jchinds

Team 37 arrived at the gate that led to Village-In-Traffic-Gridlock. Mary Tsoo was still a bit woozy from the fight but she seemed to have recovered quickly enough. Claire noticed two other squads of ninja besides her own. One guarded the huge wooden gate, the other guarded one young man in the traditional gray gi of a genin. She also recognized the person wearing the clothes.

"Kanemura-sama!" Claire sputtered. "Why are you wearing the clothes of a lesser station? You should be wearing your samurai garb!"

John F. Kanemura stood surrounded by his other guards, with an embarrassed smile on his face. The genius swordsman known in the bodyguard community as Uncle Samurai looked the part of an inexperienced ninja, but then again he was no ninja. He'd been given his nickname because his usual cheerful and helpful demeanor reminded the village lords of a kindly old uncle despite being in his mid-20s. The Kanemura family was known as a family of bodyguards to the Emperor, not as diplomats. He was one of the few people who Lady Aoi acknowledged as an equal, if not a grudging superior. And now he was in the robes of a junior ninja such as Claire, Mary and King.

"Claire," Whispering Typhoon said, "show some respect. He has his reasons."

"Well," Uncle Samurai said, "I'm wearing a genin's clothes so I can blend in better with your team and be less noticeable. We're supposed to get there without too much incident, right? I guess I should have asked if your team dressed traditionally or not. Well, I suppose it can't be helped," he said with a humble smile.

Mary Tsoo walked up to Uncle Samurai and beamed. "Kanemura-sama knows what happens when we assume, right?"

Claire's did a double take. "Mary, you did NOT just make the 'assume' joke to Kanemura-sama. Why do you have to be so troublesome?"

Mary Tsoo looked over at Claire. "Familiarity among teammates makes for a more cohesive unit, so I've decided to treat him like I treat you guys! Now let's go have fun travelling through enemy territory!"

"You're certainly very upbeat, aren't you?" Uncle Samurai said, trying not to look down at Mary's bubbly personality. He turned to Whispering Typhoon. "I think we're ready to go."

King stepped forward, "Kanemura-sama, I think you'll stick out too much wearing your uniform so traditionally. You'll look like easy pickings to enemy ninja teams, as we normally only wear those on formal occasions. We'll have to make you look like you've been on assignment before." He opened up his gear bag and pulled out a knife, scissors, ink and paint.

"I knew King was used to talking with spirits through his artwork, but I wasn't aware he carried his tools with him," Whispering Typhoon said. "It makes sense now that I think about it."

"We have to modify a traditional outfit. Okay. Do you have something on under that shirt?" King asked as he spun his scissors around his finger.

"Just that weird mesh shirt that seems like everyone wears. I'd think it would get too cold to wear at times."

"It does," Mary and Claire said simultaneously.

With a flick of his scissors, King cut off the sleeves of Uncle Samurai's jacket, revealing the black mesh shirt underneath. The he removed the fake ninja's headband from his forehead and unfurled it.

"Okay, lots of options here," King said. "But the best for you will be to attach it to the belt that holds your swords." With a swift motion, the headband proclaiming Uncle Samurai's allegiance to Village-of-Emperors was wrapped in a way to further secure the paired swords carried by the samurai.

"Now, to personalize it a bit further. What's the mon of the Kanemura family?" King asked.

"It's a five-pointed star, why?"

The scissors disappeared, replaced by an ink brush in one hand and a paint brush in the other. Within seconds, the Kanemura family mon was drawn on the samurai's back and black paint was spattered on the gi to look like a negative of the Milky Way in the night sky. "We won't be able to do anything about the pants or the sandals, but this should make it look like you come from a family that prefers traditional looks but still lets its' kids get away with some originality."

"Hmm. Interesting," Uncle Samurai said.

"Now, can we please go? I'm getting really annoyed," Claire huffed.

Whispering Typhoon shrugged. "Fine, let's go."

The five representatives of Vilage-of-Emperors walked through the gate and into the no-mans land between the villages.

----

Claire Pachowski still dreamed from underneath her manga.

Well done, Heroid!

Hephaestus 1 sat behind a large table flanked by his long time recording associates Cameraman Mitch and Sound Man Clem. Each man had a microphone in front of him and a clipboard for writing notes.

"Okay," Heph said in a bored tone, "Number 35... you're up. Explain why you deserve to share in my tv show's royalties."

"Also, please explain why you should be worthy of being seen on one of cable's most-watched tv shows," Mitch added.

"And if you should be seen, explain why you've got anything important to say about doing minor tasks to uphold and continue the current small claims and civil courts of the State of Rhode Island," Clem said.

The camera turned towards the spot where the cast and crew of "Serv'd!" were focused. A microphone stand (complete with microphone no less) sat gleaming under a spotlight. A colorful array of heroes stood in the background, waiting to be called by number.

((Yep, Fang is going walkies for a while. But as Baldrick always used to say in the Blackadder series "I have a cunning plan..."))

Hephaestus 1 and Fang sat at a local doughnut shop at the counter. Heph had his usual: half a dozen glazed and a small black coffee. Fang went with the Paragon, the signature doughnut of the City of Heroes. It was a standard cake doughnut with pink frosting and sprinkles. He was allegedly drinking coffee as well, but he went with a grande double chocomochaccino with soy milk and whipped cream.

"You know, Fang," Heph said, "that if you go through with this you'll have to say goodbye to fru-fru coffee abominations like that."

"What about the doughnut, Heph?" Fang asked.

"The doughnut is off-limits for criticism," Heph said with a nod of authority. "A man's choice of deep-fried sugared bread for breakfast is his choice, and it is an inviolate one." The big blue cyborg took a swig from the styrofoam cup containing his coffee. "Coffee choice, however, has a hierarchy. The further away you go from black, the less manly it is."

Fang looked down at his so-called coffee. "But regular coffee is bitter, though."

"If you don't like the bitterness, then you've got a couple of options. Cream, half and half, milk, non-dairy stuff, and some kind of sweetener like sugar or Equal or something similar."

"What about chocolate?" Fang said, trying to keep from burying his snout in the huge mound of whipped cream floating on top of his drink.

"Chocolate will be a no-no if you take this new path. There are certain traditions in this world that are non-negotiable."

"Okay, what about women?" Fang said.

"I approve of them on general principle," Heph said.

"No," the little werewolf said, "I meant regarding coffee."

"Oh. Eh, they can do whatever. They're women, they get a pass on ruining coffee." Heph said.

"That's not a very nice thing to say about women's choices of coffee," Fang said.

"Look, it's a double standard in the business. Guys drink their coffee one way, women drink theirs either the same way as guys or they can get all wacky with it. It's been this way since at least 10000 B.S.," Heph explained.

"Don't you mean B.C.?"

"Nope," the cyborg said. "B.S. is short for 'Before Starbucks.'"

A look of understanding crossed Fang's face. "Got it. So, what about capuccino?"

"It has to be plain," Heph said. "You can add sugar, but remember that you're going for tradition. And with a latte, you might as well just get regular coffee and add milk yourself."

"I think lattes are more involved," Fang said.

"Who's teaching this life lesson here?" Heph asked.

Fang looked at the plate where a few doughnut crumbs still resided. "You are."

"Right! The reason I'm telling you this now is so you don't get mocked mercilessly by your co-workers. You'll get mocked anyway. It's part of the culture. You can take steps to minimize it, though, and that's why I'm telling you these things," Heph explained.

"It's going to be tough enough as it is, Fang, but you don't want to do anything to make things tougher on yourself."

"Well, how do I keep any semblance of being an individual?"

"That's off-duty. You can read your girly-girl manga in your off-time. On-duty, you talk about whatever the seniormost guy wants to talk about. Most likely it'll be sports or his kids," Heph said. "If he talks about cooking, it's likely to be barbecue or some other type of grilling, or whatever his family's ethnic dishes might be."

Fang nodded. "So, how should I go about getting a crash course in sports?"

"Well, did you ever try out for any teams in high school?"

"Just cross-country and Quiz Bowl," Fang said.

"Okay, cross-country is okay and kind of exotic but still manly, quiz bowl should be held in reserve unless your boss wants you to go to one of those trivia nights places hold as fundraisers."

"Should I tell them about tennis?"

"It depends on the context. Golf is usually cool if you're dealing with the upper-echelon guys or some kind of fund-raising deal, but tennis is usually only talked about in regards to the attractive women who are playing it," Heph said as he signaled for more doughnuts.

Fang looked over at Heph. "I still can't believe you're not trying to talk me out of this."

"Me? Nah. I would never talk a guy out of trying to be a police officer," Heph said. "You've got the brains, and maybe the months you spend at the academy will help bring out your brawn. Plus you have some life experience thanks to holding a full-time job during college. You'll have a leg up on guys who never held a job before."

Fang finished his "coffee" and grabbed the fresh doughnut off of his plate. "Be honest. Do you think I have a chance of graduating from the police academy?"

"It's a small chance," Heph said. "You'll have to work a lot harder just based on your personality. You're a good kid, but you're going to have toughen up mentally. No crying when someone messes with you, no complaining when you get stuck with a crap job. You'll also have to understand that there's a difference between enforcing the law and pursuing justice. Your job will be to enforce the laws, even the dumb ones. If you succeed, though, you can hold your head high. You'll have persevered when others failed."

"Okay," Fang said, "this is usually the point where you rip into me because I actually feel like I have a chance."

"Not gonna do it," Heph said. "You're taking a big risk on this, and I'll support you on it. You might be my sidekick, but you're also my teammate. You've also done stuff that I would never have done just out of my own sense of dignity. That takes some guts."

"What, like the corduroy lederhosen?"

"Yes. Like the corduroy lederhosen."

"What will you do when I'm gone?" Fang asked.

Heph looked over at his partner. "Be twice as funny, man, what else can I do?"

"So, twice as not-funny, then, right?" Fang asked, a grin on his face.

"Hmm. Not bad," Heph said. "You should do well if you use a little sarcasm here and there."

Fang finished his doughnut. "Man, I wish Uncle Larry would call. I'd like to get a little work done today."

Heph sat hunched over the counter. "Give it time, we'll have a job before we know it."

The two heroes sat at the counter, finishing up their breakfast.

The mission would officially start when the team met up with the person they were escorting. Hopefully Team 37 would arrive at the village gate soon. Whispering Typhoon was still reading his copy of [u]Sword-Chucks Paradise[u] as he and his three students leapt from rooftop to rooftop.

"Typhoon-sensei," Claire asked, "Shouldn't you put that book away? It's indecent, what with its graphic descriptions of violence and unauthorized weapons modification!"

"How would you know what's in this book?"

Claire blushed. "I, uh, read it over your shoulder."

"What's on Page, oh, 125?"

Claire barely missed smacking against a tv antenna. "I don't want to say in front of King and Mary."

"Hmm. Are you sure you read the same book that's in my hand?"

"Yes," Claire said.

As the team closed in on the gate, there was an explosion below them. The Skulls, a gang of roving bandits, had destroyed yet another udon cart. The team stopped.

King McWhirter, considered a potential Imperial Shadow by the village elders peered down through the smoke. "There's about a dozen of them, Typhoon-sensei. And they're robbing the cart owner as well!"

"Go. Hunt. Kill Skulls," Whispering Typhoon said as he quoted one of the ancient ninja laws. "Remember, sensei's watching your back. I won't let anything too bad happen to you."

The three junior ninja dropped to ground level. Mary Tsoo stepped forward to take charge.

"All right, meanies! Say you're sorry and turn yourself in!"

The largest, meanest Skull turned around, brandishing a tetsubo that was wrapped in smoke and shadow. "Or what? You'll jiggle us to death?"

Another Skull was holding an axe. "Heh, yeah! Or maybe one of the two boys on her team will try to defend her."

"Boy?" King said. "Who you callin' 'boy'?"

"Boy?" Claire growled. "I'm a girl."

The Skull with the axe smiled under his mask. "Ooh, the flat chick is all feisty now!" he said wiggling his fingers in the universal sign for "Woo! Scary."

Claire seethed. "Oh, that tears it! Team 37! Budget Funeral Technique! NOW!"

Claire, King and Mary surrounded the smart-mouthed bandit before he could react. They dropped to the ground and unleashed three simultaneous kicks, sending the Skull high into the air. Mary shot into the sky faster than her target and used an overhand smash to send him back towards the ground. Claire threw herself into the air, her claws shredding the dazed bandit as he fell. King made the sign of the rat and a hole opened in the pavement below his target, swallowing the Skull and entombing him in the street.

The remaining Skulls took a step back except for their leader. "Huh. Pretty good. My turn!"

The Skull slammed his tetsubo into the ground like a piledriver, knocking the young ninjas to the ground. He appeared in the center of the team in a flickering shadow, then made the sign of the ox. Wisps of shadow leapt out from the cracks in the pavement and surrounded the youngsters, holding them to the ground and painfully sapping the life from them. The Skull leader smiled. He picked up Mary by the collar of her jacket. "I'm no meanie, in fact I'm gonna show you just how nice I really am. However, I have to be fair. See, you don't tell Spinesnapper to apologize. That's very stupid. And because I'm nice, I'm going to beat the stupid outta you before I take you back to my place. With a playful toss, he threw the drained ninja into the air and readied his tetsubo like a baseball bat. "Hey!" Spinesnapper shouted. "Heads up!"

Mary started her descent to the ground.

Spinesnapper went into the "McGwire Swings For The Bleachers" attack, bringing his iron-shod club up to meet the earthbound girl.

Suddenly the bat stopped and Mary Tsoo was no longer in the tetsubo's path. Whispering Typhoon stood on the club, preventing it from getting to mid-swing. The look in his eyes were that of pure murder. Claire had jumped into the air to catch her teammate and they landed nearby, still woozy from Spinesnapper's draining attack.

"Bad move, interrupting my reading like that," Whispering Typhoon said in a gravelly hiss. The jonin lunged at the Skull, catching him in the throat with a closed fist. The Skull gagged and spat as he tried to bring his tetsubo to bear on the ninja in front of him.

"Stand still," the Skull croaked. "I'm gonna kill you," he growled as the club's iron strips and studs gathered shadows from the ground. He swung the tetsubo right at Whispering Typhoon and connected. The jonin burst into a cloud of shadow.

"Slow and stupid will not win the day," Whispering Typhoon said as he reformed from his shadow body. "King, lock these fools down."

With a wave of his hand, the pavement liquefied and trapped the feet of the bandits. King began to slowly crush the bandits' legs, hearing them scream as tendons popped from the increasing pressure.

Whispering Typhoon gathered shadows of his own and threw a series of punches into Spinesnapper's midsection. Spinesnapper winced, then smiled.

"Shadow taijutsu doesn't work so well against us," the Skull leader said. "You know that, right? We stole that art from from the Imperial Shadow years ago. We know how to counter it."

"Do you now?" Whispering Typhoon said. "I hate know-it-all bandits, so consider yourself clued in." He threw another one-two combination, glancing his punches off of Spinesnapper's chest.

The Skull brought his down toward Whispering Typhoon's head, but the jonin slid to one side, landing two punches on Spinesnapper's right kidney. Spinesnapper yelped in pain and winced, but he went right back to smiling. "Nice try, but I'll be fine."

"If by fine you mean 'dead,' then yes," Whispering Typhoon said. He made the sign of the dragon and Spinesnapper found himself drained of the shadow chi he'd collected. A spiderweb of shadow connected the two men and pulsed as Spinesnapper's chi was reduced.

"Let me try again," Whispering Typhoon said as he doubled up on a flurry of bonecrushing punches. Spinesnapper fell backwards, tripping over his own feet.

Claire boggled a bit. "The hungry spider technique? I've never seen it before."

Whispering Typhoon smiled under his mask. "It's one of Honored Mother's favorites. It was only natural to teach it to her son." He picked the Skull up by his jacket lapels and headbutted him repeatedly, then hit his jugular vein with a vicious slap in order to collapse it. The Skull collapsed just as quickly as his brain was unable to get rid of the deoxygenated blood in time.

"Way to keep your pimp hand strong, Typhoon-sensei!" Mary yelled out, still dazed from Spinesnapper's attacks.

Whispering Typhoon pulled his mask and scarf off to be able to breathe better. "Now we have to wait for a recovery team to get here and help these guys out of the pavement. Good job everyone. I'm very proud of you."

Claire's eyes widened again. The flowing hair, the soft perfect lips, the shadowbrand that marked him as part of Mother Aoi's Maehara family. It was that teacher after all! Her secret crush, the one she'd sneak in on when he was teaching the history of Village-of-Emperors was leading her team today.

"I, uh, didn't know you left the academy grounds, Galahad-sensei. I usually see you with a sword on your back and much shorter hair," Claire squeaked.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, that. Sometimes Lady Aoi will require me to go out on missions because one jonin or another isn't able to make it. And sometimes she sends me out so I don't get rusty. How did you know I was at the academy?"

"Oh, I had to drop off some entrance forms for neighborhood children as an assignment," Claire said. "It was an annoyance." Then again, every girl Claire's age gossiped about Lady Aoi's son, and compared themselves to his fiancee, the princess from Village-Under-Waves. Even then, Claire couldn't keep from looking at his face.

"What?" Whispering Typhoon asked. "Is something wrong?"

Claire blushed. "No," she said.

"Oh. You're looking at me like I've got food on my face or something."

"No, no! Nothing like that," the genin said. "I just never expected to be teamed up with you is all." Claire smiled inwardly. Now the girls in the Chuunin Cheerleader Assassin Squad would be so jealous of her! Becky Omega would be mad enough to have smoke pour out of her ears!

----

From under the manga, Claire still slept peacefully with a big smile on her face.

The show opens with Hephaestus 1 sitting in an overstuffed chair by a fireplace. He's wearing a smoking jacket and a pipe is somehow clenched in his jaw.

"Good evening! This is an unaired episode of "Serv'd!" that was taped before I had the misfortune of being saddled with Fang, the Littlest Werewolf. Frankly, it's not my favorite, and I told them not to air it. But this is the DVD edition of my tv series, so they said 'we should fill a DVD with crap episodes and add it to the collection because people like it!' So, this is a gift, such as it is, to my viewers from my producers. Please enjoy it for what it's worth and please tune in to Season 2 once the first few episodes are filmed. I really like the extra paycheck. And now, on with the show... the mythical "Serv'd! Episode 3."

"Serv'd! is next on A&E."

"So, people ask me," Hephaestus 1 started as he was driving his SUV down a street in Talos Island, "why do they send you on cases for minor stuff instead of sending you to serve arrest warrants to people like Countess Crey and Sebastian Frost?" Heph kept driving, waiting a few seconds as if he was expecting a response. "The reason they don't send me after Crey and Frost is because I go after them as a registered hero, not as a process server. It'd be a conflict of interest for me to serve cease-and-desist notices to them, then punch them through walls when they refuse to comply." Heph finally pulled into a parking spot near Spanky's Boardwalk. "Now, I ask you, how is it a conflict of interest? I don't know, but it apparently is according to Rhode Island state law. Me, I blame Law-yor and his cabal of superattorneys."

The Boardwalk was crowded only around the Falling Star Cafe, as usual. Everywhere else were groups of roaming Tsoo gang members and the occasional Circle of Thorns mages being beaten by members of the Warriors. Heph and his camera crew passed the tattooed warriors as they stood around looking tough and hypnotizing any dogs they saw playing fetch.

"So anyway we're here in Talos today to-" Heph's spiel was cut out by the annoying WEEOOOWEEOOOWEEOOO noise of the Tsoo hypnosis spells. "Okay we're here to-" WEEOOOWEEOOOWEEOOO. "We're-" WEEOOOWEEOOOWEEOOO.

Heph massaged his metal temples. "Right," he said as he walked to the nearest group of Tsoo. "Which of you guys is in charge here? Or do I have to assign one of you to take the blame?"

There was a surround-sound WEEOOOWEEOOOWEEOOO as the pack of thugs attempted to hypnotize Heph, followed by the sound of an explosion as the big blue cyborg stomped the ground, causing it to shatter and explode upwards, throwing the Tsoo in all directions. A Sorcerer teleported over followed shortly by an Ancestor Spirit.

"Oh no! Revered ancestor, your students have been defeated by this metal beast! Surely this is time for revenge!" the Sorcerer said.

The Ancestor Spirit grunted. "You have killed my students-"

Heph held his hand up. "Dude. They're unconscious. Not dead."

"Okay. You have not killed my students, but beaten them all with one punch. For this they must be avenged," the ghostly giant muttered half-heartedly.

"Yes, revered ancestor! Show this blue devil the error of his ways by sending him to the hell!" the Sorcerer added.

Heph looked over at the sorcerer. "Okay, how do you do that?"

"Do what?" the Sorcerer asked in reply.

"How do you talk in the same stilted format as every badly-dubbed kung fu movie from 1968 to, well, about 2000 or so?"

"This is how I always talk! I am a Sorcerer of action and deeds! Ha! Ha ha! Ha!"

Heph threw an uppercut that sent the Tsoo magician skyward.

The Ancestor Spirit floated up to Heph. "Thank you," it wheezed. "I thought I'd never be rid of him."

"Look, old-timer," Heph said, "I understand the whole avenging thing, but seriously, tell your kids to knock off the unwanted hypnosis. In fact, tell them to go get jobs or something."

"Where would they work? Most of them are tattoo artists by trade."

"So, your entire gang is nothing but tattoo artists?"

"Well, we tried working at the mirror factory, but one misplaced hypnosis spell, and the next thing we knew we were cleaning up lots of broken glass." the Ancestor Spirit looked at the cracks in the ground from Heph's foot stomp. "These kids today, with their tattoos and the kung fu. They never listen! In my day, we listened! Now? They try to hypnotize you! I blame the tv music channel!"

"Right. TV music channel." Heph looked around. "Look, I'm here to find a guy by the name of Odysseus. He's supposedly the head honcho of the Warriors."

"Odysseus! Bah! I knew Odysseus, and he's no-- wait, I didn't know Odysseus. Who did I know?" the oversized ghost said in confusion. "Meh, the guy you want is at the end of the pier."

"Thanks." Heph and his crew walked down the pier to find their quarry. A heavily muscled man with a surly look on his face and the colors of the Warriors gang was at the end of the pier.

"Huh. I thought you guys would never get here. Honor doesn't come cheap and it's time I confessed." the Warrior said.

"Uh, right. You're Odysseus, right?" Heph asked.

"No, I'm Alexander 'The Great' Pavlidis," the Warrior said as he cast a brooding gaze over the bay. "I'm a man who's done horrible things. Things you can't understand. I was wondering when the time would come to pay the piper."

"Didn't you kill the Cobalt Claymore's dad back in Chicago? I remember hearing that."

"That's right, pal. I've done things that I'm not proud of, but this is my way. Fighting to the death, it's what I do best. I'm the best at it out of all the other guys who fight to the death," Alexander said as he crouched down, looking over the water with an air of menacing contemplation. "Killing. It's what I am. No quarter asked, and none given when honorable combat to the death is on the line."

"And how did you kill him?" Heph asked incredulously. "And didn't you give yourself up to the Cobalt Claymore when he tracked you down?"

"Well, I won through a lucky shot. I'm not too proud about that. He outclassed me and if I hadn't had fifty of my best troops backing me up attacking him and if I hadn't used a handful of red pepper to blind him and if I hadn't been trying to hide behind his sidekick as a human shield maybe he would have won the day."

"So you cheated, then," Heph said. "You cheated during what you call honorable combat."

"Listen, pal, if I hadn't deceived him by wetting myself in fear and shouting 'I'm too pretty for jail!' then I'd be doing time in a supermax facility in Illinois," Alexander said. "But I turned myself in when the new Cobalt Claymore tracked me down. He even accompanied me to the station."

"And you confessed to the original Cobalt Claymore's murder?"

"Yes. And a bunch of other crimes."

"So why are you out here?" Heph asked again.

"The Zig was overcrowded as usual. So they let me go after two hours of processing."

"Wait. You weren't extradited?"

"No, no, see, the prosecutors understood that no jail could tame a wild beast such as myself. I'm as primal as the elements, pal. I'm grim-jawed violence personified. It's what I do best."

Heph looked at Alexander again and again. "Wait. So, violence is what you do best?"

"That's right, pal."

"Why aren't you fighting me, then?"

"I'm being merciful. I choose not to kill you with my sword or axe or bare hands or mind. Because I'm a warrior, born and bred, pal, and nothing stops me when I want to do something."

"I think you're a chicken," the cyborg said, the red lenses on his eye-cameras glowing menacingly. "A big old chicken who doesn't want to be noticed."

"I fear nothing, pal. Not even death."

"How about the Cobalt Claymore when he finds out you broke your word to serve time for his father's death?"

Alexander paled visibly. "What?"

"Yeah, see, I was coming here to serve Odysseus, your boss, with a cease-and-desist letter to stop busking in this area. His stage-fighting usually results in being beaten mercilessly by schoolchildren, and the parents are complaining that he's setting a bad example. I find you here instead. See, I work with CC. He's a good kid. Lately, though, he's been seen in the Rogue Isles working for his mother, under protest, naturally. He occasionally helps Freedom Corps by scouting out paths to Grandville for strike teams of heroes who are trying to stop Lord Recluse's latest doomsday plot."

"Well, if he's not here, I've got nothing to worry about. He's Recluse's problem."

"Yeah, but see, when he comes back, he's gonna be changed, know what I mean?" Heph asked.

"Changed how?" Alexander asked in return.

"Rumor has it his mother's some kind of psychopathic ninja warlord or something. She might have loosened his grip on controlling himself in a fight. She could have started him on the path of killing. Maybe even the slow, painful kind of killing. And you understand what would happen if a killer found out that the guy who made a life-changing promise to him broke that promise, right?" Heph said calmly, looking for dirt under his nonexistent fingernails. "Because killers always love having a justification to shield themselves from prosecution. You know, revenge could be a justification here."

"L-look here, p-p-pal," the Warrior leader stuttered nervously, "I-I am the one who's the b-best at violence. Killing is what I d-d-d-do!"

"I've seen the kid when he gets mad. He gets that angry kind of strength. I saw him put a four-foot blade into a block of oak three feet thick. Man, imagine what that could do to a guy." Heph took a step back and put his arm up as if to shield the recording crew. "Look out guys! He's getting ready to attack by wetting his pants in fear again! Run for your lives!"

Then Heph and the crew laughed.

"This isn't funny, guys!" Alexander whined. "I'm violent and untamable!"

"Only part of you is untamable, Al," Heph said. "You better go back to Blue Steel, give up again, and this time, get extradited to Illinois to stand trial like you said you would."

"But," Alexander sputtered, "I'll go to jail! For real jail, not Ziggursky!"

Hephaestus 1 looked over the now-soiled Warrior. "For real jail, or revenge-minded teenager with a high security level and an inventive imagination?"

"I don't want to go to for real jail! They always do that stupid line from the movie, too! I hate that," Alexander said.

"Yeah, that's too bad. So, when will your boss be here?" Heph said. "This summons isn't going to serve itself."

"He'll be here at 3pm," Alexander said. "Are you going to wait for him?"

"Yes," Heph said, "I think we will. And go change before you turn yourself in. You look like an idiot."

"I really have to go to for real jail?"

"Do you want the Cobalt Claymore to see you here?"

Alexander ran quickly towards the tram, and wound up face-first in Citadel's chest.

Eventually, Odysseus walked to the end of the pier.

"Dude, Alexander bailed early," Odysseus said. "Hey, uh, big blue dude, did you see Alexander, bra?"

"Bra? What the hell did you just call me?"

"I called you bra, bra," Odysseus answered. "It's like dude but friendly an' stuff."

"As much as I believe in supporting women through the use of hands-on solutions, I am not a bra," Heph said. "And aren't you supposed to be some kind of sophisticated-but-reserved kind of villain? Doing fake swordfighting while you have a jam band blaring in the background is more a public nuisance."

"I ditched that scene, bra. I wanted something less uptight. So, we all decided to just hang out on the pier all day and listen to Phish."

"You called me a bra again, Odysseus," Heph said. "I think you're having problems with reality."

"Maybe it's reality that has a problem with my scene, man," Odysseus retorted. "I'm just trying to entertain people and do my thing my way, bra."

"Call me a bra one more time and I'll hit you. Really hard."

"Dude, you are nothing like the other guy on tv, he's really laid back."

"I'm an ex-Chicago cop. For me, being laid back is when you get a really good rhythm going on a suspect's head with your riot baton."

"See, that's what I mean, br-"

Heph punched Odysseus in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him.

"Dude... not cool," Odysseus wheezed.

Heph stuck the cease-and-desist letter in the Warrior leader's vest pocket.

"I told you what would happen if you called me that. Anyway, there's a time on the letter for you to appear in district court if you want to argue the merits and enforcement of the letter. Sign it, date it, and hand carry it back to the courts complex to confirm your hearing time. If you do not do this you will be considered to have accepted the terms of the letter and will comply with it from now on. Failure to do so will result in a warrant being placed for your arrest. Odysseus, you got SERV'D!"

(NB.: This is something I wrote shortly after the first episode of the show. I just never added it here is all. So, here it is, edited and updated.)

The cameras of "Serv'd!" were there when this discussion was filmed. Somehow it managed to get put into the intial DVD extras of the first season:

"Hephalicious? Well, Sara, it's different and quite frankly disturbs me." Hephaestus 1 stood by a whiteboard as a commercial storyboard was flashed on it as a slideshow.

Sara, the ad executive picked by the show's producers smiled in a rather predatory manner. "Don't worry! Stuff like this tests well among the 18-25 set. It'll be a huge new ad campaign for your show "Serv'd!" We've got some great ideas that we've built up for you."

"Okay. Like what?" the big blue cyborg said as he grabbed a can of soda.

"Well, in this ad, you'll be dancing to the tune 'Fergilicious' except the lyrics are altered to describe your show. It's a relatively popular tune, and this turned out to be a relatively popular show. There's synergy there!"

Heph looked at the ad exec again. "I have another question. Why did you draw me wearing hotpants?"

"Well, you'll be shaking your butt to the beat," Sara said, dancing like Elaine on Seinfeld (that is, badly).

"Can't I do that in regular trousers?" Heph asked.

"No, it's not visual enough."

"But it's embarassing. Besides, I don't wear shorts. I wear trousers." Heph raised up his leg to show the dark blue BDU trousers he normally wore on the show.

Sara looked at the pants, then back at her client. "That reminds me, Heph, why DO you wear pants?"

"Modesty. I don't want anyone to see what's in them unless I give them specific permission."

Sara's jaw dropped a bit, then she regained her composure. "You're a full-body conversion cyborg! You're a brain and some glands in a biopod surrounded by a robotic body! No one will care that you're not wearing--"

Hephaestus 1 leaned over and whispered somethng into the ad executive's ear.

"Oh," Sara said, her eyes widening. "Wait. How?"

Heph kept whispering, and Sara's eyes got a bit glassy.

"Wow. The Mysterious Doctor Nambu really IS an engineering genius," the young ad exec said.

"Look, just don't tell anyone, all right?" Heph said. "It's not really for public observation."

"And that's why you don't wear shorts?" Sara asked.

"Yes."

"So, uhm, how well does it work?" she asked again, trying to look disinterested.

"Just fine, thanks. My girlfriend likes it."

"Girlfriend?"

"Yes. The cutest little alien pyromaniac you'll ever meet," Heph said with a smile in his voice.

"Is there any way we can get her on the show?" Sara asked.

"Why?"

"Well, she can be your partner in serving court papers. It adds the romance factor that women are looking for," Sara explained. "It's a ratings-grabber."

"I don't think that Larry would like it," Heph said with a shake of his head for emphasis.

"Why would Larry care?"

"Because if I ask her nicely, she'll set Larry on fire the next time he mentions the name Brick Landers," the cyborg said, the smile in his voice returning.

"You mean the star of such movies as 'Brick Landers IS Brick Hammertoe in DEATH NINJA SORORITY 7!'?"

"Oh, *bleep* Sara, not you too!"

"My sister was in it. She was the naive-but-earnest ninja pledge from Epsilon Delta Hokuto."

Hephaestus 1 just stared at Sara, not moving at all.

"Heph? You're quiet. You know I hate it when you're quiet."

"First you put me in hot pants. Then you make me dance like a second-tier pop star, trying to destroy what modesty and dignity I have left. THEN you say your sister worked with Brick Landers!"

"What's wrong with that? It shows that you don't take yourself seriously."

"This dumb idea makes me wish I could just set my cybernetic body into Unthinking Rampage mode. I don't like the idea of oversexualizing my show. It was bad enough when I had to go pull Morgoth out of that tree after he lost his civil case. I never want to see an drunken old wizard in a sequined pink thong singing "I'm Every Woman" ever again." Heph said with a shudder. "I can't unsee that!"

"But Heph, sex sells."

"I know that, but can we do something that doesn't involve me shaking my large metal booty while wearing tiny pants?" Heph asked.

"Well, there's the other idea we had, though I don't know how well it will work considering your, uh," Sara looked at Heph's pants. "Well, your physique."

"Okay, what was it?"

"You know that story that gets passed around about eating sushi off of a na--"

"No," Heph interrupted, his hands folded across his chest.

"But the tagline is great! "Get Serv'd something Hephalicious!" And you'd be covered in sushi! Delicious sushi!"

"No. That tagline sucks! And I am not a dinner plate. I'm a human being!" Heph yelled, his hands waving off the idea.

"Well, how about onion rings instead?" Sara asked with a shrug.

Heph stared at her, wishing for Unthinking Rampage mode. He got up and walked towards the office door.

"Heph? Where are you going?"

"I'm going to go find a new advertising executive, Sara. You're obviously insane."

"Okay! We'll dip you in chocolate!"

"Goodbye, Sara!"

Sara ran after her meal ticket, her heels clacking on office floor. "Okay okay okay! Idea time! How about this? "Serv'd! It's better than When Rabid Circus Midgets Attack!" We can have you punching a rabid circus midget through a cinderblock wall!"

"I like that show, though!" Heph said as he and his camera crew walked out the door of the ad agency.

"Wait wait wait! I'll come up with some... oh, crap. They left." Sara looked at her schedule. "Well, I suppose I should cancel the appointment to get him fitted for lederhosen..."

The scene fades out and switches back to the DVD Extras menu.

"Welcome home, Lady Aoi," a genin guard said as he opened the gate for Mother Aoi. "It is good to have our Honored Mother home once more."

"Thank you, Shotaro," Mother Aoi said as she passed through the gate. As she walked past the rock garden, an Oni with a tetsubo strapped to his back appeared alongside her, as did a shadow in the form of a Heian courtier.

"Lady Aoi," the Oni said through its tusk-filled mouth, "it is good to have you home. We must discuss further our war on the Tsoo and their Ancestor Spirits."

"Yes," the living shadow said breathlessly. "We may yet break their hold in St. Martial and take their territory."

"We shall do that immediately. I thank you for indulging me in my desire to visit my son on such short notice."

"Has he finally relented and agreed to join us?" the Oni asked.

"No, I visited him solely to remind him of my reach and existence." Mother Aoi said. "It is, after all, a mother's prerogative to visit unexpectedly. I was surprised to find him rifling through a set of records hidden before his father's death. His father was always good at concealing things from me."

"You were too good for him, Lady Aoi," the Oni said. "I mean no offense when I say that. It is only my opinion."

"I shall forgive you this once," Mother Aoi said. "Seeing my late husband again has brought back many good memories, even if I only saw him in a home movie."

"Thank you, Honored Mother," the Oni replied.

"As for St. Martial, be careful around Hardcase. Also, monitor the banks in that part of the Rogue Isles to see if my son appears there. I think he found something of my husband's that should rightfully be mine."

Mother Aoi was looking at a missing piece of her life, that of her late husband. "Oh, Michael," she said, wiping tears away.

The Cobalt Claymore looked at his mother still shocked she got past his alarms. "Look, you need to get out of here, being a wanted criminal and all. I'm required to arrest you and see you stand trial for at least a dozen bank robberies, busting numerous villains out of jail, causing general panic and mayhem, and at least one terrorism charge for attacking that memorial for registered heroes who died in the first Rikti War."

"I'd rather you just keep playing that DVD," his mother said. "I'm glad your father left some kind of record about this."

"I'm sorry for not believing you about your and Dad's past," the Cobalt Claymore said. "The evidence is building to support your statements."

Mother Aoi's eyes kept darting back to the image of her late husband. She removed the scarf and mask from her face, and looked around with red-rimmed eyes. "Kleenex. Now."

The young hero grabbed the box of tissues off of the coffee table and handed them to his mother, trying to give her some semblance of privacy as she blew her nose. His eyes wandered to pictures on his wall of his high school graduation photo, his Parents' Day photo with the lacrosse team at Dartmouth, even his photo with Marie. There was always someone else's parents in the photo. The Cobalt Claymore looked back down at the image of his father. He hit play again on the media player and settled in. The voice of the former Cobalt Claymore began once again.

"Yes, you've got an older brother as well. His name is Michael Nigel Galahad, Junior," the older man said holding up a picture of him holding a baby and smiling. "This is all I've got of him. I don't even know if he looks more like me or your mother now. I hope he's doing some kind of good in the world."

The newer Cobalt Claymore stopped the DVD again, remembering the hell his older brother put him through during his short stay at the secluded headquarters of the House of Secrets. He remembered too well the sword that the so-called Cobalt Ghost put through his lung. He remembered the attacks, the taunts, everything. The young hero thought it was fortunate his father never saw what his eldest son became. He restarted the DVD.

"So, Todd," the former Cobalt Claymore's voice said, "that's your mother's side of the family. I've got these photos and more sealed up for you in this box. If you ever have kids of your own, you can show them who their grandparents were. How you explain to them what we did, though, is up to you. I suppose I should explain that."

The man in the home movie laid out some military gear on the table; it was the same items the Cobalt Claymore had found in the canister with the DVD and sealed envelopes. "I don't know if you'll ever meet up with these guys, but there's a longstanding semi-governmental conspiracy called the Malta Group. It was formed during the Cold War to keep the Communists in check, notably the ones running the Soviet Union. You remember the history lessons about them, right? It's now Russia and all those other nations? You were too young to care about the Commonwealth of Independent States when it was more than just a name, and that's just as well. The Malta Group's overarching plan was to subvert any Soviet research into making superheroes, to kill off any of their spies that we found here, and to ruin their counterspy network. I was known as Royal Helix Sierra, one of their assassination specialists. We called ourselves Gunslingers, as we'd draw and shoot before our targets could react. I liked getting in bit closer, though. It's where I learned to fight with knives and how to really fight with swords, not the sport that fencing has become. Fencing isn't a bad sport, otherwise I'd never agree to let you do it. It's a bit too ritualized for me, though. Getting back on track, though, you've got to realize that your old man wasn't much of a hero in his younger days." The image of the original Cobalt Claymore looked down at the gear in front of him. "Before I met your mother, I'd killed ninety-eight men with my guns, and another fifty with blades alone. Some had wives and children, others didn't. Some were true patriots of their nations. Some hated the country they lived in but wouldn't leave. Some just wanted to make a quick buck and get on with life."

The young hero stopped the player again. He looked over at his mother. "How many did you kill after you were married?"

Mother Aoi looked at the Cobalt Claymore. "As a team, at least another two hundred. We were very good at killing our targets," she said with a smile. "We were young, unstoppable and well-paid. It was a great time to be alive."

The Cobalt Claymore shuddered, then went back to the DVD.

"Over time, I began developing a conscience. I didn't mind killing as long as the money was good and if I eliminated a direct threat to NATO, the United States, heck, even Greenpeace, then it was a good thing. You don't think all their money went to keeping that boat in one piece, do you?" the man on the screen said with a grin. "I told myself that if I ever had kids, they'd never have to do what I did to save the world. They could be teachers, doctors, accountants, engineers, soldiers, machinists, welders, anything they wanted to be. That's where my conscience began to bother me."

Mother Aoi leaned in. "We started talking about getting married in order to travel inconspicuously. It worked somewhat, the Great White Traveler and his Half-Breed Wife. We made for something just exotic enough to be out of place, but also plausible enough to be in various trouble spots trying to 'understand other cultures.' It was a lie, but it was an effective lie."

The Cobalt Claymore's father continued. "When your mother and I were paired up by our respective groups, we did our missions well. I fell in love with your mother, and soon she realized she felt the same way. We got married and created a believeable backstory filled with activism, fighting The Man, and generally saying all the right platitudes to get close to our targets." The man on the screen took a drink of water. "My mind kept going back to having children, though. It went to making sure they were safe and happy. Then I thought about the life that child would lead if his parents brought their work home with them. I couldn't burden a kid with that. After a while, I convinced Neal McIntosh, one of the founders of the conpiracy, to send me and your mother to Chicago to gather information on the heroes there. Some would be for blackmail, other information would go to recruiting, still other information would go to assassination teams. It was easy duty when you could show them a Doctorate from a local university. Remember when you and I moved to Hyde Park so I could take that adjunct professorship in the Economics Department at the University of Chicago? That was due to my having graduated from there."

Mother Aoi smiled. "I hope you have some of his work on your bookshelf, even if it's just a collect of his monographs. He wrote brilliant essays on using microloans to jumpstart local businesses."

"They're in storage," the Cobalt Claymore said to his mother as he watched the DVD further.

"Getting back on track, I guess I could say that the more I thought about having a decent life for my kids the less joy I took in my real job. I needed to try something to break out of the assassination business. That's when I got the idea to become the Cobalt Claymore to learn more about heroes."

The young hero stared for a second. "He's kidding, right, Mom? The Cobalt Claymore identity wasn't just a cover for a spying mission, was it?"

"Yes," Mother Aoi said. "It was a cover at first. Your father grew to love saving people's lives, fighting criminals at the local level. He went native."

"I found that I loved being a hero more than being a murderer-for-hire. So, one night as I was out looking for signs of a gang war, I made a promise to myself, God, and any kids I'd ever have. I promised I'd change myself and make up for the things I did. Once that happened, I became the guy you know as your old man. When you and Mike Junior came along it was an answer to prayers, but it was a test, too. Could I be the hero I promised to be? I said I'd change my ways, and now with two sons I had no choice but to make good on my promises."

"He chose to quit?" the Cobalt Claymore asked his mother. "How was it you didn't kill him once you noticed?"

Mother Aoi sighed. "I was young and in love. And I was carrying you before I fully realized what happened. When you were born, your father and I lasted maybe a few more months. I had to decide if your father was more important than my family's mission or not."

The Cobalt Claymore's father continued. "It happened after you came along. Your mother and I split up, and not in a good way. You were maybe four months old when it happened. June and I had our last argument over scrubbing the mission. She decided she was going to take you both to her father's home in Japan and raise you within Maehara family's ninja organization. I couldn't let that happen. Your grandfather sent a dozen of his finest jounin and Neal McIntosh sent an assassination squad, both with the intent of killing me. I managed to beat enough of them to get through to your mother. She had just about stepped through one of her family's shadow portals when I grabbed her. I tried taking you both from her, but I could only keep hold of you. I'm sorry, Todd. You deserved to know your brother, and I failed you." The man on the screen paused, and shuddered a bit, fighting back tears. "Seeing your mother's face that one last time, seeing her broken heart as the last of our trust was broken, it still hurts even after almost sixteen years."

The Cobalt Claymore sat there stunned. "You chose the mission over Dad? Why?"

"My parents, my uncles, my cousins, our students. Honor required it. The mission was there before I married your father. If I'd kept better hold of you, none of this would have come to pass."

"So you took my brother and turned him into a sociopathic monster? You sent him on missions that required him to be as callous as you once were?" the Cobalt Claymore asked. "Now I see why he's so messed up."

"He has never returned home once I sent him to the Rogue Isles. He's disappeared completely."

The Cobalt Claymore looked again, blinking back a tear or two. "He got sick of your family's mission-or-death schtick as well, I bet."

The DVD movie continued. "Well, I hope I was a good father to you all these years, son. All the times I had to leave you with Mrs. Corrigan next door, the last-minute moves, I hope you won't blame me too much for trying to do right by you. I remember your tenth birthday, when you snuck into my den to play with the swords I had on the wall. I bet you remember that," the original Cobalt Claymore said. "When I saw you doing your little play fighting with all those unseen enemies, I saw you imitating me, yelling out my tagline like you heard on tv. You almost broke my desk lamp, too. And you almost broke the desk for that matter."

The young hero turned red. His mother smiled.

"I didn't want you to do my job, but at the same time I always wanted you to do what chose to do. It looked like you chose to be a hero then. So I offered you the chance to be not just my son, but my sidekick as well."

The Cobalt Claymore's jaw tightened.

"I hope I'm as proud of you when you graduate high school as I was the day you chose to learn what it took to be a hero. I'm sure I will be, no matter what. If you're watching this, son, I want you to know about everything in your parents' past. I've got some other stuff in there for you as well. I guess you could I say I wrote you an FAQ and some small textbooks. Yes, I'm leaving you a list of stuff to do in case I can't tell you directly. And yes, I'm leaving an instruction manual. Read it."

"Yeah, that's Dad all right," the Cobalt Claymore said with a smile. "King of Contingency Plans, that's him."

Mother Aoi shook her head. "The time he didn't plan, everything went to ruin." The Cobalt Claymore scowled at his mother. "Right, hero-worship."

The movie continued. "They'll be in here waiting for you, so will these photos, some of my old Malta gear, even some copies of legal documents in case the originals in the den ever get destroyed. All the basic history of the family is right here in this box. There's also something else in there, too. I want you to keep it with you from now on. You've seen me carry it no matter what. It should still be in the hat. You know how I was with the checkbook, but this is bigger. Think of it as a trust fund for your career. You've probably found it already. Good luck with your future, son. I love you and I always will." With that, he reached towards the camera and turned it off.

The Cobalt Claymore pulled out the blue crystal rosary his father hid inside the hatband. He stared at it, going over each bead. He noticed a slight flaw inside the bead closest to the crucifix. He'd have to get a jeweler's loupe and examine it. The flaw was too regular to be natural.

"I think you should go now, Mom," the Cobalt Claymore said. "This is guy stuff, between me and Dad. Besides, if Marie catches you here, she'll kill you."

"Giving me a chance to escape? I should take you with me, and see if I can finally convince you to stay on as heir to the House of Secrets."

"I told you no, Mom. Now get out before I have to arrest you from stem to stern. This is your chance to go peacefully."

"Very well," Mother Aoi said. "May I at least take something as a momento?"

"You have your head attached to your shoulders, that's enough," the Cobalt Claymore said.

"You are his son," the ninja leader said. "Merciful to a fault. I think I know the value of that little string of beads. You may yet find yourself coming to me for assistance regardless of your wishes. When you do, I will exact a heavy price for that assistance. I may be your mother, but I also have an entire organization to lead and protect. I will choose my greater family over one individual member. Do well to remember that."

With a slight smoky wisp of shadow, his mother disappeared from view. Well, at least he knew what to do to improve the alarm system now. With his mind in motion on home security and his family, the Cobalt Claymore began opening up the sealed plastic bags.

The Cobalt Claymore landed near his houseboat in Providence Marina near Paragon City University's Founders Falls campus. He checked the ammuntion can again to make sure it hadn't opened during his aerial travels across the city. He set foot on the boat and went to open the hatch to the small living room on the boat.

Once inside, he turned on the lights and his laptop. He sat down in a threadbare recliner, and brought up the footrest. He slid the DVD into its appropriate drive and waited.

"Stupid computer," he grumbled as his computer searched the internet for the proper drivers. Another message popped up. "Password? A freaking password?" he said incredulously. He typed in his dad's favorite words. Nothing. He tried his dad's birthday. No luck. He even tried his own. Nothing.

"Oh, come on, Claymore, use your damn brain for once," he swore silently. He tried a couple of passphrases he and his father came up with in case they were separated. Once again, the computer asked for the right password. The Cobalt Claymore rubbed his temples.

Wait. His dad told him that he was going to give him this stuff on his 18th birthday. He typed in 063006, then remembered his dad always used military format for dates in his notes. He typed in 30JUN2006.

The DVD drive whirred as it started playing.

"Hello, Todd. It's June 29th, 2004. Tomorrow we go out and get your drivers' license. Since you're over at the lacrosse field with the guys, I finally have a little time to put this recording together."

The image of his father held up a newspaper photo of both the Cobalt Claymore and his sidekick the Gladius Kid. His father grinned. "That's us, buddy. You and me. If you're watching this, most likely you've taken another hero name. If you see this, it's because I died somehow. I hope I left you enough clues on where to find this. Maybe you're the new Cobalt Claymore, I don't know. I kind of hope so. It's a good name. It's a hero's name, even if the first one wasn't much of a hero at first. I know, what's your old man talking about, right? Well, let's start at the beginning."

First he showed a picture of himself around 1980. The excess gaudiness of the 70s hadn't yet transformed into the understated power of the 80s just yet. "This is your father, Michael Nigel Galahad. That's me." He held up a picture of a young lady with slight Asiatic features. "This is your mother, June Maehara. Her father is Doctor Kazuo Maehara, former professor of political science at San Jose State and native of Misawa prefecture in Japan. Her mother is Doctor Theresa Colchester of Essex, England. Doctor Colchester is a former professor of Economics at Stanford." his father said. "There's a reason I never mentioned your mother or showed you her picture. It's why I always changed the subject, too. It's because we nearly killed each other almost sixteen years ago."

His father looked at the picture on the screen. "She still breaks my heart to this day. I still love her and miss her, even if I don't know if she's alive or not. If she is, stay away from her as best you can. She's the heir to a ninja clan known as Jizoku no Himitsu, the House of Secrets. If we did anything good for the world, son, it was to have you and your brother."

The Cobalt Claymore heard sniffling over his shoulder.

"Michael, I miss you, too," a quiet voice said, choking back a sob.

The Cobalt Claymore turned his head. Sitting next to him in her usual mix of modern special operations gear and traditional ninja garb was the villain known in the Rogue Isles and around the world as Mother Aoi. The Cobalt Claymore had already spent quite enough time as a guest and prisoner to her.

"Mom? What are you doing here?"

Go right ahead and use it. Kings Row is neat place, especially High Park, up by the Galaxy City entrance.

The Cobalt Claymore and Hephaestus 1 sat at Heph's kitchen table in his apartment. An old ammunition can for a 20mm cannon sat in front of them, covered in both shrinkwrap and a vacuum seal. The younger hero couldn't stop staring at it. Heph scratched at his faceplate, a psychological habit from before his full-body conversion, and took a sip of coffee.

"So," Heph said.

"It's right where Dad said it would be," the Cobalt Claymore said. "I guess I wasn't hallucinating."

"If Doc Rutherford said it wasn't a hallucination, I'd believe him. He should know the difference, being a psychiatrist and a former bodyguard for mages and such," Heph said. The big blue cyborg put a boxcutter in front of his teammate. "Considering that chopper you usually use, a box cutter should be easy, right?"

"Yeah," the Cobalt Claymore said. "It should be no effort at all."

They both sat and stared at the sealed box for a few more seconds.

"Man, you can barely tell that it's green underneath all that shrinkwrap, huh?" the Cobalt Claymore asked.

"Yeah," Heph replied. "So, are you going to open it or not?"

"Part of me wants to open it, part of me doesn't."

"What, are you afraid it's trapped or something?" Heph asked.

"No," the Cobalt Claymore said, "I'm just afraid of having the truth confirmed by what's in the box. I know that Dad was a Gunslinger before I was born. Mom told me that much when she and her ninjariffic goons grabbed me at Dartmouth."

"What's there to be afraid of, then, if you know about your old man's past? It doesn't change things of when he went legit and became a hero, does it? Your dad was a good guy right up until the end, and he gave me what pointers he could about being a good detective. It helped me out of a lot of investigative dead ends."

"Well, if you knew your dad was a nearly-sociopathic killer before he had kids, would you consider further proof to be a necessary confirmation or would it kill the image you have of your father?" the Cobalt Claymore asked.

"Todd, this is your family you're talking about. You're the one who built up this image of your old man being some kind of saint. Yes, he was nice to old ladies and kittens, but he was also a very ruthless hunter when it came to tracking down criminals. I see a lot of that in you as well. You're just like him when you're chasing down guys like Faculus the Death Mage and Arachnos mopes like those Bane Spider Scouts."

"Really? I'm like him?" the Cobalt Claymore asked.

"I didn't say that was a good thing. When your old man was under the cowl, the same one you wear today, a lot of the cops and other heroes hated his methods. He'd leave some criminals so scared they'd go into cardiac arrest when we arrived. One time he even hamstrung a serial mugger with that sword of his. He left that poor chump on the local precinct doorstep with a note basically saying 'Now maybe you can catch this guy.' For all the difference he taught you between right and wrong, he didn't let that get in the way of efficiency." Heph took another sip of coffee. "He made himself look worse than he was, at least some of the time."

"He wasn't like that at all," the Cobalt Claymore said reflexively. "The Cobalt Claymore has always been about bringing people to justice under the law. That's regardless of whether it was me or my dad wearing the costume."

Heph put his coffee mug down and picked up the boxcutter. "Maybe you need to wait to open this box, then. You've got serious daddy issues if you can't see this objectively. Yes, he wanted to make sure you stayed on the side of angels and that's good. So, he took the 'do as I say, not as I do' approach. I don't think you ever noticed just what it was that he did."

The Cobalt Claymore looked down towards the table, his finger tracing a pattern on the retro-style tabletop. "That guy deserved it."

"What?" Heph blurted out.

"That guy that Dad crippled, he wasn't just a serial mugger."

"Well, that's all we had on him at the time."

"He was a serial rapist as well. How many women came forward after he was left on the precinct steps, Mick? Thirty? Forty?"

"Your dad led us right to the photos the guy took of his victims," Heph said, "but leaving a guy crippled like that was wrong."

"That wasn't Dad's decision. Leaving the guy where he couldn't run away was mine. Dad wanted to kill him and stick his head on a fencepost." The Cobalt Claymore rubbed under his glasses. "We caught him before he could finish mugging that lady. Dad said to kill him. I said to leave him for you guys, and make sure he couldn't stalk anyone again."

Heph leaned back on his oversized kitchen chair. "If you know how bad he was, how is opening that box going to change anything?"

"I hate remembering that part of him, Mick," the Cobalt Claymore said. "My dad was a hero, even if his methods weren't always clean. I want to remember the good stuff, all right?"

"You're only remembering half the case, then," Heph said. "You want to remember the guy who loved you and raised you to be a hero. You also have to remember the times when he chose to cross the line between being a proper vigilante and being the worst kind of vigilante as well."

"I don't want to remember that, Mick," the Cobalt Claymore said. "It makes him less of a hero."

"Todd, you're a college student, and if I remember right, you're trying to become a History professor, right?" Heph asked.

"Yeah," Todd said, still looking down at the table.

"Who's the guy you quoted about why you study history, Levy or something like that?" Heph asked.

"It's Livy, Mick," the younger hero said.

"Right, him. What was it he said? You used to say it all the time."

The Cobalt Claymore cleared his throat, wiped his eyes again. "There is great advantage to be derived from the study of history, that you see examples of every possible type placed in the light of historical truth. From these you may select for yourself and your country what to imitate, and also what, base in its inception and disastrous in its results, you must avoid." He knew it by heart in English and Latin, just like his father had drilled into his memory over and over again.

"You can't avoid the effects of bad things if you don't remember they are, Todd. We don't know what's in that box. Maybe it's good, maybe it's not. Either way, there's more evidence in there that you need to see. And once you see it, then you have a better picture of the whole truth, right? It's just like detective work."

The Cobalt Claymore looked at the near-mummified storage box. "Mick, give me the boxcutter."

Heph slid the cutter over to his young friend. "Good man," he said.

The vacuum sealed bag and the shrinkwrap popped and snapped as the razorblade sliced through them. A slight hiss could be heard as years of vacuum were filled with air. The Cobalt Claymore cut the ordnance tape that covered the ammo can's lid latch and popped it open. Inside was a series of vacuum-sealed bags full of letters, legal documents, and photographs. A DVD sat in a slimline case with the words "Watch This First" written on the label.

"Wow, Todd. Your old man was thorough. Everything's sealed up," Heph said.

"Or he had OCD, one of the two," the Cobalt Claymore said. This stuff could be anything. These two things, however, make it even more obvious."

With that he placed a dark blue boonie hat that had been curled on both sides like a cowboy hat as well as a dark blue balaclava and bandanna. A pair of holsters for Type 1 and Type 2 pistols also appeared out of the box, the black ballistic nylon faded to a deep charcoal gray. All the items inside had been well-used before it was placed in the box. Hidden inside the boonie hat was a small steel rosary with cobalt blue beads.

"I hope that DVD is still in good shape," the Cobalt Claymore said. "Dad's got a lot of explaining to do, even if it's done posthumously."

Yes, welcome new people! Thanks for adding new stuff to read.

Hephaestus 1 sat in a nice office, wearing a business suit and tie. Fang sat next to him scratching under the collar of his dress shirt and tie.

"This tie is too tight," Fang complained.

"I thought it was a clip-on," Heph said.

Fang lowered his head and grumbled.

After a few more minutes of waiting, a trio of men walked in, one of whom was obviously the boss. He sat down at the ornate business desk with a nameplate of "Mr. Karl" while the other two stood.

"Now, Mister 1," Mr. Karl said.

"Uh, my last name is actually O'Flannagan. Hephaestus 1 is the designation of my model of cybershell. I just use that designation as my Hero ID name."

"Oh! Sorry, I thought you signed everything with your hero name so as not to reveal your secret identity."

Heph stared at the old man across the desk from him. "Uhm, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a giant blue cyborg pretty much 24/7. It's not like I can shrink down to human size and blend in easily."

"I guess then the 'Hephaestus 1 action figure with Real Shrink-and-Transform Powers' is going to need a re-work?" Mr. Karl asked.

"Well, you can get rid of the shrinking powers. I do have a nanite disguise kit that I can use if I remove some head plates and do a forearm assembly swap. Then I can look like a giant version of my old self."

"Okay, so it's not that big of a modification. Next up is Fang's action figure," the man at the desk said. Fang's eyes lit up.

"This is so cool. I'm getting my own action figure!" Fang said, his little tail wagging for all it was worth.

"Big deal. I already have one. This is my second," Heph said. "Oh, did you guys get the distribution rights from Banpresto so you could import my original figure? The Mysterious Doctor Nambu would like my American audience to be able to own an action figure that he designed based off of this cybershell. He designed the cybershell, too."

"We're looking into that, but it might not be good for kids. All those small parts and all. And 85 points of articulation? Children will be breaking off your fingers and choking on them!"

Heph leaned back in his chair. "They're listed as 14 and up in Japan. It's more an articulated model than an action figure. There is some assembly required."

"It would also be incompatible with the Serv'd Action Base Playset and Serv'd-U-V with Twin Gatling Laser Combat System," Mr. Karl said.

"Wait. Action Base Playset? What, is it going to have a Larry McGonigle figure with real Complaining-Fu Grip? Will it have Authentic Cigarette Smoke Stains in the ceiling, Just Like on TV?"

"So, there's no Satellite Comand Console?" Mr. Karl asked.

"Only if it's my apartment," Heph answered.

Fang looked over at his big blue partner. "When did you get a Satellite Control Console?"

"It's my tv remote," Heph said. "That's about as close as it gets with digital satellite programming. It gives me the power to watch any football game on Sundays."

"Oh," Fang and Mr. Karl said in unison.

Mr. Karl started scribbling down notes. "Get... apartment... photos... for... realistic... base. Right."

Fang looked over at Mr. Karl again. "What about my action figure?"

"Show him," Mr. Karl said to one of his assistants. The assistant opened up a wooden presentation box to reveal an action figure version of both Hephaestus 1 and Fang, the Littlest Werewolf. Fang's eyes began to well with tears.

"They even got my khakis the right shade of khaki! That's so cool!" he squeaked, trying to hold back tears of joy.

"The only problem we had was with your catchphrases. We can't use the names of other people, so your comparing your anger to that of angry lead singers had to go."

"Awww. Uhm, what did you replace it with?" Fang asked.

"We had to go to other catchphrases," Mr. Karl said. He squeezed the left arm on the action figure.

"This is CNN," little Fang said in the voice of James Earl Jones.

Mr. Karl squeezed the figure's right arm.

"With talent on loan... from GAWD." Fang's eyebrow raised as Rush Limbaugh's voice emanated from his action figure.

Mr. Karl then pushed down on the action figure's tail.

"Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?" the toy werewolf squeaked.

Fang looked at Heph, then at Mr. Karl. "I'll... do some voice recordings for you. I don't think those are public domain."

Heph nodded in agreement. "Funny, yes, but not quite accurate. Also, there's a problem with the Serv'd-U-V thingy."

Mr. Karl looked at Heph. "Oh?"

"It's not that I don't like the Twin Gatling Laser Action. That's pretty cool. The real SUV doesn't have Gatling Lasers. It's just a regular red Ford Excursion with a wider door so I can get in and out. Oh, it also has a better suspension so it can handle my weight if I'm driving alone. And it's got one of those experimental Flextronic Hybrid engines."

Mr. Karl seemed dejected. "This will require a change to the production lines. We also had the spring-loaded circular saw launcher on it as well."

"Well, I suppose you could repackage it as The Serv'd-U-V with Surprising Fuel Economy Features," Heph said.

"What does it get?"

"75 on the highway, 73 in the city. That's because it uses the electric motor and special expandable gearing to get the same power as a full-on V8," Heph explained. "I wanted something simple, but the guys at A&E wanted me to have some kind of PCmobile."

"Oh," Mr. Karl said. "Well, parents will like that."

"It doesn't even have a roof pintle mount for a machine gun. Not even a center console shotgun rack like my old police cruiser had. That would have been awesome, even if I rarely use those things. I mean, it's an SUV, but it's just not violent enough!"

Mr. Karl motioned to his other assistant. "Barry, see if we can get a tie-in with both Ford and Remington. The least we can do is appeal to environmentally-conscious parents as well as the law enforcement and hunting crowd." Barry nodded and stepped out the door to accomplish his new task.

Heph nodded. "Good. It's a win-win kind of thing. Now, what about the action figure that you designed of me?"

"Well, it's not as complex as the Banpresto model, but we think you'll like it." Another wooden box was opened. Inside was a gleaming chrome version of Black Scorpion. "Whoops! Wrong box!" Mr. Karl said. "Mr. Scorpion said he wanted a chrome body to match the new Silver Mantis figure."

"You do action figures for villains?" Heph asked.

"Oh, yes! Like our Talking Lord Recluse figure!" He took a figure of Lord Recluse from the bookshelf on his wall and pressed one of the legs.

"Submit, mortals!" the tiny tyrant said. "Fear my wrath!"

"Wow. How did you get Lord Recluse to record his voice for you?"

"We got the next best thing," Mr. Karl said. "The only other person who sounds exactly like Lord Recluse."

Fang's jaw dropped. "You got Carrot Top to do all your Lord Recluse quotes?"

Mr. Karl nodded and smiled.

"And yet you still live," Heph said. "Anyway, what phrases does my figure have?"

"Here, see for yourself," Mr. Karl said as he opened another wooden box. Inside was a miniature version of Hephaestus 1 in his usual blue PPD ESWAT uniform. Mr. Karl pressed on one of mini-Heph's antennae.

"Sexy no jutsu dattebayo!" the action figure shouted.

"No," Heph said. "I'll be recording some of my own quotes as well for you."

"We got a good deal on the action phrases, though, like this other one," Mr. Karl said as he pressed another antenna.

"HEY HEY HEY!!!" Bill Cosby's voice croaked.

"Okay, we can keep that one," Heph said. He turned and looked at Fang. "Hey, you think I should have asked Ascendant for advice on this?"

You're welcome?

A pleasant but chilly morning greeted Hephaestus 1 and Fang, the Littlest Werewolf, as they walked from the SUV to the Rhode Island Circuit Courts Building in Atlas Park.

"Gee, Heph," Fang said, "What do you think that my uncle Larry is gonna have us do today?"

Hephaestus 1 looked down at his diminuitive partner. "The same thing we do every day, Fang: DELIVER SUBPOENAS FROM THE MINOR COURTS OF OUR CIVIL JUSTICE SYSTEM!"

*A montage of Heph and Fang's more amusing moments appears as a song plays in the background*

Hephaestus 1 and Fang
Hephaestus 1 and Fang
They are a cyborg
and a wolfman drinking Tang?
Court orders they must serve
With wit, panache and verve
Hephaestus
Hephaestus 1 and Fang, Fang, Fang, Fang, Fang!

Before each day is done
They summon to the courts
Supers who have run
From nuisance suits and torts!

Hephaestus 1 and Fang
Hephaestus 1 and Fang
They are a cyborg
and a wolfman who's lame!
Villains get unnerved
By being filmed for SERV'D!
with Hephaestus
Hephaestus 1 and Fang, Fang, Fang, Fang, Fang!

"Well, Fang, we'd better go see what Larry wants us to face today."

"Uh, okay..." Fang said. "How did they know I like Tang at breakfast?"

The heroes arrived at the desk of Larry McGonigle, Heph's contact for the Civil Courts. Larry was scowling as usual.

"Nice to see you again, O'Flannagan," Larry said. "Before we get into the details of today's assignment, I want you to know that you can opt out of any assignments which you might not like. It's okay to decline an assignment and take another."

"What?" Heph asked. "I've never refused an assignment, no matter how dumb. I won't start now."

Larry handed over a manila folder to Heph. "Read what's in the file. You might change your mind."

Heph opened up the folder. "Oh, God. Larry, what's the meaning of this? This is impossible!" the big blue cyborg shouted. Inside the folder was a restraining order and a picture of the hero he promised to watch when that hero's father died: the Cobalt Claymore.

"No, it's not impossible. On his last foray through Peregrine Island, the Cobalt Claymore used threats of physical violence, intimidating looks and name-calling on a particular leader within The Council."

"We do stuff like that every day, Lar," Heph said. "We're heroes. We try to distract villains from hurting regular folks as well as try to get them to surrender without a fight."

"Well, this one has some pull in his agency and sent one of their lawyers to ask for a restraining order against him. If you don't want the job, I can give it to someone else."

Heph looked at the list of offenses on the order. "Fang, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Fang looked up from his copy of 'Hai! Frilly Girly Happenstance.' "I think so, Heph, but the lyrics to the theme song don't scan perfectly now that I think about it."

Heph's shoulders slumped. "Fang, don't be a twit. I meant if you were thinking that our fellow hero is being mistreated by our justice system."

"Oh," Fang said. "I really wan't paying attention."

There was a loud clang as Heph's hand met his forehead. "Look, let's get out of here, okay?"

Fang closed his manga and put it away. "Right, boss!"

After a short commute, the two process servers arrived in front of a modest houseboat near the PCU campus in Founders Falls. Heph stepped up and knocked on the side of the boat. "Ahoy there! Permission to come aboard!"

The Cobalt Claymore popped open the door and looked out. "Heph? What's going on?"

"Uhm, I hate to tell you, CC, but an Archon Snodgrass of the Council has taken out a restraining order on you. Here's the paperwork."

The Cobalt Claymore looked over the papers. "Archon who?"

"Archon Snodgrass. You busted him and his cell of Council agents when they stole the P.L.O.T. Device."

"Oh, him. The Vampyr who's in charge of all Council sniper teams has put a restraining order on me?"

"He says you insulted him by calling him a denigrating name," Heph said.

"It was witty banter! I decided to anger him by call calling him 'Count Fragula' is all," the Cobalt Claymore said. "Witty banter is protected under the First Amendment and reinforced by the Mega Guy v. Hu Dei the Tiger Sorcerer decision of 1998. This order is bogus!"

"He also alleges that you created a hostile work environment through a campaign of intimidation and violence," Heph said. "What did you do to this guy?"

"I used psychological warfare to destroy his team's morale and then defeated them by taking a sword to a gunfight. It's standard operating procedure for swashbuckling vigilantes. When humor fails, scare the pants off of them," the Cobalt Claymore said as he stood on the deck of his houseboat.

"Uhm, speaking of pants," Fang said, "isn't it a bit cold to be out here in just a pair of gym shorts?"

"No, and what's it to you, Sergeant Yorkie?" the Cobalt Claymore snapped.

"I'm a werewolf, not a Yorkie, pal!" Fang growled. "Don't mess with me! I'm five hundred pounds of violence in a hundred-pound body! Every day is struggle to contain the Beast Within!"

"Right," the Cobalt Claymore said. "Don't shed on my boat, either. I hate getting dog hair stuck in the welcome mat."

"It's werewolf hair," Fang said. "Don't make me angry! Because I seethe like Zack De la Rocha when he doesn't get a seaweed wrap at the spa!"

The Cobalt Claymore looked at Fang, then at Heph. "Your boss hates you, doesn't he?"

Heph nodded. "Yes. Yes he does."

The shirtless hero folded up the restraining order. "They got Chris Jenkins to put his name on this. So I'll need to grab a lawyer of my own to fight this. This is a waste of taxpayer time and money."

"With an attitude like yours," Fang said, "he probably did feel uncomfortable."

Heph shook his head. "Fang."

"Yeah?"

Heph fired a tranquilizer dart into his partner's neck. "SHUT UP."

"I can feel colors Heph! I can feel colooooooorgh..." the tiny lycanthrope said as he fell unconscious.

"Well, you only have so long to respond and challenge this order so appear at the Circuit Court building at the time and date listed. I'm sure we've got a competent lawyer around here somewhere."

"Eh, I'm sure one firm or another owes me a favor. I'll see this loser in court."

Heph picked up Fang by the scruff of his neck and threw him over his shoulder. "Yeah. Sorry about the whole situation, man, but business is business."

"No problem. I'll have this fixed in no time."

Heph paused for a second. "You know this campus well, right? Where do I find the office of the Network for Advanced Rocket Fuels? I have a summon for one of the professors. Something to do with burning a hole in his apartment floor."

"NARF?" the Cobalt Claymore said. "Oh, it's in the Science and Engineering building over by Williams Square. Can't miss it."

"Hey, thanks, CC. You're a good sport about this."

"Eh, it's a hero thing."

"Yeah," Heph said. "You'll work it out. I have a feeling that thanks to countersuits Archon Snodgrass is going to find himself Serv'd!"

Hephaestus

Hephaestus 1 and Fang, Fang, Fang, Fang, Fang!

*fade to black and roll credits*

I don't think we want to go there. If I do then I'll start making even worse jokes. I skated the issue closely enough, I think.

The sight of a college-age werewolf office nebbish explaining to his uncle (with great detail) why one doesn't go commando in tight corduroy shorts is definitely not safe even for mature audiences.

Well, it serves him right for listening to his uncle.

"Serv'd!" is next on A&E.

*On a black screen the following warning is printed:*

"Due to mature themes, viewer discretion is advised."

*The screen slowly fades in to a scene of Hephaestus 1 sitting in his SUV. It's late at night, as he's currently outlined by street lamps and the glow of the faint light coming from his faceplate.*

Hephaestus 1 moved the back of the driver's seat a bit further back as he settled in for a long wait.

"Man, I haven't been on a stakeout in years. I know what you guys are thinking, why did they send a registered hero and process server on a stakeout?" He took a sip from his coffee cup. "It's because we're dealing with more reports about problems at Wentworth's. Remember how we found out that Ops Princeps, the self-aware android who's incognito, was running salvage from Paragon City to the Rogue Isles by using himself as a regular tractor trailer? Well, something new is happening. A bunch of people have been getting ripped off lately by a network of fraudulent sellers. It seems people have been getting salvage that's a little... dodgy."

Heph pulled out a small cylinder, similar to a CO2 canister used in air guns. "This is supposed to be a sample canister of an inert gas, designed to prevent metal oxidation during the fabrication process. Well, someone instead filled it with a very... uhm, ert... gas. Well, said salvage went home with a local inventor and during the fitting stage of a new faceplate fabrication process, the former Dr. Magnetronic got his nosehairs and nasal mucus membranes flash-fried. This has caused no small amount of discomfort for the good doctor, who has had to re-license himself temporarily under the name of "Cap'n Crusty." The less said about that, the better, but to make a long story short he's created a powerset perhaps more disgusting than the Spines powerset."

He set the cylinder back into the center console and looked out the windows again. "Well, to make things interesting, the PPD asked for me and Fang to help them out with this. Apparently Fang has a talent that no other hero has at the moment." He motioned to the camera crew. "Heads down, guys, here he comes."

The runty form of Fang, the Littlest Werewolf, appeared under a street lamp. Fang was wearing something similar to the War Wolves' leather pants and suspenders, except that the pants were some kind of green fabric. The suspenders were bright red and attached to the pants by the use of oversized gold buttons. He leaned up against the wall and looked up towards the sky.

"Heph, I can't believe you talked me into this," Fang groused.

"I tried talking you out of it, remember? I told you that if you did this you'd have to put your dignity away for a while. Undercover work like this can take its toll on your sanity," Heph said.

"Well, it's taking its toll on my comfort. Who in their right mind ever thought of tight-fitting corduroy shorts?" Fang asked as he adjusted himself on-camera.

"Dude! Ixnay on the atchingscray! You're on-camera!" Heph snapped.

Fang's little snout quivered. "But I was itchy!" he whined.

"Blame your uncle. He was the one who demanded authenticity."

"How did he know that the real Werner Wolf went commando, though?" Fang asked.

Heph sat there, not moving for a few seconds. "There are times on this show where I wish my face could express the horror of knowing too much about my co-worker. This is one of those times."

Heph shook his head and settled back into the drivers' seat. A late-model sedan drove between Fang and the SUV, then slowed down.

"I think these are our guys," Heph whispered.

Fang gave his best deer-in-the-headlights impression as the sedan backed up. The drivers' side window rolled down, and a middle-aged man leaned out the window.

"Hello to you, fuzzy person! Did you now that at filthygoldfamrers.com you get top gold price for drops! Rare, Ultra-Rare! Try our lottery today! You want buy gold? You buy gold with us!" the man said, reading off a sheet of paper. "How about you, sir? Do you has a salvage which we exchange for moneys? Rares or ultra-rares?"

Fang gave the best disinterested look he could. "Maybe. What are you looking for?"

"We are interested in procurizing the latest in drops! Rares! We like rares!" the man shouted again, his glasses fogging up at the thought of illicit trade. "We look for the Essence of the Furries! Give 500,000 moneys to u for it!"

"Don't you mean Essence of the Furies?" Fang asked.

"No! Essence of the Furries! Stupid buyers don't notice until after they buy it! So, how about the 500,000 moneys for your Essence of the Furries? I can tell you have much Essence of the Furries, hairy little dog mans!"

"Dog man? DOG MAN? I'm a WEREWOLF! I am the righteous claw of nature's judgment! I am the fang of divine retribution! I'm like Glenn Danzig getting a double mocha latte when he asked for a regular mocha americano! I AM WEARING ITCHY GREEN PANTS THAT MAKE ME ANGRY!" Fang yelled as he leapt towards the sedan. He grabbed the middle-aged man in a headlock and tried pulling him out through the window. Sadly, Fang's legs didn't quite reach the ground.

Heph and his crew burst out of the SUV with the speed of a running back avoiding a paternity suit. Heph shot out the tires on the car with his head-mounted lasers and ripped the passenger door off of its hinges and grabbed the steering column with his huge arm. With a slight twist he pulled the column out of the dashboard and powered his lasers up again. Heph turned to the passengers. "Nobody move! This is a Registered Hero bust in accordance with the Might for Right Act of 1937!"

"We gets lawyeas, right?" one of the men asked.

"Yeah, it's the usual spiel: you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can be used against you in a court of law, as well as your right to have an attorney present and if you can't afford one, the state will provide one for you. Get it? Got it? Good."

Inside the sedan, a group of very nervous-looking businessmen remained seated, fearing the angry little werecreature who was scratching his anger into the side panels of the driver's side door with the claws on his toes and fearing the giant blue cyborg in front of them who just disabled their car.

Heph looked at them. "Lawyeas? It's pronounced lawyers. I take it your English classes weren't up to date?"

"We have the English as she is spoke!" a businessman said, trying to not anger the heroes.

"Honored heroes, getting angry doggie off my head, please!" the driver shouted.

"NOT DOGGIE! WEREWOLF IN ITCHY PANTS!" Fang shouted.

"Fang!" Heph shouted. "Calm down!"

"MY MAN-BITS CHAFE, HEPH! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND MY PAIN! I RAGE! I RAGE!!!" Fang howled as he swung ineffectually on the businessman's neck.

With a click and the sound of a puff of compressed air, Heph fired a tranquilizer dart out of his oversized forearm, hitting Fang in the back of the neck.

"I AM THE FURY OF NATURE! I AM-- oh, my, Anko-sensei. Have you appeared to become my ninja of love?" Fang slurred as the fast-acting tranquilizers took effect. He released the driver from his headlock and slumped to the ground.

"Sorry about that. Fang's a bit sensitive about his heritage," Heph said to the driver.

After the businessmen were put into a prisoner transport to be taken to the local police precinct, Heph and Fang were sitting in the SUV. Heph took another sip from his coffee cup as Fang sat in the passenger seat, his ears drooped in remorse.

"I'm sorry, Heph," Fang said. "I just hate being mistaken for a dog is all."

"You promised you wouldn't throw a temper tantrum like that, Fang. I could lose my process serving gig because of this," Heph said. "And no gig means no money and no tv show. And then we don't get paid. Do you not want to get paid?"

"I want to get paid," Fang sniffed. "Next time I won't listen to Uncle Larry. I'll wear something a little less outrageous."

"Or at least you'll dress comfortably. And what was this 'Essence of the Furries' business anyway?"

Fang leaned over and whispered something into Hephaestus 1's audio pickup.

"Oh that's DISGUSTING!" Heph said. "You're joking!"

"Nope. Only animal hybrids with a background in cartooning can do this properly. You have to be an artist as well as an anthropomorphic animal."

"So, that rules out most of the catgirls, then," Heph said.

"Right. Most of them aren't cartoonists by nature. And besides, what catgirl in her right mind is going to stand on a dark street corner in a skimpy outfit looking to do some quote-freelance cartooning-unquote?" Fang looked at Heph. "The catgirls I know have much better taste than that."

Heph looked over. "So, it looks like these guys were preying on people's spelling errors to make big profits and defraud heroes out of their hard-earned cash. I'm glad we got a few more of them on the ol' ignore list tonight."

"Heph?" Fang asked. "Can we go back to the station? There's uh, excessive itchiness in places."

"TMI, Fang," Heph said as he pulled the SUV out of the parking space. "TMI."

*The screen fades to black. Another announcement appears on the screen:*

"For a free informative walkthrough on how to recognize fraudulent salvage and what to do if you think you've bought such items, please go to the Wentworth's Fine Consignments homepage and follow the link marked 'Fight Fraud With the Wentworth Squad' at the bottom of the page. Together, we can put an end to deliberately misspelled and fraudulent offers."

*The warning fades and the credits roll.*

Claire Pachowski blinked a bit as she woke up. Every morning it was the same thing when she wasn't on assignment: wake up, bathe, get dressed, put on the tactical vest, the traditional long scarf and headband, and then go see if the rest of her team was ready for an assignment. Was life always this annoying? She scarfed down a quick breakfast of some kind of microwaveable pork bun while putting on her sandals. She looked down where her family usually kept all their shoes.

Okay, those are Mother's shoes, she thought, and those are- wait. Her brother Tommy was supposed to be at work right now. And whose uber-girly sandals are those? They don't even look like they were made in this village. Claire knew she should investigate, and knew where to start. She pulled her sandals off and trudged towards her big brother's room.

"Tommy!" Claire yelled. "You're supposed to be work by- uhm, who's this?" she asked pointing to the young woman currently massaging her brother's shoulder while pouring him another cup of sake.

"Eh-heh... Claire, this is Saya. She's from the Village-in-Sunlight. Saya, this is my little sister Claire. She's just recently become a junior-grade ninja. An' besides, I AM at work!" Tommy took a swig of sake. "I'm eh, collectin' intelligence on the therapeutic massage arts'a her village! Ooh! Little ta the left, Saya-chan... right there!" Saya smiled and continued kneading the shoulder muscles that connected to his metal arms. "Preliminary reports indicate... oh that's nice... an increased flow'a chi ta the extremities, though further research is gonna be needed."

Claire stood at her brother's door, nonplussed. "Uhm. I think I left a shuriken in the fridge or something."

"You should see to that," Saya said. "Your brother and I are in intense study at the moment."

"Yeah, like the second leader'a Village-of-Emperors once said: 'Giggidy-giggidy-giggidy-gig!' I now understand what he meant," Tommy said from behind a very big grin.

Claire was now thoroughly squicked and ran back to the apartment doorway. She threw her sandals on and leapt to the job assignment center.

The job assignment center was its usual chaotic self: dozens of teams competed to be first to get the most prestigious assignments. The current leader of Village-of-Emperors, Mother Aoi, sat behind a large table, flanked by her advisors and assistants. She noticed Claire striding into the main hall alone.

"Claire," Mother Aoi said, "Where is the rest of Team 37? Your partners should be here."

"I have no idea, Mother Aoi," Claire said. "Our little Imperial Shadow wannabe and Overachievement Lass are-"

"They're right here!" squealed Mary Tsoo as she and Claire's other partner King McWhirter arrived on the scene. Mary was bubbly, too bubbly. Especially in the chest region. It made all the guys follow her around like she was the greatest and most wonderful thing in the world. Even King went ga-ga over her. What was worse was that she graduated at the top of the class with 100% scores in everything. "We wanted to start the day with a healthy fifteen-kilometer run! Why fifteen kilometers? Because the metric system rocks!"

Claire shook her head. "They've arrived, Mother Aoi."

"Now," the current Imperial Shadow said, "about your team leader. Since your brother Tommy is currently on assignment, I've had to assign another leader to you."

The three junior ninja looked at each other. "So, who's going to help us out?" Claire hoped Mother Aoi wouldn't assign that teacher to her team.

"Sorry I'm late, Honored Mother," Whispering Typhoon said from behind his mask. "I was busy speaking to Heph-Sensei about things of an administrative nature." With a flourish, he pulled out a copy of [u]Sword-Chucks Paradise[u] and began reading.

Mother Aoi gave her son a very displeased look. "Son, you shouldn't be so flippant in front of your new teammates."

Whispering Typhoon looked up from his book. "New teammates?" He looked around, obviously ignoring Claire's team.

"Yes," Mother Aoi said coldly. "Team 37."

The blue-clad young man raised an eyebrow. "Honored Mother is joking with her stunningly handsome and virile son, the Emperor's Bluest Blade!"

"No."

"Well," Whispering Typhoon said, "I think my social call to the princess of Village-Under-Waves is going to be postponed." He slipped the book into his carryall. "What is our assignment?"

Mother Aoi looked through the books. "Since you are a new team, I'm giving you a C-rank assignment. You're to act as bodyguard to our new ambassador to Village-in-Islands. Get him to our embassy, but remember that you'll have to pass through the land of our sworn enemies, Village-In-Traffic Gridlock."

"No problem!" Whsipering Typhoon beamed under his mask.

"Yay! Adventure awaits us!" Mary Tsoo yelled.

"What she said," King added, his eyes fixed on the bubbliest parts of Mary's personality.

"So annoying, the both of them," Claire grumbled.

----

Meanwhile, in the Paragon City we all know so well, Claire Pachowski dreamed peacefully in bed, her smile barely showing from under her latest manga.

Good. That's what I was going for.

Was it 70s-cop-show enough to pass muster?

(Inspired by the news of Issue 11...)

The Rhode Island Circuit Court building in Paragon City looked a grittier than normal as the custom 1975 Ford Econoline screeched to a halt. Hephaestus 1 stepped out of the van, his perfectly styled feathered hair not moving at all. He smoothed out his bushy mustache and adjusted his half-tinted sunglasses and started walking to the building. It wasn't too cold, so he left his old green field jacket open.

"Hey, Heph!" Fang shouted. "Wait up, man!" He slid out of the passenger seat and caught up with Heph, taking time to make sure his white-boy afro was in perfect condition, then adjusted his half-tinted sunglasses and smoothed out his bushy mustache. As he walked, his genuine naugahyde jacket creaked as he broke it in.

"I told you, Fang, you need to oil that jacket to soften it. The next time we go up against the Mullettis' numbers ring, I don't want your coat tipping them off to where we are."

"It's cool, man, it's cool. I took care of it. But I -do- have to look good for all the fine, fine ladies who show up in the course of all our investigations," Fang said, making sure his turtleneck collar was even as he walked through the door.

After Fang flirted with Brenda, the busty receptionist, the pair made their way to the nicotine-stained office of one Assistant Chief Larry McGonigle. Larry was sitting at his desk hunting and pecking out a report while chewing on a cigar which had gone out a while back.

"Knock knock, chief," Heph said as he ducked and strolled nonchalantly into Chief McGonigle's office. "The alien lounge singer case is done. We got the collar and now Rikti Martin is going down for good."

Fang strode in, writing something on the inside of a matchbook cover, chewing on his trademark toothpick. "What's the word, Chief?"

"The word, as you put it, Fang, is that you and O'Flannagan here are a couple of maverick cops who cross the line time and time again! Do you know how many reports I have to write because of your shenanigans?"

Heph folded one big metal arm over the other, his cybershell's antennae twitching as they tuned in police band broadcasts. "Shenanigans? Didn't we bust Ulysses and his Warriors when they tried to run drugs through there?"

"Yeah, man," Fang said disinterestedly. "Great happy hour specials, too. Like Linda, the waitress there." The little werewolf pointed both his index fingers like he was shooting from the hip at Heph. "Serious action there, Heph."

Heph smoothed out the mustache on his faceplate again. "Right, right, Linda. She ever give you the time of day, much less her number?"

"That's cold, man," Fang said. "You know she's hot for the one and only Lupine of Lovin'."

Heph shook his head. "Like that new band in Boston says, Dream On," he said. "So, Chief, what's next on our list?"

"If you're not careful, O'Flannagan, I'll have you back on Traffic Detail faster than you can say Jack Robinson! Now, listen. Rumor has it that the Tsoo gang is trying to run the Carl Douglas Memorial Self-Defense School and Community Center out of the neighborhood. I want you and Fang to investigate and catch those guys in the act! If the Tsoo run another community center out of the neighborhood so they can put in one of their 'massage parlors' again, I'll have your badges!" Larry shouted from around his cigar.

"Whoa, be cool, Chief, we're on it," Heph said, his big blue hands waving in front of him. "There's no need for all this negative energy."

"Yeah, be cool, man," Fang added. "You've got an ulcer already. No need to add hypertension," he said, teasing out a flat spot on his afro.

"Well, what you're gonna do is- wait," Larry said. "I haven't worn a paisley tie and plaid jacket together since 1977. You guys shouldn't have mustaches. And why do I have a mustache? What's going on here?"

Heph and Fang looked at each other. "He's right, Fang," Heph said. It should be physically impossible for me to have a mustache. I should also be physically impossible for you to be the smooth one."

"I noticed, too," Fang said, "but I didn't want to ruin the magic."

Larry looked around his desk. "I think someone is screwing with time. Portal Corporation may have gone too far in one of their experiments."

"Yeah, well, how do we break out of it?" Fang asked.

"Hmm. Guys, I think we'll just have to make do for the time being," Heph said. "Maybe if we solve this case, everything will go back to normal."

"I don't know if I want that," Fang said. "Here, I'm cool."

"Yeah, but where will you get your comics?" Heph asked.

"Manga!" Fang snarled. "They're- I see what you mean, Heph. We've got to get this solved."

Larry looked around. "Right. Okay, we'd better play along, then."

"Right," the big blue cyborg and the short grey werewolf said.

"All right, you two! Our computer department ran their data tapes and they say the next Tsoo shakedown will be at the Lo Mein Emporium on 7th Avenue!" Larry pointed at Heph with his stogie. "If you two break the rules one more time, I'll nail you to the wall, got it?"

"Right, Chief, but I'll tell you this much: I don't trust computers," Heph said. "They can't go out on the streets and see what the situation is."

Fang looked at Heph. "We better go before our favorite paper-pusher blows a gasket."

"Right, it's for his own good," the cyborg said. "Don't worry, Chief, we'll keep the neighborhood in one piece." With that, the two detectives walked out through the bureau, leaving pure cool in their wake.

Larry burst out of his office, waving his burned-out cigar. "O'Flannagan! I better see results! Got it?"

"We dig, man," Fang said.

The two heroes got back in the van and peeled out, leaving twin streaks of burned rubber as the only sign of their passing. Once they were en route, Fang popped open a can of Tab and took a drink.

"Hey, I told you, no food or drinks in the Love Wagon," Heph said. "Besides, that stuff'll give you cancer."

"It shows I have a sensitive side. The ladies dig that," Fang said. "And cancer? You're joking. That's like saying cigarettes will give you cancer!"

The custom van pulled up in front of the Lo Mein Emporium, where an ethnically-diverse crowd stood in line to order their lunch. KC and the Sunshine Band blasted through a tinny speaker outside to keep the crowd entertained. Heph and Fang got out of the van and looked around.

"I don't see anything," Fang said.

"No, but I do," Heph said as he walked towards an outrageously-dressed man who was surrounded by a bevy of scantily-clad women of ill repute.

"Why, Hephaestus 1, as I live and breathe," the fabulous eyesore of a man said. "Has the time finally come for you to sample the wares that only my fine, fine Foxy Mamas can provide?"

"No, Kissy Fox," Heph said. "I need information on the Tsoo gang's protection racket." Heph grabbed the pimp by his crushed velour lapels. "And unless you want to be dragged in for supplying your women to the Tsoo gang's massage parlors, you're going to tell me."

Kissy Fox pulled a switchblade out and flicked it open. "Now now, my big blue metal brother, we don't want anything heavy to happen on these streets. And it will get very heavy if I use this. Don't make me cut you!"

"Easy, Fox, easy," Fang said, separating the two men. "Heph, don't make this tougher than it has to be. Now, Fox, you need to give us that information. The Carl Douglas Memorial School of Self-Defense and Community Center is at stake. That place makes a positive impact on the neighborhood!"

"It's competition," Fox said. "Here I am providing jobs for the community's neediest women, and the community center is trying to take them away and make them work in an office outside the neighborhood! Tram fare is expensive, you know."

Fang looked around. "I bet if, say, Ulysses S. Grant asked you about the Tsoo gang's next move, you'd tell him," the werewolf said as he slid a fifty-dollar bill into Kissy Fox's chest pocket.

The pimp looked around. "You didn't hear this from me, but Tub Ci is gonna shake the place down with his heaviest soldiers. It's gonna be tonight, when the disco party starts--"

A late model LTD roared down the street past the trio of men, and Kissy Fox clutched at his chest. "Aw, man, they got me!" he shouted as he revealed a throwing star stuck in his chest. The crowd screamed and scattered as Fang gently lowered his wounded information source to the ground.

"Remember... when the disco party starts..." the pimp said as he passed out.

"Somebody call an ambulance!" Heph shouted as he and Fang leapt into the Love Wagon and shot down the street, chasing after the LTD. Heph slapped a magnetic spinning red light on top of the van and drove like Richard Petty.

"This is Zebra 3," Fang said into the police radio's microphone. "All units be on the lookout for a late model red Ford LTD with Vermont plates and expired tags. Suspects are considered armed and dangerous!"

The van managed to catch up with the LTD in Skyway City, dodging white-suited trolls and robots made out of discarded glitter balls and 8-track players.

"Where's that bass riff coming from, man?" Fang asked. "That's solid."

"WVEL," Heph said. "Apparently they play car chase music all the time, but you can only hear them when you're driving 80 miles per hour down city streets! Look out, Fang!"

Fang ducked as a throwing star flew within an inch of his hair. "Oh, no one goes for the hair," Fang said as he pulled out his snubnosed revolver. He fired two shots, but they bounced harmlessly off the thin sheet steel of the car's trunk.

"I told you to pack the .357 Magnum and not the .38 Special today," Heph said.

"I did! I must have gotten the ammo mixed up." Fang checked the remaining four shots in his Colt Python. "Okay, the rest are Magnums."

"Hang on," Heph yelled. "We're going through the Skyway-Talos Tunnel!"

Fang tried to get another shot at the LTD, but either support posts or other cars disrupted his aim. They finally exited the tunnel, and headed straight toward the infamous Olympia Curve, bane of street racers in the town. Fang fired twice more and shot out the back window and a rear tire on the LTD. Heph jammed on the brakes as the LTD missed the curve and shot off over the breakwater, flying for a few moments before hitting the water and exploding in slow motion. Heph slid the Love Wagon into a parallel spot and stepped out to survey the scene.

"Call this in, Fang. We're not getting anything out of those guys now."

Later that night, Billy Chin and Sammy Chung were putting the finishing touches on the Disco Night Party. As owners of the Carl Douglas Memorial School of Self-Defense and Community Center they were committed to having a party where everyone could enjoy a positive atmosphere of neighborhood unity. The ethnically-diverse neighborhood crowd danced to some unknown beat and enjoyed themselves.

Then the music stopped. Tub Ci and his heavies arrived. "Chop them up," Tub Ci said as the sleeve of his kung fu jacket fluttered as he pointed towards the owners, "and then chop them down!" The assorted Tsoo gang members started wrecking the place with nunchaku and katanas, and one of the Heralds brought down the disco ball with a well-placed throwing star.

"Ha ha! Soon no one will come to your community center and I can use Easily-Bribed Developers, Inc., to make this into another "Happy Dragon Massage Parlor" franchise!" Tub Ci said. "Ha ha!"

"Not so fast, Tub Ci," Fang said as he and Heph walked through the wrecked doors to the school and community center, "your days of shaking down the neighborhood are over!"

Tub Ci looked at Fang, then at Heph. "Ha ha! Look, my soldiers! Here comes the big boss!"

Fang and Heph dropped into fighting stances: Heph went into a boxer's stance, and Fang into a Praying Mantis style stance. "Let's get it on," Heph growled from under his mustache.

Kicks and punches flew as the two detectives traded blows with some of Tub Ci's toughest fighters. Finally, the two detectives stood in front of Tub Ci as he smiled and twisted one end of his fu manchu. "Excellent. You have proved your fighting skills. Now, face me! Face death!"

With expert timing, Tub Ci kicked from the hip and sent Fang flying into the disc jockey's booth. "MacArthur Park" started playing.

"Bad move, Tubby," Heph said. "I can't stand that song."

"It's Tub Ci, fool!" the leader of the Tsoo yelled as he went from a feint into a slip and swung out his hand towards the big blue cyborg. Heph took the ineffective punch and followed up with a vicious uppercut, sending Tub Ci flying into the air and landing on his back, stunned.

"All right, you cats are all under arrest, dig?" Heph said to Tub Ci. He began reading Tub Ci his rights as police sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer every second.

As Paragon City's finest stuffed the last member of the Tsoo gang into the prisoner transport, Heph took statements from witnesses as well as the owners. Fang took a moment to check what he'd written on the matchbook cover. He walked casually to the phone and dialed.

"Hey hey, sexy mama," Fang said. "This disco party might be busted flat, but I know an even wilder party that's gonna start in an hour. So, how about it, how about we meet up there?"

"Oh, sure thing, dollface! Let me just fix my makeup!" Myrna, the middle-aged and matronly night receptionist at the detective bureau said. Fang put the phone back on the hook, a look of terror on his face.

"What happened, man?" Heph asked.

"I asked Brenda for her number," Fang said. "So I call her up to see what she's doing now that she's off work. I got Myrna instead."

"You asked Brenda for her number," Heph said, "but did you ask her for her home number?"

"Oh, man," Fang groaned. "I can't believe she'd pull a stunt like that!"

"I can't help it if you don't know how to ask a lady out properly," Heph said. "Well, we've got to get our reports in. And I've got to get the Love Wagon ready for tonight. I'll be entertaining a guest."

"Who's that?" Fang asked.

"A certain day shift receptionist by the name of Brenda," Heph said, pointing his index fingers at Fang as if shooting from the hip. "I asked before you showed up this morning."

Fang stood there. "Man, you gotta be kidding me!"

"You snooze, you lose, man," Heph said as the scene froze with Heph giving a thumbs-up then went black.

The lights came back up and Fang and Hephaestus 1 were back in more modern attire, and the Love Wagon was replaced with a 2006 model of GMC Yukon.

"Man, that was weird," Heph said.

Fang looked even happier. "Thank God! I thought I was going to have to go out with Myrna for a minute. I wish I was still the cool one, though."

"Patience, grasshopper," Heph said. "You will learn in time. besides, my girlfriend would kill me if I actually dated another woman. And she's known for melting steel with fire."

"Ooh. Yeah, gotta watch out for-- hey! It's the new volume of 'Hai! Frilly Girly Happenstance!' Yes! Back to reality as we know it!"

"Yeah," Heph said. "Back to reality indeed."