Rusted_Metal

The ability to skip forward in the character creator and start playing with names before you make your character.

Rusted Metal refers to all the metal implants I ended up after 10 years in the military.

A friend of mine commented that at the rate I was going, I'd end a cyborg, and I snarked that they'd probably build me out of rusted scrap metal.

So I use that nowadays.

Myth: Ms. Liberty is a hero
Fact: Ms. Liberty has several times attempted to take over UN operations by violence and treachery, in order to secure and further expand her own powerbase, influence, and agenda. Many characters have seen this, and even taken part in preventing/encouraging these black ops.

Myth: Statesman is a hero
Fact: Statesman has excellent PR. Statesman has twice invaded sovereign nations in order to do what he felt he should, once leading an invasion of a sovereign nation to settle an old score. When he invaded the USSR to "rescue" people, instead of allowing diplomacy to take place, his assault of the nation's military defending their nation in clear accordance to world statutes, forced the USSR to use a nuclear weapon in order to save the lives of their soldiers and stop what appeared to be a rogue power from invading their nation and causing more damage. Notice that everyone learns that Statesman was injured, but the billions of dollars in damage, thousands left homeless, hundreds of soldiers and civilians killed, before the nuclear detonation. are all overlooked. Additionally, he led an assault on the Rogue Isles, a sovereign nation in its own right, in clear violation of UN laws, without any formal declaration of war, and led scores of young heroes to the slaughter, just to settle a personal grudge. Finally, Statesman has repeatedly invaded Praetorian Earth, several times being captured by Tyrant, but never have the Praetorian invaded Primal Earth, yet Statesman's PR machine has already begun attempting to convince Primal Earth heroes that Praetorian Earth is evil, without any proof.

DON'T BELIEVE THE LIES!

(Author's Note: The following takes place after The Bounty Hunter's War: Part II Arc 318122, Mission Two)

The locks to the door of the abandoned apartment began to click open one at a time, and the large insect in the kitchen reached out and grabbed the side of the refrigerator, his claws sinking into it. His multi-faceted eyes stared at the door above the half finished cigar clutched between his mandibles.

At his feet, a purple skinned woman lay dead, her neck twisted around so violently that she stared at the ceiling with open eyes despite lying on her stomach. A battered rifle was held in her right hand, the barrel bent and twisted.

The door swung open, and a twin of the dead woman looked into the room. Leaning against the wall behind her was an old man in a trenchcoat, and leaning against her was an old man in a blue and red superhero outfit. Both old men were bruised, swollen, and had untreated wounds.

"Will you help me, Big Bug, instead of sitting there and..." The woman's eyes fixed on the corpse at the insect warrior's feet. "What the hell is that?"

"It thought to be you." The bug rasped, still unmoving. "Give me a reason not to kill you."

"Ummm..." The woman stared.

"Dang nabbit, I'm too old to be standing out here. Watch out, missy." The trenchcoat wearing man muttered, pushing by the violet skinned woman.

"Go no further, old one." The Male Mantid rasped. "I am not satisfied you are who you claim to be."

"I was there in the Cavern of Transcendence with you, Big Bug, back before you began smoking cigars." The violet woman said.

"I helped rescue you from Code Vatnya after that botched rescue last year. He coated your antenna with synthetic queen pheromones so that you would not struggle and did not even have to be restrained." The man in blue and red stated.

"You can't see the AE VR correctly because of the way your eyes are designed and require goggles, otherwise all you see is blobs of rainbow prisms." The trenchcoat man said, leaning against the wall. "You had them made by RayBan and when the mail came, I accidently left them on top of the TV and Tachyon Hammer stole them and lost them about a week later during one of her weekend benders."

The insect warrior waved one large fist.

"Come in, my friends." His voice was soft.

Global Betty reached out and flicked the light with the arm that wasn't supporting Colonel Victory when the October Octogenarian pushed himself away from the wall and began to stumble toward one of the shadow covered couches. The light from the frontroom of the apartment washed into the kitchen, and Global Betty got a good look at the Male Mantid for the first time since she'd opened the door.

His chest was covered in sticky yellow resin, insect carapace shard jutted out of the resin, and each breath he took caused small bubbles to appear and pop in the resin. The majority of his chest was covered in the resin, and his breathing came harsh and ragged.

"BUG!" Betty cried out, dropping Colonel Victory completely oblivious to the man's groan of pain as his injured knees took his full weight. Betty rushed forward, her hands outstretched, and she feel to her knees in front of her friend, unaware that her knees were on the lower back of the corpse at his feet.

"Oh Nameless Ones, what happened, Bug?" Betty asked, her trembling fingers feeling the yellow substance. It had firmed up, but was still sticky, and smelled strongly of folic acid.

"You shot me." Male Mantid chuckled, then groaned.

"Oh, Bug." Betty said, laying her head on his massive thigh. "Oh, Bug."

Male Mantid reached down to stroke her long hair, and coughed again. "It's OK. It doesn't hurt too badly."

Betty looked up, her face smeared with dark trails as oily tears ran down her face. "Is there anything we can do?"

Colonel Victory staggered over to the couch and dropped into it, sighing gratefully. The escape had been close, and he felt ashamed that he had not been able to help the mercenaries that rescued him. He'd been too close to death. Starved, weak from bloodloss, and battered from abuse by his captors.

October had moved into the kitchen, pretending not to notice the byplay between his two friends.

"Time, Betty. I will either live or die, as the Great Egg decides." Male Mantid rasped. "See to the others, perhaps you can help them."

Betty stood up, smoothing her trenchcoat. She nodded at her friend and went over to Colonel Victory, pulling out a small scanner and running it over him. She then moved over and checked October, who had pulled out the ice tray and was chewing on the ice cubers, trying to slake the thirst that blood loss brings. She ignored the blood toxin warning, all the members of the Patriot Brigade had it, it was whatever it was that the human military had injected them with almost a century ago. She shuddered at the damage she saw.

Internal injuries, cracked or broken bones, malnutrition, Victory had a collapsed lung and broken jaw, October had a skull fracture and a ruptured spleen.

If it wasn't for the Forever Formula, they'd both be dead already.

She injected both with nanites, knowing that the Male Mantid's alien immune system would attack and destroy them so not even bothering with them.

"You three need food. I'll be back." Betty said, picking up her rifle and heading for the door.

"Trust no one, old friend." Mantid rasped the warning from the kitchen.

Betty nodded to him, and slipped out the door.

------------

The lab was an absolute wreck. Energy weapon fire, explosives, and kinetic energy rounds had all served to destroy equipment and walls, and the floor held bloodstains soaked into the metal to give mute witness to the ferocity of combat that had taken place.

Inertia Flare moved carefully, keeping a sharp eye out for any defenses that might be online somehow. She knew she was in a lot of danger, but she had no choice if she wanted answers.

She passed by a dummy clothed in the dress uniform of a Soviet Union officer, carefully skirting it. The man who had built this base was well known for his skill in robotics, animatronics, and cybernetics. Inertia Flare knew perfectly well that the dummy could suddenly sprouts blades and weapons and leap into the attack.

She had her fire shielding pulled deep inside her, and had dropped her body heat to the ambient temperature of the air in the base. It made her want to shiver, made her feel like she was covered in ice, but it would keep any functioning heat sensors from picking her up.

Pausing every now and then before changing direction with any of the light breezes that slowly wound through the destruction, she hoped to spoof any motion detectors into thinking she was little more than a breeze, or a piece of debris moved by the breeze.

Destroyed androids littered the base, many still holding onto the pulse rifles they had fought with. All of them wore old Soviet Spetznas uniforms, and the same 12 faces, scars, and body types repeated over and over again on them.

I never realized before that these must have been living men at one time. Inertia mused. I wonder if anyone has bothered seeing why these 12 men were so important to him that he immortalized them?

A spiderbot scampered across the floor, and Inertia changed direction to follow it, watching it pick its way across the rubble to an empty section of wall that Inertia had noticed and ignored.

A few feet from the wall, the bot vanished, even though Inertia could hear its minute servos still whirring and its little feet clicking against the brushed steel floor.

Cloaking device! The initial raid must have missed it! Inertia thought, moving slowly up toward before suddenly freezing. Or it was added afterward.

Inertia began to move again, slowly, inch by inch, taking nearly a half hour to cross only 20 feet. The spiderbot reappeared about halfway through, scampering away, even crawling across her leg. She saw that the little drone had a vicious little set of needlelike fangs folded up in front of its head under its eyes.

It may have been painted black and decorated like an Arachnos device, but Inertia knew that it wasn't a piece of Arachnos equipment. It moved wrong. Arachnos liked to make sure their devices and robotic spiders moved like, well, spiders. This thing moved in the most efficient manner, keeping low slung, and she could feel a feral little intelligence in its eyes.

Finally, long after the tiny robot had vanished back toward the entrance to the small lab, Inertia got close enough that the cloaking field no longer hid what she was looking at.

It looked like an Arachnos computer, with the standard scrolling datafiles that most Arachnos computers displayed, but Inertia could see the small dataports down at the base. Almost invisible, they were definitely not part of a standard issue Arachnos mainframe.

Inertia knew her limitations. That when it came to computers, she was a gifted amateur, and the person she suspected of setting the computer up was a genius way out on the bleeding edge of that kind of technology. She knew that trying to access the system was a recipe for failure.

So she hefted her mace and knocked the thing clear away from the way, tearing free the fiberoptic line behind it, disconnecting it from the base's power plant.

Alarms began to howl as she leaned down and grabbed the small, yet powerful, mainframe. She threw it over one shoulder so her upper back too its weight and began running.

She hoped that her Lost costume held up for any security video feeds as she rushed out of the base, carrying her prize.

It was time to find out if the person walking around was really Code Vatnya or a tribute to the Mad Russian's skills.

(Author's Note: The following takes place before The Bounty Hunter's War: Part II Arc 318122, Mission Two)

The cell was brightly lit, but cold. The lights dimmed and brightened randomly, the temperature dropped to below freezing then skyrocketed back up before dropping again. Sometimes the sounds of sirens, white noise, or loud music filled the cell, changing randomly from a near-whisper to tooth rattling. Freezing or scalding water often poured from the sprinklers on the ceiling. The sole bunk often retracted back into the wall, sometimes prior to water cascading down, other times just to roll the cell's single occupant off the bunk and onto the floor. The steel toilet sometimes heated up to scalding temperatures or became cold enough to stick sensitive flesh to it, as well as occasionally overflowed and spilled water all the floor. The cell had brushed steel walls, the light came from a set of panels set into the ceiling more than ten feet up, and only a grill covered drain marred the floor.

Currently an air raid siren was howling, frost covered the walls, and the lights were strobing in a deliberately random cycle.

None of it seemed to bother the man resting on the floor, tapping on the the steel with one combat boot. He was dressed in a torn and stained blue and red outfit with a screaming eagle on the chest and stars on the legs.

After a little bit, he pressed his boot against the toilet and waited, obviously concentrating on something. The sound turned to animal screams, the lights went dark, and the temperature plummeted to freezing, and the man stayed still until he suddenly began laughing, then started tapping on the toilet again. After a few minutes, he stopped, his foot resting on the toilet, and he started laughing again, seemingly oblivious to his captivity or the untreated injuries that he had sustained.

The door began to rattle as the heavy bolts were undone, and the man tapped his foot against the toilet in rapid succession and got to his feet. The door was thrown open and four men in Longbow uniforms stood in front of him, two with submachine guns, two with electric prods. One of the ones with the prods tossed a set of handcuffs into the cell.

"Put them on, old man." The man sneered at the cell's occupant, who just toed them with his boot and stood silently.

"Dammit, old man, why do we have to go through the same thing every time?" The Longbow trooper asked, walking into the cell. When the trooper began putting the handcuffs onto the older man, the older man pushed his arms forward, tensing his muscles.

"Stop that!" The trooper yelled, yanking the handcuffs back down to the man's wrists, but the old man folded his thumbs and pulled his hands free. The trooper growled at the old man and carefully put on each bracelet of the handcuffs. Satisfied they were secured, he stepped back and motioned at the door. "Let's go."

The old man just stood there, his eyes hard, not even grunting when the shock prod was pressed into his side.

"Your mother scratches harder than that behind the dumpsters in King's Row if you give her three dollars." The old man said conversationally.

"You..." The trooper lifted his baton, and only stopped when another yelled at him from the doorway. Red faced, the trooper in the cell grabbed the handcuffs and pulled. "Let's go old man."

The man fell as if he had suddenly suffered a heart attack, lying on the floor, the movement pulling his handcuffs from the troopers grasp. The trooper grabbed the chain and tried to pull the limp man up, gave up after a few moments, and began to drag him from the cell.

"Every... damn... time..." The trooper grunted as he got the prisoner out into the hallway. Once out in the hallway the prisoner rolled to the right, getting his legs tangled up in the legs of the guard with the SMG and dragging the man down to the ground, where the prisoner began kneeing the guard in the face and kicking him in the stomach.

The guard with the baton began beating the old man in the chest and face with the baton while the other guard armed with a submachinegun pulled the downed one to his feet.

"I hate dealing with the two old guys." The one that had been drug to the floor complained, wiping the blood off of his lip. He kicked the limp old man hard in the thigh. "I'm going to enjoy burying you in a shallow grave somewhere, old man."

"Then who's gonna sell your sister to Freakshow to buy you a larger..." the old man started to say, but was interrupted by the one with the bloody lip kicking him in the jaw and knocking him out.

"Aw man. Let's hope they can wake him up in interrogation." The one dragging the prisoner said. "I keep telling you guys, stop knocking them out, it's what they want."

"The other one is worse. Those power dampeners we have to put on him make him weigh a ton." The one dragging the old man agreed. "Yesterday they weren't secured properly, and he kept covering everything in ice, freezing people to the floor, or casing people in ice. And to top it off, we didn't notice he froze the damn pipes under the floor till the barracks showers backed up."

The group took a side corridor, rather than the wide main corridor, when they reached yellow construction warning tape. Jackhammers could be heard from further down the corridor.

"That other old b*****d filled everything under the floor with solid ice, they're still trying to get it all out." The same one continued as they moved down the corridor.

"Be glad you weren't here when Tommy opened this guy's cell the first day and he decided to make a break for it. This one put about 8 guys in the infirmary." The one with the bloody lip said, bending down and picking up the old man's legs to help carry him.

As the group passed through a room full of computers, the old man suddenly began convulsing, his legs kicking and arms jerking. Before the one carrying his legs could react, the old man kicked him in the stomach and sent him reeling back, holding onto his gut and cursing. As soon as his legs hit the ground, the old man kicked off, ramming his head into the back of the one holding his arms, causing the man to swear and drop the old man's arm.

The old man lashed out with a flurry of kicks, smashing one of the SMG's against the wall so that it shattered. An alarm began to blare as the old man picked up one of the SMG's and began shooting at the computers, picking his shots carefully to avoid hitting the scrambling and screaming technicians. When the magazine ran out, he pulled the other magazine out of the wreckage of the other SMG and swapped them out, throwing the expended magazine hard enough to shatter a huge plasma monitor. The old man began shooting at pipes, causing steam and worse to spew out of them, then ran forward and using the butt of the SMG to batter at computer equipment when the weapon ran dry.

He had just finished jamming the weapon into the intake fans of a large generator when a shock prod hit him in the kidney, causing him to drop to the floor, and the Longbow troops around him fell to kicking him until he was lying bloody, unconscious, spared only by a Warden screaming at the troops not to kill him and to get back.

The Warden looked at the unconscious body of old man and shook his head.

"Take him to interrogation, we'll have an empath heal him up." The Warden ordered.

"Uhhh, sir..." A Longbow trooper with a fat lip started.

"Uh nothing, take him to interrogation." The Warden ordered. "Surely a 100 year old man isn't too much for you, is he?"

"No, sir." The man said, reaching down and grabbing one of the old man's legs. Three others grabbed a limb and hoisted the old man up, staggering as they carried him.

"Aw man, he weighs a ton." One of them complained.

"Be glad he's out again." The one with the puffy lip complained. "Him and the other old guy are pains in the butt."

They finally reached a door guarded by two Longbow Wardens, both of the guards looking at the disheveled appearance of the troops carrying the old man.

"Jeez, can't you guys handle one old man?" the one on the left asked.

"Shut the hell up." The trooper with the fat lip snarled as the group stopped at the door and waited for the Wardens to punch in the code to open the door.

"He's over a hundred years old, for God's sake." The right hand Warden sneered. "How much trouble could the old codger be?"

"Screw you guys." A trooper with a swelling eye snarled, dropping the leg he was holding. "You carry him in for interrogation."

The rest of the group all nodded, dropping the old man to the metal floor and turning to walk a short distance away. They would have all preferred to go back to their barracks, but they knew they'd be called upon to "escort" the old man back once he'd been interrogated.

"Hey, you guys need to take him in there!" The left hand Warden yelled.

"Get back here." The right hand one yelled.

"You carry him!" A trooper with a bruise on his cheek yelled back. "How hard could it be, he's over a hundred years old!"

Grumbling, the two Wardens bent down and picked the old man up. One turned to punch in the code on the door as the old man's eye opened and glanced around real quick before shutting. As the two Wardens juggled him trying to get a good grip, he moaned in a thin old voice.

"Geraldine? Is that you, dear?" The old man asked in a feeble voice.

"Yeah, real tough." One of the Warden's snickered.

"Don't be foolish, he's just playing with you." The trooper with the split lip warned.

"Let's take the carriage into town and buy a new rooster, Geraldine." The old man wheezed.

"Don't. Be. A Fool." Another trooper warned, his voice full of malice directed at the old man.

"Bah, he's just an old man." The Warden holding the legs snickered. "See, this is why we're Wardens, and your just gun toters."

"Hey, bite me." The one with the swelling eye said. "He's faking it!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, tough guys." The two Wardens snickered as they carried the man inside.

"I'm going to beat that guy to death in the showers tonight." One of the troopers grated, clenching his fists, as the door shut behind the Wardens and the old man.

Inside the room, the two Wardens carried the groaning old man to a chair and strapped him in, laughing when he asked them if it was time for pudding yet, and left still chuckling, fully intent on making fun of the troopers waiting to take him back to his cell.

Aside from the chair, there was electronic equipment, surgical instruments, and A/V recording devices. A man dressed in a surgical gown and mask stood by the instruments, a living breathing cliche, while a young female Warden crossed the room with a look of cold arrogance on her face and another female Warden leaned against a table full of instruments and watched with an amused look on her face.

"They beat him unconscious again, my dear. Can you ensure he will be able to answer my questions." The man asked, holding up his gloved hands, completely unaware of the caricature he was.

"Yes, sir." The Warden said, smiling. Her powers of healing came from inflicting pain on those she healed, the tissues reknitting painfully and her powers pulling from the victim's very life force. She reached down, grabbed the old's man head, and took at a look at his barely open and rolling eyes. "He doesn't even know where he is right now." She snorted.

She bent down, laid her hands on his stomach, and drew in her power. When she released it, a blackish red aura surrounded the old man, and his eyes snapped open, narrowing to slits as his jaw muscles bunched with the pain. She giggled to herself at the agony she knew he was feeling, then screamed as the man's head came down and his strong white teeth completely enveloped her ear. She tried to pull away as the man began shaking his head back and forth, a wrong decision that led to her tearing her ear away, blood and strings of tissue hanging down the side of her head.

The old man laughed, spitting the ear into the woman's face. The woman vomited on the man's lap, and when she drew back, spitting and gasping, the old man leaned forward again, grabbing the flesh above her cheekbone with his teeth and shaking his head again, tearing the flesh and ripping open her face. The woman screamed again, her hands going to her face as the old man spit the bloody gobbet out and leaned forward to grab her thumb in his mouth, wrenching his head and tearing it clean away. She scrambled away before he could bite again, and the old man spit the thumb at her, laughing and staring at her with cold eyes and a blood smeared mouth.

The man shook his head as the woman fled the chamber, holding onto her face and sobbing. The Warden leaning on the table stood up and walked to stand in front of the old man.

"Let's see how funny you think it all is in a few minutes, you old b*****d." She smiled. She looked at the man, who waved at her.

"Go ahead, my dear. Psionic interrogation, while not as pleasing, is often more reliable." He told her. "Skim his surface thoughts, where his fears should lie, and perhaps his thoughts will tell us things we will enjoy."

The old man looked at the woman, the fearful expression not touching his hard, cold brown eyes. The woman laughed when he tried to flinch back from the fingers she pressed to her forehead. She closed her eyes, humming to herself, as she immersed herself in the surface thoughts and memories that were the easiest to reach.

The man in the gown watched as the woman smiled, her back arching and breathing quickening.

"He is full of fear. His thoughts are fragmented, but he's trying to hide something, something that is important to him." She murmured. "Something that he isn't hiding very..."

The man watched as the woman started screaming, her eyes flying open. She was staring at something he couldn't see as she screamed so loud it drove her hoarse by the second one. Her hands flew to her face, and in front of the gowned man, she reached up and clawed out her own eyes. She kept screaming, stumbling away from the old man, who had begun laughing again. Cold, hard, mocking laughter.

The man pressed a button at his waist as the woman fell to her hands and knees and began beating her head against the floor. Several Wardens rushed in through the door that the previous woman had stumbled through, and at the motion from the gowned man, bustled the screaming, thrashing woman off.

"Got any more like her you'd like to lose?" The old man asked, the smile on his face staying away from his eyes.

"What did you do? There is no record of psionic abilities in your file." The gowned man snarled, slapping the old man, who let his head roll with the slap to rob the blow of its power.

"She wanted to see something, I showed her something." The man smiled. "Apparently she didn't appreciate the view from the World War One trenches when artillery buries you and your squad under the mud and body parts and you have to claw your way out to the blister agent filled air." The man laughed, harsh and mocking. "Really, is she the best you can do?"

"Let us see how funny you think things are in a few moments." The man shouted, slapping the old man again, and then hooking up IV tubes to him. The man held up a syringe and showed it to the old man strapped in the chair. "This is a derivative of nerve agent. It causes the nerves to think they are dying, while causing no physical damage."

"This is my weapon, this is my gun, this is for killing, you wanna..." The old man's sneering response was cut short by another slap.

The gowned man injected the fluid into the IV, then waited. It only took a few moments before the old man was gritting his teeth and jerking back and forth in the chair, held tight by the straps. After a few minutes, it subsided, and the old man sagged in the chair, sweat dripping down his face.

"You hit like a girl." The old man said, looking up. "I take that back, you hit like a little girl's pet kitten."

"Who else knows about the plan Code Vatnya told you about on that beach?" The gowned man asked, picking up another syringe.

"Drummond, Thomas, Colonel, US Army, 3342212." The old man answered, and spit blood from where he had bitten through his tongue.

"Where were you born?" The gowned man asked.

"Drummond, Thomas, Colonel, US Army, 3342212." was the answer.

"Who else were you working worth." The gowned man's voice became tinged with irritation.

The old man spit out more blood, looked the gowned man in the eye, and repeated the same thing.

"Think you are tough, old man?" The gowned man injected more into the IV, and watched as the strapped down old man shook and growled in pain. Once the convulsions eased up, he walked around and faced the old man again.

"Who are members of your vigilante group?" The gowned man asked. "It will be easier if you just tell me."

"Drummond, Thomas, Colonel, US Army, 3342212." was the only answer.

"The next injection I give you will be almost enough to kill you, old man." The gowned man warned. "It is enough to drive men mad."

"You're wife's butt is enough to drive men mad with fear." The old man sneered, spitting blood on the floor.

With a snarl, the gowned man injected more fluid into the IV, watching with ill disguised pleasure as the old man was wracked with pain driven convulsions, even losing control of his bladder.

"Oh dear, it appears the old man has wet himself." The gowned man sneered when the old man had quit shaking and gasping.

"Just giving you something to lick up after I'm gone." The old man answered, lifting up his head to stare defiantly at the gowned man. "Why is it that you thing you're scary?"

"What?" The gowned man was obviously thrown off the apparent non-sequitor.

"I was a prisoner of the Nazi's for a month before I escaped. The North Koreans for two months before I escaped." The man sneered. "What makes you think I'm scared of you, you little jumped punk? If the best couldn't break me, some mongoloid in a bathrobe and a mask he stole off the set of M*A*S*H isn't going to scare me." The old man began laughing. "Hey, Hawkeye, aren't you due for surgery?"

The prisoner began laughing harder, still looking at the gowned man. "Hey, maybe you should try on Klinger's dress, you'd probably be more comfortable in it." Fresh tears were in his eyes as he watched the gowned man's face grow red. "Better watch out, Hawkeye, Major Burns will get for this."

"STOP LAUGHING AT ME!" the gowned man shouted, stepping forward and punching the old man in the face. The old man just laughed harder, and the gowned man reached out, his eyes mad with rage, grabbing a scalpel and slashed the old man in the chest. He hauled back to stab the old man in the throat, his eyes clearing as he realized the old man had stopped laughing.

"No. It's what you want." The gowned man spat. He walked to the door, opened it, and waved the Wardens in. "Take him back to his cell, let's see how a few more days by himself do."

The Wardens came in, looking at the old man, who looked at them through rheumy eyes, and at the gowned man, who was red faced and shaking.

"Call the doctor, Geraldine, the horse done kicked me." The old man said, and the two Wardens looked at one another, unstrapping the old man. They guided him up gently, and he looked at them blearily.

"Is it time to go back to my room, nurse?" He asked.

"Watch him, he's faking it." The gowned man warned, turning away. The two Wardens looked at each other and snickered, leading him out into the hallway.

"You guys got him?" The Wardens asked, standing on either side of the old man.

"I don't like that nurse, he pinches me." The old man complained when the group of eight Longbow troopers approached. The Wardens laughed as the troopers carefully took his arms and led him away.

"Yeah, watch out, he's obviously a criminal mastermind!" One of the Wardens shouted as the group turned the corner, and the other burst out laughing.

As soon as they were out of sight of the two door Wardens, the old man suddenly collapsed on the ground, almost dragging one of the troopers down with him.

"Aw man. Every. Damn. Time." One of the troopers swore. Two men grabbed his wrists and started dragging him down the corridor, while the old man kept limp and unresisting, except to hook his boot onto every available corner, chair, cable, pipe or other protrusion.

When they got him to his cell, they drug him inside, bent down and removed the handcuffs, careful to have control of his arms before they did so.

"I swear to God, I'm beating that smarmy Warden to death tonight." The trooper with the fat lip swore as they left the cell.

After a few long minutes, the old man scooted over next to the toilet and began tapping on it with his boot. He paused, keeping the side of his boot against the scorching metal, and burst out laughing after a few minutes.

Colonel Victory tapped out what had just happened against the toilet, grinning to himself as he did so. When the October Octogenarian tapped out another joke, he began laughing again.

For those interested....

World War II Tap Code

...1 2 .3 4 .5
1 A B C D E
2 F G H .I .J
3 L M N O P
4 Q R S T U
5 V W X Y Z

..... .. . . .... .... . ..... .... ..
(5,2)(1,1)(4,4) (1,5) (4,2)
W A T E R

(Author's Note: The following takes place during The Bounty Hunter's War: Part II Arc 318122, Mission One)

"Move." The single word came out like stone crashing together.

The Freakshow Tank Smasher stared down at the small figure in front of him, wrapped in a cloak, and laughed, throwing back his head. The two others like him joined him, their cobbled together sound systems crackling and buzzing as all three of them laughed.

"Or what?" The Tank that had started laughing first asked, putting his hands on his hips and looking down at the diminutive figure in front of him. "You're in our turf now."

The figure shook her head under the hood.

"Last chance before you end up eating your meals through a straw." The woman's voice was still harsh.

"Look what we have here, boys, a comedian!" One of the other Tanks crowed. All three joined in the laughter. "Tell us a little joke." They started snickering.

"Three Freakshow go to ICU..." The woman said, dropping a heavy flanged mace into her hand. Before any of them could react she slammed the mace into the ground, sending all three of them tumbling to the pavement. The mace crushed faces, upheld hands trying to shield or plead, knees, and in each case, smashed out from teeth and shattered jaws.

One of the Freakshow Tanks started to push himself to his feet, his onboard medical systems pumping him full of adrenaline, endorphins, and, or course, superdyne. A quick upswing of the mace took care of him, flipping him in mid-air so he landed on his face.

"You guys suck." The woman grunted. "I didn't even need to bring up my shields, losers." One of the Freakshow moaned and tried to roll over, and she skipped forward and kicked him behind the ear.

There was a small group of Freaks across the street, who had actually started moving toward her, but stopped when they got a look at her face.

Her eyes were narrowed and full of fire, her jawline set, her teeth gritted, and the expression told the Freaks that she'd like nothing more than to pound on them until they broke. Not went down. Not went unconscious. But until they were left in the street as little broken pieces. The leader, with two Tesla rods on his back, waved the others back and followed them back across the street, keeping one eye on the young woman to make sure she didn't charge across the street and murder them all.

The woman kept walking, her mace tucked carefully away into the robe she wore, and she merged seamlessly with the crowds on the sidewalks of Talos Island. The crowd thinned out on the west side, where the freeway that led to Dark Astoria was pretty much deserted.

A park bench and a bag of popcorn bought from a cart kept anyone from looking at her too closely as the sun went down, and the woman waited until dark until she got up, brushed off her hands, tossed the empty popcorn bag in the trashcan, and headed toward the Dark Astoria freeway.

She kept walking, hands in the pockets of her robes, down the freeway. She kept a sharp eye about her, but didn't see any traffic on the long bridge, foot or vehicular. The tunnel through the War Wall loomed above her all to soon, but she just squared her shoulders and walked into it.

Before long she was walking through the mist laden streets of Dark Astoria, watching paper blow by and keeping a sharp eye out for the walking dead in the service of the Banished Pantheon.

Once she approached the massive graveyard, she stopped next to the first gravestone by the gate. There she took off the robe, revealing a costume of red and orange, as well as her freckled face with her upturned nose. A heavy flanged mace hung from her waist, and she pulled it free.

A slight frown of concentration, and she was wrapped in fire, the light pushing back the darkness of the night and the mist.

As she moved deeper into the graveyard only one of the Dry Husks in command of the Banished Pantheon shamans approached her, moaning "Lughebu" repeatedly until her mace crushed its skull and left it in a dusty heap.

A pair of shamans saw her, recognised her, and faded back bowing. That battle had been fought years ago, and the Banished knew they had nothing to gain and too much to loose by taking on someone who was capable of reducing their Tiki Totems to flinders and ash.

The corridor into the crypts below the graveyard was just as damp and depressing as she remembered, but at least the torches were lit, providing feeble light that struggled to hold back the creeping darkness.

She stopped at Zuka's crypt and did not bother with knocking, just pressed on the two moldly skulls that decorated the door and pushed it open.

Inside Zuka lay on the stone bier, still and unmoving, the red eyes dim and almost empty. His shield was attached to his left arm, the wildebeast skull's eyes empty, while the ancient and bloodstained sledgehammer was held in his right hand.

Inertia moved up close and laid her hand on his chest, closing her eyes and trying to feel anything beyond the singing black gulf that had surrounded him since they had managed to break free of the ambush that had jumped them after they'd escaped from the base.

She felt nothing, just a vast black void.

Sighing, she moved back, sitting down in a massive stone chair and looking at Zuka's prone form. On the table behind her was a Paragon Times, open to the story about Major Frost AKA October Octogenarian being buried in Arlington Cemetery. There was a magnifying glass laying beside the paper, and each face of the gathered mourners was circled and crossed out.

There was a faint scraping noise, and Inertia Flare leapt to her feet, moving around Zuka to put her body between the door and his prone "corpse". Her fire leapt up, sheathing her in multicolored flames, and she hefted her mace, waiting.

The door opened slightly, not much, and a long thin purple arm moved in, clad above the elbow in a greenish colored trenchcoat. Inertia didn't relax, waiting until she watched the violet skinned woman slide her way into the tomb. Before she could bring in the hand that Inertia knew had ahold of the rifle, she stepped forward and pressed her boot to the door, pinning the violet-skinned woman's arm between the doorway and the frame.

"Ow! Dammit, Zuka!" the woman snarled, trying to look behind her. "It's me."

"Prove it." Inertia growled back, shoving harder on the door.

"Let off the door, you flame crotched little hairless ape, or I'll rip your face off." The violet skinned woman snarled, trying to pull her arm free. Her arm moved a few inches, and Inertia could see a long scrape where the pressure of the door had abraded the skin.

"Good enough." Inertia said, stepping back and letting Betty pull her arm into the room. Betty snarled at the other woman, showing a mouth full of shark's teeth, but Inertia just shrugged and kicked the door shut.

"You're looking pretty good for a corpse." Inertia observed.

"Same for you too." Betty said, patting the pockets of her trenchcoat, the heavy rifle falling to hang from its sling. Her face lit up and she pulled out a slightly crooked and battered cigar. She ripped it in half, dropped half into her pocket, and then stuck the remainder in her mouth.

"Learn anything new?" Inertia asked as she watched the other woman snap her fingers and light the cigar with a puff of flame.

"No." Betty admitted, shrugging. "I'm thinking about hiring some mercenaries though."

"How about you?" Betty asked, taking a long puff of the cigar and blowing the smoke toward the ceiling.

"Not much." Inertia admitted. "Apparently Sinister Vanadium is on a rampage in the Rogue Isles, killing Longbow right and left." The woman shrugged. "Still no word on Tachyon Hammer, I'm starting to think she might be dead."

"I tracked her to Pocket-D, but she basically disappeared." Betty admitted. "She supposedly had a hot date, but nobody knows who or what might have happened."

"How's Big Bug?" Inertia asked, staring at the smoke ring that Betty blew up into the air.

"Who?" Betty asked.

Inertia swung with both hands, the strike coming from somewhere down around her ankles, the mace impacting on the rifle and blowing it into splinter, continuing through the ruined rifle to hit Global Betty in the ribs. The crackling sound of shattering ribs filled the tomb, and Inertia used the momentum after Betty's body was flung hard against the wall to swing the mace around and smash it into the base of Betty's spine.

Betty screamed then, falling off of the wall, and Inertia brought the mace up over her head and slammed it into Betty's shoulder, pulverizing it with enough force that the skin split open to reveal torn meat and splintered bone. Another mace strike destroyed the other shoulder, and Inertia drove a knee into Betty's gut to drive the breath out of the other woman, then smashed the butt of the mace into her mouth, breaking off teeth at the gumline through all three rows.

"Who are you?" Inertia growled, dropping her mace and grabbing the other woman's long hair.

"Inertia... why?" Betty asked, spitting out blood and triangular teeth.

Inertia brought her hand around to the side of Betty's face, her fire roaring, and laid her palm across the other woman's cheek. The smell of roasting meat filled the crypt. Betty gurgled out a scream, blood filling her mouth from her shattered teeth.

"Who are you?" She asked, pulling her hand away, ignoring the fact that liquified fat left long strings between her hand and the woman's cheek.

"Please, Inertia, stop..." Betty begged. Inertia Flare saw two of the crystal skulls on one of the top shelves of the begin to glow a deep scarlet, and she backhanded Betty then grabbed the base of her nose, pinching hard. Betty screamed again, and Inertia grabbed her hair and pulled her head up. The skulls began growing brighter, and the runes around the crypt began to flicker.

"Tell me who you are!" Inertia yelled.

Betty gurgled a laugh, staring at Inertia with metallic green colored eyes. Inertia could see the green glow start to envelope Betty, and grabbed her mace off of the floor.

She stood up as Betty's laughter, her body's glow, and the skull's light both grew.

Gritting her teeth, she slammed her mace down in the center of Betty's chest. The laughter stopped, the mouth went into an O of shock, and while Inertia watched a blood bubble grew from Betty's mouth, then popped.

When it did, the light faded from the body and the skulls, and Betty's body slumped down on the floor.

"Damn." Inertia said into the darkness of the crypt.

(Author's Note: The following takes place before The Bounty Hunter's War: Part II Arc 318122, Mission One)

The two figures were a mismatched pair, one tall and bulky, the other short and slender. Both were puffing on cigars and drinking out of the same bottle of whiskey while they looked out of the broken window and over the lush vegetation of Perez Park from the abandoned tenth story apartment. The sun was setting, and both knew that soon the Vahzilok would be emerging from their hiding places to hunt for victims that were stupid or brave enough to journey into the park at night.

There was a newspaper between the two, the front page showing a large color photo of a flag draped coffin being lowered into the ground and the legend "VICTORY LAID TO REST" in huge bold letters above the picture. The picture showed a fairly large crowd gathered, and one of the smaller pictures that clustered near the bottom of the larger picture like children around their mother's ankles showed Statesman laying a wreath on the grave.

They sat silently until it grew dark and the lights of fires lit by those trying to stay warm and magic by those committing foul dead began to twinkle within the huge park.

"Got close, didn't it, Big Bug?" The woman broke the silence, her voice soft and silibant. There was a long pause before her companion finally answered her, and then it was just with a monosyllabic grunt.

"We can't do this by ourselves. Not with October and Victory dead." She continued. "This is bigger than both of us. Without Inertia Flare or Zuka, we've got no heavier backup than just you."

The larger shadow chuckled.

"Yeah, you're a lot of backup, Big Bug, but you got me used to working with a team." Global Betty said, reaching out and picking up the whiskey bottle to pour herself a drink.

"I've been thinking..." The larger shadow snorted, and Betty smiled. "Yeah, well, I have been." She took a long sip off of her drink. "Anyone we bring into this is running that risk." She tapped one finger on the newspaper.

"True." The Male Mantid rumbled.

"Maybe we ought to get ahold of some mercs from my old freelancer days." Betty finished.

"That may be a good idea." Mantid replied. "I too have been thinking."

"Uh-oh." Betty grinned.

"That article, they mentioned that they have our bodies, and that the human military took them away from Longbow, correct?" Mantid asked, picking up the bottle and dribbling alcohol onto a cupcake. He set the bottle down and picked up the alcohol soaked cupcake and took a bite while Global Betty watched amused.

"Yup." She smiled.

"What if that is not Colonel Victory they are burying?" He asked, and Betty's smile froze. "They did not get us, who is to say that they have killed Colonel Victory?"

"Damn, you're right. I didn't even consider that." Betty grumbled, taking another sip out of her glass while Mantid daintily nibbled on the cupcake. She sat for a long time, staring off into the darkness.

"I've got some mercs I can trust. They're already hip deep in this, so they might as well get a chance to fight their way out too." Betty said.

"The ones who attacked the fake Longbow station in Dark Astoria?"

"The same. This job will be tougher, but if you aren't the best, you don't advertise to work with the best." Betty finished. "You gonna be OK in here while I'm gone, Big Bug?"

"Providing no females show up, I should be adequate." The Male Mantid answered. "I fear, however, should a female of my kind show up, I am at a disadvantage." He waved on hand at his heavily bandaged leg.

Betty laughed, patted her friend on the head, and left.

It was time to start fighting back, time to start making their shadowy, unseen foe react to their plans, instead of just letting their foe yank them back and forth.

"TELL ME!" The voice was full of rage and fury, and brick dust puffed out as the Longbow Warden was driven into the side of the building. He choked as the fist tightened around his throat and he was pulled out of the dent in the wall that was shaped like his head and upper body.

"TELL ME!" The voice roared again, and the Warden was slammed back against the wall.

"I don't know..." The Warden's voice was weak as he ineffectually clawed at the gauntlet around his throat.

The fist slammed into his face, shattering his nose. The Warden lost where he was for a moment, his thoughts skittering about.

"TELL ME!" The voice roared again, and the Warden felt himself pulled forward and slammed back against the wall.

"I don't know..." The Warden sobbed, his vision too blurred to allow him to see anything more than just a red blur in front of him.

This time the fist hit him in the mouth, pulping his lips, shattering his teeth, and sending the broken roots through what was left of his lips. He choked for a second on a broken tooth, and vomited up blood and teeth, the blood splashing across the arm of the figure that held him.

"TELL ME!" The arm drew the Warden back again, and slammed him against the wall. A brick fell from above, shattering on the red, demonic looking helmet without notice.

"Please... stop..." The Warden managed to sob. "Please... no more..." The spines he normally used to attack his foes had all been torn out by the roots or snapped away savagely, and the repeated impacts against the wall had driven the roots of the broken spikes deep into his body.

"Who did you work for in 2002?" The red armored figured snarled, the grip on the Warden's throat easing up slightly.

"Longbow." The Warden gasped. The hand lifted him up again, drew back, and slammed him against the wall again.

"TELL ME!" The voice was screamed from inside the armor, the volume causing a shrieking feedback. A fist crashed into the Warden's stomach, and he felt something tear and twist inside of him.

"Major Bobson..." The Warden moaned weakly. "I worked for Major Bobson." The hand pulled him forward, and the Warden began to kick feebly. "No! Please! I don't know who he worked for."

"That doesn't matter." The figure snarled, slamming the Warden to the ground. The helmet loomed forward.

"I have a family... please..."

"SO DID SHE!" The voice roared again, picking the Warden up slightly and slamming him down onto the alley floor.

"She was 22. She fought to defend her new Motherland." The figure tore open the front of the Warden's uniform. "She fought Arachnos, she fought the Rikti to defend her new home. She made me believe again." The last sentence was delivered with a harsh fury that was all the more terrible for the cold tone.

The figure pulled the Warden forward, close enough that he could see his own reflection in the plasteel visor, see the blood running down from his nose and destroyed mouth.

"She had two cats named George and Abraham. She liked to play Bingo at the old folk's dacha." The figure inside the helmet snarled. "She carried the groceries for the old lady in the apartment next to her."

The hand around his throat forced the Warden back down against the cold and slimy bricks of the alley.

"And you grabbed her off the street." The other hand pressed cold fingertips against the Warden's chest.

"You tortured her." The Warden began to scream as the fingers began putting heavy pressure on his skin.

"You beat her." He could feel the skin indent, then tear, the fingers shove aside his ribs.

"You abused her as a woman." The fingers pushed inside the Warden.

"You tore her heart out." The Warden screamed, a long bubbling sound of animal agony.

"And left her body in this alley. Right here." The figure finished. Blackness enveloped the Warden.

Sinister Vanadium stood up from the dead body, the man's heart in his blood covered gauntlet. With a spasmodic twitch, the villain crushed the man's heart and threw the sodden mass of tissue onto the alley's stones.

The wind came in off the bay and wound through the shanties that had been put up by those Paragon City had forgotten. Homeless men and women huddled inside their make-shift shelters as the wind moaned outside, its questing fingers plucking at the corrugated metal and plywood, trying to worm past cloths stuck in holes, in order to pinch and nip at those inside.

Here and there fires were lit, and people huddled about them. The flickering flames cast strange shadows, making those who clustered around them appear to be inhuman, their features twisted, but it was more than the flames. The Lost guarded their camp carefully, alert for any incursion by the Freakshow, trying to keep out those who would prey upon the people inside their encampment.

Nobody asked where someone else had come from, or how they had ended up in the shanty-town. The Rikti Wars had left thousands homeless, and the uncaring bureaucracy of Paragon City had just let them slip through the cracks as far as the residents of the "Posi-Town" was concerned.

A cloaked figure moved through the night, short in stature, but with wide shoulders and a stride that did not speak of hopelessness. Even the voluminous folds of the cloak did not hide that its wearer was female, and even though females ran certian... risks... within a Posi-Town, nobody left the comfort of the fires or the shadows to approach her as she walked through the packed dirt streets with solid deliberate steps.

Eyes watched her, however, even if nobody made any move to accost her, some eyes fearful of what a stranger might bring, some flat and hopeless, others calculating, and still others just hungry for some unknowable thing. The figure approached the twisted and altered forms of one of the holy Pariah Prelates, stopping a few paces from the inhuman form and giving a curtsy, head bowed in respect.

The Prelate reached one clawed, inhuman hand forward and rested it on the woman's head for a moment. Silence, broken only by moans of misery, coughing, and muttering, stretched on for a long moment before the Prelate turned away and led the cloaked woman to a large shanty.

Once inside, the woman drug the corrugated steel door closed, shutting out the night and the fires, and turned to the Prelate slowly. The Prelate was tossing refuse into the firepit in the center of the shelter, intending on warming the inside of the shelter.

"Let me, Dave." The woman said, extending one hand from the sleeve of the cloak. A ball of fire appeared in her hand, and she dropped the fire into the pit, igniting the contents.

The Prelate sighed as the warmth washed over him. "I no longer go by that name. I'm known as Contemplation of Strife now."

"You'll always be Dave to me." The woman said sadly, moving around the fire to take one of the inhuman hands in her own and squeezing gently.

"Thank you for the food. Many who would have gone hungry sleep tonight with full bellies." The Prelate changed the subject. "I was surprised that you would 'stoop' to robbery to gain it."

"Yeah, well, things aren't exactly normal right now, are they?" The woman answered. "If a few Longbow officers go hungry or have to actually buy their own food, it's no skin off of my nose." Her tone was bitter and full of rage. "There's children here, Dave. I couldn't just stand by and watch children starve."

"No, you couldn't have." The Prelate agreed. "I have spoken to the others, and they have all agreed, you may stay here as long as you need."

The woman rolled her shoulders, emphasizing their breadth. "We won't stay long, Dave. We don't want to bring any more suffering down on your people than they're already living with." She sat down on the floor, folding her legs.

"The Prelate Council is willing to extend you the hand that should have been offered to us." The Prelate told her, mimicing her movements. "Ant of Atlas himself said he will lend his strength to yours, and has pledged the might of all of of the Paragon Prelates should you desire it."

"Thanks, Dave. Tell Ant that means a lot to me, but this isn't just brawling with Arachnos or some two bit villain out to make a name for himself." The woman said, reaching out to take the Lost's hand again. She sat silent for a long moment, the fire reflected in her eyes. "This is big, and I've already lost too many to ask you to fight."

Silence stretched again, broken by the clang of buoys and a ships horn calling out. The Prelate sat with the woman, her small hand warm in his large clawed hand.

"They buried you today, in Striga Island." The Prelate broke the silence. "Many of the brethren watched from the woods." He chuckled. "Blast of Hollows commented that your coffin was tiny."

The woman chuckled and squeezed the Prelate's hand. "Compared to Blast, everyone is tiny."

"You could join us, you know." The Prelate said softly. "We would welcome a champion like yourself to our ranks. The Paragon Prelates think that Strength of Striga would suit you."

"Tell them I am honored by their thought, but I have people to avenge." The woman answered him, and the temperature went up in the small space quickly. "They've taken almost everyone I care about. Now it looks like they're trying to drag everyone else into a war for God knows what reason."

"So you have not surrendered? You will leave the safety of our encampment and go forth to continue your war?"

"When the moon rises tonight I will go to Dark Astoria and gather up my sole remaining ally." The woman leaned against the Prelate's shoulder. "Thank Slag of Skyway for taking my friend to the Dark Astoria graveyard."

"He was glad to do it." The Prelate shrugged. "To be truthful, I would have carried your companion on my back. He's...."

"Creepy?" The woman suggested.

"Yes, that fits him. He does not see the world we see." The Prelate shuddered. "Looking into his red eyes, I could see my grandmother, hear the words of my mother. He made many uneasy, and those who slept near where we had concealed his cold flesh shell talked of nightmares that plagued them."

"Yeah, he's kind of like that." The woman said.

The door to the shack creaked open, and a man carrying a shotgun that was better kept than the rags he wore poked his head in.

"Honored Prelate, the moon is rising." the man said.

"Thank you, neophyte." The Prelate said as the man withdrew. He released the woman's hand and got to his feet, towering over the woman.

"Good luck, my friend. You will always have Contemplation of Strife as a friend." He said as he moved to the door.

"And to you. May you eat well." The woman said, moving to the door. She stopped just outside the door, reaching one hand to cup the side of the Prelate's face. "You will always have Inertia Flare as a friend, Dave."

The Prelate watched the woman walk away, his face still warm from where his little sister's hand had touched him. A child coughed, breaking the spell, and he turned from where he had been watching the night that she had disappeared into to see if anyone had any medicine for the young one.

Vanadium leaned against the grave, swilling on a bottle of beer and waiting. He'd tried hiding out in the Rogue Isles, but Longbow constantly seemed to find out where he was. Paragon City hadn't been any better, with every little old lady and her dog punching the panic button as soon as his battered and damaged armor was spotted, bringing down Longbow and cops in force.

He'd been forced to hide out in Bloody Bay, drinking crap warm beer and hanging out with nothing but broken headstones, plundered crypts, disturbed graves, and Banished Pantheon fanatics to stare at. Luckily one of the Death Shamans had seen reason and sent his undead minions down to the tavern to buy Sinister Vanadium a couple cases of beer in return for not having his head smashed open.

Fog had rolled in about two hours ago, making the graveyard look surreal, almost as if it was a bad movie set, but Vanadium wasn't in the mood to care about the way anything looked, the alcohol in his system doing nothing to dampen the fire inside of him.

Murder. The thought pounded in his head, obliterating thought and demanding he tear the cap off of another bottle of beer and pull down half of it in only a few seconds. It had been bad enough that he had lived with the mental image of some spirit possessed Circle of Thorns fanatic jamming his filthy hands into his sister's chest and tearing out her still beating heart to sacrifice to his pathetic god, but now he knew that it wasn't the Circle of Thorns who had captured her.

The memory of the Longbow troops grabbing his sister and quickly bundling her into a van burned within him, and he was only faintly aware that the nearly empty beer bottle had shattered in his hand.

Van... The words were somehow slurred, almost sibilant, and he knew from long experience that the words were not whispered through the fog, but instead were whispered into his mind.

He still recognized Jon's voice.

"What?" He snarled, not even looking up as he grabbed another beer.

...I brought bear claws...

"Whatever, man." Vanadium said, shaking his head.

The mist swirled, and the Late Gentleman Jonny Blaster emerged to stand in front of Sinister Vanadium, with the slender and horrific figure of Forlorn Waif following him silently. Jonny was carrying a box which had fogged up plastic on the top, while Forlorn Waif was nibbling on a fresh donut.

"New girlfriend?" Vanadium asked. Forlorn Waif made a garbled choking noise, snuggling close to Jonny and rubbing his body suggestively.

...she has shown me the pleasure of the grave, the fires that still warm the ashes... Jonny answered, setting down the box. He opened the top, revealing still warm pastries with white frosting.

"It's OK, you don't have to go into details." Vanadium said, reaching forward and grabbing one of the pastries. Forlorn Waif made the choking sound, black blood dribbling down her chin, and grabbed two of them, one of which she handed to Jonny while making a sound that reminded Vanadium of the mewling of a sick kitten. He turned away from the two as they kissed, Jonny's tongue visible through the hole in the side of Forlorn Waif's face.

I think Longbow killed Miranda. The voice was cold but still caused the fires in Vanadium's soul to roar, the pounding in his head demanding vengeance for his sister as he looked at Jonny, who was eating the pastry. The sight of Forlorn Waif's head turning to face him, the way she cocked her head, and then ran one down her exposed stomach did nothing to Vanadium's rage, and she made another mewling noise and licked her black lips with a gray tongue, looking up at Jonny with a questioning look on her face.

"I've pretty much figured that out too." Vanadium snarled, glaring at Forlorn Waif, who only shivered with a grin and tilted her head to regard him with the blank iron plates that covered her eyes. "It looked like a Circle snatch and grab, except for one little flaw."

Jonny regarded him with cataract covered eyes silently, waiting for Vanadium to continue, and Vanadium suddenly felt sorrow that his friend no longer laughed and made jokes.

Vanadium held up a printout of the image he'd taken from his armor's video combat logs, showing a man's hand clenching a blue cloth. The closeup showed a Longbow Warden's Academy ring plainly. Forlorn Waif growled, and Jonny reached over to caress the back of her neck.

"Yeah, well, I got a look at the guy wearing the ring too." Vanadium grunted, flipping the paper over.

The reaction he got was unexpected as Forlorn Waif snarled like a choking bobcat, lunging at the picture as if by tearing it apart with her bare hands she would kill the source of the picture. Jonny drew back, his hand going to his face, and the pastry dropping to the dirt of the graveyard unnoticed.

Vanadium held perfectly still while Forlorn Waif's jagged and black nails tore the eyes out of the picture, then she faded back, moving to Jonny's side and rubbing his stomach under his shirt, his pastry retrieved from the ground and rubbed against his lips. A wave of cold air washed over Vanadium, and his onboard suit sensors, wired directly into his nervous system, reported a temperature drop of almost five degrees Celsius for a brief moment.

...he is... familiar to us... This time Jonny's voice was cold, and brought an image of a flat lightless void into Vanadium's mind, and he shivered despite himself.

"I thought so. He the one who shot you?" Vanadium asked. Jonny didn't answer, but Forlorn Waif nodded silently. "Yeah, well, he's Longbow all right, but he's been dead about six years. He was killed in Litak, when the insurgents used chemical weapons on the UN forces there."

Forlorn Waif made that choking sound and opened her vest, revealing gray dead flesh beneath. Vanadium could see exposed ribs on the right side, surrounded by gray muscle tissue, clotted black blood, and splinters of bone. She cocked her head and shook her torso, creating an unsettling effect, and Jonny snarled loudly. It took Vanadium a second to realize that the snarl was aimed at him, and Forlorn Waif's smile made him realize that she had deliberately tried to provoke Jonny into jealousy.

"Yeah, I know, the dead don't stay that way." Vanadium said. "Close your shirt." Forlorn Waif shook again, then closed her vest while making that choking noise again.

"Don't worry, Jonny, I'll find this guy, beat out of him what's going on, then I'll kill him." Vanadium said, throwing his beer bottle into the mist. He pushed the rest of his pastry into his mouth as he stood up.

Forlorn Waif blurred into motion, drawing the rusted and notched blade she carried, and rested the tip of it against Vanadium's carotid. Her face was twisted in a savage snarl as she reached forward and snatched the picture from Vanadium's hand. Vanadium held perfectly still until Forlorn Waif stepped back, pushing the picture into the waistband of her skirt.

"Or, I'll just beat the information I want out of him, then leave him for you to kill?" He asked.

Forlorn Waif nodded, sheathing her blade.

Vanadium watched as the two dead moved into the mist, disappearing from sight.

You two can have him. I'll just kill whoever he works for with my bare hands, with or without you. Vanadium thought to himself, sitting back down and cracking open another beer.

Right after I finish this one.

Tachyon Hammer struck hard, sweating from trying to contain her lightning bursts, to let them flow no further than just outside her skin. Her wrist was slapped to the side, deflecting her punch, and a leather covered fist smashed into the side of her jaw. She hadn't even seen it coming, and the brutal blow spun her around and left her sprawled on the mat. She sensed more than saw the combat boot coming down on her chest, and managed to roll clear, coming up, weaving more out of her swimming head than any intent. She managed to block the kick, but barely, and the power of it still rocked her backwards despite her crossarm block. She shook her head, clearing away the fuzziness, and moved to the left, trying to get on her opponent's blind side, and nearly moved into the kick that would have taken her head off.

She skipped back, but her opponent came in hard and fast with a flurry of strikes that left her dazed and disoriented, too out of it to block the followup kick which hit her in the chin. She knew she had been lifted up in the air, but didn't remember landing. Somehow she'd gone from being upright to laying on her back on the mat, with Code Vatnya, still dressed in Urban Battle Dress Uniform, standing over her, leaning down to offer her a hand. She accepted it with a groan, and felt herself being pulled to her feet past the dizziness that suddenly overwhelmed her.

"For someone who likes to get in and use her fists, you aren't too good at this." Vatnya remarked, his smile taking the sting out of the words.

"I usually don't spend this much time on my back unless it's Friday or Saturday night." Tach smiled back, wiping the blood from a split lip. "I've fought Crey, Malta, and all kinds of bad guys, but where did you get those moves?"

"It's Systema, well, actually, it's Systema Rukopashnii Boi, which basically means system of hand to hand combat." Vatnya told her, walking off the mat to pick up a towel.

"Who teaches that?" Tach asked, grabbing the towel out of mid-air and wiping her face with it.

"The Russians." He almost spit. "It was developed by the Soviet Union to offset American Special Forces fighting styles, and taught almost exclusively to Spetsnaz until Gorbachev and his cursed glasnost."

Tach noticed the fire in the older man's eyes, and felt a surge of physical attraction to him again.

What is it about him? He's a supervillain, and I'm supposed to be a hero. None of the other villains I ever ran into in Pocket-D had whatever it is he has. she thought, tossing the towel back.

"Bring up your shielding again." Vatnya said, giving himself a shake and bringing him back from whatever dark thoughts had been trying to consume him. Tach nodded, concentrating and feeling the electricity surge inside of her. Where normally she'd release it into powerful bolts for offense, she was concentrating and keeping it inside, using it to deflect or even negate attacks on her.

"Defend yourself." The Mad Russian ordered, stepping onto the mat. No bow, no warning of any type except for he'd crossed into the red circle. Still, Tach wasn't waiting for him to act first, and moved in by leaping up into the air, electricity crackling around her closed her fists. She didn't plan on striking the Russian, but rather the ground in front of him.

The kick took her straight in the stomach and to Tach it felt like his boot had gone clear through her. Still, she went limp to rob the kick of as much power as she could, and grabbed the Russian's leg right above the knee, channeling the power meant for the strike into the man.

She expected Vatnya to get flung away from her by the power she channeled into him, not for him to bend his knee and drop down, driving the knee into her chest, slamming her breath from her. Black dots danced in her vision as she grabbed his ankle and twisted, all thoughts of offense fleeing from her. Vatnya spun off of her, going with the ankle movement, and she barely got her arm in the way of her other foot, lashing out at her face. Only half conscious, she arched her back as the current exploded out around her, electricity crackling across the ground. Vatnya rolled away, kicking at her side until she let go. Tach rolled over and came up, blocking another kick and moving in, forcing Vatnya to enter the field of electricity she kept around her.

She pressed the attack, her head starting to clear, but the old Russian either blocked or rolled with every blow.

How can he be so fast? Tach wondered as he weaved away from an electricity charged fist. For a split second Tach thought that was it, but instead he grabbed her wrist and somehow she found herself on the mat again, with the black dots back again, and her electrical field winked out as her concentration wavered. He dropped on her chest, and a hard fist stopped a bare inch from her exposed throat.

"Point." Vatnya said, rolling off of her and standing up. "I think that's enough for the day." Tach nodded, rolling over on her hands and knees and then standing up. Her nose was leaking blood, and her split lip was throbbing. She could feel that her eye was swelling up, and the fact that Vatnya looked fresh as when they had started only irritated her more.

"Go strip down and lay on the table, I want to take a good look at you and make sure nothing got damaged." Vatnya ordered, and Tach nodded before following his instructions.

She'd been able to deflect or destroy incoming bullets, shield herself against energy weapons, and even deflect the majority of super powers that were aimed against her, but the hand to hand combat had shown that she had a long way to go.

She stripped off her clothing, wincing several times as bruised muscles complained. She felt like at least one rib was cracked, but there was a strange tingling she'd never felt before surrounding the area. She touched her split lip, feeling that the swelling was already going down and that the split itself was gummy and tingling.

The gurney blankets were warm, a far cry from the times she'd ended up in the Paragon City hospital, and she snuggled down into them and waited.

Vatnya's examination was cold, clinical, and dispassionate as he checked the injuries, prodding at her with gloved fingers, then running instruments over her skin. He was completely silent, even during the more invasive parts of the investigation, and his focus made Tach nervous. The only thing he said was to have her change position.

It's like I'm one of his robots. and she shivered at the thought of the Mad Russian converting her into one his fabled "full conversion cyborgs". Code Vatnya took no notice of her discomfort, merely resetting a piece of arcane equipment to retake whatever measurements he was so intent upon.

"All right, get up." He told her. She reached for the leads running from her and he grabbed her wrist. "You're not done, just leave those." She nodded dumbly, getting up and following him over to various exercise equipment. The treadmill, until it was nearly vertical and forcing her to almost sprint to keep up. Weight machines, keeping track of not only how much she could lift at a maximum, but how many reps she could do on the lower rates. Pressor fields where she was forced to move under different gravities. A shock chair where it measured her responses to sudden G shocks. Singularly or repeated, all of it left her sweating and near exhaustion, but still he pushed her.

More. Harder. Faster. All of it delivered in an iron tone that brooked no argument, that did not accept failure or the words "can't" or "won't" as options or replies. Always Code Vatnya seemed to watch both her performance physically and on his monitors with a single hard eye.

A hard electric shock drove her, goaded her, into greater and greater performance. Time after time, just when she felt like she was unable to go a micron further, electricity would course through her, and rather than bringing screaming pain, it seemed to, for lack of a better word, reenergize her.

Several times she was forced through exercise with her nerves on fire and screaming as if she had been coated in acid. Other times the face mask felt as if it wasn't working right and she couldn't breathe.

More. Harder. Faster. Delivered in precise, even tones.

"Enough." She didn't even recognize the word. She knew it meant something, but was unsure what as she struggled to lift a heavy weight in gravity sixty percent greater than she had been born in. She lifted her head, sweat running down her face and blurring her vision, and stared at Code Vatnya with glazed and confused eyes.

The weight suddenly lifted, and she dropped the heavy weights. Standing in front of the Mad Russian and swaying slightly back and forth. Her skin was covered in sweat, and it was dripping off of her. Code Vatnya stepped onto the grav-plate, grabbing her arm and slinging it over his shoulder, and she noticed that she was on his blind side.

"You did good, little one." Vatnya told her, helping her past the bed that several combat robots had carried into the room for her to sleep on. He took her into the shower, walking under the hot water fully clothed, and pulled her under the water.

Tach felt the hot water's needle spray hit her skin, felt the pounding ease at her sore muscles, and started to feel alive again. If any of the people who normally knew her had tried to put her through that kind of pacing, she'd have hit them or just plain left. Instead, she'd done it all, and completely naked at that. The fact that the body that seemed to rob men of their common sense in Pocket-D had seemed to have no effect on Code Vatnya hurt her pride a bit, but any injury done to her ego by his cold dispassionate treatment was salved by the fact she had not collapsed under the tests for the first time since she had woken up as Code Vatnya's "guest".

"Better?" Vatnya asked as she straightened up, dropping his arm from her shoulders.

With a wicked gleam in her eyes, she turned to him and began undoing the buttons of his BDU blouse.

"It will be." She chuckled throatily as the buttons came undone.

"I AM TINY AND FULL OF DEATH!" Inertia Flare bellowed over the din of battle. She slammed her mace into the titanium/vanadium alloy floor plates, the shockwave sending the Longbow troops around her falling to the floor. The Male Mantid stomped his foot, sending Longbow flying, and Zuka swept his sledgehammer in a wide arc, sending the Longbow stumbling back.

Flame washed over her and she just laughed, the fire from the muzzle of the Longbow flamethrower just fed her flames further, sending other Longbow that had been rushing forward cringing back cursing and shielding their faces from the heat.

Betty leapt up into the air, a sword made of fire erupting from her fist, her rifle falling to hang on the sling. She spun in mid air, and crashed down, a ring of fire erupting around her. Longbow screamed, and her high pitched laughter could be heard from within the ring of fire.

"The raid teleporter, get us to the raid teleporter!" Inertia hollered over the din, blood spraying across her shields as Betty buttstroked a man in the face, sending teeth and blood across the fight.

"It doesn't work any more! That Arachnos virus shut down everyone's raid capability last year!" Mantid shouted back.

An explosion rocked the base as the heavy duty blast door that sealed the entrance of the base from the outside world launched itself from its frame in a cloud of ferrocrete dust and smashed against the far wall, obliterating trophies and memorabilia gathered over a century.

Colonel Victory looked up from the computer at the room, where Longbow troops were advancing through the cloud of dust and stepped back from the keyboard, lifting up the rifle that Miss Moral had handed to him before collapsing. October Octogenarian had her in a fireman's carry, a Rikti plasma rifle in his off hand.

"So long, Shrapnel." October said, hefting the rifle and triggering a shot into the front of the computer. Flames and sparks shot out, and October triggered another pair of shots into the computer, then let the rifle fall on its sling.

"Hurry up, Miles." Colonel Victory said, levelling the Arachnos submachinegun and triggering bursts into the Longbow troops that were flooding into the entryway to the base. October nodded and reached into a pocket, pulling out a Rikti plasma grenade. He armed it and threw it into the blown open section of the computer.

"Fire in the hole!" October yelled, turning and running away from the entry room. Colonel Victory kept pace, not bothering to aim, just doing the old "infantry spray and pray" behind him to keep the Longbow honest. Bullets flew by the trio, and the sound of several miniguns beginning to wind up.

October turned the corner, almost slipping on the polished tile, and jogged into the salvage storage room, while Colonel Victory crouched at the edge of the hallway, firing short accurate bursts at the figures moving toward him.

The Rikti plasma grenade detonated with bright green flash that sent liquefied shrapnel across the Longbow troops that had advanced into the room like a shotgun, sending them screaming to the floor. Colonel Victory swapped out magazines quickly, sending a couple more bursts into the troops flooding into the base, and glanced behind him. October had nearly cleared the storage bins, and was moving through the personnel quarters.

The old soldier pulled a munition out of his pocket, slapping it against the wall, flipping back the safety cover, and pressing the red button twice. The munition beeped twice, and Colonel Victory skipped backwards, turning as he moved, and chased after October.

"What do you think, old friend?" Victory asked, catching up to October in the room they jokingly called Trophy Room Two, where he had laid Miss Moral on the table and moved over to another trophy case.

"We're trapped. We're outgunned." October smashed in the top of the case with the butt of the plasma weapon and reached inside with his off hand. He tossed Colonel Victory something metal and glittering, and reached back in.

Colonel Victory looked in his hand, where a pair of pins made up of a screaming eagle holding onto a branch lay, gleaming and polished in the light.

"We hold until relieved." October said, his hands dropping from where he'd just finished pinning the oak leaves of a Major on his collar. He picked up Miss Moral and nodded at one of the air vents near the floor.

"On it." Victory said, moving toward it. October concentrated, and the storage room filled with a thin patina of slick ice. A nod at the opening, and it filled with solid ice as shadows moved across the opening of the storage room.

"Hurry." Major Frost said as a muffled explosion could be heard.

"Almost there." Colonel Victory said, pulling the grate away. "Got it."

Major Frost moved over and laid Miss Moral down on the floor, grabbing a gas mask off of a trophy mannequin and wrapping it onto the unconscious woman's face. Colonel Victory grabbed a psychic dampener, twisted it so that the red lights came on, and shoved it down the front of her costume. Finally October Octogenarian grabbed his old World War II costume from the case and shoved it into the vent.

"That's the best we can do for her." Frost said, and Victory nodded. The pushed her into the vent, following her with Colonel Victory's old World War II costume.

Together they grabbed a heavy display case, containing the wreckage of a Zues Titan Robot, and manhandled it until it covered the vent. There was the faint sound of gunfire, and cracks appeared in the massive sheet of ice.

Colonel Victory grabbed the table and flipped it over while October started loading display weapons and tossing them behind the table.

"They're almost in, Major." Victory said, snapping the bolt shut on the cheap knockoff submachinegun they'd taken off of a villain named Frostfire.

"Let them come." October said, crouching down and picking up a stubby assault rifle and checking the chamber. It was loaded, and October grinned at his long time friend as he summoned up a creature made entirely of ice and had it crouch next to the door. The ice cracked, and chunks began falling from it. The two men could see the ice thinning, and the glare of flamethrowers.

"Every inch in blood, brother." Colonel Victory said, holding out a balled fist.

"Every inch in blood, brother." Major Frost replied, making a fist and tapping it on the top of Victory's.

With a grinding roar, the ice collapsed, and there was no more time for words.

Global Betty staggered forward when the butt of the rifle slammed into the back of her head, but she muted the blow by rolling forward around her rifle, coming up on one knee and triggering her flamethrower and washing it across the thighs of the troops surrounding her.

"Betty! Come on!" Inertia bellowed over the din, swinging her mace and smashing a green skinned Longbow Warden into the floor. She could see the purple skinned woman through the crowd, see her smiling as she raised the weapon and pushed it into the stomach of another Warden and pull the trigger, sending the 12 gauge shotgun round through the Warden.

"Someone has to set the raid transporter!" Betty yelled, turning on her knee and cocking the shotgun again. She turned and shot another Longbow in the stomach, blood splashing back onto her face.

"No!" Inertia Flare yelled, and felt a large hand grab her collar, yanking her backwards.

"You cannot save her, the void, it calls her." Zuka's voice was the sound of iron plates clanging together.

Betty reached the raid transporter control panel, slamming her hand against it.

"Big Bug, give me numbers!" She shouted out, Swaying, but not going down as another rifle butt slammed into her lower back.

Male Mantid stepped off the transporter pad, clapping his hands together and sending Longbow staggering back, holding their ears and screaming. He was shouting random numbers as he moved forward, his fists pounding. Inertia Flare struggled, kicking, but Zuka held her off the floor, robbing her of her strength.

"No! No no no NO!" Inertia screamed as she felt the transporter fire up. "Mantid, come back!"

The world vanished in blackness and pain for Inertia Flare.

Global Betty smashed the butt of her rifle into the control panel and turned around, narrowly avoiding a fist aimed at her head, and turned around in time to see the Male Mantid smash both fists into the jaw of a green skinned Longbow Warden, sending the Warden stumbling back with a shattered jaw.

Betty triggered her flamethrower and washed the flame over the Longbow between her and Male Mantid, holding down the trigger even as the weapon sputtered and then just hissed impotently without a drop of flame coming out. The Longbow had stumbled back, and two stomping steps took Male Mantid next to Global Betty.

Gunfire erupted somewhere deeper in the base, along with an explosion, and the Male Mantid stepped up next to Global Betty, turned around, and faced the gathered Longbow. Betty reached up and grabbed the cigar out of Mantid's mandibles, taking a puff off of it and blowing it at the gathering Longbow.

"Just like old times, eh, Big Bug?"

"What is that thing?" Tachyon Hammer asked, standing next to a massive foot made of high tech alloys. She looked up, and up, and up, staring at a massive head the size of a police van at the top of the massive robot.

"Built by the Crey a year or so back, some kind of massive Crey Asault Titan, probably had an impressive name." Code Vatnya answered from the work table where he was barely visible. Tachyon Hammer could hear and feel the massive amount of electrical current moving through the heavy cables to the tools he was using. She could feel him wielding vast power to create whatever it was he was working on, but it wasn't the power that gave her such a thrill, not the war machines that seemed to fill the base.

His mind. Tachyon Hammer thought to herself, reaching out her fingers and touching the massive robot. It was dead to her senses, missing the tingling flow that filled the mechanical and living. The spark of electricity that existed from the most complex machine to the tiniest microbe.

"It's dead, isn't it?" She asked, running her fingers across the thick dust.

"The reactor was flawed." Vatnya said, disgust in his voice. "They used enriched plutonium for the reactor, a standard fission reactor." There was another flare of energy, and Tachyon Hammer felt a tug right below her bellybutton. "I thought about putting a new reactor into it, but it's tactically and strategically useless."

Tachyon Hammer nodded, thinking about how every hero and villain in Paragon City and the Rogue Isles would swarm on the thing if it showed up, painted in Code Vatnya's colors.

"There, finished." Vatnya said, standing up. Tachyon Hammer turned around in time to see the older man roll his head, his neck crackling. When he finished, he held up a small chunk of metal that Tachyon could feel the power flowing through, feel it being altered and changed. "It's for you."

"For me?" Tachyon followed Vatnya's motions and fell in step behind the Mad Russian.

"If you want it." Vatnya said, shaking his head. "It will hurt, and hurt a lot, but it might give you an edge, allow you to do something aside from rattling around this place." He stopped and pointed at the gurney that Tachyon Hammer had become more than a bit familiar with as of late.

Tach grinned at the older man, moving over and hopping up on the gurney.

"So what does it do?" Tach asked once the Mad Russian had made two trips back to his lab.

"You have a pretty unique bio-electric signature, and your powers are seriously amplified compared to a lot electricity tossers I've, ahem, examined." Vatnya held up a syringe, which looked to Tach to be full of mercury. "This first, full of pico-bots that will carry out each of the stages. The next one to coat the nerve bundles you use to overcharge your bio-electricity." He held up another one, full of a glowing blue light. "This one will make the final changes, kill the pico-bots, and you'll be ready for the last part."

"What is that?"

Vatnya held up the small metallic object the size of a hockey puck and smiled. "This is the last part. I'll place this in your chest, connect it to the leads that the pico-bots will have manfactured, close you up, and that part will be done."

"And then what happens?" Tach asked, her voice quavering slightly as Vatnya lifted up a sharp, menacing looking object. Vatnya looked at her, looked at the object he held and tightened his grip. Plasma crackled between two leads, and Vatnya looked at her, his eye shadowed. Tach gasped, cringing away slightly, fear filling her as she remembered that above all, the Mad Russian was wanted for human experimentation.

He suddenly laughed and set the device on another table tray. "It's an actuator spacer, it's used to adjust just how much play an armor or cybernetic actuator has."

Tach laughed, the tension broken, and laid back.

"Will it hurt?" She asked.

"Oh yes. I won't lie to you, little one." Vatnya replied, picking up a hypodermic that looked like sterile water. "It's going to hurt a lot. I can't put you under, like I did while you were healing, I need your nervous system operating."

Tach hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her skirt and pushed it down, wiggling out of the tight leather mini-skirt and thong at the same time. Vatnya turned around, holding out his hand so that Tach could put each piece of clothing in his hand.

Skirt, thong, leather and lace leggings, leather jacket, and finally a set of wrist band she wore for decoration.

"Careful with those bracers, I got them at the wedding." Tach said as Vatnya placed each piece carefully on a table. "OK, I'm ready."

Vatnya turned around to look at the young woman. She was bare again, defenseless as before, but this time she was awake and no blood surrounded her. She was biting her lip, watching him with wide eyes as he reached forward and put one callused hand on her forehead.

"Look at me, little one." Vatnya ordered, and Tach felt her eyes drawn up to his dark and blazing eye. She looked at the crow's feet around his visible eye, the old thick scars emerging from under the eyepatch, and lined and scarred forehead. She felt a pinch as he injected something into the meet of her left arm. "Keep looking at me, little one." He reached over and grabbed the second needle.

Unseen, the thick hypodermic raised up and slammed down into her chest, the needle penetrating all the way to the hilt. Tach screamed as the needle penetrated her heart and the autoinjector did its work, flooding the mercury-like fluid into the penetrated chamber. Tach's hands fluttered up, grabbing at the collar of the man's urban combat blouse as the needle was yanked free and the beating of her heart seemed to spread fire through her veins.

She screamed, and kept screaming, and all Vatnya did was keep her head still with one hand and hold her other hand firmly with his other. Fire coursed through her veins, her skin felt as if it had coated in a Vahzilok acid spray, and she could feel the electrical current that she channeled surging through her body.

Vatnya gritted his teeth as the voltage washed through him, holding the young woman down as she screamed, keeping her as still as possible as she began to convulse. He let go of her hand and grabbed the final injection, stabbing it into her side, penetrating clear to her liver, where he injected the fluid.

Her screams redoubled and the man fought to hold her onto table, until finally she went slack, passing out from the pain.

The Mad Russian turned from the young woman and picked up a scalpel, looking at the skin between her breasts.

"I'm sorry, little one, but his is going to hurt terribly." He told her, reaching out and cocking his wrist in mid-air. A keyboard made of light appeared in mid-air, and he hit a few keys, then uncocked his wrist, allowing the keyboard to vanish.

"You may scream." He told her, turning on the mono-molecular scalpel and lowering the tip toward her skin. "There is no shame."

(Author’s Note: The following takes place during Mission 5, Arc: 312961 –The Bounty Hunter’s War)

Miss Moral put her hands on Inertia Flare's arm, and a warm green glow covered both women for a moment. When it faded, the cuts and gashes Flare had suffered at the hands of the minions of the Mad Master of Steam had faded without even a scar.

"Thanks." Inertia smiled, looking around at everyone and taking stock of how combat effective they appeared.

Zuka was standing stock still, no trace of breathing or heartbeat moving his massive chest, surrounded by the shattered minions of Nemesis. The massive undead showed no trace of having been repeatedly shot by the brass gatling guns as he slowly looked around, his bright glowing red eyes full of restrained malevolence.

Colonel Victory was sitting on the ground, his shield set next to him, massaging his knee and grimacing. Inertia knew that the pain was a phantom ache, not a real injury, since Miss Moral had already laid her hands upon him to quickly heal the injury from where a bullet had gone through his knee.c

October Octogenarian was leaned back against a wall, his face impassive as he read a book that had long ago lost its cover. There was a pattern of frost spreading out from him, but he seemed unaware of it and Inertia grinned. She remembered when her and Jonny had gone to the rest home to see if the old war hero wanted to join them in fighting crime, and how the old gentleman had barely been able to freeze people's feet to the ground due to lack of practice.

Global Betty and Male Mantid were sitting back to back on the floor, Betty checking the action of her rifle, the Male Mantid peeling away a cracked and pale section of chitin off of his leg. Miss Moral's powers caused him to heal up from injuries, but he always ended up with sections of chitin that needed shed. The massive insect warrior held up the strip of old armor, took a couple of puffs off his cigar, and then tossed it away into the pool of oil and shattered brass parts. Global Betty didn't even look up, pulling the magazine from her weapon and examining the ammunition inside. Satisfied with the ammunition, she socketed the magazine back into her weapon, reached around and grabbed the Male Mantid's cigar, took a couple puffs off of it, and handed it back.

"How much longer do you think it will take?" Betty asked, then pitched her voice into an irritating whine. "Geeeeetting booooored."

"Not too much longer, if I'm right." Inertia replied, turning to face the door as Miss Moral smiled and moved over to take another look at Colonel Victory's knee.

"Sending them to Dark Astoria was dangerous, Betty. Are you sure that they will prevail against the spirits that howl in rage and torment?" Zuka intoned, hefting the stained sledgehammer to grab it with both hands. "What makes you think that the abandoned Longbow office would even be in use?"

"I don't tell you how to look all menacing and creepy when you're hanging out in tombs and open graves, don't tell me how to gather information and deploy mercenaries, you cemetery haunting monkey." Betty snarled.

"Zuka, Betty." Miss Moral gently chiding. Both the alien and the undead glanced at one another, then at Miss Moral, and looked slightly ashamed of themselves. Miss Moral looked up, and grimaced. "Someone's arrived on the upper levels." She flushed slightly. "Their thoughts are disgusting and perverse."

"Who are they?" Flare asked, walking over to stand next to the doors. As she moved, flames ignited around her, surrounding her completely.

"Longbow." Miss Moral grimaced. "They think of themselves as Longbow, but they are disgusting, vile creatures."

"Any officers?" Betty asked, standing up and stretching. She took a couple puffs off of the Male Mantid's cigar before handing it back.

"Yes. He's being told that the base in Dark Astoria is being assaulted," Miss Moral answered, her eyes closed and her brow furrowed in concentration. "Still, he's intent on coming in here with his men." She opened her eyes and looked at her companions. "He has orders to kill all of us."

"Let the jumped up monkeys try." Betty grinned, standing in front of the doors with her rifle pointed downward. Flaming droplets fell from the underslung multi-purpose weapon and the faint "hiss" of compressed gas could be heard.

The Male Mantid stepped up next to her, slightly in front of her, shielding her with his own body.

"Here they come." Inertia Flare said, watching the digital readout above the elevator change. She hefted her flanged mace, bringing it back over her shoulder and grinning.

"Are you sure they're Longbow?" Colonel Victory asked. "I mean, why would they come to kill us for taking on Nemesis?"

"Less talking, more fighting, old man." Betty tossed over her shoulder, a vicious gleam in her eyes. Colonel Victory sighed and hefted his shield, moving around to the other side of the elevator while Zuka moved up beside Betty, shielding Miss Moral and October with his massive form.

"Get ready..." Colonel Victory said, watching the numbers slow. Rather than floors, it listed how many seconds it would take for the elevator to travel between the two floors.

"Steady..." The seconds were down to single digits.

"NOW!" The shout was mixed with the ping of the elevator door.

Betty noticed that the uniforms matched and pulled the trigger, filling the elevator full of oxygen enriched kerosine mixed with thermite and hydrogen enriched jet fuel. "Burn, monkeys, burn!" she crowed out.

One man came staggering out of the elevator, his entire uniform, even his flesh, on fire, his hair having exploded into a fiery wreath about his head. Inertia Flare clubbed him down before he could stagger two howling steps, mouthing a prayer for the man's soul.

She'd just gotten her mace back up when a man stepped out of the elevator, surrounded by a soapbubble-like field that pushed the flame away from him. Bright red energy surrounded his fists as he launched himself forward, swinging both fists as he exited the flames.

Before the man's attack could land, Colonel Victory kicked him straight in the side of the head, the old soldier's attack slamming through the bubble to impact on the officer's right cheek. The man still came forward, swinging both fists at Zuka, both blows landing with thunderous crashes.

Zuka stared down at the man, cocking his head curiously.

"Take this one alive!" Miss Moral called out, pointing at the force field protected officer as he launched another attack on the massive undead. She furrowed her brow, her eyes glowing slightly, and the officer stopped in mid-attack, his hands hanging limply at his sides. As the companions watched, his mouth fell open and a rope of drool began to slowly drop toward the floor.

October clenched a fist and made a jerking motion, and the officer was suddenly encased in ice, a fact he seemed not to notice or care about as he continued drooling.

Miss Moral stepped forward, her hand reaching out to touch the other man's temple. She shuddered and opened her eyes, which were going from the clear ice green of her own eye color to the dark brown of the man's.

"He's Longbow. Trained here in Paragon City, but after that, there's something strange." Miss Moral said softly as the others watched. "His memories show he took part in the assault on the Rogue Isles, that he's been decorated for bravery during the Second Rikti War, but the memories feel strange to me."

"Bring him back to the base." Colonel Victory said. "We'll throw him in a cell for a little while. See if he's willing to talk after a few days in a cell."

(Author’s Note: The following takes place during Mission 5, Arc: 312961 –The Bounty Hunter’s War)

Betty jumped out of the stolen Arachnos helicopter, hitting the pavement with only a twinge from her damaged knee, rolling forward and coming up with her rifle ready. She could hear the others dropping out of the assault helicopter behind her as she ran forward toward the building.

A squad of uniform clad troopers came running out of the building, but a small tornado summoned up by The October Octogenarian ripped through their ranks, throwing them against the wall and destroying their disciplined formation. Before the troops could get their act back together Inertia Flare and the Male Mantid landed within their lines. Inertia Flare was wrapped in plasma, while the Male Mantid was just plain tough, and both of them shrugged off the panicked weaponsfire from the brightly armored troops. Inertia’s mace swung out, smashing a man to the ground, as a haymaker from the Male Mantid sent one troop at least twenty feet into the air, his head tearing completely off and flying higher than the body.

Betty raised her rifle, triggering the grenade launcher, and put a grenade on the roof, figuring she’d keep any snipers up there more worried about being blown up than putting a bullet through anyone’s head. Colonel Victory sped by her, using his shield to deflect bullets that were aimed at him, with Zuka pounding along next to him. Miss Moral was keeping pace with Betty, her eyes narrowed as she scanned the emerging battlefield with her psychic powers.

Return fire from the windows cratered the pavement around Zuka and Colonel Victory, and while the smaller, living, man rolled out of the way, at least two dozen bullets hit Zuka, who ignored them as if they were insect bites. Betty raised her weapon again and fired a grenade through a window and followed it up by raking a long burst of automatic fire across the windows. Brick and glass shattered, and a man began to scream long, high screams of agony. Betty grinned at the jumped up monkeys screams, rushing forward and hiding behind an APC that was already burning merrily.

Colonel Victory leaned around the corner of the burning vehicle then yanked back, bullets spanging against the vehicle a split second alter, and he swore sulfurously.

“Language, Colonel.” Miss Moral chided gently, kneeling next to him. Betty shook her head at the other woman’s prim tone, smiling at her coolness under fire.

“Zuka, get us closer.” Colonel Victory ordered, and Zuka nodded. Betty watched as the giant undead braced his back against the burning APC, the flames hissing and going out as the energy of undeath leeched the heat from the metal his dead skin touched. His muscles swelled, and Betty grimaced as the burning APC began to scrape toward the front of the building with the scream of tortured metal.

Inertia Flare slammed her mace into the chest of one of the figures, sending him flying back at least ten feet, the man twisting unnaturally as he flew. She could hear the Male Mantid’s slamming into other soldiers behind her, and someone began to scream, the scream moving overhead and trailing off into the distance, and she wondered just how far the guy had flown. A man raised a rifle, but Inertia smashed the weapon to flinders with one blow, then came around and about took his head off with the return stroke. The man next to him managed to trigger a burst, but the copper-jacketed slugs vaporized as they entered Inertia Flare’s plasma shield without harming her. He tried to backpedal, but an overhead swing drove him to the ground, leaving him in convulsions, and she swung around to slam her mace into the ground, throwing the others to the ground.

The scream of metal heralded the burning APC moving forward, and it went suddenly silent as the ground before it was covered with a thick layer of slick ice. A creature made entirely out of ice sprang into existence, rising up from the ice slick, and charging several soldiers with a sword made entirely out of ultra-dense ice.

Betty darted around the corner of the APC, firing her grenade launcher as she went, hitting the door and causing it to vanish in a whirlwind of splinters. Just for good measure she fired another one through the shattered doorway, calling out “Fire in the hole!” for good measure before raking her rifle across the first story windows, blowing them all in in a shower of glass.

“GRENADES!” Colonel Victory bellowed out, and the gathered friends all pulled grenades they’d loaded up with and threw them through the gaping windows. There were more shouts, and the grenades exploded, sending fragments of the building and tatters of cloth flying out the windows.

“Go go go!” Colonel Victory shouted, and the group surged forward, Inertia Flare and the Male Mantid in the lead, followed by Colonel Victory and the October Octogenarian, Miss Moral and Global Betty on their heels, and Zuka bringing up the rear, the fearsome sledgehammer swinging on one massive fist and the ancient tribal shield held tight in the other.

“They’re waiting at the elevator.” Miss Moral said, her face twisting in a grimace. “Their thoughts are digusting.”

Betty grinned a shark’s tooth grin at the other woman, patting the side of her rifle. “Fire should clean those thoughts up.”

The group moved steadily forward, their heads swinging back and forth to check the rooms they passed. Several times Betty stopped to spray the inside of a room, or to fire a grenade into it, just to keep anyone who might be inside of it honest.

Twice they ran into groups of troops who were obviously hurrying toward the front, hoping to reinforce the defeated guard force before the building could be penetrated. Both times Inertia Flare, the Male Mantid, and Colonel Victory pummeled them into submission before Betty could even get a shot off.

The last time, Betty stopped over the prone body of an officer, pointing her weapon at the man’s head.

“You should have stayed in bed, monkey-man.” She said softly.

Before she could pull the trigger, and giant hand wrapped around the barrel and moved it away.

“That is not vengeance.” Zuka rumbled. Betty eyed the massive undead for a moment, then shrugged.

“Whatever.” She said indifferently, and kicked the officer in the face, staring at Zuka defiantly the whole time.

“That will not send his spirit after us for revenge.” Zuka approved.

The group in the elevator started firing as soon as Inertia Flare and the Male Mantid came into sight. The entire corridor seemed full of bullets and laser flashes, but the two waded through the fire as if it was a spring shower. Bullets that hit Inertia Flare just evaporated, while those that hit the Male Mantid flattened against his naturally tough insect carapace.

One of the men desperately triggered a flamethrower, washing it over Inertia Flare, and the diminutive woman began laughing as the flame played over her.

“Are you stupid?” She asked, stopping for a moment and putting a hand on her hip and bounding her mace in the other hand.

The soldiers goggled at the tiny woman, then realized their mistake too late as the Male Mantid pounded into the elevator, followed by Colonel Victory. The insect and the man attacked with a flurry of punches and kicks, one of the men hitting the elevator wall hard enough to dent it.

In seconds they were down, and the group began to drag them out of the elevator.

The Male Mantid was staring mournfully at a cracked plate on his massive arm when Miss Moral moved up next to him, placing her hand gently on the damaged plate. A slight frown of concentration, and she was lit up with a warm green glow, the plate mending instantly.

“Thank you, Miss Moral.” Mantid said, trying to hide his uneasiness at a female touching him.

“Of course.” Miss Moral said, backing up quickly.

“Quit your whining, Big Bug, and gimme a cigar.” Betty laughed, joining the others in the elevator. The Male Mantid nodded and pulled one out of his belt pouch. He used his mandibles to snap the end off, lit it, and handed it to her. Betty took a deep drag off of it as the Male Mantid repeated the process for himself, and blew a cloud of blue smoke out into the elevator. “Thanks, Big Bug.”

“The sign says ‘No Smoking’, Betty.” Miss Moral pointed out.

The Male Mantid reached out one hand and pulled the sign off the wall, crushing it in his fist and dropping it to the floor.

“Better?” Betty asked, smiling.

“Yes, thank you.” Miss Moral answered.

The elevator descended in long silence. Male Mantid and Zuka took up the entire doorway, with Global Betty kneeling between the two of them, her weapon ready.

“Anyone got any gum?” Colonel Victory asked. Everyone checked their pockets real quick and shook their heads. “Damn.”

“Language, Colonel.” Miss Moral chided gently. Betty grinned. From what she had gathered the two had been playing that game for almost a century.

The doors pinged open, and the roar of automatic weapons filled the small space, the bullets shattering against the Male Mantid and evaporating in front of Inertia Flare.

“PLAMSA CANNON!” Betty shouted, spotting the distinctive shape of the heavy weapon. Before anyone could do anything, she triggered the flamethrower on her weapon, sending a long tongue of fire down the hallway. The fire reached out to the crew, who were frantically trying to finish loading the weapon, wrapped around them, and sent them jittering around the hallway in agony. The Male Mantid clapped his hands, extinquishing the fire, but knocking the four men out, as well as sending the weapon spinning away.

“Close one.” Colonel Victory remarked.

“Close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and tactical nuclear weapons.” Inertia Flare shot back.

The group moved down the hallway until they stopped at a large set of doors.

“Ready?” Colonel Victory asked. Everyone nodded. The hallway was large enough for Zuka, Inertia Flare, and the Male Mantid to stand side by side, and they all cracked their knuckles in unison.

“Steady…” Colonel Victory said.

Betty checked her ammo count, Inertia Flare brought back her mace, Zuka raised his sledgehammer, and the Male Mantid balled one massive fist.

“GO!” He leapt forward, his foot smashing into the door at the same time as Mantid’s fist crashed into it and the two maces slammed into it with a thunderous impact. The door blew inward, bouncing across the floor and scattering a group of troopers who had been waiting with a heavy machinegun pointed at the door. The door left behind twisted and broken bodies, some of which writhed in agony, others that lay too still.

“In the name of Lord Nemesis, kill them!” A man dressed in an archaic uniform shouted, raising a rifle to his shoulder.

The gathered heroes rushed forward and slammed into the automaton forces of the Mad Master of Steam.

No quarter given, no quarter asked.

(Author’s Note: The following takes place during Mission 4, Arc: 312961 –The Bounty Hunter’s War)
Pain was the first thing she knew. Not an overwhelming tide of pain, but rather a faint echo of pain that she knew should have been all consuming, should have left her shrieking in pain and writhing. She remembered being in the bathroom of Pocket-D, looking forward to her date and reapplying her blue lip gloss carefully after adjusting her bra. There had been a blur behind her in the mirror, and before she could react an agonizing pain had erupted in her lower back. She could remember holding her back and staggering, feeling blood spurt out of the wound and electricity crackle across her fingers. She could remember her own face reflected in the steel mirror, how her face had gone pale and her mouth opened in an O of shock and agony. She could remember how her face dropped as she went to her knees, scalding hot blood rushing across her fingers even as she sent a jolt of high voltage into the wound to cauterize it.

Someone had knocked away her father’s blue beret from here head, grabbing her blue (naturally blue, not dyed) hair and slamming her face first into the sink once, twice, three times. She remembered everything going gray, being unable to scream around the mouthful of blood and shattered teeth. She remembered how the hand had tossed her to the side, releasing hair to let her fall on her side and curl into a ball of agony. She remembered the heavy boot thudding into her back, and how she had been sucked down by the darkness.

Now the darkness was warm, and she felt like she was floating up and up, supported on warm pillows, becoming slowly aware of her steady, gentle breathing, aware of the slow thudding of her own heartbeat. As she ascended she could hear the steady beeping of machinery, and could feel the electricity humming through the electrical devices around her. She could sense the massive amount of power surrounding her, from the bright throbbing spark of zero-point energy sources, to the massive restrained fury of fusion generators, to the more familiar wall socket AC.

Finally her eyes flickered open, and she could see brushed steel paneling making up the ceiling, the lights recessed and providing gentle white light. She could feel the warm cotton blanket covering her skin, and suddenly realized she was completely naked, as well as strapped down to the gurney she was laying on.

She screamed, trying to sit up, but the drugs robbed her muscles of the strength she might have otherwise had. She tried to fight, but felt a heavy, callused hand drop onto her forehead.

“Easy, little one.” She recognized the voice, and felt her blood run cold.

Code Vatnya. Supervillain, mad scientist, roboticist, cyberneticist, genius.

Killer.

She started to struggle again, and the hand began to gentle caress her forehead.

“If I met you harm, little one, I could have carried out such ill intentions any time in the last three days you have lain here.” The man’s voice told her, and she was surprised at the warmth in the tone. “You were hurt badly, and I did not want to let you regain consciousness until I was sure you weren’t going to die.”

“Die?” She felt herself rasp out the word, and tried to lick her lips with a dry tongue. There was a chuckle, and a hand clad in a fingerless black glove held a small glass with a straw in it out to her. The hand tilted the glass, and the straw bumped against her lips. She opened her mouth, and sucked on the straw, feeling a shiver of delight as cool juice flooded into her mouth. She sucked on it greedily for a moment, and the straw was pulled away while she was still savoring the taste and drinking as much as she could.

“Easy, easy, little one.” Vatnya chuckled, and she whined slightly as the straw was taken away. “You’ll get sick. Your stomach and bowel were nicked when you were stabbed.”

“Who… who did it?” She asked, her voice still raspy.

“I don’t know. I found you in the Rikti War Zone, you were in a body bag and some Rikti were carrying you away.” Vatnya laughed. “They were quite insistent that you accompany them back to their ship. Something about mounting your skull on a wall in return for your part in the mothership assault.”

“Bastards.” She managed to say. She was aware her words were slurred, but felt helpless to fix it.

“I’m going to release the painkillers. You’ll be dizzy for a moment, but these aren’t chemicals.” Vatnya told her, releasing her forehead and cocking his wrists. She could see the glimmer of light and realized it was a holographic keyboard. “Nanites are much more effective, and don’t run the risk of killing you by depressing your breathing or heart, as well as telling me if you are in danger.”

She felt the fog recede, and the pain came back. Not the horrible all consuming pain she expected, but rather like someone was pinching the skin at the small of her back. What she thought of as restraints suddenly vanished, and she realized that nanites must have paralyzed her from the neck down.

“Go ahead and sit up, most of the damage should be repaired.” Vatnya told her. “Unlike the movies, though, this isn’t instantaneous, it still takes the nanites a couple of days to safely make repairs.”

She sat up slowly, feeling her back twinge sharply, and she reached around and grabbed it. She could feel a thick upraised scar just to the left of her spine and another to the right. She knew enough to know that she should be dead, that she should have bled out.

Remembering the way her mouth had hit the sink, she suddenly let go of the blanket, unconcerned that the blanket fell from her, and felt her front teeth. They were all there, although they felt strange. Rather than being even, they seemed to have tiny points on the top of them.

“I like your smile, so I replaced your teeth. They're implanted vat grown teeth, cloned off of what was left of your own teeth, the nubs will wear away like they did when you first got your adult teeth.” Vatnya said, and she looked over at him, where he was leaning against the brushed steel wall, his arms folded across his chest. He was dressed in old Soviet urban camouflage pants and shirt, black combat boots, and wore a black beret on his head. “How do you feel?”

She reached inside, finding the surge of power deep inside her, and nodded as electricity began to crackle around her.

“Good, actually.” She said. “Can I get off the gurney?”

“Da. Your clothing is in that cabinet. Go ahead and get dressed, I’ll wait outside the room.” Vatnya said, turning away. "Call me if you need assistance."

“Watch me, please.” She asked, and he stopped as suddenly as if he had walked into a brick wall. “After what happened to me, after getting my face smashed up so bad, I need to know someone thinks I’m still pretty.” He turned around, leaning back against the wall and watching as she got up slowly and carefully, retrieved her clothing, and got dressed. She dressed slowly, making a show of it, and watched him out of the corner of her eyes, taking pleasure in the fact that he was obviously attracted to what he saw.

“My father’s beret is missing.” She said sadly when the cabinet was empty. “The bastards who jumped me must have taken it.” She hugged herself tightly then turned to Vatnya, who still stood motionless, although he was smiling.

“Perhaps we will get it back, perhaps we'll pry it from their cold dead fingers.” He mused, pushing himself away from the wall and standing up. She could faintly hear a beeping noise from outside the room, and she watched as Vatnya whirled around and left the room quickly.

Curious, she stepped outside the room and stopped, looking around her in shock. Trophies decorated the walls; weapons taken from defeated foes, souvenirs torn from the bodies of foes. Maps dotted the walls, and she realized as a small icon of a monorail moved across the map that they were real time maps of Paragon City, the Rogue Isles, and places she had no clue about. Damaged robots lined the walls, some looking as if they could still move under their own power, some so battered they could barely be recognized as the robotic drones of Code Vatnya. A small spider-like robot scurried across the ceiling, and she wondered what tasks it performed.

“…keys in a garbage can. Hurry.” She heard Vatnya say as she slowly walked toward the sound of his voice. She came into the room in time to see him punch in a few commands on another virtual keyboard. A holographic screen blossomed to life in front of him, a satellite view of Skyway City that quickly zoomed in on a few areas.

She watched in fascination as several apartment buildings were highlighted, and he punched in still more commands, including what looked to her to be a sixteen digit password. She knew he was a supervillain, but the aura that surrounded him was attractive to her, as she found herself admiring the way he seemed to consider dozens of options and either reject or implement in them almost instantly.

“Damn. Only a few in the area. Well, it’ll have to do.” She heard him mutter. More typing on the holographic keyboard, and the schematics for several robots appeared, lines of code scrolling next to them. She could make out such arcane statements as ‘powerplant nominal’, ‘weapon systems online’ and ‘armor integrity at 85% of combat effectiveness’ before the screens vanished and small dots started moving on the map of Skyway City.

“That should even the odds.” He said, and she could hear the satisfaction in his voice.

“What are you doing?” She asked, walking in carefully. Too wide of steps made the scars on her back twinge.

“Sending some backup in for someone.” He said, straightening his hands. The holographic display and keyboard dimmed slightly.

“That’s cool.” She smiled, nodding at the holographic interface.

“That’s a lot of work.” He smiled back as it shimmered and vanished after he waved his hand through them and flicked his wrist.

"It looks different in here." She observed, looking around. Two badly damaged Longbow fliers were suspended from the ceiling on wires, a set of robots she recognised as PPD combat drones hung mournfully against the wall, and a Circle of Thorns Behemoth demon was stuffed and mounted in one corner.

"This is my main hideout. You saw a smaller one, one that I felt that I could lose if the whole thing was nothing more than an attempt to snare a foolish old man into giving up where he was hiding." Code Vatnya smiled, his tone robbing the words of any sting.

“So,” She began, pausing a moment to chew on her lower lip. “Am I your prisoner?”

Code Vatnya laughed, long and loud.

“Are you kidding?” He asked, once he had regained his composure. “You toss around lightning bolts like old ladies toss popcorn to pigeons, and this base is full of stuff that is… sensitive to that kind of stuff.” He gave her a rather frank look, and she felt herself blush. "No more than you were the last time you visited with me."

“So, I can just go?” She asked, half hoping the answer was no. He was twice her age, but something about him intrigued and attracted her.

“Da, you can go.” Code Vatnya said, waving toward a passage with the label “Matter Transporters” with an odd expression.

She took a few steps toward the passage, looking forward to letting her friends know she was still alive, but at the same wanting to stay and explore the base, poke around and learn its secrets.

And spend time with its master.

“Except you might want to consider one little detail.” His voice stopped her.

“What’s that?” She asked, dreading the answer, and feeling a prickling between her shoulderblades. If he chose to shoot her, in her weakened state, she’d never survive.

“We still don’t know who tried to murder Tachyon Hammer, or why.” He reminded her.

She tightened her fist, electricity crackling as it wreathed her forearm and fist.

“No, we don’t know who tried to murder me.”

(Author’s Note: The following takes place after Mission 3, Arc: 312961 –The Bounty Hunter’s War)

Global Betty watched carefully as Forlorn Waif plodded slowly through the supergroup’s base. She was blindfolded, but seemed content to munch on a Little Countess Strawberry Snack Cake rather than suddenly explode in violence, but Betty didn’t trust the undead killing machine one bit.

The mercenaries she’d hired to bring her Forlorn Waif had reported that she’d been surrounded by Longbow, but had not reacted in the slightest. She had seemed content to munch on snack cakes rather than attack everyone in sight like she usually did, and Betty had stopped by a convenience store to grab some more cakes rather than risk the consequences of running out of them.

Forlorn Waif had not uttered a single sound, not even resisting the blindfold, and she seemed to have no ill effects from Betty’s base transporter. The mercenaries said she hadn’t made a single sound, not even really acknowledging that they were there except to trot along behind them.

It was downright unsettling.

Inertia Flare and the Male Mantid watched closely, wary of any attack by the notorious supervillain, and refusing to be lulled into complacence by her apparent apathy. Miss Moral walked close by, staring at the dead woman, but otherwise saying nothing.

Betty led Forlorn Waif into the room where Hammerheat’s body lay, and the bounty hunter could see the massive form of Zuka standing in the corner. Betty reached over and pulled free the blindfold, revealing that Forlorn Waif's eyes were covered by thick iron plates with what looked like handles to pull them free. The side of her face was savaged, rotting meat and clotted black blood exposed, and her skin was ashen gray.

“She says you have nothing to fear, that her mistress told her that you would succor her and bring her here, and she has been commanded to do as you bid.” Zuka rumbled. Betty shivered at the otherworldly tone of the massive undead. She hated magic. Didn’t understand it, didn’t want to understand it.

Forlorn Waif walked up to Hammerheat’s body, climbing onto the massive corpse and resting her head against the mauled chest, still munching on her snack cake. For a long moment she did nothing more than eat, and when Colonel Victory stepped forward, opening his mouth to speak, Zuka held out one shovel sized hand and shook his head.

When all that was left was frosting, the dead woman licked her lips clean and squirmed up the body until she was face to face with it. She stared downward at the man for a long moment, then leaned forward and licked first one side of his face, then the other. She angled her head, as if she could see past the heavy iron plugs that covered up her eyes, then leaned forward to kiss the corpse, and Miss Moral shuddered at the sight of an open mouth kiss.

“She says he is dead.” Zuka intoned.

“Yeah, no kidding?” Colonel Victory muttered.

“She also says that his killer wore a costume, but it was not their costume.” Zuka continued.

“Ask her if it was Code Vatnya.” Inertia snarled. “That’s a force rifle blast to the side of his head, and that’s what killed him.”

For a long moment nothing was said, and Forlorn Waif left off kissing the dead man, to squirm up and kiss his forehead and sniff around his ears before making an eerie mewling sound that sounded more like a sick kitten than a person.

“She says that the Mad Russian would have tasted like cold metal and logic, not like rage and insanity, and asks how come we suspect him.” Zuka reported.

“Because he damn near took over the Rogue Isles, that’s why! He branded a woman’s face out of no other reason than cruelty.” Inertia Flare spit. “And none of this started until he got us all to meet him on that beach in Cimerora. Hammerheat walked away, and now he is dead? It’s too much to be just coincidence.”

Forlorn Waif made another mewling noise, then ducked down to lick the inside of Hammerheat’s ear lapping up the dried blood and brain tissue that had crusted the inside of the ear.

“STOP THAT!” Miss Moral yelled, stepping forward, and Forlorn Waif’s head whipped around. Despite the iron plates that covered her eyes, Miss Moral could feel the weight of the stare, the hatred that consumed the dead woman, and the rage that powered her cold flesh.

Forlorn Waif hissed, her mouth opening to reveal black and broken teeth, and Miss Moral stepped back at Zuka’s wave. Forlorn Waif’s steel covered eyes followed Miss Moral as she stepped back, then the dead woman returned to daintily licking the dead heroes ear.

“God, that’s so gross.” Betty said, hugging herself and shivering.

“Shhh.” Male Mantid said, reaching out and hugging the violet skinned woman close to him. “I do not understand it, but I can tell that when a woman devours the brain of her mate, she gains his memories, and sings his memories to the eggs, so that they know their father in ways you would not understand. Perhaps she is gaining his memories.”

“It’s still gross.” Betty insisted, leaning against the big insect warrior and reaching up to snag his cigar. She took a few puffs and placed it back into his mandibles. “Thanks, Big Bug.”

Forlorn Waif gave out a strange, low moan, and started sniffing the dead man’s hair.

“She says that he once had an affair with his cousin.” Zuka said, then grunted. “She says ‘Ha ha, fooled you.’ and asks if we have any Little Countess Cupcakes.”

“Here.” Colonel Victory said, stepping forward and setting a tinfoil wrapped cupcake on the table where Hammerheat’s body was laid out. Forlorn Waif sat up, her butt disturbingly positioned on Hammerheat’s groin, and grabbed the cupcake, ripping away the foil and taking a large bite.

“She’s wearing panties, right?” Colonel Victory leaned over and asked Miss Moral.

“Why don’t you check?” Miss Moral suggested, and both snickered quietly.

Forlorn Waif looked at the two snickering heroes and dismissed them, her attention solely focused on licking the cream center out of the cupcake.

“She says that Hammerheat was attacked and killed in Skyway City, after he helped the police put down a Troll Rave.” Zuka informed the others. “That his attackers wore the uniforms of the Council, but seemed unfamiliar with their weaponry.”

Forlorn Waif made another mewling noise, then crammed the rest of cupcake in her mouth.

“She says Inertia Flare should stop staring at her woman parts, and suggests she finds herself a man.” Zuka finished. “She says Jonny makes a good man, and that you should have enjoyed him, instead of letting Longbow kill him.”

“You little…” Inertia snarled, stepping forward and pulling her heavy war mace off of her belt.

“Easy, Inertia, easy.” October Octogenarian said, grabbing the shorter woman’s arm. “She’s dead, you can’t expect the dead to have manners. If she had manners, she wouldn’t be sitting on a dead man with chocolate frosting on her nose.”

Forlorn Waif made a choking noise, black blood running down her chin and out of her nostrils, and it took a moment for everyone to realize that she was laughing. She pointed at October and kept choking, then reached up with crossed eyes, scooped the frosting off of her nose, and licked her finger clean.

“She says that she can see the one who shot Hammerheat, but that she will not tell us.” Zuka told the others.

“Just why the hell not?” Colonel Victory snarled.

“She says that she knows who he is, that he is the reason she has gained a new companion, and her Mistress a new servant, and that she will kill him to prove herself to her new companion, and then she will take Jonny Blaster in ways that none who still stride the land of the living would ever understand.” Zuka said. "She says that she will smear the man's blood upon Jonny Blaster and herself and..." The undead giant looked slightly abashed. "The rest doesn't really translate."

Forlorn Waif made the choking noise again and ground her hips against the dead man.

“Then I’ll beat it out of her.” Inertia Flare snarled, hefting her mace and starting forward.

Forlorn Waif smiled at the diminuative warrior, then crossed her eyes, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and jerked her head with a smirk.

In a burst of black energy that left behind fat green flies, she was gone, leaving behind only a string bikini bottom. Inertia Flare stumbled back, cursing and pawing at her face as the flies swarmed around her, then brought up her fire aura, incinerating the flies and leaving her angry but unharmed.

“She says those are for Colonel Victory if Miss Moral can fit them over her large butt.” Zuka finished.

“Ew, gross.”

"HEY!"