It was 1938 and the road to World War II was fast approaching. Nazi spies, superhumans, and a racist mobster in a skull mask is just the beginning. Who will answer the call? And can anyone truly save the Golden Age?!



Rules:

1.) No back-to-back posting.

2.) PAY ATTENTION TO DETAIL AND SET-UPS!!

3.) Make sense. If we can't make heads or tails of your posts they're likely to get skipped over.

4.) Get permission before using another player's character in your posts if it involves changing the scene or making actions. Everybody will take beatings in this game in battle however, so don't get pissed if you get punched or blasted into a wall by the bad guys! Namely me controlling the badguys...

5.) Problems with the game or players should be sent directly to me through PM's. I don't want a bunch of bickering in the OOC.

6.) Abandoned characters will be used as NPC's or killed off within the context of the story.

7.) “I was waiting for [insert player/character] to make a move” is not how this game is played. Move forward.

8.) There is no rule #8.

9.) My word is law.

10.) Obey the law.

11.) In the event that I'm offline for any period of time, the Co-GM [None ATM] will take control and THEIR word will then be law.



Queensport, Northeastern Tennessee
April, 1938...

Over half a dozen banks had managed to get robbed overnight by somebody slipping through the cracks. Only one man suspected that it was an old adversary that could walk through walls. The criminal in the ghost costume couldn't remember the name of the city where he fought the guy with green fire powers. However, after tonight Ghostface most certainly would. On top of a Woolworths building, the green clad hero who could manipulate fire waited patiently for the third night in a row. The Torch of Liberty had recently been told by the local Sheriff about the banks in the tri-city area all getting robbed in the last month. The bank across the street from him happened to be the largest bank in downtown Queensport. After he finally saw the criminal make an appearance and walk through a wall in the alleyway, the Torch headed into action.

As the man called Ghostface phased through the wall with a bag of money, the Torch was ready for him. As soon as the villain phased back into his solid form the Torch was there with a right haymaker.

"Little late for a withdraw." the hero stated.

A short time later...

The sheriff of Queensport was on the scene and had Ghostface in cuffs in the back of his police car.

"I told you I'd get him." Torch said with a smirk to the officer.

"You did. Wonder if I'd catch more criminals if I wore a bright colored suit." he replied.

"Powers don't hurt either." Torch commented with a small laugh as the sun was setting.

"Hey, did you hear about the stuff going on with the Germans? On the radio?" the sheriff asked.

"No, what's going on?" Torch replied.

"President Roosevelt formally addressed the nation and asked for the help of people like you. I think he called you 'Superhumans' or something like that." he explained.

New York City, New York
June...

The Statue of Liberty was undergoing maintenance. If anyone looked at her from a distance they'd see her crown was slowly losing it's spikes. The mayor wanted the Statue in top shape for the World's Fair coming to town the following year. The Golden Guardian as well as Golden Boy assisted where they could, helping remove the spikes and get them in the boats for transport for the steeplejacks who took on the job.

"The general I spoke with earlier mentioned Silverwings may show but so far we've been seeing clear skies. You think you can keep her safe if I go ahead and take leave?" the Golden Guardian asked the younger hero in blue.

From a distance, men on a small boat could see the Golden Guardian flying away. One of the five men grabbed a bag and opened it revealing leather jackets and winged rocket packs similar to something out of a science fiction movie.

"An die Arbeit, Männer!" one man spoke in German.

Sullivan County, Northeastern Tennessee
June...

"Can't believe I got lucky like I did. I volunteered to help the military and the place they send me is less than two hours from home." the Torch thought to himself as he patrolled the fence line around the Warpath Ammunition Plant.

"The military man told me there was a couple of Nazis in costumes targeting these types of places. One that could move fast and another who was strong and Goliath-sized..." John continued pondering before hearing a noise in the surrounding woods behind him.

The Torch lit up one of his hands with green flames. Inside of the facility an officer in an army uniform informed the foreman that additional superhuman help was on it's way...

"You never know with these superhuman types. Somebody could fly here, run really fast, or..." the men spoke to one another as Lady Lynx and another hero teleported to the ammunition plant about five feet from them.

Back outside the Torch was surveying the area. Truth be told his vision wasn't the best when it came to things at a certain distance. It didn't help that things always seemed to happen once places began winding down for the end of the day.

"Greif jetzt an, Albrecht!" someone yelled.

The Torch of Liberty turned to look in the direction of the German voice but was attacked from behind by a seven foot tall humanoid wolfman. The wolfman had seven men working with him scattered in the woods, Nazis in civilian clothes armed with guns. One of them had a backpack on with explosives in it. Thankfully, help had already arrived inside.

Sam looked up after Golden Guardian, then back toward the statue. “Sure,” he said, with the easy confidence people expected from him. “I’ll keep an eye on her.” He wished people would stop asking him things like that right before leaving. It just invited the universe to do something to prove a point.

For a few minutes, everything stayed calm. Sam helped guide another loosened spike down from the crown, his gloved hands glowing faintly as he took the weight and steadied it for the workers below. “Careful now. She’s heavier than she looks.” He smiled up at one of the steeplejacks. “Aren’t we all?”

Then something caught his eye.

A boat. Not one of theirs. Sam’s smile faded. The men on the boat moved with almost military precision. Then came the glint of strange metal, leather jackets, and winged shapes unfolding against their backs “Oh, that’s not good.”

Golden light glowed under Sam’s skin, brightening along his hands and chest as he stepped to the edge of the platform. “Everyone down!” he called to the workers. “Now!” He bent his knees and launched himself from the statue. A streak of blue and gold cut through the air as he leapt toward the nearest work barge. He couldn’t fly like the Guardian, unfortunately, but he could make a jump count.

Sam landed hard enough to rock the boat, one hand catching the railing before it could tip too far. His eyes fixed on the men with the rocket packs. “Gentlemen,” he said, squaring his shoulders as his fists began to shine, “I don’t know what your plan is, but it’s over.”

Kansas City, Missouri
April, 1938

The newspaper contained an article about President Roosevelt's address about costumed heroes from several days ago. It also contained an article talking about Kansas City's very own 'Jungle Boy' as the papers had dubbed him. Tommy hadn't been trying to become some kind of costumed superhero. He had been tracking criminals for 130 miles from Kansas City to the Ozarks. He didn't want to damage his civilian clothes so he had used his old British Army uniform, and it had not survived the trip intact. It turns out that a muscular man in tattered pants, a bare chest, hopping through the tree branches, fighting like a large cat and taking out armed goons with a bow and arrow, painted a bizarre yet thematically consistent picture. And thus 'Jungle Boy' was born. He continued to use his tattered uniform when protecting the City from criminals. He leaned into it. Rumours started, then the caricature became warped and hyperbolic. People wondered if he was even human. If he could actually speak English. If he has been raised by jungle animals. Well, there was some truth to that last one.

The paper also contained concerning news about the world stage. The volatile and strained veneer of peace in Europe which could could crumbling down with one wrong move, staring a second World War. And the most concerning part was that it was Nazi action here in the United States that could be the spark to ignite the gunpowder. Tommy folded the newspaper, sat up from the bench, and deposited the paper in the nearest trashcan. He should take heed of the President's call for the help of 'costumed individuals' and pledge his support. The only question now was who he needed to talk to to vet his interest.

Sullivan County, Northeastern Tennessee
June, 1938

This was Tommy's third ever job. He was to accompany Lady Lynx to the Warpath Ammunition Plant in Tennessee and rendezvous with another Superhero called 'Torch of Liberty'. There was intel that two superpowered saboteurs of the Nazi's own were planning an attack on it and it needed to be defended. Several soldiers and officers seemed wary of the two of them. A man who's 'costume' was just tattered pants and a quiver across his chest, and a very flashy lady who seemed the stark opposite of what a masked superhero soldier should look like. But Tommy didn't judge. He didn't exactly fit that mould either and she wouldn't be working here for no reason.

When they teleported in place, Tommy let Lady Lynx introduce the two of them as he'd been instructed to. The higher ups were still judging Tommy on his outward appearance and reputation. He wasn't allowed to be the main talker in missions if he or they could help it. Instead Tommy looked around. He listened and observed. It didn't take long for his well-trained hearing to pick up on something.

"Greif jetzt an, Albrecht!" came a very faint yell from outside the base. Tommy was already removing the bow from his quiver.

"They're here," he spoke up to Lady Lynx and the on-site soldiers.

---

The depths of a tomb somewhere miles under Egypt

Dust poured down from overhead as the thumping and clattering of amateurs disrupted the seasoned adventurers work. He instinctively looked up, a stern look across his face and an eyebrow raised. He brushed a finger across his preened moustache - not quite a nervous habit these days, but one done more in aggravation these days. Those blasted Germans. What was once an honorable vocation of conservation and discovery had been perverted into a race against time to prevent the forces of evil from using ancient magic and undiscovered technology for nefarious purposes.

He turned back to his work. He brushed off the last bit of dirt and sand from the large ornate chest - it looked to be from the ptolemaic period if not earlier. He’d seen similar inscriptions and hieroglyphs on this before, whatever was in this was powerful. Powerful enough that a chest with a formidable locking mechanism was buried deep underground in a tomb full of traps and false corridors.

Unfortunately, in his journey down here Blackwood had given the Nazi’s on his trail a relatively easy path to follow behind him. Something like this deserved the respect it was due. He wished times were different. If it were a few years ago he could have had a team of professionals down here, analysing this chest to see if it’s something that even should be opened. Deciphering every glyph and pattern on the walls. Giving this place the reverence it was due.

But as it stood he was on the clock. Preservation meant being one step ahead and currently he was two behind.

“Blasted Krauts…” He muttered under his breath, reaching into his open red jacket and pulling a pair of lockpicking tools from his inside pocket. “Sorry, old chums. It’s not by my hand that I force your secrets open.” He began to jimmy the lock as gently as he could. With tools like these he could only go so far before he had to force the lock.

The noise of boots hammering down the ancient steps only forced his hand further. With a final twist the lid popped open slightly and Blackwood forced it open completely. Thankfully the spirits of the damned hadn’t poured out - not like that time in Burma. Instead inside the large container was a small cylinder, ornately marked and with a twist off top in the shape of Anubis - the Egyptian god of death.

He took it in hand and gave a quick glance around the room. This was truly the final room of this labyrinth. The only way out was the way he came in, and that was quickly going to be blocked by a wall of fascists.

He’d need to act fast or he’d be painting the walls with his blood. There were so few of these Nazi’s who would prefer to opt for diplomacy over a firefight. Blackwood made a decision that would usually go against his personal code, but had to be made to save his skin. He rushed over to a pillar near the back of the room and unhooked The Surveyor from its place hanging on his shoulder. With a few quick smacks at the base of the pillar he loosed it from its foundations and pushed it over with his shoulder and dove behind it as cover.

He flicked The Surveyor round to its rifle setting, and felt for the revolver at his side. He took it from its holster and flicked open the chamber, it was fully loaded.

Finally German’s filled the room, pointing submachine guns and bolt-action rifles towards the gentleman adventurer. An officer sauntered in behind them with the confidence of a man arriving for a dinner rather than a confrontation.

His black greatcoat hung immaculately despite the desert dust, polished boots crunching over centuries-old stone. A silver-headed walking cane tapped lazily against the floor as he surveyed the chamber with pale blue eyes that settled upon the toppled pillar.

A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Lord Blackwood. One step ahead yet again."

Blackwood closed one eye behind the Surveyor's scope, raising his rifle and balancing it against the toppled pillar. The soldiers instinctively readied their guns against him "Oberst Falkenrath. We really must stop meeting like this."

"So..." Falkenrath sighed theatrically, removing a pair of leather gloves one finger at a time. He held a hand up to stop his men from firing at his adversary. "Another civilisation disturbed. Another priceless relic moments from my possession. I sometimes wonder whether you excavate these places simply to save me the trouble."

"I always did enjoy doing the difficult part."

A ripple of restrained laughter passed through the German soldiers, Falkenrath merely smiled. "You know..." he continued, strolling a little closer. "When we first met in Tibet I genuinely believed you were a practical man. Someone concerned with the good of the Human race."

"I am."

"No." Falkenrath shook his head. "You are an idealist." He gestured around the tomb. "Look at this place. Forgotten, buried, meaningless. Humanity abandons its own history beneath sand and jungle until men like us uncover it."

"'Us' is doing a tremendous amount of work in that sentence."

His eyes drifted towards the small Anubis cylinder still clutched in Blackwood's left hand. "There is no escape. I’ll do you the service of taking you in alive. Even the great Lord Blackwood would succumb to the Reich’s expert torturers.”

Another laugh from the soldiers. Blackwood wondered if they were paid by the chuckle. He looked down at the container in his hand. No time to properly decipher what it said on the base, but he could tell it amounted to a very strong ‘DO NOT OPEN’.

"My men cover every exit."

"They generally do."

"You are outnumbered."

"Appallingly."

"You have nowhere left to run."

Blackwood looked thoughtfully around the ancient chamber before returning his gaze to Falkenrath.
"Falkenrath, when have you ever known me to run?"

For the briefest moment the room fell silent, and then Blackwood smiled. It was the smile Falkenrath knew all too well. The smile that meant Lord Alistair Blackwood had already done something extraordinarily reckless.

Falkenrath's expression finally changed from that smug smile to one of shock. "What have you done you silly British fool?!"

Blackwood slowly raised the little Anubis cylinder, turning the head and pulling it free. "Well," He looked down at it. “We're about to find out.”

A gout of greenish hellfire shot up from the ground at Alistair's feet, quickly spreading outward as a circle of flame surrounded him. Smoke seemed to fill the vaulted chamber, as a shadowy form, like that of a great horned demon, appeared cast on one wall.

A voice spoke, echoing off the walls in a language none alive now recognized.

Another statement, a different language by the tone, for a fleeting moment it might have been mistaken for a form of Ancient Hebrew, but not.

Finally, the voice spoke in Greek. “A new hand touches the beacon,” the demon of smoke and fire boomed. “You stand before Nathanael, daemon of..."

The demon paused, the shadow on the wall appearing to produce a scroll that was opened as if he were reading from notes. “Was it Phelgethon? I think it was Phelgethon. Which was the one of fire and which was the one of wailing? Who can remember. I haven’t even been to Greece in an age.”

The giant shadow seemed to put the scroll aside, peering down at Alistair as it remarked, “Normally this is the part where I ask you to bring me into your world and you tell me your terms, but I’m rather tired of being bound into a piece of jewelry. Being a bauble was boring thousands of your years ago. So if that’s all you’re here for, you can...”

It was only then that the shadow seemed to notice the Germans.

“Oh, hello. Are they with you?”

Blackwood barely had time to quip before the sanctimonious German officer yelled for his force to open fire. A shower of gunfire was his answer instead.

“Not quite!” Blackwood had dealt with daemons before. Albeit he’d never called one for reinforcements before, more to banish them. “Whoever your master is, whatever your terms are, I command you to get me the blazes out of here!”

He turned back over the pillar after a small break in the gunfire and squeezed off a few rounds of his revolver, missing twice and landing a couple more shots in the stomach and then legs of two of the soldiers.

The vanished from the wall. As Alistair ducked behind the pillar, his own shadow seemed to animate. “We’re actually hiring for a new master. Would you be interested in the job? Issuing commands is one of the qualifications,” the imp-ish shadow remarked.

“Yes, yes, bloody hell! I’ll sign on the dotted line just get me a way out of here!” He was out of ammo after another few shots of his revolver and had switched to his cane-rifle.

The thing that the man and the others were holding, which boomed like thunder, seemed a rather curious weapon. “It is quite loud in here with those... things. Perhaps an alternative venue would be a better place for discussion.

Smoke seemed to blanket the Germans, as a doorway was illuminated in a ray of light for Alistair. “In case of emergency, please proceed to the nearest exit,” his shadow quipped lightly.

“Jammy bastard…” Said Alistair through gritted teeth. Something about this felt off, becoming a daemons master. What was the catch? Was his soul damned for all eternity now? Soul or no soul, it was time to save his skin. He leapt over his makeshift cover and barreled through the room, shoulder bashing through coughing German soldiers with the same techniques he’d used on the Rugby pitches of his old private school.

What a way to start it all.

---

New York City, New York
June

The Terrific Two were hot on the trail of the notorious Nazi Überheld group known only as the Silverwings. Through a canny bit of spywork they’d uncovered the German plot to attack the beacon of liberty standing proudly in the New York City harbour.

It had been some time since they had been acquainted, and while rocky at first, Blackwood had grown fond of Nate in some strange way. It was a weird feeling taking what seemed to be a younger version of himself on as his ward, and he had to keep reminding himself that this was not, in fact, a young boy and was an ancient demon sealed away for who knows what kind of torment he’d inflicted on the Egyptian people.

They sped along as fast as they could in the modified small boat. Bumping and bouncing across the water. The design was taken with great gratitude from the American Navy’s Frogmen, and this was the first time Blackwood had the opportunity to use the vessel.

He wiped his goggles with the sleeve of his arm, steadying himself against the wheel as he did. He turned over his shoulder quickly and called back to the Imp.

“How are we doing back there, sprog? I shouldn’t think the water is really your element!” He teased, smirking.

“Tis a bit much,” the green-eyed imp remarked. The Egyptians, the Greeks, they had all loved their rivers. But crossing the Sea of Atlas was nothing short of lunacy. For one, last he’d checked, humans had it on very certain terms that the world was flat and they were going to sail straight off. Along with languages, clothing, and all manner of strange devices that they had fashioned for themselves, it seemed that humanity had significantly upped their game over the last thousand years.

A gleam, something gold, moving through the air caught the boy’s eye. “As spiffing as a ride on a motor boat may be, I think we may be two steps behind again,” he remarked.

“Story of my life…” Muttered Blackwood under his breath. They closed in around the statue just as the American poster boy flew down to confront the Silverwings. He hadn’t had the pleasure of being introduced to the USA’s face of the war, and only heard of his exploits through the radio or newspaper. By all accounts he was powerful. In this world of gods and monsters Blackwood was pleased he was on their side. “It seems we’ve got some allies joining the fray, Nathanael! Those jerrys are a crafty bunch though. What say you take them high and I’ll pick them off from the boat?”

The boy’s pennyloafer’s floated off the deck of the ship, as the youth in short trousers and suspenders glided up into the air. “I feel like this is going to be Cairo all over again,” the impish figure complained. “Try to at least save me a cup of tea, this time?” he deadpanned, seeming to shimmer and disappear as he glided further away from the ship.

Brooklyn, New York. March, 1938…

Somewhere in New York was a dive bar called O’Malley’s. Sitting at the bar was a gruff-looking man. Who was in the middle of nursing a glass of whiskey. Beside was a large bag of these things, including his costume and weapons. The man was in the middle of lamenting his life and all the wrongs he had committed over the years. He gulped the rest of his drink before paying the bartender, making sure to tip him well.

Picking up his bag, he left the bar and was heading down the street to complete an important task. After a few minutes of walking, he arrived at a restaurant. This restaurant, called Cardellini, was owned by a mob boss named Ignazio Petrosino. Petrosino has been running drugs and prostitutes for the last couple of years. Moving into an alleyway, he got changed and armed himself with his sword and shield. He knew Ignazio’s underboss was having lunch there. He was going to interrogate him to get Petrosino’s location. And to make an example of him.

From where he was, he could see Petrosino’s underboss having lunch with one of Petrosino’s Capos. The masked figure entered the restaurant through the front door. The underboss, whose name was Luigi Corvi, turned in the direction of the masked figure.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” Luigi said finding the outfit quite amusing. The masked figure squinted, gripping the handle of his sword tightly.

“I am the devil, and I am here to do the devil’s work.” The figure said, letting his shield tap against his hips. The figure suddenly leaped into the air, landing a few feet in front of them. In a swift slash which made a nice gash on a nearby goon’s chest.

Luigi realized that the swordsman was not kidding around. The other goons soon reached for their guns, and Luigi was reaching down for his own gun underneath the table. The remaining goons aimed their guns at the masked man.

Quickly firing their guns to take down this madman. The masked man raised his shield to try to block the bullets. The bullets ricocheted off his shield. Some of the bullets hit either his legs or his shoulder. But the masked man gritted his teeth to suppress the pain. Using his shield to bash the face of the closest goon to him. Cutting the arm of another as blood sprayed out onto the floor.

Turning around while swinging his sword to decapitate three goons. This left Luigi by himself. The masked man was covered in the blood of the goons. The bloodied figure was moving closer to Lugi. Luigi fired his gun into the other man’s torso. But the man didn’t seem much affected by it. Lugi could see the wounds starting to heal over. “What the hell are you?” He said, now deeply frightened. In response, the man sliced the barrel of Luigi’s pistol. Following this up by gripping him by the collar of his shirt.

“I’ve got a little message for your boss. And you're gonna deliver it to em personally.” The figure stood above Luigi. The figure smiled, bearing a row of yellow teeth. A smile that was filled with hatred and gleeful malice.

A Few Hours Later

At Petrosino’s mansion, the don was enjoying some cigars and wine, chatting with his fellow mobsters. Their conversation was interrupted by a gangster coming into the room. In his hand was a large yellow box. “Ah, I am sorry to bother you, Don Petrosino, but this box was sent for you.”

The don looked over, annoyed that his good time was being interrupted. “Who is it from?” He asked, gritting his teeth.

“I don’t know, but…it’s something you gotta see.” The goon nervously set the box down on the table in front of the don. Begrudgingly, he opened it and was given a surprise of his life. Inside the box was the head of Lugi Corvi with this bloody message.

“YOUR NEXT!!!

REGARDS

MAD JACK.”

New York City, New York
April, 1938...
The 18th police precinct's doors flew open and a handful of rough and roughened men rolled to the front desk, enclosed within long, elastic arms.

The front desk receptionist sighed as she pressed the ringer for the patrolmen then looked up at the door. "You know, there are more convenient ways to turn in crooks, Mr. Elastic Man."

Elastic Man himself just smugly smirked from the front door, white scarf waving dramatically like there was any sort of breeze on a day like today. "But where's the fun in that? Besides, I'm sure you and the boys will have plenty of fun with members of the Maroni Gang."

She glanced over the men again. "Maroni men, huh. The ones who were starting that protection racket down Washington St.?"

"The very ones. I didn't get Maroni himself yet, but I will."

"That would certainly be one less pain in the neck." The first of the officers arrived and started handcuffing the men, allowing Elastic Man to slowly untangle his arms from the pile. "Good work, once again. Think you could spare a couple minutes to help with the processing?"

"Not today, Officer Perkins. I got another engagement to head to. See you next time!" He then reached up to the roof and slung himself away.

Perkins just shook his head. "Such a strange fellow." Then returned to his duties.

Elsewhere, Elastic Man winced as he landed on a high enough roof. "Note to self-Dragging 6 men over ten city blocks does tire the arms." He pulled the arms back in, wincing more as the aches asserted themselves harder. He didn't have time to give them much rest though. It was about time for his shift at the 16th precinct.

With a leap, he landed on the building kitty-corner. Then he looked down the more isolated alleyway and felt out telepathically. No one was down there, excellent. He stretched himself out and floated down like a kite before landing and rolling himself into human form. Still no one was down there. And with that, his form shifted. His head went from black-haired and round to tow-haired and square-jawed, his height grew a foot, musculature grew on his arms, his eyes shifted from brown to blue, and his bright red suit and black boots shifted into the muted tones of a trench coat, slacks, white collared shirt, brown shoes, and black tie. Only the white scarf remained untouched.

After his form settled, his hands started tested out every piece, making sure nothing was out of place and his tie was straight. Once that was accomplished, he started booking it. He hadn't been late so far, and he didn't intend to be late today!

And indeed he wasn't. He arrived within the precinct and punched in his timecard right as the clock struck the hour.

Sergeant Hopkins sighed. "Barely on time again, Detective Jameson."

"My apologies again, sir." He bowed his head for the reprimed. "Time just keeps slipping away from me."

"Then wear a watch! You know full well that five minutes before is on time and on time-"

"Is late, I know. Especially when every moment can count. I will look into getting a watch." Then he headed for his desk and started looking into the paperwork of his ongoing cases and checking to see if a new one had been placed within.

"See that you do, James." Then he sat at his own desk and turned on the radio, listening to some music station or other. James was almost certain it was Glen Miller, but he couldn't be certain. Besides, there were rumors of a new gang starting up that were worth far more of his time. The leader was known to wear a skull mask, which hampered identification and meant that any prior criminal history would be much harder to track down. But he had to have funds or be getting funding from somewhere. So if he could figure that out, he'd have a lead. If he could figure out what the gang's purpose was as well, that would also help things along but they were still new enough that it was hard to say without infiltrating a meeting. Hmm...Now there was an idea...

The music on the radio suddenly cut off. And the president's voice itself boomed forth. "My friends."

Everyone in the bullpen quickly sat up and listened, their chairs striking their desks. James was no exception. What did President Roosevelt want?

"We are in the midst of unprecedented times. Forces are rising beyond what ordinary man can oppose...." Several dangers and events were laid out, almost too openly revealed from a head of a national power. I therefore call upon the superhumans in our midst to answer the call and aid our nation in it's time of need."

Several groans erupted from the men.

"Why only the superhumans?! Plenty of us 'ordinary' folk could beat the tar out of those supers any day of the week!"

"Hey, supers certainly have their place. Have you seen the latest bulletin on what Elastic Man's done?"

"And what's Elastic Man done that's really helped anybody? He's just acting to get noticed!"

James meanwhile stayed silent, frozen as he focused on the words. He, he couldn't- Helping fight crime was one thing. It aided ordinary citizens, served the nation, and allowed him to keep his anonymity in one fell swoop. If he registered...He owed America a lot, but a government was still a government! And government only wanted one thing: control.

A man lit his cigarette, and James suddenly fell back with a large crash.

Everyone turned towards him. "You okay there, Jameson?"

"Yes!" He leapt to his feet and righted the chair, careful to not look at the still lit lighter. "I just need some fresh air. Be back in a bit." Then he rushed off.

"I always forget that James has a thing against smoking..." He heard one of the men state before he'd closed the door and gotten outside to the small porch area.

The sun, the fresher air, and the sounds of New York traffic already was doing wonders. He allowed himself a few more deep breathes before settling back down. He wasn't back there. This wasn't over two Earth years ago. He was here and now, with the sun on his skin and humanity spread out before him. He wouldn't trade this for the world.

But if America didn't get the help they needed...Would this still exist?

He sat back with a sigh. "Why is nothing ever easy?" The moons orbited as they would orbit though, there was nothing he could do to change what lay ahead. He did owe this nation after all. And perhaps, if he registered voluntarily, maybe he could actually become a citizen?

He couldn't reveal that much info though. Either they'd kick him out, arrest him for treason and force him on the run, or...His hands instinctually rubbed around his wrists. Even in this human guise, he could almost swear he could feel the lingering scar tissue. No, revealing himself fully was too risky.

But perhaps he could just volunteer and not reveal anything? As long as he was willing to take part in any call, surely they wouldn't need to know everything, right? If they tried, well, he could always 'persuade' them otherwise. His skin roiled at the thought, but it was the choice between that and being exposed, there was no choice at all.

He would not risk another government getting his hands on him, even if it was to protect this land.

---

Queensport, Northeastern Tennessee
June...

Perhaps he ought to have allowed them to at least know his home city. It wasn't like New York City was a small town by any means.

Elastic Man swung to the top of the warehouse and let himself take a breath. He'd needed to use some of his vacation time to join in this, defense of an ammunition plant. Jungle Boy and Lady Lynx inside due to their snipping capabilities. And him on the outside with this 'Torch of Liberty' operative due to his greater flexibility. So far though, he didn't see or hear any-

"Greif jetzt an, Albrecht!" was suddenly yelled on his right.

Elastic Man looked over to see a seven-foot tall wolfman holding a man who had to be Torch. Within the trees, he could almost be sure he saw firearms. Reaching out though showed several more minds amidst the trees. Could be civilians, but it was best to not take chances. Jumping down without a plan then was definitely not a good idea. But did he really need to jump down?

He laid flat on the roof, then stretched out an arm, aiming to wrap it around the wolfman's eyes and give Torch a better chance to escape his grasp.

Sullivan County, Northeastern Tennessee
June, 1938

"I can deal with the dog man, stretch! Make sure none of those bastards have explosives!" yelled out the green clad Torch lighting the area around him in emerald flames to create a circle of fire around himself and the wolfman.

If he'd been paying attention, John might've seen a reaction from the elastic hero after he created his green flames. However the red clad stretching hero made his way into the woods after the other Nazis. Torch already had several scratches in the back of his suit, thankfully the military provided him with a durable coat in case it rained that evening. The eighty degree plus June weather didn't bother John anymore, thankfully. He lit up both of his hands now with green flames and taunted the Nazi superhuman.

"I hope you understand enough English to understand that this is going to hurt." the Torch stated before throwing a couple fire enhanced jabs at the wolfman before blasting off a two handed emerald fireball like something out of an Asian fantasy novel.

Back inside the Ammunition Plant the few remaining employees and guards were on high alert. The two heroes having just teleported in were given orders from the man in charge. He simply instructed that none of the United States' enemies were to make it to the materials section of the warehouse. "If the gunpowder and explosives went up people would be able to hear the explosion all the way in Virginia." was reiterated at least twice by the other guards on duty.

Vaten, Louisiana...

The masked man stood over a half dozen corpses in the back of a restaurant. He was barely human anymore. The way he enjoyed the carnage and gore was sickening. After seeing a woman of color passing for white in the small town earlier in the day, the Skull followed her into the restaurant. When everyone was too stupid to notice or just simply didn't care, the Skull slaughtered them all. It started thundering outside and rain followed. The Laughing Skull stepped out back and let the rain wash away all of the red stains on his skin and clothes. After several moments he looked around and spotted an old Ford truck.

"S'pose it's time to head east..." stated the unhinged American murder machine.

New York City, New York...

The young demonic ward of Blackwood seemed to float from one boat towards the other that was housing the scuffle between Golden Boy and a handful of unprepared Silverwings. Another ship floated in from the Brooklyn Bay area. And another from the Hudson Bay area. Each of them carried five Silverwings a piece. And all of them were prepared. Nearly a dozen Silverwings shot through the air in leather SS jackets, winged rocket-packs, with automatic rifles.

"Tötet die amerikanischen Helden!" screamed one of the Silverwings in German firing at the floating demon child.

"Ich werde die Statue zerstören!" yelled another heading towards the Statue of Liberty.

Statue Of Liberty. Brooklyn, New York. 1938…

In the news, a masked vigilante was reported as brutally murdering the local gangsters. And this news reached the gangsters who were still alive. They were in the middle of planning revenge on the man named Mad Jack. But at the moment, that was not a concern for the masked vigilante. Recently, he had linked up with a group of heroes. At first, he was hesitant to join, but the leader convinced him. He had heard rumblings of a man named Adolf Hitler and his rise to power. He was like every other dictator before him. Jack had seen them all and knew he was destined to fail.

He was currently stationed on Liberty Island for a mission. The US government think that the Nazi’s were going to blow up the Statue of Liberty. The masked vigilante was patrolling the island, looking for anyone suspicious. So far, he hasn’t found anyone who could possibly be a person of interest.

His ears perked up when he heard some German being spoken. Well, there were German immigrants currently working on the Statue. However, he understood the words, and these guys had ulterior motives. Following the voices, he noticed a few of these men getting off a boat. Being surprised that they had some kind of device that made them fly.

“Oh, great, they fly now?” He muttered through gritted teeth. His mind was racking on how he’d take them out. Quickly, he looked for some sort of grappling hook or something he could use to bring them down. Scanning the immediate area, he found a bundle of rope which he could use.

“Damn it.” The Scotsman cursed before starting to run towards the statue. He could feel the air leaving his lungs as he hurried along. Doing his best to try and outrun the Nazi’s. Arriving a few moments later. Stopping for a moment to catch his breath. Now he made the long journey to the top of the statue.

Once at the top, he was waiting for a Nazi to come close before springing into action. Throwing the rope forward to try to wrangle one of the Nazis. And if he does wrangle one of them, then he could take them out and steal their jetpack.

Sullivan County, Northeastern Tennessee
June, 1938

"I can deal with the dog man, stretch! Make sure none of those bastards have explosives!" yelled out Torch.

But then the flames erupted and J'onn snapped back his arm in panic, some of it catching in the green as it came back. He swallowed back anything more than one quick yelp. It wasn't like screaming had ever helped him before. Then looked at his arm, biting firmer to maintain his semblance of a composure. He was only fortunate in that no one was looking as he examined the bubbling forearm, pulsing and shifting painfully between the red suit and the green of his normal skin.

No way he could trust the arm in the fight right now! If he had to, he could force himself to use it, but it couldn't be relied on and certainly not for swinging. But there was still a lot of, most likely Germans he'd need to handle in the woods. Seems he'd just need to get creative. Wincing, he placed the arm against his chest, then made himself a makeshift cast disguised as simply a bulky part of his uniform. Then he felt for where the minds in the forest were, then jumped out and stretched out his legs, transforming his feet into hands in order to grasp onto the taller trees. Then with a boing, he snapped back to his feet like a rubber band, dodging any bullets sent his way as he did so. Then once he was up there, he stretched his left arm down to the German guy right underneath then sought to grab his gun, disarm him, then use him like a wrecking ball to knock down over nearby soldiers.

Alistair couldn't suppress a smile beneath his moustache. For all the trouble the imp caused him on a daily basis - and there was rather a lot of it - Nate possessed an uncanny instinct for battlefield chaos. Most commanders sought to scatter an enemy formation. Nathanael somehow managed to arrange one.

"That's it, Nate." Blackwood muttered to himself. "Teach those Krauts how to queue up - the British way."

The flying Germans banked after the daemon in exactly the formation he'd hoped for. He relinquished the wheel without ceremony, trusting the little boat to continue charging over the harbour. It skipped violently across the waves, sending spray over the bow as he rested The Surveyor against the control console.

With practised movements he twisted the crook of the cane. The polished cap at its tip rotated free, unfolding into a compact telescopic sight, whilst the ebony shaft split almost imperceptibly as a slim rifle barrel extended from within. It remained unmistakably a gentleman's walking cane - it simply happened to be an exceptionally accurate and deadly one.

The first Silverwing swept into view behind Nate. Blackwood steadied his breathing, holding his breath to steady his aim. Finally he exhaled to the noise of a loud CRACK echoing through the air.

The leading German spun violently as the round struck the rocket pack slung between his shoulders. Flames blossomed across the apparatus before it cartwheeled into the harbour with an enormous splash.

"One."

He worked the reload almost lazily. Another shot fired off not long after the first. A second rocket pack erupted, sending its unfortunate pilot spiralling straight through the wake of his companion.

"Two."

A third darted wildly, trying to compensate for Nate's infernal trickery. He was getting wise to what was going on, perhaps all too late. He was zigzagging through the air, reaching out with a gloved hand to the flying boy as his other aimed a pistol at Blackwood.

"Oh, don't overthink it, old chap."

The shot clipped one of the stabilising vanes. The Silverwing lurched into another flyer with all the grace of two drunken pheasants colliding mid-flight, both disappearing into a spectacular tangle of smoke, wings and German profanity.

Blackwood lowered the rifle and flicked out the casing onto the boat below. He smiled up at his weird ward and gave a friendly overhead wave.

"Good show, old boy!" he called over the wind. "Would you terribly mind bunching the next lot a little closer together? Kill a few Krauts with one stone, eh?" He guffawed.

His laughter was cut short by the rattle of machine-gun fire. A Silverwing had broken from formation - no doubt enraged by the childish trickery his comerades had been killed by.

The first burst stitched across the launch's bow, showering Blackwood with splinters. The second chewed through the engine housing. Steam hissed skyward as the motor sputtered and coughed once, twice and then died altogether.

The boat slewed violently across the harbour, waves crashing over the sides. Blackwood steadied himself against the console. "Well that's rather put a damper on things." He rushed to the engine and fiddled with the machinery, pulling parts out and rearranging him as best he could.

The German banked hard for another pass just as the crippled engine coughed back into life. It sputtered and protested, but found just enough strength to keep the little boat skimming across the harbour. It wouldn't last long, but it was enough to stop Blackwood becoming a sitting duck.

Blackwood's eyes darted to the stern. His mind a race at formulating a plan. He had to get off this boat and fast - and he didn't fancy getting his uniform soaking by swimming. Finally his eyes rested on the console at the back of the boat. Of course, the emergency harpoon.

He'd insisted it be fitted after an unfortunate incident involving smugglers in the Aegean. Yanking the brass firing lever, the launcher discharged with a thunderous noise. The steel harpoon screamed through the air, cutting through the wind like a knife.
It struck the diving Silverwing square through the chest, not even giving him time to cry out before he was impaled. The combined momentum of the harpoon and rocket pack carried the body onward. There came the horrible shriek of straining steel against the rocket's furious roar as the cable hissed from its drum.

It snapped taut with a crack that nearly capsized the little boat. Dragged behind the still-flying corpse, the launch lurched violently across the harbour, the line stretched tight between them.

Blackwood grinned.

"I knew that would come in handy."

Before the cable had a chance to slacken, he vaulted onto the stern rail, clipped the Pathfinder Harness onto the line and launched himself outward. His gloved hands moved from grip to grip as he hauled himself skyward with astonishing speed, boots braced against the cable as though scaling an Alpine cliff rather than a flying corpse.

The wind howled in his ears. Hauling yourself hand over hand up a steel cable being dragged through the sky proved considerably harder than climbing a mountain. By the time he reached the dead Silverwing his arms burned with the effort, but with careful hands he unclipped the rocket harness, making certain the line never lost its tension, before shrugging into it himself.

The body disappeared into the water below. Blackwood glanced down at the unfamiliar controls. "Let's see, here..."

He pressed one of the switches and the engines promptly died. His stomach lurched as he began plummeting towards New York Harbour. "Good Lord!"

He frantically jabbed at the remaining levers and buttons until one answered with a deafening roar. The engines burst back to life, hurling him skyward. He immediately listed sideways. Every correction became an overcorrection somewhere else. One moment he was climbing, the next he was nearly flying backwards.

"I really should have asked for an instruction manual."

Another Silverwing came screaming towards him. Blackwood instinctively raised the Surveyor in its rifle configuration, only for the sights to dance wildly with every wobble of the unfamiliar machine.

"Blasted thing." His thumb found the release catch and the telescopic sight folded neatly away just as the rifle barrel disappeared into the polished ebony. Not a second later he'd removed the bottom of the cane to reveal the ornate sword hidden with in. "Let's do this the old fasioned way."

He lowered the cane-sword into a fencer's guard. Then, with all the enthusiasm of a cavalry officer hearing the charge sounded, Lord Alistair Blackwood accelerated straight towards the oncoming German.

It had been only five months since Laura had traded a life of crime for a life of heroism. Thankfully, she had never been caught or identified all those years, so to them she was nothing more than an extravagant dame who brought some important skills to the table. When she had started working for the Golden Guardian and company, she had been wary of all of them, though they would never know it as if she was good at anything in life, it was hiding feelings of unease and presenting confidently. As time went on her unease had begun to fade, and she became more comfortable as Lady Lynx. She did find the typical day of hero work to be rather boring, but she kept reminding herself that she left her criminal life because she was bored too.

Fortunately, today had a good potential to not be boring.

Laura was to accompany a handful of other heroes to an ammunition plant in Tennessee. She did not enjoy Tennessee, but she wasn't mad at the opportunity to meet and work with some heroes she was unfamiliar with. The first order of business was to rendezvous with a hero named Jungle Boy. Jungle Boy, or Tommy, paired well with Laura as he too did not present with the typical tights and bright colors that the other heroes usually did. Laura found their outfits altogether too cabaret for her tastes, but the general public loved it.

Upon teleporting in to the ammo plant with Tommy, the pair were greeted by the usual smattering of military men: one officer (a Major) and several enlisted. Laura thought she recognized the officer, and the look he wore that seemed to say "that's not what I expected." He straightened himself up, before addressing only Tommy, as if she wasn't there. "Welcome, Jungle Boy," the officer began, and continued by giving a brief explanation of the situation and what other heroes were present.

"Thank you, Major," Laura cut in when he was finished, with a pleasant voice but a frosty look on her face. Any woman was used to men talking over them, but she didn't have to abide by it. "Jungle Boy and I-"

She was interrupted midsentence by the faint voice outside yelling "Greif jetzt an, Albrecht!" and rolled her eyes. Even Nazis not in the building found a way to talk over her.

"They're here,"

said Jungle Boy. She liked him, if no other reason than he didn't assume authority over her.

"So they are," Laura replied, before the Major cut in, barking more orders on how the Nazis weren't supposed to get to the material section of the warehouse. Before she could leave, the Major then finally spoke to her. "Ma'am, we need to get you some place safe. If you'll follow-"

"Sorry, do you think I brought this rifle for decoration?" she interrupted, referring to the Mosin-Nagant slung on her back. Before he could respond, she turned to the open door behind her and teleported to the other end the long corridor it presented, before walking further into the base. She made her way to the nearest guard tower and was finally able to survey the situation. The Torch of Liberty was in combat with an enormous Nazi wolfman, while Elastic Man was dealing with some of the Nazi soldiers. Laura spotted some flanking soldiers pushing up to the base unaddressed by the other heroes, and set to work with her Mosin. They hadn't spotted her yet, so it was an easy task of pulling the gun to bear, scope in her eyes, racking the bolt, and pulling the trigger. Two quick chest shots, two Nazis down.

At this point the other Nazi soldiers noticed, and directed their attention to her, instead of the base or Elastic Man. Mission accomplished! She ducked behind the wall of the guard tower as their bullets began to fly. She hoped Elastic Man and Jungle Boy noticed the distraction and would suitably take action. Let's see some archery, Jungle Boy, she thought.