned back to the now random point in space where the infinite horizon had shortly collapsed. “I probably just blew something up which triggered it.” She was still happy enough to take the credit, even if that seemed rather convenient. She wasn’t exactly sure how their communication was working, presumably something to do with the various bits of esoteric technology clinging to the forms of her new allies. She knew how ‘she’ was speaking, her ability to convert types of energy allowing her words to pass as heat through the vacuum then reconstitute as sound on impact with their physical forms. It wasn't something she felt the need to bring up that the ‘sound’ was actually her triggering vibrations across them, that felt a bit odd.

This method of communication, however, made it very easy to keep her words from being picked up by the listening device she was fairly sure was always on, embedded in her communicator hidden as an earring, so that when she spoke to the two, the Project back home wasn’t listening.

“Let's get to introductions, I'm the Warbird, I'd like you to explain yourselves in ways that don't mean I have to demand you come to the Pentagon for questioning.” The sweet as sugar smile she offered belied the threat entirely, although it truly wasn't one she wished to enforce. She might have quite willingly chosen to be a part of the Warbird program but she didn’t have any super powered peers yet and attempting to arrest the first she had encountered would be a really bad trend to start., even if she did back herself to finish the fight faster than a half pint of Yuengling.

---

---

The administration was rather well known for snap press conferences and announcements, so when the President had declared he would be taking the day's press briefing there was some buzz of excitement, yet nothing to expect news of an Earth shattering nature.

“My fellow Americans, I speak to you today in an hour of both triumph and tribulation for our great nation.” It was a stately start to an administration that had often been willing to bludgeon the opposition with ‘hard talk’ and that was enough to immediately perk up some interest from the wider press corps that may have expected a more traditional rant.

“We have watched the situation in New York with great concern and apprehension for our beloved city, and know well that the full support of the Federal government will aid in any response and recovery that will be required. We too, celebrate that New York has overcome this most recent trial.” Once more the generally positive language around the city was curious enough to pull attention. Perhaps this really was a momentous briefing.

“Yet, this was not the only threat our nation, our world, faced this day. Hours ago, our advanced warning systems detected what can only be described as an alien invasion force. We have known for some time that we are not alone in this universe, but this was a new and terrible danger.” As the President spoke, suitably grainy images of the Chitauri appeared on screens around the room. It was not that the United States Government did not at this time have clearer images of the aliens, but early focus group testing suggested that the imperfections added believability to the story.

“However, I can now reveal to you, the White House Press Corps, and by extension the world, that this alien menace has already been defeated. This administration has worked with great persistence to provide an answer to the great many threats that continue to arise, beyond the traditional and the mundane.” As the President continued, the screens around the room flicked with artificially created anticipation, before changing to an image of the Warbird, blazed in gold and shooting across the sky of Earth.

“Now, we provide our answer. Let the world know, that against these new dangers, be they domestic, foreign, or intergalactic, the United States will answer, and our answer is the Warbird.” The still image of the helmeted form of Carol Danvers soon transitioned to video footage of her in action, a blazing figure of gold weaving through the alien craft, and the destruction left in her wake. Quite ignoring, of course, the presence of any other powered individuals.

After a pause, the Press Secretary moved to speak.

“Will there be any questions?”