jchinds

((Heh. It hasn't even been a year since she kidnapped him and tried forcing him to join the family. That led to a fun little night in the PVP zones.))

"I couldn't think of a better place to meet you, Mother," Todd said as he set foot on the rocky ledge that overlooked the ocean. "Striga Island was the first place that popped into mind."

"Is that your little way to call me a witch, son?" Mother Aoi said as she and her ninja boydguard walked forward to meet her son. Instead of the usual ninja garb, the warlord wore one of her more formal kimonos, nothing but deep shades of blue with the Maehara family's crest woven into the outer robe. "I know your friends hate me, but the least you could do is show a little respect to the woman who gave birth to you."

"Actually, I thought of this island because it's a lot like your home in Japan. It's just that your home has ninjas and shadows instead of astrofascists, gangsters, and hordes of undead," Todd said.

"You did not call me here for the view," Mother Aoi said. "You found something, didn't you?"

Todd looked out over the ocean. "It has come to my attention that Dad had some various numbered bank accounts around the world. I now have the information that will grant me access to the accounts as well."

"I suspected as much," Mother Aoi said, lying through her teeth. "And what business is it of mine?"

"Well, for starters, it's in St. Martial. You know the area better than I do. You also have better contacts for getting whatever is in there smuggled back here," Todd said. "You have information I need."

"Then the price is that you abandon your friends, your girlfriend and your heroic life, and return to Japan with me to take a proper bride and inherit the leadership of the family," Mother Aoi said. "I don't care about what little baubles might be in a safety deposit box or how much is in what account. I want to ensure the future of the House of Secrets. You will lead, and years from now your children will lead."

"No. You can clean out the vault for all I care," Todd said, "but I will not give up what I already have. I love Marie and-"

His mother interrupted. "Yes, and that's why you were shopping for a ring a few days ago."

The young hero kicked a rock out into the ocean. "That wasn't the only reason I was at the jeweler's. Yes, I was looking for something for Christmas for Marie, that much is true. I was also trying to find out what was inside that rosary bead. It was an account number for the St. Martial Banking Enclave. I'm willing to give you some of it for helping get the rest of it out without a hitch."

A fan slid out of Mother Aoi's sleeve and she popped it open with a snap and flutter. "No. I have already given you my terms. You'll return with me to learn how to lead our organization. You'll transfer to a proper university, then take a wife from among the prospects I have lined up. Then you'll take over the family business. There is no bargaining."

Todd spun around to face his mother and her guards. "Then you're not getting anything, whether it's me or whatever Dad left behind."

The young hero did not expect for his mother to rush forward and hug him. He went for a knife, only to find one of her guards preventing him from completing the draw.

Mother Aoi held her son tightly, putting her head on his chest. "You are the only link I have to your father that's worth anything. I want to keep you safe until the time comes for you to lead the family."

Todd wormed his way out of his mother's grip. "That's not going to happen. And I suggest that you stay out of my way when I come to collect what Dad left me."

"My son, you know the power and privilege that awaits you. Come and take your birthright."

"I knew this was a waste of time," Todd said, "but I had to see it through anyway. Goodbye, Mom."

The young man who was the Cobalt Claymore leapt away, trailing spiderweb-thin tendrils of shadow that led back to Mother Aoi's fingers. She smiled behind her fan.

"He will return to me for help, and he will accept my terms. My son has no choice."

Friday night arrived right on time, and Tommy Pachowski whistled a happy tune while finishing the knot in his tie. He finally had a Friday night off from both his job and his hero patrols. He could finally take his girlfriend Saya out to dinner at that new Brazilian Steakhouse in Skyway City. All this time he and Saya had been together, and they never had an actual dinner date. Well, tonight he could do that.

He heard a knock on his door. His sister was ready for another night of patrolling now that her homework was done.

"Hey, doofus," Claire said from under her Emo Catgirl makeup, "Can you check and see if I have any stray hairs? I don't want any getting into my eyes anymore."

"Nah, ya look fine, squirt," Tommy said. "Oh, yeah. Do a function check on yer fight gloves fer me, okay?"

"Fine," the girl said as she extended the weapons in her gloves. Where she used to see three large blades extend from the back of her hand, she found them replaced with a large flat blade.

"OmigodTommyyoudidityoudidityoudidit!" Claire squeaked. "These are so cool!"

"Heh. Now ya can wail on katar," the young man punned.

"I'll kill you later for that, Tommy," Claire said with a grin. "Well, I have to go now."

"What 'bout yer cat ears? Didja forget 'em?"

Claire shook her head. "I'm not going to wear them anymore."

Tommy blinked. "Kinda tough ta be Emo Catgirl if yer not at least a catgirl, right?"

Claire shrugged. "That's my name, but it's not really what I am, now, is it?"

"True. Yer just a hero's little sister," Tommy said with a grin.

Claire stuck her tongue out at her big brother. "You go have a date with your giiiirlfriend," she said, smirking. "While you're busy ignoring the suffering of others, I'll be picking up your slack."

Claire rushed out of Tommy's room, laughing and dodging a sweatsock thrown at her.

((Introducing my newest Tanker, The Pipewrench.))

I guess ya can call me late for dinner. I'd rather ya call me Pipewrench, though. That's what everybody called me back then. I dunno if any'a the old gang's still around. If so, I haven't seen 'em.

Eh, a kid like you probably never heard 'bout me unless ya lived in Kings or Brickstown or what do they call it now, Galaxy City? Back in the day we called it Paragon Heights. Looks like I missed the news 'bout it gettin' renamed. Where was I? Oh, right. Ya asked 'bout me.

Most folks in Kings called me "Pipewrench." Well, as a plumber an' pipefitter I suppose it made sense. I always had one with me, an' I was always on call. I had my own business. "Pipewrench Plumbing." Yeah, I'm the king'a imagination. Things were goin' good. I got back from Korea in '52 after the second hitch where my country asked me ta fight. Hey, I was still young enough ta go, I don't care what the guy at the Reserves office had ta say. So, by '55, my business was boomin'.

I had a radio ad that played all the time on WPWN. That was a great station, they always played the stuff I liked. I hear all they do is news now. How can ya have that much news ta fill an entire day? The least they could do is play me Perez Prado or Rosemary Clooney every so often, huh? But anyway, they all called Pipewrench Plumbing if they wanted their work done right. "REgent 5-7199, Pipewrench is there in the nick of time!"

Hey, just be glad I didn't sing it for ya, huh?

So, I'm workin' on the big burger stove in the Lake House at Perez Park-- whattayamean "It's closed?" First these great big walls, an' now I can't get a Double-Triple Burger at the Lake House? Geez, is anything left from back then?

Well, like I said. I was fixin' their stove one day when a fella who goes by the name'a "Loaded Dice" Verandi comes in tryin' ta lean on the proprietor. It was a protection racket, the usual crap. Anyways, the guy who ran the Lake House said "no dice." Oh, that ticked Verandi off! So he pulls out a stolen Police Magnum like the FBI useta use (except the G-Men didn't steal their guns) and says he's gonna put a round in the gas line an' blow the place sky high if the owner don't pay up.

I get up from under the stove an' ask Verandi what his beef is with the Lake House an' he starts shovin' that gun in my face. He goes "Who're you, tough guy?"

Stupid mook didn't even see my big blue wrench clobberin' him upside his head. I took him off his feet an' outta his fancy shoes, that's how hard I hit him! So, yeah, I get my name in the paper an' all, but everybody calls me "The Pipewrench" now 'cause I hit some no-account thug from a no-account family with my best wrench.

So, yeah, the Verandis grabbed me outta my truck one night an' tried ta rough me up. I told 'em I didn't back down from the Wehrmacht or Red Chinese an' I wouldn't back down from no... well, it's not polite ta say that stuff about people's heritage anymore, I guess. They didn't take the hint so I smacked one guy with the wrench. He dropped like a slaughtered bull. Two of 'em rush me an' they drop, too. The last guy, though. I wind up like Ted Williams and WHACK! His head shoulda gone a hundred feet. He just stood there an' smiled. So I whack him again, an' nothin'. That's when I dig out the gun I pulled off'a Verandi and put two slugs into this guy. That got his attention. So, he gets ready ta knock me inta next week, right?

That's when I wake up in some egghead's Lab of Tomorrow or whatever. I still got my wrench with me an' this guy's blabbin' at me how I gotta "disengage the chronal rassenfratz" or somethin'. Next thing I know he's handin' me this silver-lookin' space suit thing an' sayin' I gotta wear it fer the next week while my temporeal status is verified an' some kinda potential is discharged. Like I wanna look like Captain Video? Well, I humor the guy. C'mon, he's a scientist, they're all screwy, but ya gotta be nice ta screwy people as long as they don't try nothin', right?

So he tells me "Just so ya know, it's 2007." I asked him "So, when's the next rocket ta the moonbase?" an' he tells me there's no moonbase. He fills me in on all kinds'a stuff, though.

Mind you, all I'm thinkin' 'bout is Doris, my one an' only. So I ask if he's got a dime fer the payphone an' he hands me a... cellphone, right? Yeah, cellphone. I still think ya oughta call 'em Space Phones, somethin' futuristic. They'll sell better. I call my old business number. It's some fancy-schmancy steakhouse now. I call home ta see if Doris is there an' get some lady with one'a them calypso accents. Y'know, like Jamaica or Cuba or...

Wait. Ya mean the relief pitcher? Him? He took over Cuba?What's next, a Catholic President? Like that'll ever-

Oh. Huh. Whattayaknow.

Anyways this lady says that Doris don't live there anymore. Hasn't been there since they carried her outta the apartment. Said she'd been dead fer two weeks when they found her. Some thug in a skeleton mask broke in an' when she gave him both barrels about what she thought about guys like him, he gave her both barrels of a shotgun. They found the guy an' he was doin' time in the Zig until the last big breakout.

Well, I hear that an' I gotta have a beer. So, I head ta the KC Hall by St. Florian's. Buncha young guys. Nobody I know is there. I find out that we got invaded by the Riktese or somethin' an' they all went out ta keep the Row safe. None of 'em came back alive. The other guys I knew didn't go only 'cause they'd already died.

My Doris is gone. My buddies from the Knights are gone. I got no house or apartment in my name, no business ta call mine. All I got is a wrench from my toolbox an' the old business office at the Hall ta call home.

What in the hell am I gonna do now?

Well, there's details, then there's the devil in the details, and then there's having to make a deal with the devil in the details.

Thanks for commenting!

Once again, Todd couldn't sleep. The letters and numbers in that code made no sense whatsoever. His dad was predictable with lots of things, especially passwords. This made no sense at all. He slid out of bed and made his way to the tiny living room in the houseboat. Marie might be worried when she woke up, seeing him having stared at his laptop all night, but he had to break this code.

He popped open that ammo can that held his father's little information hoard and searched through it. The letters, legal documents and information books were all there, still sealed. He pulled the shrinkwrap apart on the bundle labeled "FAQ" and rifled through it. There was a slight rustle and thunk as another slimline case fell out of a homemade-press book marked "Advice for the New Hero, or Things I Hope I've Already Taught You." The slimline case carried two CDs, copies of the country CDs that Todd bought for his father a few years ago. He popped one into the DVD tray of his laptop and began to launch iTunes when the CD spun up.

"Frickin' Autorun," Todd grumbled. He began to move the cursor to close the prompt that opened up until he read it.

"What color am I?" the prompt said in sky blue letters on a dark blue box.

Todd typed in "blue." Nothing happened.

"What color am I?" the prompt asked again.

"Sky blue" was Todd's next guess. Nothing happened.

He went through all kinds of color combinations, all dealing with the word "blue." After about 15 minutes he'd gone through everything he could remember.

He sat there for another minute or so racking his brains and was struck with inspiration. Todd never used his mother's nom de guerre. He typed in "Aoi" and hoped for the best.

He was rewarded with "What color am I?"

"All this for some damn Willie Nelson songs," Todd muttered to himself. "I'll just go online and grab them, then." He grumbled some more and swore when he realized he'd put his music search into his browser's search bar. All kinds of things came up: tons of stuff about the song "Blue Skies," all kinds of UFOlogists' pages, and a page dealing with Pantone color codes to find the perfect shade of blue for painting skies.

Todd tapped on the Pantone link. That took him to an ancient page (well, one obviously written in the mid-90s, so it was ancient enough for the Web) on HTML color codes. He ran through the shades of blue, then smacked his forehead.

The CD was removed from the tray, then re-inserted.

"What color am I?" the blue letters asked.

"AACCFF" was Todd's typed reply. Punching in the code from there was easy enough. Oh, the songs came up nicely, but now video and text files appeared as well.

Todd wondered where his dad learned how to put together a CD like this, and wondered when he actually had the time to do it. The young hero began wondering if it had something to do with his father's pursuit of all kinds of things while earning his Ph.D. or if his predecessor under the cowl had just been naturally perfect. Jealousy and resentment were normally not things that Todd felt about the previous Cobalt Claymore. He swore a little and started running through the text files. Thankfully they were encoded with something his father had taught him.

Two hours later he had more information on his father's financial holdings under his real name and assumed names and even numbers for offshore accounts. If I find an orbiting satellite array or a cave filled with bats, a stately manor and a Claymoremobile, I'm going to be very disappointed with the old man, he thought to himself.

The major sticking point was that two of the numbered accounts were in St. Martial. Those would have to be placed elsewhere, maybe Switzerland or the Caymans. It was doubtful he could just sneak in, grab the accounts in full and leave. He'd need someone who was familiar with the place and could provide backup.

That would be his mother, most likely. Todd hoped his plan of action would be met with good arguments as to why he shouldn't do this by his teammates. He shut down his computer and quietly got back in bed. This time sleep came to him easily.

The Cobalt Claymore peered over the edge of the roof along with his son, the Gladius Kid. He was smiling and humming a tune as he watched for a planned trade between the Warriors and a local gang. The local gang would get cash, the Warriors would get a set of gold jewelry and a soldier's panoply rumored to be that of Xenophon. Mind you, this panoply had been stolen from the University of Chicago's Oriental Institute. The treasures were on loan from another university and it wouldn't do to have the Cobalt Claymore's alma mater look incompetent by having borroewd goods get stolen.

"Dad, what are you humming?" the Gladius Kid asked.

"Blue Skies," the Cobalt Claymore replied. "It's stuck in my head."

"Well, you said you liked Willie Nelson's music, so I got you that CD set," the apprentice hero said.

"I'm not blaming you for having this song stuck in my head, son, it's just an old song that makes me happy. Combine it with doing something good for my old school and with eliminating two gangs at once, and I'm ecstatic."

The Gladius Kid shook his head. "You take this stuff way too seriously."

"And you still need a haircut," the Cobalt Claymore said. "Long hair isn't easy to hide, and it can get in your eyes when you don't want it to do that."

"Yeah, yeah," his son said.

The Cobalt Claymore ducked back out of sight of the street, pushing his son back as well. "The first lookouts are here. Stay out of sight." With that he placed a miniature camera attached to a small LCD screen to look over the side with less chance of being seen.

"That's one of the Ninety-Fives," the Gladius Kid said. "Their best lookout, too. We'll have to put him down first. They all carry handguns, mostly for show. Lots of small calibers that aren't always effective with one shot."

"You've been reading the files?" the Cobalt Claymore asked.

"Well, yeah. Isn't that why you put them on the downstairs computer, so I could read them?" the Gladius Kid said, referring to the computer in their home's basement. It wasn't hooked up to the Internet at all, and provided a manually-updated backup for their main criminal database.

"How did you guess the password?" the Cobalt Claymore asked as he watched the tiny monitor for signs of movement.

"When we were going through my cryptography lessons, you showed me how to convert letters to different number systems. Once I figured out you were using hexadecimal I plugged in some of your favorite words, phrases, and such until I found the right one."

"That's my boy," the Cobalt Claymore said. "Next time, just tell me you're doing that, okay? I thought you were down there with a girl all that time."

"So, you're saying I have time to date now?" the Gladius Kid asked. "Nice!"

"You're not sneaking one into the house, then?"

"Should I be doing that?" the young man asked.

"Well, no," the Cobalt Claymore said. "You shouldn't. At least not now. Right now you're training. Getting your independent hero status is more important than anything else. Focus on-"

"Focus on the mission, the mission is everything," the Gladius Kid said in a heard-it-already voice.

"I'll have to change the codes, too. That will have to wait, though." The Cobalt Claymore pointed to the screen. "Our lookout from the Warriors is here."

The two heroes continued to observe until the gangs had their representatives ready for the transfer of the stolen treasures. As soon as the money began changing hands, the heroes struck, catching both gangs unaware.

Todd's frustration was growing at not finding out what the string of letters and numbers really meant. He surmised fast enough that it was some kind of hexadecimal-based key, but he didn't know what kind of lock it worked with. He grumbled and shut down his laptop to go watch tv for a while. There weren't any decent games on tv, so he flipped over to Cartoon Network. Maybe he could savagely mock an episode or two of Pokemon and relax.

Unfortunately, Pokemon had been replaced with "Happy Pony Rainbow Squad: The Midnight Directive."

"The hell?" Todd asked as he watched a team of animated ponies rappel from a helicopter in brightly colored military-style outifts and enter a building unnoticed. One pony was left on the helicopter, dressed in the dark blue cowboy hat and balaclava of a Malta Gunslinger.

Todd sat there, stupefied. THIS is what passed for a children's cartoon?

The pony-Gunslinger slid down the rappelling line as well. "Sun Drop 1-1-3! Use your power serum to break those vault doors down! We have to hide the gold before the Gloomy Gang comes in and turns it to lead!"

"Right, Butter Brickle Alpha!" the other pony shouted into a communicator. "Contessa!" he shouted at the only pink pony, who was also wearing... a lab coat with a red cross on it? "Quick! Help me find a vein!"

Todd stared in horror as the Happy Pony Rainbow Squad's enemies (dressed very much like Longbow forces and led by someone who looked a lot like Statesman) began to make their way into the bank.

Todd wouldn't believe it if he hadn't seen it. Now all it needed was... yep, there we go. The ponies were galloping in slow-motion away from a gigantic explosion.

"Huh. No wonder the freshmen love this show," he said to himself. "It's got something for everyone. Explosions and violence for guys, rainbows and ponies for girls, and drug used and disturbing sexual tension between iconic children's cartoon characters for the Internet. It's even got a child psychologist's name in there as a sop to concerned parents. Everyone wins."

Todd sat there watching the credits roll, basking in the stupidly awesome glow of tv's hottest new animated children's show for one evening.

The loupe and the diamonds finally arrived at the counter where Todd Galahad, aka the Cobalt Claymore, had been standing for the past 30 minutes. He could hear the clerk in the back sitting down, having a cup of coffee and talking with some of the jewelers at their work desks. Eventually the clerk peeked his head through the curtain and saw that Todd was still there.

"Ah, I thought you'd left, sir," the clerk said.

"No, I'm quite patient when dealing with the help," Todd said with ice in his voice. "Have you gotten everything together?"

The clerk's face fell. "I'll be right out."

Within five minutes Todd had a handful of diamond chips spread out in front of him on a black velvet cloth. The clerk provided him with a loupe. Todd examined a few of the chips, then scowled.

"This loupe must be damaged," he said. "It looks like there's flaws all over these diamonds."

"Oh, that's just a trick of the light," the clerk said.

"Well, let me be the judge of that," Todd replied as he pulled the blue crystal rosary from his pocket. "There's a maker's mark on this bead and if it's not clear, then it's a damaged loupe." With that, he held the bead under a light.

The tiny flaw in the crystal bead was magnified to show a series of paired letters and numbers: AACCFF-A5-F0-1A-CB-34-02.

Todd frowned. "Hmm, well, the loupe seems fine. It's the diamond chips that are flawed, then."

"You haven't finished looking through the diamonds, sir," the clerk said. "They're larger than chips."

Todd finished giving the gem pieces a once-over with the loupe, then slid the velvet cloth back to the clerk. "Okay, now that I know how to identify the really bad diamonds, how about you show me the ones worth putting on a ring?" he asked.

The clerk smiled. "Because these are the ones you can afford, sir."

"Excuse me?" Todd asked. "I came here to plunk down a sizable chunk of cash on a ring, and you're telling me that you know what I can and can't afford?"

"Oh, I'm quite good at that, sir," the clerk said.

"Bring me your manager. Now, please," Todd said as he turned off the polite facade. "I have had to put up with your crap long enough." Todd's shadow fell across the clerk's hand due to the light. He saw the clerk tense up for a second, gripped with fear.

The clerk quickly gathered up his wares and scuttled into the back.

Todd left the store after a tense discussion with the store's owner, chief jeweler, and assistant jeweler. As apologetic as the owner was, he couldn't spend his money there. That was too bad, as he saw more than a few rings that would look good on Marie's hand.

Now, though, he'd have to figure out what that series of numbers was. Some weird hexadecimal code? An alphanumeric combination? He'd have to look further into his father's records to see if there were any clues.

November, 2002. The Lyric Opera of Chicago's performance of Die Walküre was almost underway A pair of smartly-dressed figures made their way to a mezzanine box. An older man in black-tie attire swaggered alongside a nervous boy in a plain suit and tie. The boy, barely a teenager, darted his eyes left and right, as if looking for an exit, or at least a bathroom.

"Nervous?" the older man asked as he walked towards the door to the private box seats.

The boy nodded.

"Well, it's opera. There's nothing here that you haven't already seen, heard, or experienced. Besides, your client is here."

The boy nodded again, looking at the floor.

"Well, smile or something," the older man added with a glare. "We're here."

The box seats were off to one corner of the opera house, providing both a view of the stage and the most privacy. Two bull-necked men flanked the door to the box seats, scanning for any sign of trouble. The sunglasses they wore served both to protect their eyes from the flash of cameras as well as hide the intentions of the guards should they need to fight. As the older man began to barge his way through the door, the guard on the right threw his hand out.

"You on the list?" the guard asked. The scars on the guard's face turned red, then white, as he smiled. "You ain't gettin' in unless you're on this list, got it?"

The older man stepped back. "Please tell Mister Fleischli that his new shipment has arrived."

"Huh," the bald guard said, backing up to watch these intruders and back up his scarfaced companion. He knocked twice on the door and it opened. "Tell the boss his escort's here."

The scarfaced guard grinned, showing the gold teeth that replaced long-lost natural ones. "Before you go in, though, we gotta wand you two. We don't want anything unfortunate to happen. Well, nothin' unfortunate for the boss," he continued.

Both the tuxedoed man and his young companion were frisked and had a metal-detecting wand passed over them. The boy caused the detector to whine as it passed up and down his spine.

"What the hell's this?" the bald one said. "You got a steel spine or somethin'?"

The tuxedoed man brushed back a lock of stray hair and gave an arrogant grin. "Let's just say someone learned his place and learned not to try to escape his... training." With that, the tuxedoed man tapped the boy in the sternum.

The boy stifled a scream of agony and nearly doubled over, but one look from his overseer brought him back to full attention stance.

"I didn't glue your sternum back together and bolt it tight so you could embarrass yourself in front of the help," the older man hissed at his protege.

The guards looked at the older man, then each other.

"Okay, you're fine to go in," the bald guard said.

The pair made their way to the box seats where one Victor Fleischli sat alone in his finery. He was perhaps in his early sixties, his white hair combed back, but still a little longer than most men his age. He looked at the tuxedoed man and then his charge, and smiled in a most grandfatherly way.

"You've brought him. Good, good," the white-haired man said. He extended a slim hand to the boy. "Please, sit here. With me."

The boy looked at his overseer, pleading to leave with his eyes. The tuxedoed man returned his gaze with one that hinted violence if the boy did not comply. With nervous resignation, the boy sat silently next to his new companion. The white-haired man rested his hand on the boy's thigh and smiled in what he thought was a grandfatherly manner.

"He'll do well in the pits, Andrew," Victor Fleischli said. "You could stand to make a lot of money training a boy as a modern gladiator." He turned to the boy. "Whatever your name was, it's irrelevant now. You'll answer to 'Boy' until you earn the right to have a name again. Do we understand each other, Boy?"

The boy nodded nervously.

"If you win, I'll be very nice to you. If you lose, you'll be hog fodder on a farm downstate," Victor said. "Do we understand, Boy?"

The boy nodded again, turning a bit pale.

Victor looked up. "What, is he sick? Did you bring me a sick kid, Andy?" he asked softly. "He's supposed to be ready to fight tomorrow."

"He's just nervous," the man in the tuxedo said. "Pre-game jitters."

"He looks like he's gonna puke," Victor said. "Are you gonna puke on my good shoes, Boy?"

The boy's jaw clenched and unclenched, trying to hold back his bile. Sweat began to appear on his forehead.

Victor swatted the boy away. "Go to the bathroom if you're going to puke. And get some breath spray. Last thing I need is a kid with bad breath in my limo."

The boy ran out the door to the bathroom. The tuxedoed man sat on the other side of Victor. "I'm sorry, Mister Fleischli. It's just that the boy's nervous. He's got a clean bill of health. He just gets panicky sometimes."

"Does he panic in the ring?" Victor asked.

"No, just in the presence of his betters," the tuxedoed man said with a smile.

The boy charged into one of the bathroom stalls and began to noisily empty the contents of his stomach towards the floor. He pulled a length of fine weighted piano wire, some heavy-duty zip ties, and a fine chain from out of his mouth, though they were covered in a layer of bile. He grabbed a few wads of toilet paper to clean them off and slipped them into his suit pocket.

"This had better work, Dad," the boy said to himself.

Siegfried's introduction in the opera ended as the boy calmly walked back to his seat. Victor smiled. "Fresh as a daisy, Boy?" he said with that un-grandfatherly leer.

"Yeah," the boy said as he threw a bloodied, chain-wrapped fist into the old man's face. He tossed one end of the piano wire to the tuxedoed man and they strangled the would-be deathmatch promoter into unconsciousness. The quickly bound his legs at the ankles and knees and his arms at the wrists. It was a good thing that Victor Fleischli was already unconscious otherwise he would have felt his shoulders dislocate as his elbows were zip tied together. The two nicely-dressed intruders exited the box seats over the bloodied bodies of Victor's guards. The unconscious guard on the inside was propped up in Victor's seat, with a blue metal Maltese Cross tucked into his suit pocket like a handkerchief.

The next day's papers told the story of how Victor Fleischli, a patron of the arts and youth activities was found unconscious in front of police headquarters, a DVD of his "youth activities" found in his pocket as well as enough evidence to lead police to where he held his underground gladiatorial games. The Cobalt Claymore and his young sidekick the Gladius Kid looked on as the police commissioner railed against vigilante justice and how it wasn't the solution to organized criminal activities.

"Dad--" the Gladius Kid said to his father, "Uh, CC, the next time I let you talk me into a situation like that, could you just shoot me instead?"

The Cobalt Claymore smiled. "You did fine. How many kids could keep from barfing for that long?"

"CC, seriously. I don't want to be put in that situation again. It was gross. No more creepy guys like that, okay? You can send me up against Northsider and Southsider when they're drunk and belligerent. You can have me infiltrate a Dyne ring set up by the Tsoo. You can even send me up against the Family's local bruiser, Johnny "Powerdrill" Santini. But don't ever sit me next to a guy like that again."

"Son," the Cobalt Claymore said, "we both knew Victor's weak points. You fit the bill."

"Yeah, well just because I make good bait for freaks like him doesn't mean I'm willing to do that ever again. I still feel weird about it," the Gladius Kid said.

"Todd, when you became my sidekick I told you that we'd do things neither of us would ever want to do. You promised that you'd trust me and do exactly as I say," the Cobalt Claymore said.

"Yes, sir," the Gladius Kid said.

"You're a Galahad, and I'm still training you to be able to handle any situation with grace and style, or at least brutal efficiency. You're my son. I don't like putting you at risk, but there are times I have to do that. The mission is everything. We bring people who think they're untouchable to justice. No one else in this city will chase after the guys we've collared."

"That's because they can never find enough evidence in time," the Gladius Kid said.

"We can," the Cobalt Claymore said in return. "And if that means you've got to be used as eyecandy so we can bust a criminal organization, then that's what happens. There's no other alternative."

"None?"

"None. We do what the mission demands. We succeed, no matter what." The Cobalt Claymore adjusted the weight of his tactical equipment belt. "Now, we're going to head back home and train some more. I think you could have flattened those goons a bit faster. And besides, I have more papers to grade."

The Gladius Kid looked at the press conference one more time. "You got it, CC," he said dejectedly. "Am I really that expendable?"

"The mission is everything, son. Even if we have to give up our greatest treasures, we do what we have to do to win. You're not expendable, Todd. I hope the day never comes when you have to be expended in the pursuit of justice. If that day comes, then do your duty and make sure the mission succeeds, even if you don't survive to see the fruits of your labor," the Cobalt Claymore said. "I will not waste your talents, son. You'll be an even greater hero than me if you follow my instructions. I guarantee it."

The young sidekick looked at his blue-cowled father, then back down at the crowd of reporters and tv cameras. He pulled out his swingline launcher and aimed it towards another building. "Let's go, then," he grumbled. "I hope you're telling me the truth when you say you don't think I'm expendable."

"We'll talk about this later, son."

"Yeah, later."

The heroic duo fired off their swinglines and began their journey through the Loop.

Paragon City has many jewelry stores, but none that will let you borrow a loupe unless you're shopping for one of their pieces of jewelry. This was one of the Cobalt Claymore's stumbling points in uncovering the clues his father left. He couldn't exactly just hand that rosary over to the jeweler and say "How bad is the flaw in this crystal bead?" There could be some kind of message in there that the jeweler shouldn't know, thus exposing said jeweler to a nasty series of interrogation by his father's enemies. Todd Galahad slouched a bit. This was the fourth jewelry shop he'd been in today, and none of them left long enough for him to borrow a loupe. The optics lab at the Phoenix Force base didn't have the right gear, either. Either he couldn't fit the bead under a microscope or it was attached to a tv monitor. He knew enough about signal interception to avoid using those things for private issues such as this. No, this required a manual loupe. And for a manual loupe, he needed a jeweler.

Todd stepped into the next shop, hoping for a less-zealous clerk.

"May I help you, sir?" the clerk said icily.

You couldn't blame the clerk for his actions, really. Todd's general outfit didn't exactly scream "I have money." The worn jeans, t-shirt of his current favorite band under a zippered hoodie, the beat-up sneakers all said "potential armed robber" when combined with Todd's grouchy look and the black-purple shadowbrand under his eye.

"Hi," Todd said. "I'm looking for a specific type of ring. I was wondering if you guys might have it."

"Well, we have many to choose from in our silver and 10-karat gold lines. Very modestly priced, sir," the clerk said. The sneer in his voice felt like a slap across the face.

"Actually, I was looking for a Titanium-Impervium alloy," Todd said. "After all, this is for someone who deals with superpowered individuals on a regular basis." He tacked on a little attitude at the end of the sentence. "I'm sure a store of this quality would have something in a modest range."

The clerk's eyes narrowed, and his mustache twitched a bit. "I'm sure we'll have something affordable. What kind of gemstone were you looking for? There are quite a few semiprecious stones available."

"I was thinking more of a gem-grade industrial diamond. This ring is for someone who can create beauty through science, so I thought it would be appropriate for her," Todd said. "And if all else fails, she can use it to focus a laser or something."

"We only sell natural diamonds here, sir," the clerk sniffed.

"Then you'd best bring out your one and two-carat offerings. Oh, also bring a loupe, please. The fewer flaws I see, the more likely I am to buy something."

"I'm sure there's a financing plan available," the clerk said.

"Cash," Todd replied. "Unless of course the owner of this establishment disdains the use of cash?"

"I'll bring our best selection, then," the Clerk said in an increasingly sarcastic voice. "Oh, I'll also bring a loupe."

"Please do," Todd said with a politely murderous smile.

The clerk retreated through a curtained doorway. Now Todd had to wait. He hated waiting, but maybe this time patience would be rewarded. While waiting, he started looking through the sample books.

He was going through all this just to see if a crystal bead was flawed or if there was something more important in there. This trouble had better be worth it. At least he could get a better idea of what to expect when the time to buy Marie's engagement ring arrived. He already had a half-dozen shops that wouldn't see him or his money any time soon. Hopefully this one would be different.

Mother Aoi sat alone in the dining room of her private quarters. Only a few servants and close blood relatives were allowed to enter these rooms within the main compound. A slight rapping on the door frame alerted the warlord to her guest.

"Please come in," Mother Aoi said, not looking up from her reading.

A shadow slithered under the door frame and then took a solid three-dimensional form. "Lady Aoi," it said, "I have news of your son, Todd. The daily report has come in."

Mother Aoi looked up. "Is there anything new to report?"

"Nothing related to us, my lady," the shadow said. "I have a detailed report of his daily activity. Would you care to hear it?"

"Just major events outside of his daily routine," Mother Aoi answered.

The shadow tilted its head to one side. "The only deviation to school, study and crimefighting would be a trip to a jeweler's. Something about a ring."

"Did you just say 'a ring,' friend shadow?" Mother Aoi asked. "He'd only look for a ring if he was getting ready to propose. Tell the observers to shadow him further. I must plan. Tell me, friend shadow, would it be improper of me to send other women his way to divert him from the blue-skinned girl? That... person... is not a proper wife for a son such as mine!"

"My lady," the shadow said, "I have the dossiers ready for suitable wives for your son. The ages range from fifteen to thirty-five. Many are from families who owe us fealty, two are the daughters of prominent Oni nobility, the youngest is currently starring in a variety program on NHK and the oldest is a lawyer in a major financial firm in Yokohama. All have excellent abilities to get information out of sources by force, guile, or charm."

"Keep the files ready, but do not send them yet," Mother Aoi said.

"Also, in keeping with tradition, all have proper hips for childbearing," the shadow added.

"How did you get that information?" Mother Aoi asked.

"Is it not our job to find out the secrets which others have hidden, my lady?" the shadow asked with a smile.

Mother Aoi returned the smile. Her son wanted to find a proper ring, did he? Perhaps she should pay him another visit.

Todd Galahad, known better to the world as the Cobalt Claymore, and Tommy "Back Yard Boom" Pachowski were sitting in a lounge in the student center at PCU's Founders Falls campus. Each one was tapping away at a laptop computer.

Todd shot a glance at Tommy. "Idea."

Tommy didn't look up as he kept typing. "Shoot."

"LOLStatesman. He fights crime through bad spelling and phrases based on the LOLCats meme," Todd said. "I think it has merit."

"So ya got Statesman sayin' somethin' like 'I can has Well of Furries?' an' defeatin' criminals with that?" Tommy said. "I dunno. It's too weird."

"Why not?" Todd asked. "Go ahead, keep trying out phrases."

"Yer seriously bored, aren't ya?"

"Yeah," Todd sighed. "Very bored. Okay, I got one for you. A Nemesis soldier with the caption 'IS OKAY! I WITH BAND!' Huh? Huh? Not bad, right?"

"That was awful. What's gonna be next, 'CEILING CREY IS WATCHING YOU'?" Tommy replied.

"See? You're learning!" Todd said.

"Hmph."

A few minutes passed as both young men typed away on their computers.

"Go cry, Emo Catgirl!" Tommy muttered with a grin.

"Nice," Todd said, "but too easy."

"Yeah. Hey did I tell ya 'bout Claire's latest goof-up?" Tommy asked.

"No, you didn't," Todd said.

"I think she was dreamin' 'bout ya."

"Your little sister dreamt about me. Are you sure?"

"She kept calling for 'Galahad-sensei' an' how she could 'make a better girlfriend than the Princess from Village-Under-Waves or somethin'," Tommy continued. "She was kinda surprised when she woke up, since all she was me tryin' ta wake her up fer school. Yeah, she got mad like normal."

"Nah, she probably doesn't have a crush on me," Todd said. "Besides, I'm too old for her. And I'm not doing anything to ruin my relationship with Marie."

"I didn't think ya would," Tommy said. "Besides, if you was tryin' ta go out with Claire, ya'd hafta deal with me. I don't think ya want that," the blue-haired cyborg said.

"No. Besides, that'd be creepy. She's what, in 8th grade? That'd just be wrong," Todd said.

"Yeah, I just thought it was funny she'd do that," Tommy said.

"So, what you do next is play 'Girl You'll Be a Woman Soon' as done by Urge Overkill the next time she shows up at one of your team meetings," Todd said with a wry smile.

"Heh!" Tommy snorted. "If it ain't that, then I'll find some kinda ninja music or something."

"Ninjas have music?" Todd asked.

"What, you don't know? I was gonna ask ya," Tommy said. He looked over at Todd from his laptop. "I mean, what'd yer ma play when you was her unwillin' guest?"

"Mostly stuff from the 80s. I don't think that Duran Duran is necessarily a ninja-centric musical group," Todd said. "Unless they were from some other clan."

The two students tapped away some more at their computers.

"Think the school would be ticked if they found out that we were using the free wireless to play Ultra Academy Rumble?" Todd asked.

"I been ta the dorms. I don't think we're in any trouble," Tommy said. "By the way. Watch out fer flyin' cars."

"Flying car- oh crap!" Todd said as he tried to use his Student's powers to cut the car in half before it damaged him. The attack failed and his character was smashed under a flying Honda.

"That's why I took the Gearhead instead'a the Yojimbo," Tommy said with a smile. I throw cars in PVP."

"I can has pain relief?" Todd said.

Oh, the Midwest isn't too bad what with the tornadoes, blizzards floods and earthquakes. They're usually not too close to the surface, though. The first one I ever went through was a weak little 4.6. It shook the house and our dinner plates, but that was about it.

Ah, New Madrid Fault, how we love you.

((She thinks he's cute, especially how he's always annoyed at everything.))

Todd Galahad sat at the PCU Library in Founders Falls, poring over yet another set of set of dusty history texts. It wasn't so much that the "Discourses on Salt and Iron" were boring, it was just that they could have done something to spice it up a bit. Add in some strippers or a bar fight or something to make the book less dull. Arguments about state monopolies got boring after a while. After a while he heard a familiar set of footsteps and mechanical clacking, so Todd looked up to greet his visitor.

"Hey, Tommy," Todd said quietly. "I thought your classes were all at the Steel Canyon campus."

"Nah," Tommy Pachowski said. "I gotta Metals class over here. Since I got time, I thought I'd come bother ya," the blue-armed and blue-haired teenager added.

"It's no bother, believe me," Todd said. "My eyes are about to cross from this book, so I could use a break. How about we go hit the student center?"

Tommy shrugged. "I don't see why not."

The two heroes grabbed their books and walked out of the library.

"So, how many didja see last night?" Tommy asked.

"How many of what?" Todd answered.

"Costumes, man! How many kids dressed up as you?"

"Oh, no idea. I was at home all last night." Todd said. "And besides, kids don't come down to the marina for trick-or-treating.

"So, none, huh?" Tommy asked.

"Not a one," Todd grumbled. "Lots of Ascendants, Oksahs and even one kid dressed up to look like Heph."

"Yer kiddin!" Tommy said. "Some kid dressed up ta look like Heph?"

"Yeah. His dad dressed up like Fang, too."

"Dang. I didn't know his show was that popular," Tommy said.

The pair walked into the student center, which wasn't much different from a typical one: vending machines, a bookstore, an Up-n-Away burger stand, the ¡El Supernatural Mexicano Mas Rapido! eatery and mystic library, and the usual horde of students either skipping classes or waiting for other classes to start. Each of them grabbed some lunch and sat down at a nearby table.

"Eh, I got three kids dressed as me last night," Tommy said as he unwrapped The Burrito That Should Not Be, a favorite from El Supernatural Mexicano. "It was kinda cool. Claire was ticked she didn't see anyone dress like her, but I told her that if she'd stick with a costume, she'd get kids ta dress like her."

Todd snickered. "Okay, Tommy, how many dressed like you, and how many actually dressed like Back Alley Brawler?"

"I'm serious, man! Blue Hair, Bandoleer toolkits, Blue arms made up ta look like my metal ones, all that!" Tommy chomped down on the burrito. "Mphnaghabnfa-"

"Tommy. Dude. Eat first, talk later," Todd said.

Tommy swallowed his bit of burrito and followed it with his soda. "Heh. As I was sayin, an' then I gotta buncha kids dressed as ninjas. Claire was ticked when they didn't recognize her as her favorite character from Naruto. Of course, watchin' the teenagers come by an' ogle my sister 'cause'a that mesh shirt she was wearin' under her vest was no fun."

"You went into Annoying Big Brother Mode, huh?"

"Yeah," Tommy said. "I think I scared a couple'a sophmores away from her. I told her ta dress like Ino or Sakura, but no it was all 'I wanna dress like Shikamaru!' an she wouldn't budge. Typical fer her."

Todd grinned. "Typical for both of you, really."

"Hmph," Tommy grumbled. "At least I got kids dressin' up as me fer Halloween now."

((Yep. Back Yard Boom loves restoring muscle cars.))

Tommy Pachowski sat at a desk in the Young Phalanx headquarters, paying bills and balancing the checkbook for the team's general fund. The team's food bill was huge as normal. Tommy kept the place well-stocked in case of disaster and for his teammates who lived in the base instead of at home with their parents. As the base was in the Royal Refinery section of Kings Row, it was easy to get back and forth between home and his base. The door popped open and a small electronic chime on Tommy's desk alerted him to his visitors.

His little sister Claire and his girlfriend Saya were there, along with his mother. Claire looked smug, like the catgirl who ate the canary. Saya looked nervous and her eyes darted back and forth between Tommy and his mother. His mother's expression had gone from her normal "miffed" to "seething with pure hatred."

"Uh, hey," Tommy said. "I'll just be a sec. I got a couple more checks ta reconcile an' I'll be done."

"No," his mother said through clenched teeth. "You'll shut up and listen. Saya. Tell Tommy your... good news."

Claire smirked. "You're in SO MUCH trouble, Tommy! This totally makes up for all the times you've made fun of me. I'll never get in trouble ever again compared to this!"

Saya ran over to Tommy, shooting a look of fear back towards his mother. "Tommy, I was at the medical clinic at school today to check on those missing shots, and the doctor decided to give me a quick check-up."

"Uh-huh," Tommy said. His innate Man-Danger Sense was pinging off the charts. "So, what'd the doc say?"

"I'm pregnant, Tommy. I'm almost 4 months along," Saya said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"But we ain't done it since--" Tommy did a few mental calculations, "Uh-oh."

Tommy's mother stalked over to the desk and slammed her fists down on the desktop. "And we KNOW what happens when a Pachowski man gets a girl in trouble, RIGHT?"

Tommy thought back to his father's lessons. He pictured it perfectly in his mind's eye.

"I waited, mostly 'cause'a what yer great-grandpa an' grandpa did when they got a girl in trouble," Tommy heard from his memories of his father.

"I gotta high-tail it ta Warsaw?" Tommy asked. "An' then try ta keep quiet so I don't attract the attention'a the Nazis or the Communists? Isn't that what Grandpa an' Great-Grandpa did?"

"Oh, you're not running, Tommy," his mother said. "You're staying right here. If I have to go drag Father Ray out of class so I can bring him here to hear your Confession, I will! And we can start on getting the wedding booked IMMEDIATELY." The last word seemed to echo forever in Tommy's mind.

Tommy looked at Saya, then at his mother, then at Claire. "Well, I guess I gotta do what's right, Saya. So, how soon do ya wanna get hitched?"

Saya blinked. "Uhm, as soon as possible, of course."

"All right. Ma, call up the caterers. Claire, find a ugly dress fer ya ta wear as a bridesmaid! Me an' Saya are gettin' married!"

Tommy's mother looked at her son. "Uh, Tommy," she said as her expression changed from anger to confusion, "You aren't worried about this?"

"Nah," Tommy said. "If it happened, it happened, an' I gotta do what's right." He picked Saya up in his arms. "Sorry about this mess, Saya. We shoulda been more careful."

"You're not afraid of what will happen next?" Saya asked.

"No way!" Tommy said. "I'm gonna be a dad, an' I got the money ta take care'a our baby. Don't worry a bit, beautiful, I got it all under control."

"Not even a little bit scared?" Claire asked.

"Nope," Tommy said with a smile.

Claire and Tommy's mother both threw their hands in the air in exasperation. Yes, Claire was very much like her mother.

"Tommy," his mother said, "we were trying to scare you for a Halloween prank."

The smile left Tommy's face. "What?"

Saya slid out of his arms and planted her feet on the floor. "Sorry, Tommy, I hoped we'd get you good with that one."

Claire scowled. "I WILL get you, big brother," she said.

Tommy looked down at the scuffed toes on his work boots. "No baby, huh?"

"No," Saya said. "It's just a joke."

"Oh. Dang."

"Well, there's something else, Tommy," his mother said. "Something that might seem really big at the time, but isn't that big in the grand scheme of things."

"What's that?" Tommy asked.

"You know your project car, that AMC Javelin that you started working on?" Claire asked. "I kinda scratched it when I fought off a group of Clockwork going through Lou's Garage again."

"What?" Tommy said. "I had it perfect! Aw, man, an' the guy who's buyin' it is comin' in tomorrow ta pick it up!"

"When I said 'scratch,' I kind of mean 'punched through the sheet metal and shattered the window,' too," Claire continued. "I couldn't find all the glass. But that's nowhere near as scary as with Saya, right?"

Tommy sprinted towards the door and leapt through as it swung open in Emergency Mode.

"I told you that car damage scares him more than babies, Ma," Claire said. The young heroine popped open her communication system and texted a message to her older brother.

"Gotcha!" was the only thing to pop up on Tommy's dataglasses. What he texted in reply to Claire's message wasn't something to be repeated in front of one's mother.

Uhm, you have to follow the rules. This way you have time to find proof that your mother is none of the things listed that would cause her to be disqualified. I mean, can we ever be sure that our parents really aren't dancing penguins in disguise without a large amount of exculpatory evidence? The answer is no, or at least no for the purposes of this contest. After all, large sacks of money with the word "money" on one side and a giant dollar symbol on the other side are at stake.

Hephaestus 1 sat behind a folding table with his recording crew Mitch and Clem. Heph was looking over a stack of résumés and headshots. Each new portfolio was greeted with Heph shaking his head and sighing raggedly.

"Look guys," Heph said, "we've got to find a good replacement for Fang. He won't be able to come back to us once he's gone through the police academy. He'll be stuck on the streets as a regular patrol officer for at least two years before he gets in on the Supercriminal Investigations Unit like he wants."

"What does that mean for us?" Mitch asked.

"It means we have to find someone who the bigwigs at A&E will like, as well as someone who none of us want to kill after one filming session."

"Heph, didn't you want to kill Fang after one filming session?" Clem asked.

"Yeah. But he grew on me like mold. The kid's heart is in the right place," Heph said. "Okay, let's get to our first potential applicant. Applicant Number 1! Front and center!" the big blue cyborg shouted.

A short man walked quickly to the microphone, his twinkies-and-beer gut protruding slightly from under his t-shirt of two dragons fighting on a giant skull. His mouth seemed ringed by the remnants of a couple dozen glazed doughnuts. "HI!" he shouted as his flannel shirt flapped slightly in breeze. "I'M HERE FOR THE JOB!"

Clem, the sound man, winced. Mitch slapped his forehead.

"Name," Heph said.

"WHAT?"

"Name," Heph repeated.

"I'M BARRY!"

"Barry," Heph said. "Is that your hero name?"

"NO! I'M... I EAT PASTE MAN!" the flabby man said with a flourish.

"I Eat Paste Man... yeah, that's great," Heph said. "What powers do you have?"

"I EAT PASTE!" I EAT PASTE MAN shouted.

"Anything else?"

"THEN I POOP IT OUT LATER! IN THE BATHROOM! 'CAUSE THAT'S WHERE IT GOES WHEN YOU'RE DONE WITH IT!"

"Right," Mitch said. "So, you don't have any real powers?"

"NO REAL POWERS? CAN YOU EAT PASTE AND GET ALL YOUR VITAMINS AND MINERALS? I DON'T THINK YOU CAN!" I EAT PASTE MAN said. "WHO CAN DO THAT? ONLY ME!"

Heph held his head in his hands. "So, what's your crimefighting experience?"

"WELL, I CAUGHT GUYS AT THE WIZARD'S-" I EAT PASTE MAN began.

"LOWER THAT VOICE WHEN YOU'RE TALKING TO US, LARDY MCCHUNKERSON!" Heph shouted.

I EAT PASTE MAN's lower lip quivered, causing some of the dried paste around his mouth to fleck off and fall onto his shirt. Now his dragons looked they were fighting over dandruff shampoo. "AHE- Ahem," he said, "I- I- I caught guys one time at The Wizard's Starship game store cheating at Dueling Awesome Monster Fights Puce and Chartreuse Editions with ULTRAMEGAFOIL RABIDOS THE UNDEAD LLAMA-"

"Get off the stage," Heph said. "You're embarrassing me, my crew, and the werewolf who you're replacing."

"So I don't get the job?"

"No. You definitely do NOT have what it takes," Heph said. "At least Fang took some Criminal Justice courses before he settled on his major."

"I dressed up like Judge Feer one time in 8th Grade," I EAT PASTE MAN said in his defense.

Heph stared at the first applicant, powering up his head-mounted lasers. "GO. AWAY."

"You guys are totally BANNED from the STORE when I tell Bill who runs the place! You'll never set foot in The Wizard's Starship!" I EAT PASTE MAN said as he walked off the stage.

Mitch looked over at Heph. "'Lardy McChunkerson?' Dude, you of all people shouldn't make fun of peoples' weight problems."

"Just because I was the fat wheezy kid my sophmore year in high school doesn't mean I stayed that way," Heph said.

"You had a beergut going in your last few years," Mitch said. "I saw the photos."

"That beergut was earned," Heph sniffed. "Twenty-four years of dealing with Chicago's Most Useless Criminals will do that to you. But enough about my time spent as bodyguard to various aldermen, let's get to our second applicant."

"Applicant Number Two, come on down," Clem said. "Give us your hero name and powers."

"Mars, Bringer of War" by Gustav Holst began to play over the speakers.

"For years, I have stood in the shadows of giants."

The music grew louder.

"I have seen the evil of my ways and wish to atone!" the unseen applicant said. "For I am..."

The first horns of the musical piece blared the war god's approach. Two more spotlights shone down upon the floor and all three spots were concealed by and explosion of smoke and glitter. As the smoke cleared, a man in a long white cape and ice blue suit appeared. He spun around, scattering the glitter everywhere and showing off his bright red chest symbol of an iceberg with the universal symbol for "no" lining it out.

"MEL-TOR THE MIGHTY!" the caped man said from under his domino mask and light blue waxed moustache and van [censored] beard. "I am the sidekick you seek!"

Clem and Mitch burst out laughing.

"Cease your cackling, oh hyenas of media production, lest MEL-TOR THE MIGHTY ensure that you never have an excuse to be late for work again!"

Heph sat there. "Nice entrance. But it's too much for the sidekick role. I need you to help me deliver minor court papers for the state of Rhode Island. So, Mel-tor, what's your powerset?"

"I am," the costumed man said as he struck a heoric pose "MMMMMMEL-TOR! I... melt!"

Mitch and Clem began snickering again.

"You melt," Heph said.

"Yes!"

"I don't have any need for someone who turns into a puddle as their power."

"No, you blue buffoon! I melt... THINGS!" Mel-Tor said with a flourish.

Heph folded his arms. "Buffoon? You don't want this job much, do you?"

"I am... indispensable! Indispensable to the entire process of justice. And I do not melt, but I melt things! That is my power!"

"What kind of things? Like steel?"

Mel-Tor pulled his cape across his chest and looked down his nose at Hephaestus 1. "Do I look like some neophyte who uses FIRE? No! I melt... WITH MY MIND!" the costumed man said, putting his fingertips to his temples.

"You melt... cheese?" Heph asked.

"No."

"You melt... plastic?" Mitch asked.

"No! These are too pedestrian for one such as myself!" Mel-Tor said.

"Then what DO you melt?" Clem asked, trying to suppress laughter.

"I melt..." Mel-Tor said with a histrionic pause, "SNOW AND ICE! For I am... MMMMEL-TOR!"

"Right. Well, you said you changed your evil ways. Are you a former villain?"

"Yes, I am on a mission to make good before I go to my final judgment. I was formerly MEL-TOR THE MERCILESS, Bane to Schoolchildren Throughout Parts of Wisconsin and Minnesota!" the hero said, expecting everyone to acknowledge his former career.

"Bane to Schoolchildren? You're not one of THOSE villains, are you? Because if you are, then there's no way you're getting on my show!" Heph said, acting as if he was popping his knuckles.

"No, my cybernetic comrade, I who was feared as MEL-TOR THE MONSTROUS would never do such things to children. Instead, I was much worse! Worse, I tell you!"

"Wait, what's worse than that?" Heph asked, motioning to Clem and Mitch to get on the delay buttons if need be.

"Through a clever ruse which allowed me to momentarily take over all the farm reports in Tri-State Area near Duluth, I, MEL-TOR, demanded that all schoolchildren rummage through their Mommys' and Daddys' purses and wallets and gather up all the cash they could find and give it to me. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye their chances at ever seeing a snow day ever again! For this reason, I was feared as MEL-TOR, the Man Without Winter!"

"So, what happened?" Heph asked.

"The tribute I demanded did not come through. And so, I MELTED all the ice and snow off of all the streets, roads, and other paved surfaces in a five-hundred mile area around LaCrosse, Wisconsin! Children cried as the school buses came on time and in good condition!" Mel-Tor said. "Suddenly, people were refusing to pay me to not melt the ice and snow off of their driveways and sidewalks! Oh, those fools! Now they'd never be able to slip and fall on a neighbor's sidewalk and sue for damages!"

Heph looked down at the listing of his achievements. "So, the depths of your villainy were reducing traffic accidents, getting kids to school and increasing home safety?"

"Yes! In our litigious society, people DREAM of getting easy money through long and drawn-out torts! I stood to profit by taking away that dream!" Mel-Tor said proudly.

"Did you actually profit from it?" Heph asked.

"No, which is why I, MEL-TOR THE MUCH IN NEED OF A SANDWICH, am here today. My villainy has led only to starvation! This was a sign that I must change my evil ways of keeping people safe despite their best attempts and instead join in the process of serving court papers for nuisance lawsuits and local ordinance violations!"

"How about roofs?" Mitch asked. "Do you do roofs?"

"What? I can melt ANYTHING that is either ICE or SNOW, for I am... MMMMEL-TOR!" the deluded villain-turned-hero said.

"You realize that people would actually pay for snow removal service, right?" Clem said. "It sounds like they played your for a sucker. You could have charged them for the privilege of snow removal and been reviled as the guy who overcharges for snow removal."

"Being reviled for overcharging is a little evil, is it not?" Mel-Tor asked.

"Well, they are paying for convenience," Heph said.

"Clearly, I have been played for a fool! I see that I have no need to be part of this slack-jawed japery! I return to LaCrosse to remove the snow and ice from any pathways used for daily travel. Soon, all will call upon MEL-TOR, or they will suffer frostbite and bad back from removing the snow on their own! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!" With that, Mel-Tor leapt like a moron into the shadows, leaving glitter in his wake.

"Mitch, Clem," Heph said. "I think we can all die now, for we've seen everything."

"Have you ever seen a man eat his own head?" a voice growled from behind the microphone.

"Well, no, but Applicant Number Three is Man Who Can Eat His Own Head Man," Heph said.

"Well, you won't see him do it. I dared him to try eating his own head in front of me," said a lantern-jawed gray-haired man in a fighting suit with "T.A." over the breast pocket.

"And what happened?" Heph asked.

"He did. It's a sight I'll take with me to my grave. But, uh, he's in no condition to audition now, not having a head and all." the older man said. "I'm Applicant Number 4, Troy Awesome. Former leader of Team Awesome. We'll dispense with the formalities and you can call me Mr. Awesome."

"It says here that you were kicked out of the team you founded due to a scandal involving Awesome Boy, Awesome Girl, Awesome Hound, and a half-gallon of tequila," Heph said. "Not exactly family-friendly."

"I was teaching the kids how to resist various interrogation techniques. The first was a course on resisting poisons and truth serums," Mr. Awesome said with a confident grin. "Do you mind if I smoke my pipe here?"

"Yes, it's non-smoking in the building," Mitch said.

"Thanks," Mr. Awesome said as he lit his pipe.

Heph, Mitch and Clem looked at each other.

"Anyway, so we were at Commandante Borracho's Tequilería for Five-For-One Margarita Night, which is the perfect time to teach the kids about how to resist alcohol poisoning and how to notice if anyone is trying to drug your drink."

"Go on," Heph said.

"Well, I showed them the effect of Roofies on a middle-aged man after he'd had a pitcher or five of the crap that office workers call margaritas," Mr. Awesome growled through years of smoke-wrecked larnyx, "and the next thing I knew I was covered in spray cheese and Awesome Hound was looking at me with eyes that said... 'Ro, Roy! Rot re Reese! Rot re Reese!' Well, maybe he said it. I still have missing memories from that training session."

"Tell you what, Troy," Heph said, "you walk away from here and withdraw your application and I promise that this once I will not leap over this table and remove you from existence for being some kind of sick and freaky little monkey."

Mr. Awesome took the pipe from his mouth and smiled confidently. "I'll look forward to hearing from your contractng department. Good day," he said as he left.

Heph pushed the stack of remaining portfolios away. "These are the best we could get? Paragon City is full of heroes and THIS is the quality of the sidekick-slash-valued teammate?"

Mitch looked at Heph and Clem. "How about an open casting call? There's got to be some hero out there who needs to make a few extra bucks out there."

Heph stroked his metal chin. "Your idea may have merit, Mitch. Who in the City of Heroes is good enough, wacky enough, and doggone it, confident enough to be my partner? Who can put their dignity on the line for the entertainment of millions, yet do so in a manner that shows that he or she is comfortable enough to do what needs to be done? Who out there believes that hot or cold, Justice is a dish best SERV'D!"

The screen faded to black. The comforting but dramatic tones of Bill Kurtis then filled the speakers.

"Attention Heroes: If you want to ensure that the minor tasks of the civil justice system are attended to and don't mind being on cable, send an email to Hephaestus 1 on your Paragon City Communicators to schedule a time for an interview. Our staff will work to see if you've got what it takes. Cannibals, cat- and kitten-haters, anyone who considers humans as food especially if said humans are still alive while feeding, villains, dancing penguins (because Hephaestus 1 doesn't trust dancing penguins), people whose idea of fun involves harming children and fast-food mascots need not apply. Applications will start being accepted October 31st through November 2nd. Good luck to all appicants."

((See, Moggie? I told you I had a cunning plan to take care of Fang's leaving the show.))

Team 37 and their VIP bounced from ledge to ledge near the main highways of Village-In-Traffic-Gridlock. As they moved from point to point, they scanned their surroundings to find any trouble. Claire led the way, as her ability to turn invisible gave her a better chance of sneaking up on sentries. She made herself visible again as she spotted something, then signaled the team to stop. She faded out again once the rest of the team stopped. The young ninja crawled forward, searching for tripwires, getting as close as she could to her target.

Two of the Clockwork King's Puppet Lords waved their hands like music conductors as their tiny army of rusted and rotted marionettes methodically stripped all the wood, metal and cable from an abandonded house. "Master desires more wooden planks, Master desires cogs and springs, Master says more water tanks, We love our Master, the Clockwork King!" the tiny puppets sang as they went about their business.

Claire shivered a bit as Whispering Typhoon crawled near her as a shadow body. He brought his form back to normal once he found a good spot to observe.

"Sorry about that," he whispered. "I forgot how this form is cold to some people."

"It's okay," Claire said. "There's two Puppet Lords and about six of their worker puppets. How should we approach this?"

"What would you do?" Whispering Typhoon said. "If you were team leader, how would you deal with this?"

Claire's heart skipped a little. Galahad-sensei was asking her for advice! She looked down and smiled a bit. "I'd go around them in a wide circle. They're lightning-throwers, and we don't have that kind of range. King could lock them down, but not permanently. We'll hold him in reserve in case we have to fight them."

"Okay. Do you see any other signs of trouble?" Whispering Typhoon asked as he edged closer to his temporary student.

"There's graffiti from the Trolls, and a few signs of fights between the Clockwork King and the Lost. I don't know if we can extrapolate the age of the signs of their passing, though. This may not be completely contested territory." Claire did her best to remain calm. If she just jutted out her elbow a tiny bit, she could touch him, sort of. The other girls at school would be so jealous!

"Claire, once this mission is done, I'd like to talk to you," Whispering Typhoon said. "It's, well, personal."

Claire began to sweat a bit. A teacher was going to talk to her about personal things? She hoped it would involve things she'd only heard about from high school girls and the girls her brother often worked with. "Sure, sensei," she whispered.

Claire managed to scout their way through Village-In-Traffic-Gridlock without futher incident and was halfway into Village-In-Islands before she realized she could stop. Uncle Samurai had to apologize profusely for not announcing themselves at the gate, but the village's ruling council seemed to be fine with it. Claire was so driven to find out what Whispering Typhoon wanted to ask her that she got them to their destination with unusual zeal. With a quick run to the ladies' room, she fixed her hair, added a little makeup, and unzipped her fighting jacket to show a little skin through that mesh shirt of hers. She ran back out, looking for her teacher.

"Over here," Whispering Typhoon said quietly as he leaned back on a nearby wall. "Claire, I don't know how to ask you this, but you're the only one who can help me."

"Of course, Galahad-sensei," she said nervously. "I'd be happy to for you to be my fir-- uhm, I mean I'm glad that you came to me before anyone else! I hope I can provide you with the answers you need," she said, hoping to avoid another faux pas like that.

Whispering Typhoon raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure." he removed his mask and scarf, running a comb through his hair. "The Princess of Village-Under-Waves and I are-"

"Breaking up? Oh, here, let me console you!" Claire said, clutching Whispering Typhoon's head closely to her still-developing chest.

"Mmphphmph!" the jonin said with a facefull of teenager.

"She was no good for you," Claire said. "Only a girl from Village-of-Emperors can give you what you need!"

"Well, fer starters, lemme up ya freak!" Whispering Typhoon said in Tommy's voice.

"Galahad-sensei?" Claire asked as she noticed that instead of shoulder-length brown hair, Whispering Typhoon's hair went from model-perfect to blue, spiky, and smelling faintly of... a garage? What the?

That's when Claire woke from her dream. She noticed that she was clutching her brother Tommy's fat head to her... her...

"OH, EWWWWW!" Claire yelped. "What are you doing in my room, Tommy?"

"Tryin' ta get ya ta wake up so I can drive ya ta school!" her brother shouted. "Little sister, there's some stuff I just don't wanna see!" the young man known as Back Yard Boom said to Claire.

Claire sat up, the manga still in her lap. Tommy backed off, checking his hair in a mirror.

"An' what's with all the 'oh, Galahad-sensei' stuff? Ya don't mean the Cobalt Claymore do ya? Todd Galahad?" Tommy asked with a grin.

Claire turned unbelievably crimson. "No," she grumbled half-heartedly.

"Ha! Yer dreamin' 'bout my friends! Claire's got a crush!"

"I do NOT, Tommy Pachowski!" Claire yelled as she lunged out of bed, trying to tackle her big brother.

Tommy was busy laughing so hard she managed to take him to the floor for once.

I want to see the sketch of the sex-swapped characters colored in. Though Doc White, OB/GYN is looking at Back Yard Boom all wrong there while putting on his glove. I can almost see Boom power up her cybernetic arms and saying "Yer gonna put yer WHAT up my WHERE? NUH-UH!" once she's no long so distracted.

Or is Doc White, OB/GYN a ninja gynecologist? >.>

Minnesota - "Land of 10,000 Lakes"

10,000: playing off of "300"

Lots of references to Minnesotan quirks and general niceness combined with some of their more famous people. Heph enjoys making light of other Midwesterners' quirks, much like his own Southside Irish upbringing in Chicago.

And like he said, he enjoys working on stuff like this.

Hephaestus 1 appears on the screen once again, still clad in a red velvet smoking jacket and still with a pipe clenched in his jaw.

"Hello, once again! Yes, there are times even I, Hephaestus 1 will go above and beyond the call of duty to assist young filmmakers in making fun of successful movies. What you are about to see is the result of one of those times. Enjoy!"

----

In a world of rude and outlandish behavior, one land with a code of propriety stands alone...

Hephaestus 1: "Oh, yah, we're sure we can find ya a cozy place ta stay don'cha know?"

Fang: "We got hotdish, too! Go get a plate!"

One land that's just a little nicer than yours.

Tourist: "You call this a slice of pizza? Man, I hate you fat, stupid Midwesterners! Let me tell you that back in Manhattan we--"

Hephaestus 1: "Manhattan? THIS... IS... MINNESOOOOOOOOTAAAAA!" *politely kicks the tourist into an ice-fishing hole* "Aw, do ya think that was too much?"

Fang: "Hmm, well it's certainly different that's for sure."

Hephaestus 1: "Aw, I'm sorry dere, don'cha know?" *looks into the hole* "Hey, I'm really sorry about that!"

Fang: "It's okay. We can fish him out in a couple minutes."

*scene of Prince writhing sensibly to the Mary Tyler Moore Show theme song as the Oracle of Minneapolis*

One land that has a lot of freshwater in it.

Tourist: "Our skyscrapers will blot out the sun!"

Fang: "Well, that explains why you're so pale! You need to get some sun. Ole! Sven! Take this guy fishing, okay?"

*Hephaestus 1 addresses his sensibly-dressed band of hockey players, fishermen, and NPR hosts*

Hephaestus 1: "MINNESOTANS! TONIGHT WE DINE... IN DULUTH!"

Minnesotans: "Will we be there in time for the Gophers game tonight? It's on the teevee!" "Aw, hey, I gotta cousin who lives in Duluth! Ya mind if I pop in ta say hey?" "Oh! Can we go to the Family Buffet there? They got good mashed potatoes and gravy!"

*In the midst of a polite argument at the buffet line, Garrison Keillor leaps over the discussion, his spoon in hand to scoop up a second helping of hotdish*

Action!

Scenes of gratuitous fishing!

A really nice shot of that one Hmong place there over in Dinkytown! Tell 'em Bjorn Gunderson sent ya!

10,000

Hephaestus 1: "Who borrowed my snowmobile?"

Fang: "Oh, sorry! I shoulda left ya a note!"

COMING SOON TO A THEATER NEAR YOU