CCC Entries by cbishop, Part 2

“Xandra, what am I looking at?” asked Raven.

Xandra’s eyes never left the screen, her brow furrowed deeply with concern. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were looking at your own handiwork, but you’ve never been to the area this happened in. Just look though. This woman was strangled with the yellow scarf you see around her neck, and sliced open with a khukuri.” She pointed to a small blade on the floor, at the bottom of the screen and added, “We know that was the weapon used because the killer lost his Karda in the struggle.” Xandra bit her lip briefly. “Raven, this could be a Gurkha.”

“No,” Raven answered. “Gurkhas would never be so sloppy. They’re stealthy like leopards, and agile like mountain goats.” Xandra looked at her strangely. “What? You’ve never read the Nepalese Khukuri House website? Point is, they’d have left with all their weapons. And besides, they don’t bother with strangulation.”

“Then who...”

“My impulse would be Thug, but this is something else,” said Raven. “This is someone trying to get my attention.”

“What? Why would you say that?” Xandra asked in surprise.

“The Thugee used scarves called ‘Rumal,’ which means roughly ‘yellow scarf.’ The real color was closer to cream or khaki, but I chose actual yellow because it stands out more. It doesn’t match anything the victim is wearing. So whoever left this yellow scarf around her neck was leaving a message for me. Who is this?” she asked, pointing at the picture.

“That’s Anita Child,” Raven’s friend answered. “She deals in human trafficking, but has never been caught until now. Her specialty is…was kids.”

Raven smiled. “So good riddance.”

“The world’s a better place,” agreed Xandra, “but there’s a problem. We were already in the process of tracking her down, because she was suspected to have two missing children with her. A girl and a boy- Wanda Auf and Willie Cumbach. When we found the body, the kids weren’t with her.”

“Now this guy has my attention. He’s not going to enjoy it though.” Raven smiled diabolically.

“Yeah. I figured that’s what you’d say. You’re going to need some help though. Someone from outside.”

“Who?” asked Raven, and as if in answer, there was a small explosion at the end of the room and a thick puff of black smoke. Raven immediately unsheathed a knife and threw it across the room.

“WHOA!” shouted a voice from the smoke. As it dissipated, there stood revealed an African-American man in a black trenchcoat and tophat, leaning a bit backwards, and still holding Raven’s knife where he caught it in midair. He looked at the women with a raised eyebrow and with slight exasperation in his voice said, “I come in peace.”

Xandra put a hand on Raven’s shoulder. “Raven, this…”

“Oh please,” interjected the man as he crossed the room. “Allow me to introducemyself.” Holding Raven’s knife by the tip and resting the hilt across his other wrist, he offered her knife back to her. Once she took it, he continued, “I am the cat in the hat. I am the technodelic jazz magician. I am the Shaman of the Vegas Vibe. Iam…”

“…Completely full of yourself?” finished Raven.

The man drew his head back a bit and put his hand to his chest in mock umbrage. His thumb and forefinger stroked the silver skull hung around his neck, then he continued, “To quote the late great Nicol Williamson in Excalibur, I am ‘a dream to some…’” then he threw his hands in the air and declared, “‘…a nightmare to others!’” His voice reverberated through the room like thunder, taking even Raven by surprise. He then took a bow, swept the hat from his head to reveal a salt and pepper afro, and standing, added, “I…am Miko the Magnificent.” Nodding to Xandra, he said, “My close friends call me High Hat. You,” he said, looking pointedly at Raven, “can call me Mister Magnificent.”

“Never going to happen,” countered Raven. “Nice trick though,” she conceded.

“Trick?!” Miko gasped, the umbrage real this time. With pursed lips, he pulled the tophat back down over his hair, flicked an eye up and down Raven’s form, snapped the lapels of his coat sharply to settle it back onto his frame properly, and silently turned to the monitor with the picture of the dead abductor.

Over Miko’s shoulder, Xandra looked at Raven with wide eyes and shook her head slightly. Raven shrugged apologetically in return, then put her hands up in front of her, telling Xandra both to be calm and that she would behave. Xandra said, "Miko helped us with the Milwaukee Torso Killer awhile back." She then turned to the monitor and asked, “What can you tell us about this, High Hat?”

His voice all business now, Miko said, “I can tell you that nobody will mourn the departure of this blight on humanity.” Raven smiled at that. “But what’s festered up in her place might make them reconsider.”

Raven’s smile disappeared. “What do you mean,” she asked.

Miko’s eyes flicked to his peripheral for a second, but he didn’t turn to look at her. He answered, “You see that half circle just above the edge of the scarf? Xandra, did your people take any other pictures?”

“Yes,” she answered. Three pictures came up on the screen, revealing the full mark below the scarf. “But we haven’t made heads or tails of them yet.”

“Appropriate phrasing,” offered Miko as he touched the screen to enlarge one of the pictures, “because this…” he spread his fingers from the center of the mark, enlarging that portion of the picture, “is from a coin. Or more accurately, a medallion.” The picture showed the profile of a man, with words to either side, following the edges of the medallion, and a date at the bottom: 1757-1822.

“Medallion?” asked Xandra.

Continuing to stare at the picture, Miko answered, “Yes, the Canova Medallion.”

“The Canova Medallion?” asked Raven.

Miko looked at her this time. “What do you know of it?”

“The Thuggee were rumored to be worshippers of Kali, so I’ve done some reading,” she offered. Miko nodded slightly and waved a hand towards the screen, telling Raven to continue. As she did, he brought up other pictures on the screen, showing what she was telling.

Raven continued, “The Thuggee were killers, and perhaps the earliest version of ‘organized crime.’ A group would disperse along trade routes, sometimes for hundreds of miles, and join bands of travellers a little at a time, until they outnumbered their victims. Once they reached a spot along the route of their own choosing, they’d kill their victims, often by strangulation, hide the bodies, and plunder the spoils. The captured Thug Behram was one of the most notorious, claiming to have been present at nine hundred thirty-one killings. He was quite proficient with his Rumal. He could throw it so that a medallion sewn in its lining would land over the victim’s adams apple, making it easier to strangle them. That medallion was the Canova Medallion. It had the face of the artist – Antonio Canova – on one side, and an image of his statue, The Three Graces, on the other.” She looked at the image on the screen. “This is the side with Canova’s image. Someone wanted us to be sure this was from the Canova Medallion. But is it the original or a copy?”

The magician answered, “It’s impossible to tell, but you’re right. This mark was burned into the flesh. So someone heated the medallion and branded the victim with it. That had to be done after she was killed. So he moved the scarf, branded her, and then put the scarf back in place. Someone wants to point you in a specific direction, but where?”

“I think I have the answer to that,” cut in Xandra. She was working the screen at an adjoining station, and as she tapped keys and images, she said, “The real Canova Medallion is in the collection of a private museum, bought from the family of Thug Behram.”

“So this is a copy then,” concluded Raven. “It could have come from anywhere then.”

“Maybe not,” countered Xandra. “The real medallion has done some travelling, and is currently in a touring exhibit of famous serial killers.”

“And that exhibit is here, in Vegas,” guessed Raven.

“Bingo,” said Xandra, “and no bets on where,” she said as she tapped the screen again. Miko and Raven joined her at the console.

Raven shook her head, “Damn. Sanctum Tartarus. Why is it always Simon Janus?” she complained.

“It might be more than that,” answered Miko.

“More?” Raven looked puzzled.

“I’ll meet you at the exhibit. You take my hat,” he said as he tossed the tophat on her head. He disappeared in another black puff of smoke, and his voice echoed through the room, “Enjoy the ride.”

“Ride?” asked Raven, and then she felt the hat shift on her head. She raised her eyes towards the brim, and before she could say anything else, the hat got wider and bigger, and fell over her head, resting on her shoulders. She grabbed the rim, but it got wider and bigger again, causing her to lose her grip, and it fell to her waist. It shifted once again, got wider and bigger, and fell to the floor.

Xandra hollered, “Raven!” Her eyes got bigger as the hat shrunk down to normal size, then seemed to fold in on itself and disappear. “Raven!” shouted Xandra.

Inside the hat, Raven tumbled over backwards into a dimension of strange images and sounds. Lights flashed, music played, and she felt herself slipping, no longer knowing which direction was which, which way she fell, or if she was even falling at all. A shadow that might have been a man passed close by to her, and she heard a whisper. “Still think it’s just a ‘trick?’”

She was about to scream when a bright light shined through a seeming tear in reality itself, and she landed in a sprawl on the exhibit floor. She took a second to catch her breath, braced her hands on the floor as much to make sure it was real as to push herself up, and then saw a pair of black boots in front of her face. She followed the boots upward to the black jacket, and all the way up to the face of the magician. He reached down with one hand to claim his hat from her head, then offered his other hand to Raven, which she took, and helped her up.

They looked at each other for several moments, before Raven said, “M-Mister Magnificent.”

Miko nodded appreciatively at her, leaned towards her and said, “You can call me High Hat,” before placing the tophat back on his head.

Raven gave an appreciative nod back. “Raven, then. You said something about this being more than Simon Janus?”

“Yes. It’s the owner of the Medallion- the one who normally holds it in a private museum. His name is Ali Indigo.”

“Why does that sound familiar?” asked Raven.

“Probably from your reading,” offered Miko. “The British used the son of Behram to pressure him into becoming a King’s Approver against the Thuggee. The son’s name was Ali, and the East India Company ‘gifted’ him the position of running anIndigo factory, hoping they could pressure him into disclosing the locations of his father’s hidden hordes of plundered treasures.”

“So you think that Ali Indigo has something to do with… High Hat!” Raven was interrupted by a yellow scarf being slung around the magician’s neck. Miko barely had time to throw one hand up in front of the Medallion sewn inside, keeping it from putting the full pressure on his throat.

From behind him, he heard, “Thug Behram, at your service!” The killer pulled tighter on the Rumal, determined to strangle Miko. Raven unsheathed her kukhuri, but Behram warned, “Don’t try it, girl! I will kill him!”

Raven backed off, but Miko reached backwards suddenly and poked his attacker in the eye. The thug screamed and grabbed for his eye, enabling High Hat to get free. The magician immediately ducked, grabbed the edge of his jacket, and swooped it in an arc towards Behram, like a cape. The killer was swallowed completely by the coat just before it dropped back into place. Miko looked pissed. He seemed to stare into nothing as he pulled the scarf from his neck and shoved it in his pocket. Then he spun, flaring the jacket again, and as the coat snapped forward, Behram was ejected from its folds and thrown across the room into a display.

Raven Diablo looked at the magician fearfully. The things she could learn from this man. She then crossed the distance between her and the killer swiftly, putting her kukhuri to his neck and demanding, “Who are you? And don’t say ‘Behram,’ because that’s not possible! You would be…”

“Almost two hundred fifty years old,” answered the Thug. Raven looked shocked. “Yes, it’s true. If you can’t believe who I say I am though, you may simply call me Phansigar. I took a vow of silence when British justice betrayed me, but not before I made a deal with a devil I knew from Persia.” His eyes narrowed cruelly as he looked into Raven’s eyes. “Sholeh Kaviani sends her regards.”

Raven wasn’t expecting to hear that name, but she was startled enough that she jerked backwards from the Thug a few steps. He did not miss the opportunity. Although he had been resting on his elbows, from his fallen position, his powerful arms pushed off of the ground, and he lunged forward, a kick to Raven’s gut sending her sprawling backwards. Jumping to his feet, he laughed. “She was right! This is a thrill!”

High Hat took a step towards the killer, but stopped when he saw what the killer took from his pocket. It was his Rumal. It was Miko’s turn to be startled. How had he gotten that from his pocket, while he was in the coat?

“Don’t look so bewildered, mage! I told you I made a deal with a devil! And she has powerful magicks of her own! Besides, I am Thug! As much thief as murderer! Pickpocketing is easy for one such as I- even from one such as you. Bah-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaaaa!” With that, he unfurled his Rumal, spun it around his head and let it fall around him. As it did so, he disappeared completely, just in time to avoid Raven’s khukuri, which embedded in the display case behind where he had been standing. Only the echo of his laughter remained, and the fading words of a warning. “You will hear from Phansigar again, Raven Diablo!”

Raven looked at the pile of debris that was the ruined display case, and exhaled sharply. “This…is not good,” she said finally.

“You’re telling me,” said High Hat. “I hope he didn’t get anything else from mypockets!” Raven looked at him quizzically. Miko just said, “That…would not be good. Tell Xandra I’ll be in touch.”

“Wait!” called Raven, but Miko had already flared his jacket, spun, and disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.

A voice echoed, “It was good meeting you, Raven,” and then faded from the room.

Raven smiled at nothing, but answered, “You too, High Hat.” She took one more look around, and headed for the exit. She needed to go see Sholeh Kaviani about two children.

Benjamin "Benny" Factor is not a nice man. He's been a gangster since he was old enough to make his own bad decisions. He began as muscle for pushers, then started dealing himself, and eventually went into moving all kinds of merchandise- chiefly, guns. He was one of the originals to refer to himself as being in "import/ export." That soon became a legitimate claim, just to cover his illegal activities. Underlings wound up running the illegal stuff for him, so he couldn't be connected to anything, and before he knew it, he was a respected businessman, and the cops weren't able to prove jack.

That doesn't mean that his hands were clean. Far from it. His organization- the illegal one- started being harassed by a vigilante known as The Blue Crab. She broke up a handful of important deals with a blue spotlight of a crab claw and a lot of fighting. She dropped off the radar for awhile, but was finally caught by Horace and Harry Fly, when she tried to bust up a weapons deal. They called Mr. Factor in, and Benny put the cap in her himself.

***

Horace Crabb was shocked when the police showed up at his door, and devastated when they told him that Merilyn was dead. He knew that she was The Blue Crab, but a gunshot? After all the crime she had stopped over the years? After all the things she had seen with The Statesmen? He wondered numbly who they would get to represent Maryland now. Then the weight of realization crashed in on him, and he wondered what the hell he was going to tell the girls. They were only four and five. How do you tell children that their mommy is gone? What was she even doing back in costume? She had only been in remission a few months. He slumped into a chair and buried his face in his hands. The detectives made their condolences and departed.

***

Merilyn's death ate at Horace for a year. The police were no closer to answers than they were when she was killed, and the girls were only starting to approach normal again. He was fed up. He dragged a footlocker from the closet, fished a key from the top drawer of Merilyn's dresser, and opened it up. He couldn't fit into her costume of course, but he could make use of her spotlight and her mask. He pulled leather motorcycle pants from the closet, along with a bomber jacket with his Zodiac sign on it. A pair of steel toed boots, his riding gloves, and the gun from his nightstand drawer. It was time for some answers. And this is how Cancer was born.

Horace made more waves and did more damage than his wife had done, in a short amount of time, because he was willing to use more violent methods. He rattled Benny's crew. They knew Cancer was someone out for revenge, because he was using The Blue Crab's old spotlight, and he made it known he was looking for her killer. No one dared give Benny Factor up though.

Anger makes a person careless though. He hadn't been at it a year when Cancer was caught and taken to Benny Factor at one of his dockside warehouses. They got on a boat, motored out past the three mile limit, and unmasked the vigilante. Benny capped Horace with his own gun, and tossed both over the side. Police found him washed up on the beach a day later.

***

Later that night, police showed up at the door, and whisked Annie and Sandy Crabb off to Child Protective Services. A social worker named Terrie, appalled that the officers hadn't told the girls what was going on, found that she now had the unpleasant task of telling these children that their father was dead. Sandy cried, but Annie was numb. She called her sister a crybaby and became angry with the social worker. Terrie let them cry and scream for two hours before they were worn out, and then they were taken to a state orphanage while authorities tried to find next of kin.

The girls were made wards of the state when no relatives were found. This lasted for a couple of years, until a janitor named Jim yelled at Annie for walking across his wet floor with muddy shoes. She scuffed her shoes all over the floor, then kicked the janitor in the shin. He grabbed for her, but she pulled away and kicked him in the other shin. Jim lunged forward, but slipped on the wet floor and fell. On the way down, he hit his head on the corner of the metal wringer of the mop bucket. His neck twisted on the way to the floor, and he didn't move.

Annie grabbed Sandy's hand and ran, and they left the orphanage. Sandy protested, saying they could tell the headmistress that it was an accident, but Annie insisted they had to run. She said they would separate her and Sandy if they knew what happened. So they ran. When they couldn't run anymore, they hid in an alleyway, and at eight and nine years old, this was the beginning of them living on the streets.

***

They had been living on the streets for four years when Benny caught Sandy trying to lift his wallet. When she tossed Annie his watch he was surprised and impressed, because he hadn't felt it come off of his wrist. Harry caught Annie before she could get away. Benny took his watch and wallet back, but instead of getting angry with the girls, he offered them a meal. Figuring it was better than getting arrested, they nervously accepted.

Benny talked to them while they ate. Like any gangster worth his chops, he had cops on his payroll. He knew that Cancer and The Blue Crab were Horace and Merilyn Crabb. So when he learned Annie and Sandy's names, he connected them as the orphaned children immediately, and had an idea. He offered to take them in, promising they'd never have to live on the streets again, and that they could even learn his business if they wanted. Benny figured it would be sweet revenge to turn his enemies' kids into gangsters. When the girls accepted, he smiled to himself. They'd be turning over in their graves.

Annie knew who Benny was too though. And she also had an idea.

***

Benny was true to his word, as it served his revenge. He taught the girls everything about his illegal businesses, and they came up much the same way he did. They started as runners for various things, mostly drugs, and they reported to Horace Fly. Although Benny kept a close eye on what he considered his personal project of corrupting these girls.

Annie didn't like Horace Fly. He had the same name as her dad, but he was a jerk. She called him Horse Fly, which he didn't much care for. His brother, Harry, she liked. He was called Harry the House, because he was so big. Sandy pointed out that this would make him House Fly, and Harry thought that was funny. Harry taught the girls how to fight, and Horace taught them how to shoot.

Annie played Benny's game, and she and Sandy kept him close. All the while, Annie kept focused on the memory of her father talking about Benny Factor and his involvement in her mom's death. Sandy still woke up crying over it sometimes, and Annie had called her crybaby so much that the term had become affectionate between them. So much so that Crybaby had become her nickname. She cried at everything- happy moments, sad movies, and even when she was angry. So Annie kept her eyes and ears open, looking for any information she could to prove that her dad was right. She wanted to give her sister a reason to stop crying.

They were not completely unaffected though. Sandy kind of fell into a bodyguard role for Benny, and Annie became one of his most trusted enforcers. Benny considered their corruption complete when they started killing for him. Sandy only killed to defend Benny from attack, but Annie actually carried out hits for him. She became known as The Orphan.

They worked for Benny for ten years before Annie finally ran across the information she had been looking for. Actually, she didn't find it herself. One of Benny's enemies had sent an enforcer of their own named The Mute to steal the contents of his safe. Sandy was stalking her through the halls of the office when The Mute got the drop on her.

Before she could fire, Annie cocked a gun to her head and said, "I've been made an orphan once. I didn't care for it much. Drop the gun." Taking The Mute's weapon and taking back Benny's documents, Annie leafed through them, and found the proof she had been looking for- pictures. The sick son of a... he took pictures. She let The Mute go.

***

Benny was throwing a party- a charity function for his legitimate businesses. He had to keep up appearances, after all. This was a New Year's Eve party that he hosted every year in his penthouse. It was tradition that he personally set off the fireworks from the roof of the neighboring building. It was there that Annie and Sandy confronted him.

Annie cracked him across the jaw with her gun, and threw the pictures down in front of him. Sandy held him at gunpoint so he didn't try anything. He pleaded. He begged. He bargained. And when none of that worked he became angry. "I've been like a father to you!" he shouted.

Annie looked at him coldly and said, "A father, Benny? I'm an orphan, remember?"

The hope left Benny's face as Annie turned away. He looked up at Sandy again. With fat tears streaming down her face, she looked at him coldly and said, "I wish you could remember this moment as much as I will."

And that was when Benny Factor died.

A bird with a brightly colored beak sits brooding among the branches of the World Tree. He does not look happy.

A squirrel scampers down from the higher branches and stops beside him. He notices that whatever the bird is looking at, it seems to be an infinity away. “Sam?” he asks.

The bird cocks an eye his way only slightly, and greets the squirrel without enthusiasm, “Hello, Ratatosk.”

“What are you doing here?” Ratatosk asked, moving from side to side a couple of times. Sam just looked at him. “Odin wants to know.”

“Odin?” gruffed the bird. “Since when does Odin take notice of any bird besides his ravens?”

Ratatosk scurried to the underside of the limb, as if dodging something. A few moments later he poked his head back around, and looked anxiously at the higher limbs, his head jerking first to one side, then the other as he peered between the branches. Cautiously climbing back to the topside of the branch, he gave one more nervous glance upwards, then stepped a little closer to Sam. “Since the bird is from another pantheon,” scolded the squirrel. “Now I ask again, what are you doing here?”

Sam looked perturbed, and waved his wings towards the messenger. “Oh, quit twitching your tail, tree rat! We all have claim to the World Tree. I know it, you know it, and Odin certainly knows it.” Ratatosk looked horrified, and in a frenzy did a couple of laps around the branch. Sam ignored him as he settled back down on his haunches and resumed his watch into the abyss.

“At any rate, I just came here for some perspective.” Sam glanced at the squirrel who had stopped his scramble to look at him quizzically, then added, “And to get away from Xibalba’s blathering.” He craned his neck downwards and shouted into the abyss, “King of the underworld for millennia on end! And still all he can talk about are the Six Houses! Like they’re the only ones who live there! Get. a. clue!” screeched the bird.

Ratatosk gasped, and his eyes got big. “You live in the nether realms, Sam?”

Sam jerked his head back around to the squirrel. “Why is that so hard to believe?” he demanded.

Ratatosk deflated a little, and answered, “Well, it’s just that…that…”

“That what?” bellowed Sam, stepping closer.

“…That…you-you’re…a toucan,” finished the squirrel. Withering a little further under Sam’s gaze, he added weakly, “You just don’t see many brightly colored netherworlders, is all.” Ratatosk reflexively started scanning the lower branches of the World Tree, avoiding the bird’s gaze.

Sam was fuming. “And why not?” he screamed. “Do you know who I am? I’m thre great god Fallayershnozl! I'm the Pied Piper of morning! Children follow me blindly for the promised taste of something I never give them! There’s no cherry in those loops! No orange! No anything! They’re all the same flavor! But they love them! The love me! Then they beg their parents to buy them more! I say, ‘Follow my nose,’ and those kids will follow me anywhere! Anywhere!” Leaning from the branch, Sam screams again into the abyss, “Let’s see Xibalba do that!” As he straightened back up, his tailfeathers fell away, and the skin underneath was red.

“Uh, Sam…” started Ratatosk.

“Do you know how hard it is for someone from the nether realms to get humans to follow them?” interrupted Sam. “It’s near impossible!” he shouted, throwing his wings wide. As he did so, the feathers at his wingtips flew outwards, leaving more red skin underneath. “I not only got humans to follow me, I got other humans to help me! An advertising agency will sell their souls for a buck…and did,” he cooed. “The love of money really is the root of all evil, you know.” He rubbed his wings together, clearly savoring the memory, and more feathers fell from his wings, leaving bright red skin underneath.

Ratatosk laid his ears back a little, and took a few steps backwards. Sam continued to rant.

“Is that good enough for Xibalba though? Noooo! ‘That’s not the way we do things, Sam.’” More feathers fell away.

“‘That’s too commercial, Sam.’” Great tufts fell away, and nothing but bright red skin underneath.

“‘We already have Six Houses, Sam.’” The toucan began to grow as he ranted, towering over Ratatosk like the World Tree itself.

“‘You’re just a toucan, Sam!’” A second pair of eyes appeared just over his first pair, and they started glowing with yellow energy.

“Well? I’m not ‘just a toucan’ anymore, AM I?” he bellowed, shaking the boughs of the World Tree with his thunderous voice.

“Today is the start of Toucan House! Today marks the beginning of the time of Toucan! Beware, Xibalba! BEWARE THE POWER OF TOUCAN THE TERRIBLE!” The giant red toucan roared with laughter, and his top pair of eyes smoldered with energy.

Ratatosk scampered backwards as quick as he could, and started to climb the World Tree. Toucan the Terrible spotted him, and his voice echoed, “Where are you going, tree rat?” His top eyes glowed brightly, and then energy beams lanced outwards and reduced the squirrel to a pile of ash.

The ash pile smoldered for a few seconds, them shifted slightly, and Ratatosk rose again from his own demise, shaking the remaining ashes from his fur. “You know, that’s not very nice,” he said to the giant toucan.

Toucan the Terrible smiled cruelly and chuckled fearsomely. “Be glad I have use for you, Messenger. Scamper back to Odin and tell him to mind his own pantheon, and Toucan the Terrible will mind his. Tell him to hope that I do not decide I want another pantheon as well. Now begone.”

Ratatosk looked on his former friend Sam in horror. Then he bolted up the trunk of the World Tree, tail twitching the entire way.

Toucan the Terrible laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

Captain Marvel Bunny and Invincible The Ibis were fighting a strange reptilian foe- a black snake with a yellow underbelly in the jagged pattern of a lightning bolt. He was as strong as the Captain, but with additional powers the bunny couldn't explain. Even with the combo of The Marvel Bunny's might and Invincible's Ibistick, they were having trouble with this slithery villain.

Invincible raised his Ibistick and fired a magical bolt at the snake, but he coiled like a spring and bounced out of the way. When he came down from his bounce, he trapped Invincible in his embrace. The snake squeezed until the Ibistick dropped from the hero's grip, then grabbed the end of the bird's red turban in his mouth, and coiled around Invincible at super speed. When he was done, The Ibis was a big red mummy.

The snake coiled before the crimson bundle, pleased with himself. Captain Marvel Bunny took that moment to throw a punch at the snake, but it moved at super speed, flying into the air. "Ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ss-ssss," came the stuttering hiss of the snake's laughter. "You'll never defeat Black Adar, Bunny!"

Captain Marvel Bunny lunged into the sky, shouting, "You don't mind if I try, do y-ooop!" Black Adar had grabbed the Captain's wrist with his tail and flipped him through the air. A deafening crash signaled the Captain's abrupt halt in the wall of a nearby building.

As the Rabbit of Righteousness shook off the stunning blow, the Serpent of Sin asked, "Don't you know I have the same power as you? Do you know what's good about that?" Before the Captain could respond, Black Adar zigzagged his body like a lightning bolt and with similar speed, he struck The Marvel Bunny in the chest.

The hero was shocked to find that he had been turned back into Hoppy! He went to shout the word that would change him back, but Black Adar quickly coiled around his body, one firm coil over his mouth. "Ah, ah, ahhh," scolded the snake. "We can't have you saying your magic word, Hoppy." The bunny's eyes went wide when he heard his name. "Oh, don't look so shocked. The narrator let it slip seven sentences ago."

!!!...Sorry, Hoppy.

"Fret not, you'll get to change back soon." Still firmly coiled around our hero, Black Adar flew to a spot at the edge of Fawncett City, landing before a familiar burrow. "It was a bolthole like this that led me to the Rock of Eternity, centuries ago," said the snake. "This is how you found him, yes?" Unable to answer, Hoppy just glared at the snake. "Well, only he has the answer you need of how to stop me," taunted the serpent, "but don't think I'm going to make that easy for you."

Swaying his head back and forth before Hoppy, the snake continued, "This is a power that all of us cartoon snakes have, y'know." With that, concentric circles started spinning in Black Adar's eyes, and he leaned close to Hoppy until the bunny's eyes matched his own. "When next you look at this hillside, Hoppy, you will see many burrows, and you'll have to try them all to find the old guy. But don't worry, when you find a wrong one, all you have to do is say your magic word, and instead of changing back, you'll be transported back here to try another hole." Eyes still spinning, the enthralled rabbit nodded weakly.

"But you need to move quickly," warned the snake, "because the contest deadline is almost upon you." Coiling around to one of the bunny's ears, Black Adar confided, "I'd wink at the reader, but I don't have any eyelids." With that, he uncoiled from around Hoppy at super speed, leaving the bunny spinning like a top while he flew away.

Hoppy spun for several seconds, then wobbled, then plopped down on his cottontail. His eyes still spinning and his upper body still wobbling back-and-forth slightly, he put one paw to his head, shut his eyes tightly, and shook his head vigorously. When his body-wobble slowed, he opened his eyes and the hypnotic effects were gone. Hoppy snapped his head around to the hill, now dotted with holes. He immediately shouted, "SHAZAM!" and dove into the nearest burrow.

Earth-8311:

As soon as Captain Marvel Bunny appeared in this reality, he heard maniacal laughter followed by, "It worked! It worked! The Moleholeborer has drilled into another dimension, bringing me a minion capable of defeating that pesky porker..."

"Hey! Big ears here! Kind of sensitive!" the Bunny shouted. He then looked down at a small animal with white goggles and a green cape, and asked, "Who are you?"

"I?!" shouted the villain. "I am The Mole, man! I am the underminer of morals! I am boring into the very fabric of..." and that was when The Captain backhanded him into a nearby tunnel wall.

"You're boring alright," he agreed.

"Hey! Who are you and why are you defeating my villain?" a voice demanded.

Captain Marvel Bunny focused his keen eyesight down the dark tunnel until he spied a pig in a red and blue costume with white eyepatches. "Ah, you must be the pesky porker?" he asked.

"That's Spider-Ham to you, pal," answered the pesky porker. "Hey! That's Spider-Ham to you, too!"

???...Fine, I'll be over here, being quiet. See how far your story gets without me.

"I'm Captain Marvel Bunny."

"I'm your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Ham. I see you've already met The Mole."

"Yes, but I was sent here by a villain of my own and need to get back."

"If anyone can figure out how to travel to another reality, it would have to be Deer Dicharrs, of the Fawntastic Four. Let's drop The Mole off to the police, and we'll go see him."

"Um, I don't know if...wait. What about him?"

"Who? Oh...what about him?"

"Ahem."

Hm? Oh, me? Oh! Oh yeah! <ahem> Captain Marvel Bunny and Spider-Ham...

Spider-Ham nodded approvingly.

Captain Marvel Bunny and Spider-Ham headed to the surface. They were just leaving police headquarters when The Captain looked down the street and started to shout, "Jumping Jellyf...mmf!" but was interrupted by a web muffling his mouth.

"I don't think our lawyers will let us say that," chided Spider-Ham.

The Captain scowled at the hero and ripped the webbing from his mouth. "No! Look!" he said, pointing down the street. "Jumping Jellyfish!" And sure enough, coming down the street were two giant, jumping, bouncing jellyfish, bouncing off of buildings as well as the sidewalk. "That must be what The Mole's Moleholeborer actually brought here! Let's wrap this up quick," said The Captain. He started forward, but another web grabbed his shoulder.

"Touch those slimy things? Are you kidding? I have a better idea." Captain Marvel Bunny just looked at Spider-Ham as he strolled forward with his hands clasped behind his back. "Jellyfish!" he shouted. "That's perfect! Now where did I put my Peanutbutterfish? This will be a great snack!"

The two jellyfish stopped mid-bounce, one in a lean off the sidewalk, the other about to leap from the side of a building. Their bulbous heads turned to each other, they shook, and then both jumped, spinning faster and faster until they disappeared from this reality.

"If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it," admitted The Captain. "Well, time for me to go. Until we meet again, Spider-Ham."

"Until then, Captain," answered Spider-Ham.

The two heroes shook hands, Captain Marvel Bunny shouted, "SHAZAM!" and was gone. Appearing once again before the Hill of holes, he immediately dove into another burrow.

Just Right of Albuquerque:

"Eh, what's up, doc?" asked a naked rabbit. "You must be the temp, while I go on vacation. Heyyyy, fancy duds, doc!" He then chomped on a carrot while he looked the hero over. In the distance, a small brown tornado was moving towards them. "So, Taz will be here in a second. Don't worry, his bark is worse than his bite, doc. Thanks for filling in for me, and I'll see you in two weeks. Tah tah!" With that, the grey and white rabbit dove into the ground and burrowed away.

"What in the world?" asked The Captain.

"Waaaabiiiit!" came the slobbering chatter of the brown tornado, now stopped beside him. Not a tornado at all, he was an also naked brown Tasmanian Devil.

"Excuse me?" asked Captain Marvel Bunny.

"WABBIT!" hollered Taz, as he quickly tied a napkin around his neck and grabbed The Marvel Bunny's arm. Before The Captain could say anything, Taz's mouth opened wide and clamped down on Cap's arm. There was a loud clanking sound, then the teeth cracked, and fell out of Taz's mouth. Taz looked at the pile of teeth, then at the hero, who just shrugged. Snatching the bib from his neck, he quickly scooped the pile of teeth into it, creating a small sack. He then spun and zipped away, trailed only by a, "Yipe! Yipe! Yipe! Yipe! Yipe!"

The Captain just looked after him. "Oh for the luvva...SHAZAM!" Disappearing once again and reappearing at the hill, he dove into another hole.

The World Tree:

Seeing a giant squirrel scurry up the humongous tree, he spied a giant red bird with four eyes, staring at him. "Who dares to intrude on Toucan the Terrible?"

"Oh, heck no. SHAZAM!" and he disappeaeard again.

Wearing a beige suit and dark shades, Henry Peter Gyrich watched silently as the techs rolled in two matching tables. One held a specially made device that looked a bit like a high tech shop vac, and the other held the specimens that had been so carefully chosen for this project. The techs, all in lab coats, were buzzing around the tables and the rest of the room, getting ready for the experiment.

Looking at the specimens, Henry pointed at a young, blonde tech, and said, "Jensen! What is that?"

Jensen jumped when the agent barked his name, and looked at Gyrich with some confusion. Looking at the table nervously, he answered, "I don't understand, sir. They're what you reques..."

"Not the plants, you idiot!" snarled Agent Gyrich. "That!"

"Oh!" smiled Jensen. "The ribbons. Those were Meredith's idea. It's to help tell them apart." It was obvious he had a crush on Meredith.

Henry suppressed the urge to slap him. "Might be a good idea," he said noncommittally.

"Yeah, she's great," agreed Jensen.

With revulsion in his voice, Henry snarled, "Get on with it!"

With that, Jensen and everyone else focused in on their specific jobs. His was manning the pump on the first table. There was a brief countdown from three from someone at a panel on the wall, and then they pointed at Jensen. "Goop 'em!"

Jensen pulled a lever much like a slot machine, the pump hummed to life, and a vaguely glowing goop coated the four plants on the opposite table. Once they were covered, he shut off the machine and they waited. Nothing happened immediately. "Are we sure this is going to work?" asked Gyrich.

"Well," started Jensen, "they're called 'experiments' for a reason. This goop hit a bat flying around a streetlight and a kid who tackled an old man out of the way of our truck, and it produced one of the finest agents S.H.I.E.L.D. has ever had."

"Murdock's good," agreed Gyrich. "But plants?" The four small plants just sat there, the glow of the goop pulsing slowly.

"We couldn't very well purposely try this on humans, could we?" answered Jensen.

"No, of course not." Henry sounded disappointed.

Jensen continued, "Right, and the animal rights whiners would go into spasms if we tried it on animals...although Meredith had the cutest little turtles picked out before that idea got axed."

"Jensen!" snapped the agent.

"Oh! Uh, right. Anyway, if this works, we can make an unlimited amount of footsoldiers for S.H.I.E.LD."

"Plants were really our best option?" asked Gyrich.

"Well, we have a vampire problem right now. Something to do with those mutants out of Westchester," Jensen shrugged. "So the wooden limbs will be lethal to those bloodsuckers."

Gyrich raised an eyebrow. "Great. Saved by Pinocchio. And how are we making them mobile?"

"The goop, of course. And DNA culled from the brightest young minds our education system has to offer. 'Lice checks' allowed us to collect what we needed." Jensen waggled his eyebrows when he said "lice checks."'

Gyrich again suppressed the urge to slap him. Then he pointed and hollered, "Look!"

The goop moved. The plants shuddered. Then they swayed. Then they bent and moved in ways not natural for plants. They grew limbs that they used like hands, and they stepped from their buckets, roots serving as legs and feet. Eyes and other facial features formed in the foliage, and then they grew to about five foot seven inches each. They started changing shapes, forming into various shaped plants- cats, chameleons, squirrels, etc.

Gallery

The room held its breath- even Gyrich- then the techs burst out into cheers and whoops, high fiving each other.

"It's worked!" shouted Jensen. "Agent Gyrich, I give you plant soldiers that can camouflage themselves! I give you Teenage Mutant Ninja Topiaries!"

"Ninja?" asked Gyrich.

"I will teach them that," said a quiet voice from behind him.

Henry spun to see a four foot tall rat with a red robe and a walking stick. "What the hell is that?" he exclaimed.

Jensen sounded a little sheepish. "Um, well, that old man that Murdock saved? He was carrying a pet rat, and they got gooped too. Turns out he's a ninja master."

Gyrich looked at Jensen incredulously. Then back to the rat.

Bowing his head slightly, the rat said, "My name is Splinter."

Henry looked at Splinter for a few moments, saying nothing. Then, "A 'ninja master,' huh? And you couldn't dodge a truck on your own?"

The rat seemed to smile as it shrugged. "Had I done that, our young Mister Murdock could not fulfill his destiny, could he?"

Gyrich took his shades off and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He then glanced at Jensen.

Jensen leaned in and said, "He trained Murdock, sir."

Henry looked at Jensen blankly, then nodded. Putting his shades back on, he glanced again at the Topiaries. Just before he headed for the door, he looked at the rat and said, "Do it."

Undisclosed Location

“I’m telling you it won’t work!” he shouts.

“I’m telling you that it will,” she answers. “At any rate, all of the forces are in play.”

“But this is a game changer! You can’t trust them,” he insists with a sweep of his hand. “It will destroy everything we have built here!”

“You worry too much, father.”

“And you don’t worry at all! Know this,” he warns, “if this goes sideways, it’s you who will pay the price!”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she says.

He narrows his eyes and answers, “Darlin’, never bet against the house.”

Vieux Carré, New Orleans

The sun has nearly disappeared over the horizon, leaving the French Quarter to the mercies of evening. Its alleyways darken first, as buildings cast their last shadows, before darkness falls completely. In one such alley, between a Chinese market and a bar with no name, and closed on one end by a brick wall lined with dumpsters, there's a jet black motorcycle. From out of the shadows strides its rider, clad head-to-toe in black leather and a shiny, jet black helmet that hides his face. He swings a leg over the seat, mounting the bike, flips the kickstand up with his foot, and puts the key in the ignition.

As he does so, a radio squelches to life in his helmet. “Operation Nightstrike is a go.”

The rider says nothing. He turns the key, and jumps on the kickstarter. Revving the engine, he waves to the darkness behind him, as if motioning it forward, and starts toward the street. A roar is heard from the shadows, and as he reaches the mouth of the alley, a half dozen motorcycles pour out behind him, all jet black like the first, and with identically dressed riders. They pull out in both directions and roar off into the night.

As they depart, a man steps out of the bar, his gaze following the riders. Looking down the short alleyway, only just long enough for a trash truck to fit into, he sneers slightly. He then hefts a heavy-canvas bag from one hand to the other, and starts down the sidewalk.

Murderworld Hotel & Casino

Remy LeBeau zips a duffel bag shut and swings it over his shoulder. “Thanks for the cards, Arcade.”

The long-haired redhead smiles and pats Remy’s back, as they walk out of his office into the main casino. “It’s a pleasure doing business, Gambit. We have to change those cards out after so many games anyway. If you didn’t take them, we’d just have to throw them out. It’s a small price to pay to keep on the good side of the United Guild.”

“That and testing our assassins,” answers Gambit. “How are the newest initiates doing?” he asks.

Arcade purses his lips, “I’m afraid you’ve lost three so far.” He shrugs, and adds, “The other ten are still doing quite well.”

Gambit nods. “And how’s the rest of the business?”

Arcade gives a disgusted wave at the rows of slot machines and blackjack tables, and says, “These mouth breathers annoy me, but the gambling funds my other activities. Going straight is almost boring, but it’s endlessly amusing to know that the very thing that made me a wanted criminal before now makes me legitimately wealthy. Rather than paying me to kill others, people now pay me to ‘try’ to kill them. A ‘survival course’ for whales. Where the other hotels hunt them with comps, I hunt them with harpoons… among other things.” Arcade smiles maliciously. “Lawyers and legal waivers are magnificent things.”

Remy smiles briefly, his red eyes flashing slightly. As he walks away, he calls out, “You’re a cutthroat pig, Arcade!”

Arcade holds up a finger and calls back, “Businessman! I’m a ‘cutthroatbusinessman,’ thank you very much.” He smiles to himself and adds quietly, “Pity you won’t challenge my Murderworld.” He then turns and strolls back to his office, savoring the thought.

***

Gambit is stuffing a few packs of cards into his jacket pockets, when a black portal opens up halfway between him and the casino doors. He hears the scream, “Gambit!” before he sees the woman step out of the portal. She's barely covered in thin black stripes of what it would be charitable to call “clothing,” including a thin black mask over her eyes.

He looks a little confused as he says, “Ecstasy?”

Then a figure in black leather and a shiny black motorcycle helmet exits the portal behind her, quickly catching up to her and forcing her back into the portal. “Remy!” she screams, “Help meeee!”

“Renee!” screams LeBeau. “Hang on, cher!” He drops the bag and runs for the portal, diving in before it can close. He is surprised to land in the street, just outside the casino. He is equally surprised to see six more portals open up, all with black clad bikers stepping out of them.

The one with Renee now over his shoulder speaks to the others, his voice filtering through a speaker in the helmet, “Ecstasy neutralized,” he says, as he drops her to the pavement. “Mister Negative recruited. Marauders report.”

The first of the newly arrived riders says, “Blackheart eliminated. Black Mamba recruited. Doorman neutralized.”

The second says, “Night, Nightside, and Nightwind recruited.”

The third adds, “Spot neutralized. Vanisher and Smuggler recruited.”

The fourth reports, “Blackout eliminated. Quagmire recruited.”

The fifth says, “Darkstar eliminated. Silhouette neutralized. Cloak escaped.”

The sixth finishes with, “Shroud escaped. Asylum eliminated. Sepulchre eliminated.”

The one from the casino waves a hand over Ecstasy. The thin strands of ebon energy that make up her costume lift away, absorbed into his black leather, leaving her naked and unconscious on the pavement. “The Darkforce is ours,” he concludes.

Gambit picks that moment to throw some charged playing cards at the rider standing over Renee Deladier. The rider simply gestures, and a black portal swallows the cards. A moment later, another portal disgorges them towards the casino’s doors, and the explosion sends glass everywhere. Remy rolls to shield Renee, and the riders disappear through their portals.

From the shadows of another alley, across the street, the man from the bar watches Gambit through the scope of his rifle. As the mutant lays his trenchcoat over the body of the naked woman in the street, the gunman muses to himself, “Two for one. Good.” He lines up his shot on Gambit, and just before he is about to pull the trigger, he starts to whisper, “Justice is…” His mantra is cut off as a knife is pressed to his throat, a black clad attacker having appeared out of the shadows behind him.

The Marauder leans in close, and with a light squelch from his helmet’s speaker, he utters his own mantra into the man’s ear, "Hail Hydra," before ending the would-be-assassin’s life. He then melts back into the shadows of the alley, before passing headlights reveal that nothing is there but a brick wall.

Murderworld Hotel & Casino, Operations Center

Watching the events outside unfold on the monitors, Arcade offers, “Arcadia, my dear, it seems I owe you an apology. Well played,” he says, raising his glass.

A beautiful young woman, hair dyed green, clinks her glass against his. “See? I told you, daddy- it can all be Murderworld, if we just try.”

Embracing her, Arcade says, “Yes, you did, darlin’. You told me.”

Her head leaned against his shoulder, she says, “Daddy?”

“Yes, dear?” he answers.

“I worked really hard on this, didn’t I?”

Stroking her hair softly, he kisses the top of her head and says, “Yes, Arcadia, you sure did.”

Head still resting on his shoulder, she says softly, “Then I think you should call me Madame Hydra.”

Scowling, Arcade thinks, Game changer, indeed. Aloud, he answers, “Yes, Madame Hydra,” and strokes her hair again. Draining his glass, he asks, "And Madame Hydra?"

"Yes, daddy?"

"You're paying to fix my hotel entrance."

Manjaro the Manslayer stood a head-and-a-half higher than most men- even Finnrick the Fine. So with his broad shoulders, strong voice, and the studded mace he carried as his weapon, what he said carried weight with those around him. Especially when he was angry. His temper, backed by his mace, is what gained him the name Manslayer. So when Manjaro was angry, men were wary. When the person he was angry with stood their ground, they said a prayer to the gods for the fool’s soul. When the fool seemed unconcerned, those watching trembled with adrenaline, knowing they were about to witness a brutal death.

Such was the case aboard the karve, currently making its way across rough seas to a patch of swirling water. All men held tightly to their oars as they watched Manjaro yell into the face of their passenger- a man they called Draco. They called him this because of a necklace of teeth hanging across his bare chest, which he claimed came from a dragon. He had no hair on his head, a long, thick mustache that curved around his mouth and drooped down past his chin, was only a head shorter than Manjaro, and he was seemingly as unaffected by the cold as he was by Manjaro’s anger. He was the lone escort of a queen who had commissioned them for the trip, who currently rode in the hold with the livestock. An arrangement which was not to the men’s liking, and which Manjaro finally decided to speak up about.

“It’s bad luck for a woman to be aboard! We’ve lost five men to the raiding party, just out of port! Two to the waves! Three to the cold! ” The men grunted their support with each count, and continued to do so as he listed the casualties so far. “Two disappeared in that damned thick fog we had a couple of nights ago! We lost one in the attack of the giant devilfish! And one went into the hold for supplies and never came back out again!”

Draco stood casually, with his fists on his hips, waiting for Manjaro to finish. Then he said, “I killed the man who entered the hold.” Everyone went silent at that, including Manjaro.

From his position overlooking the men at their oars, Finnrick spoke up. Not bothering to hide the anger in his voice, he challenged, “What did you just say?”

Draco looked at him with no more concern than he had for Manjaro. “I told you I would bring out whatever supplies were required by the crew. The terms of your commission included that no one may enter the hold. None may lay eyes upon the queen. He did both. So I killed him.”

The crew remained silent. Manjaro still stood, seething, chest heaving with his anger. So he smiled when Finnrick said, “Manjaro, kill him and throw him overboard. Then guard the hold for the remainder of the voyage.”

Manjaro closed what little space there was between himself and Draco, and through gritted teeth, he said, “Now, Draco, you find out why they call me Manjaro the Manslayer.” Then he heaved the mace into the air, and brought it down with an angry roar.

Draco caught the head of the mace in his hand, stopping it’s swing. Manjaro gaped. The escort, still unconcerned, said, “That would be impressive, boy, if I were a man.” He then hit Manjaro in the chest with the flat of his palm, shoving him several paces backwards, where he fell over the first row of oar benches. “And I’m tired of telling you: my name…is Heironymous.”

Manjaro started to get up when Finnrick called out, “We’re here!”

The men looked out at the swirling water. “What do you expect to find here?” asked Finnrick.

As if on cue, a giant beast rose out of the water, it’s long neck towering over the ship. Heironymous answered, “That- Leviathan.” Looking to the mage, Ulrich the Unnatural, he asked, “Do you have the item I entrusted you with?”

Ulrich produced a small glowing spike and answered, “It is here.”

Heironymous took the spike, looked at Leviathan, and said, “Wait for me to return.” He then ran for the stern of the ship, jumped to the rail, and bounded off at the beast. Both roared hellishly, drowning out the sound of the wind and waves.

“What the hell is he?” asked Manjaro, clearly in awe.

“He’s a dragon,” answered Ulrich. “Now watch.”

The Iron Circle- an industrial roundabout near one of Indigo City’s crash sites from The Great Impact:

“Tell me again why we’re here, Special Agent Heironymous,” said Crystal Salt.

Looking at the work going on in the foundry, Heironymous answered, “We’re nothere, Special Agent Salt.”

Looking up at her new partner, Crystal raised an eyebrow and asked, “We weresent here by our commanding officers, weren’t we?”

Still looking at the foundry, Heironymous cocked his head to one side and replied, “Of course...but that doesn’t mean that we’re here.” He turned his head slightly, looked at Crystal from the corner of his eye, and winked.

“Ha. I see. So a dragon smelting iron, and trolls working the metal have what to do with the U.S. Treasury, or protecting the President?”

Heironymous looked down at her fully this time. The question not being entirely unexpected, he replied dryly, “I’m sorry?”

“Trolls and a dragon,” she said, pointing at the foundry. “This must have something to do with POTUS or the Treasury. Otherwise, why send in the Secret Service?”

The bald agent looked back out toward the dragon, and sighed like he was tired. “Damn whoever came up with ‘need to know.’ Is thatallyou think we do, Agent Salt?”

“It’s all I was trained for,” she said. “It’s all that’s on the agency’s website,” she added.

Heironymous sounded only slightly annoyed when he said, “Great. A greenhorn.”

“Excuse me?” Salt challenged, plainly offended.

“What does it say?” he asked, watching the copper-scaled dragon breathe fire into the great smelting pot of metal ore.

“What?”

“The website,” he said, turning his attention to the young agent. “What does it say?”

Salt ticked off the items on her fingers as she listed, “We safeguard the integrity of the economy, protect national leaders, visiting dignitaries, certain sites and events.”

“It says all that, does it?” asked Heironymous, his handlebar mustache twitching as he talked.

“Yeah,” said Crystal.

“I see,” he said, pursing his lips. “And who has access to this website?”

“Everyone,” she answered, plainly bothered by the obviousness of the question. “It’s the World Wide Web.”

“Uh-huh.” Leaning towards her slightly, he asked, “And what part of that saysSecret Service to you?”

Crystal considered for a moment, and said, “So we handle other things that aren’t made known to the public.” Heironymous nodded. “So back to my original question: why are we here, watchdogging trolls and a dragon, for weeks on end?” The great smelting pot tipped into the molds at that point, and the trolls began working the molten metal.

Heironymous looked at her curiously. “That’s it? No shock and disbelief? No umbrage over disinformation? No surprise that those are real trolls and a real dragon down there?”

“Special Agent Heironymous, my father was lost in some sort of portal accident, my sister is part of an elite military unit that I gatherencounters weird and unexplained on a regular basis, and during my time in the Navy, I’ve seen things at sea that defy conventional explanation,” she lectured, again ticking her list off on her fingers. “Trolls and a dragon are just more of the same,” she added.

They looked at each other for a long few moments. Heironymous broke the silence with, “Hmph. Not a greenhorn after all then.” Crystal nodded her appreciation before he added, “Just ignorant.”

“Hey--!” she started, before he put a hand up to stop her.

“We- that is the Secret Service- are here,” offered Heironymous, “because our government has a vested interest in Indigo City recovering from the trials brought on by The Great Impact. The foundry hasn’t returned to fully operational status yet, so their smelting equipment isn’t working. So we asked a dragon--”

“--That we just happen to know--” interjected Crystal.

“--to smelt the metals needed to aid in rebuilding, in exchange for a favor that’s beyond your paygrade.”

“But not yours,” she stated.

“We asked the trolls to work the metal, because there are no better metalworkers on Earth--”

“--Or beneath it,” she pointed out.

“--and ordinary citizens can’t be allowed to know that such creatures of lore still exist.”

“Because…” she shrugged.

“Will you please quit doing that?” Heironymous said gruffly. Crystal gestured with both hands for him to continue, then clasped her hands in front of her. “We, specifically, are here, because dragons are my purview. If this goes sideways, we are to protect the dragon, and see that he gets out of here safely.”

“And if it’s the dragon that sends us sideways?” she asked. There was an audible hiss as the metal castings were cooled in the foundry.

Heironymous looked at her quizzically, almost offended. “Dragons arehonorable, above all else. Once they agree to do something, they will not waver from it.”

“And if the dragon has an ulterior motive for being here?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Gritting his teeth slightly, Heironymous said, “Then it was probably covered in the deal he made for his services. Or he decided that doing this service wouldn’t conflict with his own agenda.”

Salt gave a knowing look as she turned back toward the foundry. She clasped her hands behind her, rocked back-and-forth on her heels a couple of times, and said, “Uhh-huh.” The trolls removed the iron girders from the molds, and began resetting the equipment to repeat the process.

Heironymous scowled and said, “Do you have something to say, Agent Salt?”

Crystal looked at him like she had been waiting for this moment all day, and said, “What’s your motive for being here, Agent Heironymous?” He just looked at her. “What deal did you make for your services?” Still nothing. “What favorare you getting in return?”

“That’s definitely above your paygrade,” Heironymous said flatly. Crystal did not look amused. “You read my file.”

“I read your file,” she confirmed with a nod. “You’re a dragon too.”

“And? It’s in my file, because it’s not a secret.”

“Nooo,” she said, still working her way up to her point, “but some people think you’re making that up. There’s plenty of people in the world who are super strong, invulnerable, and breathe fire. Still others don’t believe you because they don’t believe in creatures of lore.”

“I don’t give a damn what people believe,” Heironymous said calmly, “but as you can see, we do exist. Which is why,” he said pointedly, “we have hidden thiscreature of lore in a foundry, and only have other creatures of lore working with him. Less to explain.”

“Then why am I here?” asked Salt. “I’m just human.”

“If you keep it up? To be a snack,” groused Heironymous.

“Ha!” Crystal put one hand to her chest in mock offense, and said, “Why, Agent Heironymous! Are you saying you want to eat me?” Heironymous looked uncomfortable with the implication she gave his words, and she laughed heartily.

Heironymous’ mustache twitched a few times as he regarded the woman before him. Finally, he said, “Young lady, you have quite a mouth on you.”

Crystal smiled wryly and said, “You have no idea. I was a sailor y--”

BOOM!

An explosion rocked the foundry, and a wall fell away at the entrance. It was followed by the screams of several trolls as they turned to stone, having been caught in the sunlight flooding in through the hole. The other trolls scattered to dark corners of the foundry. The dragon swiveled its head toward the hole and roared.

What appeared to be a blue-clad samurai in high tech armor stepped through the damaged wall, sword in hand. Heironymous was already headed towards the hole, followed by Crystal. Gun drawn and aimed at the intruder, Salt fell in step next to her partner, and asked, “Carrier?”

Still walking, Heironymous snarled, “He’s not a carrier.”

“How do you know?” asked Salt. “Friend of yours?”

A faint hint of smoke came from Heironymous’ nostrils as he answered, “No, but it is someone I know.” Crystal looked at him questioningly, but he only said, “Follow protocol. Protect the dragon.”

“Invulnerable and breathes flame?” she said sarcastically.

“Not to everything! Protect the dragon!” he barked. “At all costs!”

Crystal nodded, but he was already moving faster toward the samurai, who was moving toward the dragon. “Halt! Secret Service!” she yelled, and punctuated it with a shot at the feet of the intruder.

As the bullet ricocheted off the floor, the samurai turned his attention toward Crystal, and threw three shuriken at once, moving incredibly fast. She shot one out of the air, one knicked the top of her left ear, and the other lodged in the armor plating of her vest, biting into her chest. She doubled over from the hit, and tried to pull the shuriken from the wound.

The samurai was still running towards Salt when he let another three shuriken fly towards Heironymous. The tip of one bent a little against his chest, but snagged in his coat. The agent smacked one out of the air, caught the other between two fingers, and wasted no time hurling it back at the samurai.

The samurai reached Crystal’s position, knocked her out with an upkick to the face, then deflected the shuriken with his sword. Turning to face his attacker, he froze. “You!...The Escort!...Heironymous!”

Heironymous was walking towards him, and said, “And you…you can hide your face behind that mask, but you can’t hide your smell, boy. Since when do ninjas disguise themselves as samurai?”

“Since I’m sick of ninjas!” he spat. “They pride themselves on adapting to any situation, but they never adapt to the times. I decided I needed an edge, if I was to have vengeance for my family. So I found one,” he said, sweeping a hand from head-to-toe to indicate he meant the armor.

“We’ll see about that!” Heironymous growled as he closed the distance between them. He swung a fist towards the ninja-samurai, but was blocked by an armored arm. The agent immediately swept a leg around, kicking his opponent’s feet out from under him, but the ninja caught himself and did a couple of back handsprings before landing upright.

“You will have to do better than that!” declared the ninja, springing forward and swinging the sword.

Heironymous threw up an arm to block the sword, only to have it cut deeply into his forearm, and slice across his chest. “Yaarrggh!” he cried out, not expecting to be wounded by a manmade weapon. He looked at his arm and chest in shock for a moment.

The ninja looked equally as shocked that it had worked. He gave a breathy laugh as he realized new value in his weapon. Looking at the now angry agent, he said, “The old fool was telling the truth!” He only had a couple of seconds to marvel further before Heironymous attacked again.

They traded punches, kicks, and chops in rapid succession, and Heironymous took more cuts from the sword. The agent started to realize that the armor didgive the ninja an edge; it increased his speed, so his reflexes and reaction time were faster. It also made him stronger- he was feeling some of the ninja’s punches. He needed to end this soon, or the kid might get lucky with the sword. Finally, the right combination of feint and punch allowed Heironymous to get the ninja in a hold from behind- left hand under the left arm and around the back of his neck, and the right hand locked onto his wrist, holding him from swinging the sword. For a few seconds, all that could be heard was the sound of both of them breathing hard. Heironymous was ticked, but the ninja was still smiling.

The ninja finally broke the silence to say, “It’s true! It can kill a dragon!” The thought made him laugh breathlessly.

Heironymous tightened his grip a little and said, “Your sword isn’t Japanese, so it’s not the Kusanagi. I’m guessing it didn’t come with the armor. Where’d you get it?”

The ninja laughed again, his breath finally settling. “What does it matter? I will use it to avenge my family!”

Heironymous squeezed tighter, and leaning to the ninja’s ear, said through gritted teeth, “Son, on this entire planet, there are only a handful of weapons that can hurt a dragon, and it’s best that most of them stay where they are.” Giving a stiff shake of the ninja’s sword arm, he demanded, “Where did you getthis?”

The ninja fumed, but relented. “In my search for something that could aid me in avenging my family, I met a man in Libya who claimed to know of a sword that could kill a dragon.”

Heironymous scowled at the mention of Libya. He said nothing.

The ninja continued, “This man had a very interesting take on historical and mythical accounts, but his story eventually pointed me to a village in Essex, called Wormingford--”

“--No.” said Heironymous, a hint of fear actually in his voice.

“There, I found the home of a real collector of dragon and dragon-fighting memorabilia. Really amazing place. Best of all was this sword, though,” said the ninja, admiring the blade.

“You fool,” Heironymous said with real dread.

“I took my name from this sword--”

“You stupid boy,” said Heironymous, the strength leaving him.

The ninja took that moment to break free from Heironymous’ grip, and spun to face him, sword extended in front of him. “Now, the dragon who killed my family will know--”

“You didn’t--” the agent said angrily.

“--the wrath of Ascalon!” shouted the ninja.

“No! Noo! Nooo!” shouted Heironymous. “You stupid fool! Tell me you didn’t steal the sword of Saint George!” He roared angrily, and spewed fire at the ninja, driving Ascalon backwards towards the foundry.

When his breath was expended, Ascalon lifted his sword to strike, but a thunderous crash just behind him caused him to spin and find himself staring in the face of the copper-scaled dragon. The dragon roared in his face, and the ninja swung his sword.

Heironymous bellowed, “NO!” which caused the dragon to rear its head back in surprise; just enough for only the tip of the sword to catch its neck. The dragon instinctively drew back several paces, but Ascalon moved forward with him. Drawing the sword back for another swing, he suddenly found his wrist in the vice-like grip of Heironymous again, and he was jerked backwards before he could react.

Heironymous stepped between them as the dragon drew its head back to strike, and shouted, “No!”

The dragon stopped, but Ascalon took the opportunity to strike while Heironymous was distracted. Thrusting forward, he stabbed the agent through his left shoulder. Roaring in pain, Heironymous wrenched backwards, pulling the sword out of Ascalon’s hand, throwing the ninja off balance. With the sword still through his shoulder, and with a savage growl, he broke the ninja’s arm and elbowed him in the face, shattering the mask and knocking him flat on his back. With great pain, he pulled the sword from his body, as Ascalon looked at him in disbelief.

“You should be dead! It should have killed you! Why aren’t you dead?” he shouted hysterically.

“Because I’m bald, not Balder, and this isn’t mistletoe!” Heironymous shouted back, shaking the sword at him. Ascalon looked at him blankly. Heironymous realized the ninja didn’t understand, and his shoulders slumped a little. Tiredly he said, “Ascaloncan pierce a dragon, son, but you still have to hit something vital for it to kill.” The ninja suddenly looked defeated. Heironymous scowled. “You don’t even know what you’ve done, do you?”

“I have failed once again to avenge my family,” Ascalon said quietly.

“This goes much deeper than your personal vengeance,” said Heironymous. “You damned near started a war. This sword is bound by treaty, between Saint George and the Dragons, to never be used to kill a dragon again. Had you killed the Prince of Dragons with thissword, you’d have unleashed hell in retribution against humanity. As it is, if the Saint thinks we stole the sword from him, there may yet be war anyway. He will want this BARRGHHHH!”

Heironymous went down from an armored foot to his groin, and then was kicked in the face, throwing him on his back. Ascalon jumped to his feet, grabbed the sword with his good hand, and ran for an exit, with his bad arm folded close to his body. As Heironymous concentrated on his pain, he heard, “Humanity can rot with my family! I will have my vengeance!”

The foundry was quiet again for a minute. Then the trolls began to come out of hiding, and the Prince of Dragons walked up and nudged Heironymous with his nose. The agent rolled painfully to his side, and winced. “I suppose the universe owed me that,” he said weakly. As he picked himself up off of the floor, he told the dragon, “I’ve got to catch him. Saint George is going to want his sword back, and his first stop in his search is going to be us.”

The dragon breathed smoke and growled. Heironymous looked at him sternly and said, “Our time here is up. Scorched earth. Nobodycan know we were here. Nobody survives. Except her,” he said, pointing at Crystal. “Deal’s off- I’ll make it up to you. You protect her with your life, or you will answer to your father.” The dragon lowered his head in submission, and Heironymous ran for the door.

As he got to his car, he heard the dragon roar, followed by a troll screaming, “Treacherrryyyyyyyy!” followed by only screams. He knew the Prince would walk away from the site in human form when he was done. They didn’t complete what they came to do, but they gave Indigo a head start. Now though, recovering Ascalon was the priority.

Ten years ago- Slaughter Swamp:

“Mister Gold?” the woman called, knocking on the door of the ramshackle cabin. “Cyrus? Hello? Are you home? It’s me, Maria White. I’ve brought you some groceries.”

A minute passed. Maria heard nothing, save for the croak of tree frogs, the buzz of mosquitoes, and the occasional splash of what was probably a gator. She shifted the paper bag from one arm to the other, and was just about to knock again, when she finally heard movement from inside. She heard the rattle of a slide bolt on the door, and then the door opened slightly, to allow a man to peer out. She smiled. “Hi, Cyrus. It’s Thursday- I brought you some groceries.”

The door opened wide. “Mrs. White?” asked the older man now filling the doorway. He coughed. “Please, come in,” he said, standing aside from the door. “You shouldn’t keep coming out here. This swamp isn’t safe.”

Entering the cabin, she smiled and said, “That’s why I bring my daddy’s forty-five with me.” She pulled the butt of the gun from the grocery bag to show him, and then let it slide back into the bag. “Any gator tries to get fresh, I’ll make a pair of shoes out of him.” She set the groceries down on the wooden table.

Cyrus sounded a bit self conscious as he said, “That might serve you better than those heels. And all that white? Out here in the swamps?” He sniffled, then coughed again.

“Oh, this,” she laughed. “I’m going from here to meet my husband at a Halloween party- he’s dropping the baby off at the sitter’s. After walking through the grime of Gotham, nobody’s going to pay any attention to a little mud. If they do, I’ll just tell them that I had to tussle with a badguy in an alleyway.” She reached one hand in the air, and swept the other over the length of the dress. “So soon after the baby, not waddling like a panda anymore, I wanted to feel like a woman tonight. I’m Domino Lady. What do you think?”

Cyrus glanced at the floor, and then back at Maria, clearly a little uncomfortable. “You’re quite the lovely woman in white, Mrs. White.”

“Aw, Cyrus, you’re sweet,” she said, putting a hand on his cheek. “Let’s hope Tim thinks the same as you. He’s going as The Spider.” She stretched up and pecked the older man on the cheek. “I’ll see you next week. Feel better, okay?”

His lower lip wavered a little bit at her kindness, and after a moment, he said, “You’re a good woman, Mrs. White. Please be caref--”

BLAM!

A shotgun blast, somewhere outside, interrupted the man’s words. Then another.

BLAM!

Maria immediately grabbed the forty-five from the grocery bag, and flipped off the safety. “Cyrus, wait here.”

“Mrs. White! No!” the big man said, but a sudden coughing fit made him too slow to stop her from going out the door.

She was barely out the door when something hit her from behind, knocking her to the ground, and the gun falling a few feet away. She rolled over quickly, and found herself looking up at a scaly, green lizard man. “Aren’t you pretty meat for Killer Croc?” said the creature.

“Croc! No!” came a voice from behind her.

Killer Croc jerked his head up towards the other voice, and Maria wasted no time. Grabbing the forty-five, she shot him twice in the midsection, which sent him tumbling backwards. He got up and ran, stumbling towards the swamp. She jumped to her feet, pointing the gun in his direction, but heard the distinctive shlick-shlack of a shotgun being pumped, from behind her. “I really wish you wouldn’t do that, miss,” said the voice, smoothly. Then it added with a growl, “Put the gun down, turn around, and please don’t make me ask twice.”

Maria reached slowly to one side, tossed the gun away, and turned around. She wanted to scream. She found herself looking at a man whose face was hideously scarred on one side, untouched on the other. Oddly, his suit was loud and tacky on the scarred side of his body, and crisp and businesslike on the unspoiled side. He held Cyrus at gunpoint, and motioned for both of them to get on their knees. “I’m sorry, Mrs. White,” said Cyrus, followed by a hacking cough.

“Who are you?” she asked.

The man turned the cleanshaven, untouched side of his face towards her, smiled, and said, “Ah, so kind of you to ask. My name is Harvey Dent.” Quickly turning the scarred side towards her, making her flinch, he added, “But every other person calls me Two-Face.” Looking towards the swamp, Harvey said, “I hope you didn’t hurt Croc. Good help is hard to come by. I had convinced him we were two of a kind- both monsters,” he said with a sneer.

“What do you want?” Maria said with as much defiance as her fear would allow.

Two-Face turned his attention back to her and looked her over. “What’s that?” he said, pointing. “There, in your belt, what is that? Hand it here.”

Maria reached to her belt, pulled loose a scrap of cloth, and handed it over. Harvey looked at it and smiled. “Ah, a domino mask!” Moving his face closer to hers, he said, “A dual identity then? Oh, I like that. Yes, indeed.

“Well, to answer your question, I had to come out here tonight to take care of a couple of turncoats. Feeding snitches to the fishes,” he growled. “Croc was going to take them deep, make sure they didn’t resurface. Now, I’ve got two witnesses to two murders, half of whom has a second identity and put two shots into my partner.” Smiling wickedly at Maria, he said, “I like your style. I really do. But now you’ve made twice the work for me. So what say we give you a fifty-fifty chance of getting out of this?”

He pulled a coin from his pocket, and turned it over so they could see it- clean on one side, scarred with an “X” on the other. In one fluid motion, he rolled it on top of his thumb and flipped it in the air. It spun upwards, hesitated, and flipped back down to his hand. Catching it in his fist, he looked at it, then held it out to Maria in an open palm. “Sorry.”

As he pocketed the coin and swung the shotgun upwards from his side, Cyrus jumped to his feet, catching Two-Face with an uppercut, followed by a savage right, and shouted, “Run, Maria!” before being wracked with a coughing fit. Harvey slammed the gun butt into Cyrus’ face, knocking him on his back.

Swinging the shotgun back around to the fleeing Maria, Harvey hollered, “Look at her run! The Woman in White!”

BLAM!

“Now lying dead, in the cold, dark night,” finished Two-Face. “Ah,” sighed Harvey, “I love a good couplet. Or even a bad one, really.” Harvey smirked, but nodded in agreement with himself. Pumping the shotgun again, he turned it on Cyrus, before he could attempt to get up, and said, “Whattaya say, big man? Giving me the old one-two there? Want to go a second round? See if I can go two-for-two?” Bending over the man, he added, “Or maybe a split decision?” Producing the coin from his pocket, he flipped it again, caught it in his fist, paused, and opened his hand to look. Looking down on Cyrus Gold, he said, “Looks like you get a second chance.” He then delivered a kick to the man’s face, knocking him unconscious.

Turning away and looking into the swamp, he said to himself, “I think we should kill him anyway. No, no, we always abide by the coin. Besides, we have to decide what to do with her- do we let her lay in the yard, or drag her dead weight to the swamp?” Flipping the coin again, he caught it excitedly and looked immediately. Shoulders slumping a little, he said, “Damn.” Grabbing her by the ankle, he started the slow drag to the swamp.

Today: a warehouse owned by Two-Face, two blocks west of Crime Alley:

“Where is she? WHERE IS THE WOMAN IN WHITE?!” shouted Solomon Grundy, as he tore through a group of small time thugs. “Tell Grundy where she is!” The screams of the gang echoed through the quiet streets.

A warehouse owned by Two-Face, two blocks east of Crime Alley:

“Where is he? Where is the boy!” a woman screamed vengefully, her voice seeming to be everywhere at once. Men with guns drawn scanned all around them, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice.

“What’s going on here?” grunted one of the gunmen.

“What boy?” said another.

“Who the hell--”

BANG!

The third man was cut short by the gunblast, and went down. This sent the rest of the men scrambling for cover, and they spread out through the high rows of crates. A slow dance began to move throughout the warehouse- a shadow moves here, a gunburst there. Return fire. A scream, then quiet. Repeat. This had been going on for a few minutes when a menancing figure came crashing through the skylight.

“It’s the Bat!” screamed a thug, and gunfire came from all sides. Batman moved quickly, a series of batarangs disarming gunmen or rendering them unconscious. The few who didn’t get hit bolted for the exits, and Batman moved to give chase.

“No!” screamed a woman in white, jumping off a stack of crates and landing before him. “I need information from them!”

Batman unleashed a batarang at her gun, knocking the forty-five from her hand. “That’s not the way to get it!” he growled.

The gun stopped before it hit the floor, and came back to her hand. Batman’s eyes went wide behind his mask, but he wasted no time. He threw a punch, determined to take her down quickly, so she couldn’t interfere. His fist went through her rather than connecting, causing him to stumble through her as well, her form dissipating slightly, like a cloud, before reforming.

She threw punches in return, and Batman blocked them, now finding her solid, until he tried to punch or kick back. Then his attacks would pass through her again. “I don’t have time for this,” he growled.

“Neither do I!” she shouted. “They’ve got my boy!”

Batman stopped and looked at her, glowering. Turning to one of the downed thugs who was now stirring, he grabbed him up off the floor, leaned in his face, and shouted, “Where’s the boy?!”

Warehouse owned by Two-Face, two blocks west of Crime Alley:

Batman burst into the warehouse, closely followed by The Woman in White. Thugs lay everywhere, and sitting in the middle of the floor, cradling the boy in his arms, was Solomon Grundy. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Grundy couldn’t save you,” he said to the woman.

“It’s okay, Cyrus. You saved my boy. It’s okay. Merry Christmas.” Looking to Batman, she said, “Thank you,” and her form dissipated into nothingness.

Grundy gave the boy to Batman and wandered away. Batman chose to call that a problem for later, tending to the boy instead.

Removed after voting. (Note: This was about a real tragedy that I had a little more than public knowledge about as an alarm company dispatcher, with time travel added. I asked for it to be removed, because I felt like I had added details that maybe I shouldn't have. Now that I've fixed those details, it has been reposted here: It's What We Do.)

Most cultures have some version of zombie lore, but most know the movie zombie: a herky-jerky walk and warning moans that would allow anyone to get away easily. Shambling, emaciated monstrosities that hunger for human brains. Well, I can tell you that the movies are partially right- they hunger for humans, period; not just the brains. They get to be shuffling, decaying monsters if they don't eat often enough. On a steady diet of human flesh though? They look just as human as you or I. How do I know this? Because I, Atsan, am one. Because I know where the zombie came from. It's a curse- the curse of the windigo.

The curse is simply this: you resort to cannibalism, you turn into a windigo- what you know as a zombie. All that mythology crap about thirty foot "ice giants" with red eyes, or comic book white sasquatches? Bull. It's just this: you consume human flesh, you become consumed by the need for more, and more, and more. And you'll want more, because for every person you eat, you gain their vitality- their strength...understand? You eat ten men, you gain the strength of ten men.

It's intoxicating. Like any intoxicant though, it doesn't last. It's fleeting. It's also debilitating. That's where the movie zombie comes in. The longer you go without eating, the harder it gets for you to move. You become stiffer and stiffer, and you start to decay, becoming more akin to what you've undoubtedly seen in the movies. Keep eating regularly though, and you keep passing for human, and you can continue to move among them freely. I've been doing that for some time.

You don't believe me? You don't think this could possibly happen without people knowing? They do know. They just have a problem containing it. Because the curse is unknown to most, some have unknowingly spread the problem. Those rumors about the mafia owning hot dog factories where they dispose of unwanted bodies? Truth. So there are an awful lot of people out there that have consumed the evidence for them.

There's something about not knowing though...or maybe it's that the human meat is diluted with animal meats and animal byproducts...but whatever the case, if you don't knowingly eat human flesh, the curse is delayed. You are still consumed with that gnawing emptiness, but not knowing what it is, you chase all of your desires, always wanting more and more and more, and never feeling fulfilled. When you die though, that's when you rise from the dead and become something much more like the movie zombie. Still not knowing what it is you need, and hindered by the rigor mortis from dying, not to mention the embalming fluid replacing your blood, you shamble along in jerks and fits and starts, instinctively looking for the human flesh the curse demands.

I know what you're thinking though: "I call B.S.! Everyone has eaten a hot dog before! How come we don't see more zombies walking around?" Right? Well, that's just the problem, isn't it? Most everyone has eaten a hot dog before, so we have no way of knowing who got the mafia mystery meat that will bring the curse down upon them. Why do you think we use embalming fluid? To preserve bodies? Really? A mixture of solvents is going to preserve a body? You buy that? It's to further hinder the mobility of a resurrected windigo, to make them easier to catch and dispose of. Burial vaults are called "vaults" for a reason. It has nothing to do with "keeping the ground from settling in the graveyard." It's to keep windigo from clawing their way out of the grave. You have no idea how many zombies have spent years upon years beating against their burial vaults, trying to get out.

The problem for the willing cannibal turned windigo is hunting. How do you find that steady supply of human bodies without people growing suspicious? You have to put yourself in the right place. Some of the windigo I know are medical examiners, eating John and Jane Doe. Some are graverobbers, haunting pauper graveyards, or just digging up the freshly buried and replacing the vault (because they do keep the ground from settling, you know). Yes, yes, windigo can eat other windigo to survive. It's not as good, but it does the job. There's other ways too. The homeless. Runaways. Hookers. Gang bangers. Hospitals for the less fortunate. War zones. Being a paid assassin. There's a good one! Get paid to eat others and keep your own life going!

Then there's my favorite, and it's the one I just happened to be able to take advantage of. You become the head of a state run orphanage, contracted out to a corporation like mine. It's the perfect buffet. Unwanted children that birth parents want to forget, and the world generally wants to pretend don't exist. Yes, we have to let some get adopted, but there's so many ways to cover up a meal- "They ran away from the orphanage!" Or "They died in an accident," or "...of a sickness/ sudden illness/ unforseen medical condition." They "get adopted" by phantom paper parents, or best yet- they "age out." Kids that have mostly reached their full growth potential, so have the most meat on them, are still incredibly vital, and having aged past our need to be responsible for them, are "released into the world," and are no longer my concern to account for. Those are the best meals. And they have kept me fed formany years.

The state loves the Atsan Association's Atsan Orphanage and Home For Wayward Children. They think we are very well run, and very efficient. They're encouraging us to expand our operations, becoming a charity with branches all over the country. I think it's a lovely idea. I've suggested that we could help with local homeless shelters too. We've even offered to open halfway houses for paroled convicts. They're very excited to have us participate. The eagerness to take the financial burden off of over-stressed government resources practically comes off of them in waves.

For myself, I can hardly wait to taste what other localities have to offer. I'm positively watering at the mouth, just thinking about it. You, in the meantime...enjoy your hot dog.

I stood in the doorway of the lab, both horrified and crestfallen at what I was seeing. One of the doctors was splayed across a table with no heed of the test tubes, beakers or other equipment that were standing on it before he was tossed there. There was no blood. Just a bruised wound at his neck, and a pained look locked on his face. Behind that table, the second doctor had the third bent backwards over a counter, pulling his head to one side with one hand, wrenching his arm behind him with the other. The third doctor flailed less and less as the second one drained the blood from his neck.

Clearly, Jeanine had been here. "Damn," I said quietly. I had managed to hide them for six months since she found out I had doctors trying to crack the problem of vampirism. How the hell had she found this place?

I about jumped out of my skin when I heard, "I bet you're wondering how I found this place."

Holy hell! Jeanine!

"Relax, Seal, I've eaten already" she smirked. "I've known where they were for six months."

I couldn't keep my thoughts off of my face. Surprise that she had kept that fact from me. Upset that I hadn't been as good at hiding them as I had thought. Surprise that she hadn't killed them six months ago. Confused about why she had waited until now to do so. I just looked at her, with all of this playing out on my face.

"Hellooo?" she said, pointing both hands at her face. "Ancient, powerful vampire here? Can turn to mist and follow you anywhere, sneakier than the sneakiest ninja? Can track one smell in a million? Especially blood?"

My face was now clearly showing that I knew how much of a fool I had been to think that I could fool her. I have these same abilities. I really should have known.

"By the way," Jeanine added. "Don't think I don't know it was Hudson that shot me. I know his smell too. Him, you, Tito." She smirked again at his nickname. "Relatives have scent markers just as telling as DNA. I knew he was the shooter as soon as I went out the window."

I knew how to track through smell, but I didn't know that about the scent markers. I had never paid it much atten...

"You're lucky I didn't kill him," Jeanine said, interrupting my thoughts. She fixed me with an angry, serious look.

I looked at her for a long couple of seconds before drawing in a breath and nodding in acknowledgment. "Why didn't you?"

Jeanine shoved me against the doorframe, the noise of which drew the vampire doctor's attention. He looked our way hungrily, but Jeanine held up an index finger in a halting motion and told him, "Stay." The doctor obeyed. Turning back to me, she said, "The same reason I only turned you, instead of killing you, you dope! I like you!"

Tilting a thumb in the doctor's direction, I said, "That why you turned him too?"

Jeanine grabbed my face in one hand and squeezed it into a fish-faced look to quiet me. "I like you, Solomon, but don't test my patience when I'm angry."

Still fish-faced, I twitched my eyebrows and managed, "O-hay." She let me go, and I flexed my newly freed jaw, rubbing it slightly on one side.

Her own jaw jutted from side to side as she glowered at me. She looked at the doctor, and the anger turned to a smile. She said, "Heis quite..." she looked him up and down, then back at me to waggle her eyebrows and say, "...vigorous." I just looked at her. When she got no more reaction than that, she said, "You were right though. He is highly motivated to study vampirism and figure it out." The mischievous twinkling returning to her eye, she said, "Science is a real turn on for him." Her shoulders swayed like a satisfied puppy wagging its tail, as she looked off towards the ceiling, unconsciously tonguing the tip of her canines while she savored a memory.

"Is that always how you do it?" I asked, recalling how she'd turned me. I may have sounded a tiny bit jealous.

"Why, Solomon," she purred. "You sound a tiny bit jealous." She smiled. "There's no reason I can't scratch two itches at once. I mean, be honest...it's quite a way to go, isn't it?"

Hell yes it was.

"That's not what happened here though," she said. I tilted my head in surprise. "I very rarely turn someone, Sol'. That can get messy. I prefer to eat and move on."

I glanced at the doctor, "Then...how?"

"Well, if I didn't do it, and you didn't do it," she said, waiting for me to find the answer.

"Another vampire?" I asked, looking at her with confusion.

"I did it," said the doctor.

I looked at the doctor, dumbfounded and still a little confused as I grasped to reconcile this new information. I looked at Jeanine, who just crossed her arms and looked at me, waiting. I looked back at the doctor, and simply asked, "How?"

"The blood samples you gave us," he said, and what color my face held drained away. "They could only get us so far on the microscope slides. The best way to study it was in a live host. So I injected myself. I honestly didn't expect it to make me so hungry though. You seemed to have it under control."

"I have a food source!" I said as if talking to an idiot.

He chuckled as he looked at the discarded body of the doctor thrown over the table. "Well, so did I. I just couldn't control that constant craving," he said with a shrug. "How do you do that? How do you not jump every normal person you run across? They smell...so...good," he said, clearly a little overcome with the thought.

I looked at him numbly, disgusted at what I had inadvertently created; horrified that this could have easily been me when I turned, if not for Jeanine. I looked at her as if looking to a life preserver. Arms still crossed, she just raised her eyebrows at me, her look expectant.

"Yeah, okay Jeanine. I get it. You were right," I answered her look.

She smiled.

I pulled my gun from its holster, released the clip, dropped it in one pocket, and pulled a special clip from another.

Jeanine's neck recoiled backwards in reflex. "Ew! Those smell disgusting! What are you doing with those?"

"It's my mess, Jeanine. I'll clean it up," I said flatly.

Now it was her turn to look confused.

I just looked at her with resignation, then turned to the doctor and fired. The white phosphorous bullet ignited on impact, destroying him with immolation. His screams were brief, his destruction total, leaving behind only a little pile of ash. I looked back at Jeanine after a few moments. "Satisfied?"

"Interesting that you have those," she said. We looked at each other for a long few seconds without saying anything else. "Take care of the others too. Zombies are a pain in the rear." She turned to mist and as she drifted away, her disembodied voice added, "I'll see you at the office in the morning."

I watched her mist drift away, and I knew then that I had to get away from Jeanine Fairchild. She had been my bread and butter for years, but this could not continue. I fired a bullet each into the other two bodies, and watched them burn. Yep. I definitely needed to get away from Jeanine. I knew I was gonna miss her. This was purely a business decision. I'd just keep telling myself that.

“Okay, is everyone ready? We are live in five, four, three, two, cue the blimp!”

A camera pointed upward at the giant gray dirigible. The airship control makes up part of the mouth that stretches across the middle of the blimp. One end has giant cartoon eyes on either side, and on that same end there is an extension in the balloon in the shape of a curved, grey spike, pointing upwards. Giant white stitching on both sides makes it looked like a deformed football when viewing it from the sides. A banner trails the blimp that declares GET READY FOR A CHARGE!!!

The camera swings down from it’s view of the dirigible towards the heart of downtown. It’s now clear the camera is on top of a building as it zooms closeup towards a giant stadium. As the zoom gets close to the stadium, the camera cuts seamlessly to a flying camera that swings off to one side, then up and over the edge of the top of the stadium, swooping over midfield, hovering as it does a three-sixty of the empty seats, and then dives toward the fifty yard line, where it pulls up and does a lap of the field.

An announcer’s voice cuts in, “It’s a beautiful day here in Richmond, Virginia! Especially here in the Richmond Rotunda! Or as the locals like to call it: THE RHINODOOOME! Home of the Richmond Rrrhinoooos! You’re seeing the view from the Rhinodrone- the only licensed drone camera in the MFL! In fact, we’re all seeing the view from the Rhinodrone, because the Rotunda has been completely emptied for today’s show! We’ll all be seeing this via remote camera! Even the Rhinoship is flying by remote today- loaded with cameras so we see all the action!

“From a mile away and four hundred fifty feet above street level, on the balcony of High Steaks- the highest point in Richmond- I’m Mike Rofon here with Ted Atete and two hundred party goers ready to see the fight of the century and enjoy some steaks!” A cheer goes up from the background, and the camera cuts to the two announcers, both clad in grill aprons, wearing headset mics and holding grill tongs.

“That’s right, Mike!” chimes in Ted, holding his tongs like he’s talking into a microphone. Realizing this, he draws his head back to look at the tip of the tongs, then tosses them over his shoulder. “This fight has been a long time coming! It’s been five years since the first fight between these two titans! The fight where we all learned about the Hyper-Parasites - The Superbugs! The bugs that have been powering some of the world’s most well known heroes and villains, right under our noses… for years! The fight where we learned to call those heroes and villains… The Dragon Men!”

“Maybe we should have called them Dragon People, Ted,” adds Mike, “because the two people that revealed this to the world weren’tmen at all! On the one side, we have the pretty face of the Super Corporation! The Super Chic Princess of Power! A hero to the world: Supermodel! On the other side, we have the woman who blew the lid off of the worldwide coverup! The Dragon Lady herself! The Mistress of Mean! The woman with the name we just can’t say on television! The woman we refer to as Superblonde!”

“It’s a story that by now everyone knows, Mike!” declares Ted. Turning to the camera, he says, “It’s the story that changed the world!” The television feed cuts to news footage of the original fight between Supermodel and Superblonde as Ted Atete keeps talking. “Who can forget the day that Supermodel plummetted into the very stadium we are focusing on today? During the middle of the playoff games to determine whether the Richmond Rhinos would proceed to the Superbowl! Knocked out of the sky by the then-unknown Superblonde who dropped on her like a twenty megaton bomb! All fury and vengeance, Superblonde- with the same super strength and power to breathe fire as Supermodel- fought tooth and nail in front of cameras and the world to expose the truth of how they got their powers!”

As the screen shows spouts of flame shooting from the two women’s mouths, and physical blows that send them flying back-and-forth across the stadium, Mike Rofon continues, “For years we’ve known these heroes, and despite similar powers, we’ve believed what they claimed their origins to be!”

“I blame it on too many comic books,” declares Ted.

Mike continues, “We’ve heard it all! We’ve heard ‘secret government experiments during Viet Nam!’ We’ve heard ‘aliens!’ We’ve heard ‘strange powers gained from meteorites!’ We’ve heard ‘ancient mystical ritual!’ We’ve heard ‘ancient god on earth!’ There was even ‘dragon in human form!’” Mike chuckled as he said the last one.

“Not to mention my personal favorite,” said Ted, “Superblonde’s own supergenius dad – Osmosis – claiming he got his powers fromhis bowler hat! For years, Osmosis had gone toe-to-toe with Supermale and Supermodel, only to fein ‘losing his powers’ when he lost his hat! So the world was shocked when his daughter tossed away that same bowler hat during the fight, and still shot fiery breath across the football field!” The old news footage shows the very scene Ted describes.

“That’s right, Ted! It was the moment the world went silent! All eyes trained on Supermodel at that instant, and all ears tuned in on her fury as she screamed to Supermodel and the world the truth of the existence of the Superbugs! Alien creatures that invade the human body through any opening it can, giving them super powers in the process! One way in particular being so embarrassing to many that it spawned story after story about how they claimed to have gained their powers! But when it happened to Superblonde, she was so enraged, so violated, that she took her fury out on the most famous face of all behind the lie: Supermodel!”

Ted continued, “Crashing in on the playoff game, the fight raged for a mere five-and-a-half minutes, but the devastation was great, and the wreckage was total! Taking down a section of stadium before other heroes arrived to break up the fight, hundreds were injured, some later died! With the amazing truth revealed during her outrage though, the public was actually inclined to forgiveSuperblonde. So the government, rather than try to incarcerate her, sentenced her to work for the military! And in the last five years, she has acquitted herself honorably! Heading up teams that have hunted down infestations of these surprisingly fragile creatures, they have wiped out entire colonies of these Superbugs, keeping the world safe from a dangerous destabilization of world power!”

“For her part in that monumental fight, Supermodel pledged the money and resources of the Super Corporation to back those missions! And they came through as they always have!” declared Mike. “Still, there’s no love lost between these two lovely ladies! So today, the gloves are off! Today, it’s a grudge match for the ages!”

“Right you are, Mike! As much as Richmonders love their football team, the Rhinodome has become to them and the world a sad reminder of the tragic deaths during that fight! So the Rhinos have scheduled it for demolition, to be replaced by a new stadium with anew design! And what better way than to unleash these two women of mass destruction once again! This time, with no bystanders, and no holds barred! The surrounding area has been cleared for a half mile around the stadium! The fight will last until there is a clear winner or the stadium is in ruins! And the Super Corporation will be picking up the tab for all damages, rebuilding the Rhinodome and anything in the surrounding half mile that gets destroyed during the fight!”

The camera cuts back to the two announcers. “And we’ll be right here with you,” says Mike, pointing at the camera. “Giving you the blow-by-blow on the entire fight!”

“And enjoying some steaks!” adds Ted.

“And enjoying some steaks,” agrees Mike with a smile. “The fight begins in just moments, so stay with us! I’m Mike Rofon.”

“And I’m Ted Atete!”

Back at the stadium, remote cameras zip back-and-forth across the field, catching Superblonde walking out of the tunnel on one end, and Supermodel descending from the sky at the other. Superblonde wears a bowler hat, which has become symbolic for her. Supermodel wears her signature orange and black uniform, cape flapping in the breeze.

They face off from across the field, waiting for the signal to start the fight. They have mixed feelings, but they’ve agreed to do it for public relations, and multiple pledged donations to charities. Superblonde is looking forward to it. Supermodel just wants to get it done. They both take deep breaths, and hover slightly off of the ground. They tense slightly, steel themselves, and fireworks go off at both ends of the stadium, signalling the beginning of the fight. Then they launch towards each other.

“There’s the signal!” shouts Mike.

Ted cheers, “This is going to be good!”

"I'm telling you he's the best man for the job," Button said simply. Dressed in black pants, long sleeved black shirt, and even black gloves, she sat in a very small conference room, hardly big enough for the conference table, which seated only eight. There was only walking room around the table- four feet on the long sides, six feet on the ends- and the walls were a dull metal, making it feel like they were having their meeting in a large elevator. There were only three other people in the room.

Amelia Earhart sat at the head of the table. A descendant of a relative of course, but she had a set of wings pinned to her dress, in obvious acknowledgement of her heritage. Joy marveled at how much she favored the aviatrix. Even the hair was similar, as was the easy, amused smile.

Conversely, pacing at the other end of the table was Albert Ross. He had black, feathery hair with streaks of white, and a perpetual scowl. He was looking at the file for Joy's candidate, and wasn't liking it at all. "Come on, Joy! This guy? He's a joke!"

Amelia spoke up, "I can assure you he is not. I have seen this man as the demise of many men over the last twenty years."

Sitting across from Joy, a man with a bald head, mustache and glasses added, "He wouldn't even be in prison if he hadn't turned himself in. He had never been caught."

"Oh get off it, Principal!" shouted Ross. "His file said he killed a man in prison by asphyxiation! What'd he do? Smother his cellmate with a pillow for snoring too loud? Please!"

"I'd prefer if you addressed me as General," stated Principal. "And the man in prison was just the latest in a long line of victims. This man is a stone killer. He's taken dozens of contracts over the years, all of them completed, no traces left behind."

"Pfft," scoffed Albert. "'No traces?' Then how do we know who all he's killed?"

"We don't," answered the general. "We only have his word for it. He confessed to every murder-for-hire he's ever done when he gave himself up. The dates and circumstances matched up to several unsolved murders, some of them high profile, and numerous 'accidents' that weren't thought to be killings."

Ross was quiet for a couple of seconds while he lifted a sheet on the file. Less angry, but still clearly perturbed, he asked, "He called himself 'Fling?' Really?"

Joy smiled sheepishly, "Um, that's my fault actually." Albert gave her a shocked look, but clearly expected her to continue. "Randy and I..."

"Randy?" Ross interrupted, rolling his eyes.

"Randy and I have a history," Joy continued, "from our time together in the military, but it was brief. We took liberty together while on assignment. When it was over, I told him he was a 'just a fling.' He took it personally- used it as his codename for awhile, trying to rub salt in a wound that didn't exist for me."

"That's kind of heartless," said Ross.

"Why? Because my attitude towards sex is the same as most guys'?" rebutted Button. "I have a lot of sex, Mr. Ross."

The General smiled at this, clearly interested.

"It's a means to an end for me," she said, "and it's rarely special." Looking directly at the general, she added, "I find that most men are pigs."

The general stopped smiling. Then he added, "It should be noted that 'Fling' isn't the only name he had, although it's the only one he ever used. To those who knew of the black ops missions that he and Miss Button were on, he was known by a very different name."

"Oh? I can't wait to hear this one," said Ross, "What did they call him?"

"'Death,'" answered Earhart, "and it was never a joke."

"And you would know that because...?"

"I was his handler," said Amelia, taking Ross by surprise. "Peter," she said, "will you please bring Mister O'Phayre in?"

The general got up to do as asked. Joy noted to herself that he didn't object to how he was addressed that time. Returning, he motioned for the man to sit down in his chair, while he remained standing by the door.

O'Phayre shuffled around the table in full cuffs- wrist-to-wrist, ankle-to-ankle, both connected to a belt around his waist. As he did so, his eyes never left Joy. As he sat down, he said, "Snatch. It's been a long time."

"Um, 'Snatch?'" asked Ross.

"My codename, from after the military," answered Joy. "My specialty was infiltration, which I've used as a thief, which is why I'm here. And as I told you, I have a lot of sex. It seemed to fit."

Albert raised his eyebrows, then shook his head lightly. "Okay, then. Just one more felon to add to this little mission. General," he said with emphasis and clear disdain, "bring in Mister Mercy, please."

O'Phayre's head snapped up at Ross when he heard that name. He looked to the door. Principal was already coming back in, motioning for the new man, cuffed in the same manner, to take the seat next to Randy. "Killerg!" Randy said through gritted teeth.

Mercy just sneered. Sitting down, he looked across the table and said, "Snatch."

"Noah," she returned. Ross just looked at her. Joy shrugged and started, "I..."

"...'have a lot of sex,'" finished Ross. "I know. Keep it in your pants this time. We need you all focused. Mercy's electrical powers are going to be needed for this."

Randy took a deep breath, jaw clenched, then asked, "And what is 'this?'"

"Dangerous," Earhart said plainly, "completely off the books, and comes with a full pardon for all past crimes, up to completion of the mission."

"Once you say you're in, you're in until it's done," said Ross.

O'Phayre seemed to be considering.

"The offer's just a formality," said Principal from his place by the door. "You're in."

Randy looked at him for a second, then nodded. "Fine. Just to be clear though- full pardon? All crimes forgiven up to completion of mission? That's the deal?"

Amelia nodded.

Looking at Joy, he said, "And you're in on this too?"

"I actually did volunteer," she said. "A clean record is too good to pass up."

Turning to Noah, he said, "And you? How come you're here? Why not just use your powers to blast your way out?"

Killerg winced as he shifted his chains, pointing to a thick, black plastic ring around his neck. "It's this damned inhibitor collar," he said. "Puts a blasted needle in my brain that keeps me from using my powers until a remote disarms it."

"Hurts, does it?" asked Randy.

"Like blazes it d..."

Before he could finish, Randy threw his head sideways, butting Mercy in the mouth. Getting to his feet, he caught Noah's head under his arm as he lunged forward from his seat. Locking down tight, he twisted right and allowed himself to fall into the floor, snapping Killerg's neck as he did so.

Ross and Principal were on him immediately, jerking him to his feet and throwing him forward onto the table. "What the hell, O'Phayre?"

"I never liked him," answered Randy, "and I promised I'd kill him if I saw him again."

"I told you we needed his powers!" shouted Ross, his arm pressing Randy's head against the table.

O'Phayre chuckled. "Then I suggest you get us some tasers instead."

Ross threw Randy back in his seat as the general returned to his spot by the door. "Dammit!" shouted Ross.

Walking over behind Joy, the general placed his hands on her shoulders and rubbed with his thumbs. "Why don't you try cooperatinglike Miss Button," the nicety in his voice strained by agitation.

His hands started to slide inward before Joy caught his wrists in a surprisingly strong grip. "General, while I do have a lot of sex, I'm very particular about being touched. If you so much as brush my neck with your finger, I will be forced to kill you. Are we clear?" she asked, as she very stiffly and sternly removed his hands.

Dropping his resistance so she'd let go, the general rubbed his wrists, and looked at Earhart.

"Don't look at me, general. You were out of line. Do something like that again, I'll see to it that you lose your stars. Now get out."

The group was silent for a minute as the general continued to rub his wrists. He looked to the other two men in the room, who both stared back in silence. Finally, he straightened his cuffs, then his jacket, and left the room.

"O'Phayre, you're in. Try to refrain from killing anyone else we may add to this mission. Albert..."

"Albert?" Randy interrupted, sneering at Ross.

"Albert, please show Mister O'Phayre to his quarters. Mister O'Phayre," she said firmly, "behave."

Randy laughed, but left with Ross.

"Miss Button, are you okay?" asked Amelia.

"I'm fine," she said, still seething.

"You handled him very gently, all things considered."

Joy looked a little shocked. "I'm not in trouble then?" she asked.

"In trouble?" Amelia laughed. "No." Leaning towards Joy, she whispered conspiratorily, "I'd have killed him with a kiss."

"With a kiss? Poison lipstick? Is that really a thing?" asked Joy.

Earhart smiled. "Something like that. Come on, let's get you back to your quarters." Joy got up to follow, and as they left the room, Amelia said, "I've got to requisition some tasers."

Dwarfed by his companion, Funky Fresh said,"Guys, this is Robot Jackson. He helped me against the Cyborgorillas. I want to invite him to join The Fraternity of Heroes."

"Um, why 'Robot Jackson?'" Fly Boy asked Fresh.

"Ask him yourself. Jackson?"

The robot stepped forward before speaking.

• " 'CAUSE - I - GOT - MOVES - LIKE - MI - CHAEL,
• "A - SWING - LIKE - REG - GIE,
• "I - KNOW - LIKE - BO,
• "AND - I - RHYME - LIKE - JES - SE!"

As Robot Jackson spoke, he moonwalked, swung his arm, pointed to his head and then to his mouth to emphasize his answer. The smile on his face never moved. He high fived Funky Fresh when he was done, and Funky looked to the group expectantly.

The group stared for a moment before Indra broke the silence with, "Yes... that'squite...remarkable." When no one else responded, he added, "Isn't it?"

Fly Boy, who was holding a cup of cocoa, set it on the saucer in his other hand as he said, "Yeahhh, so that one-face-fits-all look is kind of creepy. Do we have to look at him when he talks?"

The robot leaned forward slightly.

• "IT - IS - NOT - RE - QUIRED,
• "FOR - HOW - I'M - WIRED."

Fly Boy shrugged. "Then I vote yes."

Funky Fresh laughed, "Come on, guys! He's super strong, indestructible, and he's bigger than The Yeti!"

"Whatever," muttered Yeti. "No."

The X Ray looked silently at Yeti, then back at the giant robot standing in their atrium.

"Oh, and check this out," added Fresh. He backflipped towards Robot Jackson, the round plate on Jackson's chest opened up, and Fresh landed inside. "Voila! Instant armor!" he shouted before the chest plate closed. He smiled through the window in the chestplate.

• "Better than Iron Dude!" came Funky's voice over a speaker.

Robot Jackson flexed his arms.

• "YEAH - YOU - GOT - THAT - RIGHT!
• "I'M - A - MOD - ERN - DAY - KNIGHT!"

"Who is this 'Iron Dude?'" Indra asked quietly. Fly Boy shrugged.

The chestplate sprung open, and Funky forward flipped to a standing position on the floor. "X?" asked Fresh.

The team studied the robot, except for The Yeti, who squinted at something on the floor. Walking over, he squatted, plucked a long hair from the tile, and eyed it suspiciously. Fly Boy, having shrank down to four inches high, buzzed over to Yeti's shoulder and studied it with him. "Blonde," said Yeti. Sniffing, he added, "Ray, this doesn't smell right."

X Ray took it from him, stretched it taught, and held it up to the light.

The robot leaned forward slightly.

• "WHAT - DO - YOU - HAVE - THERE?
• "IS - THAT - SOME - ONE'S - HAIR?"

"Indra, can you lend me a little heat, please?" asked X.

Indra held an arrow out, and touching the hair with the tip, answered, "Certainly, my friend." The arrowhead sparked brightly, making everyone blink, then dissipated into thin air.

The hair shriveled into a curlicue, and Ray recoiled from the smell. "Synthetic," he observed.

Jackson leaned in even closer.

• "WHAT - DO - YOU - MEAN?
• "WHAT - IS - THAT - THING?"

X Ray raised an eyebrow towards the robot. "It can only mean one thing." Looking at Funky, he said, "Fresh, you got a new girlfriend?"

"WHAT?!" the rest of the team shouted.

"Well now, hey," Funky laughed, "What can I say?" Everyone raised eyebrows at his rhyming response.

• "I - STILL - DON'T - UN - DER - STAND.
• "WHAT - IS - THAT - STRAND?"

Fly Boy grew to a foot tall and flew up to Robot Jackson's face. Scowling at the rhyming robot, he said, "It's from a wig! You dig?" His head jerked with surprise as he fumed, "Ohhhh! Now he's gotme doing it! Grrr!" He resumed full height and landed on the floor. "So he's got a girlfriend. So what?" buzzed the boy.

"You're the only one who hasn't met her," answered X Ray. "You're too young for her."

"No!" gasped Indra. "Not that wench!"

"Yes," confirmed Ray. Scowling, he said, "Funky, you're the smartest guy in the room. How could you fall for her?"

"You kiddin'?" balked Fresh, "You fell for her too! So did you," he said to Yeti.

Yeti shrugged, "So? She's hot."

X Ray looked at Yeti in disbelief, "Uh, hello? She has an exposed brain covered by a wig! She got us all by mind tricks! It was a hypno hustle!"

Robot Jackson stomped his massive foot.

• "HEY! - THAT'S - NOT - VER- Y - NICE!
• "DON'T - MAKE - ME - SAY - IT - TWICE!"

Ray smirked at the robot. "What's the matter, Jackson? You mad?"

Jackson stomped two steps forward.

• "THAT'S - NOT - NICE - DUDE!
• "DON'T - BE - SO - RUDE!"

X Ray narrowed his eyes and said, "You know I can see you in there, right?"

Robot Jackson stood bolt upright. Clicks and whirs from within were the only response.

"Time to give it up," said Ray. "We've told you before, Braingame, this a Fraternity of Heroes- no girls allowed."

"What?" shouted Fly Boy. "Robot Jackson's a girl?! Funky Fresh was inside her! Yuck!"

X Ray and Indra looked at each other and blushed, then looked at the floor.

Robot Jackson suddenly spun at the waist, both arms swinging- one knocking X Ray backwards, the other smacking Funky Fresh across the room. A much more feminine voice sounded over the speaker.

• "Ooo! Forget your boy's club! I'm out of here!"

With that, she stomped forward, intent on plowing through the rest of the team to get to the door.

"Yeti!" called Indra, running forward. "'Ball lightning,' if you please."

The Yeti crouched and growled, "With pleasure!" before growing into a large, white-furred beast, more than twice the size of Robot Jackson.

Indra, deceptively graceful for his girth, leaped into the air towards Yeti's outstretched hand, nocking an arrow as he did so. Landing lightly on Yeti's palm, his teammate pitched him forward, and man and weapon both turned into a bolt of lightning, shooting towards Robot Jackson and striking her right in the chestplate.

The robot was knocked backward in mid-charge as it rocked from the lightning bolt that was Indra, then collapsed into a smoking heap on the floor.

Fly Boy was helping Funky Fresh stagger back to the group. Yeti transformed back to human and helped X Ray up from the floor.

With a hand on Yeti's shoulder, X Ray shook his head, steadied himself, then looked on the fallen Jackson. Eyes narrowed, he strode over to the robot, phased a hand into its perpetually smiling head, and drew it out again, holding a brain in a see-through dome with a metal base. Once fully outside of the robot, the brain dome hovered out of his hand.

How did you know it was me? came the thoughts of Braingame.

"The synthetic blonde was the main thing," admitted X Ray, "but you're too clever for your own good- making all of your responses rhyme, all the Jacksons you listed, and 'modern day knight.' Working 'day' and 'night' into the same sentence? You can't help giving yourself mental exercises, can you?"

A light, smoky chuckle echoed in all of their minds. A girl's got to have her fun, she thought. But fun's over. Gotta go, boys. Tah, she finished, and the brain-dome zigzagged toward the door, the Fraternity diving towards it like it was some kind of football. With his air agility, Fly Boy came the closest to touching the dome, but was stopped dead still with a telekinetic tether. Ah, ah, ahh, cutie. You reallyare too young for me. A wispy giggle echoed in his mind as Braingame's dome hovered out the door and made its escape.

Buzzing back to the group, Fly Boy shrank down so he could land on Yeti's shoulder again. "Don't buzz in my ear, kid," said Yeti. The group looked at Funky Fresh for an explanation. "You threw us over for a girl," growled the Asian.

"She called me 'cutie,'" said Fly Boy. "Blech."

In reply, Fresh only shrugged and said, "My, oh my, she was so fine!"

The team all laughed aloud, shoving him or taking playful swipes at him. "Dog!" laughed X Ray.

"I am thirsty, my friends," said Indra. "What do you say to a beer?" he asked.

"I say, 'hello, beer!'" answered Yeti.

"And pizza!" said X Ray. "I'm starving."

"Yay! Pizza!" buzzed Fly Boy as the team moved towards the rec room.

Just then, a guy in boxers and a tank top stumbled in the front door and shouted, "MY ARMOR! What did you do to my armor?!"

The group turned and looked at the disheveled man. "Who are you?" asked Indra.

"I'm Iron Dude!" he shouted in exasperation. "Or at least I was, before...oh, man, that is going to take forever to fix." He slumped, completely dejected.

"Well, c'mon," said Yeti, "I figure we definitely owe you a beer." Grimacing at the smoking armor, he amended, "Probably a lot of beers."

The group murmured and shrugged its agreement, and waved for him to follow. Iron Dude shrugged and fell in with the team, looking a little lost.

Funky Fresh threw his arm around Iron Dude's shoulder and said, "Man, I know. She was fine, wasn't she?"

Iron Dude stopped to look at Funky, and the team stopped with him to see what was about to happen. Iron Dude and Funky Fresh looked at each other for a long few moments, then busted out laughing. "Oh, man, was she ever!" he laughed. The team laughed together and continued to the rec room.

"As long as you have to fix it," said Fly Boy, "about that creepy smile..."

Outside, hovering near the roof, was Braingame's brain-dome. A light laugh seemed to carry on the breeze, followed by, Boys. Tsk. The brain-dome whirred lightly as it hovered away.

In Front of The House:

"You ain't from around here are ya, smoothskin?" asked the ghoul.

"What gave it away?" I asked dryly.

"Well, that mostly," he answered, as he looked over my shoulder at the ship.

"I woke up to this godforsaken world in that ship. I thought it best to bring it with me," I said perhaps a little too annoyed.

"Woke up to it?" the ghoul asked. "Just how long were you 'sleep, exactly?"

"I'm not really sure," I admitted with some nervousness. "This might sound strange, but...what year is it?"

There was only slight hesitation before, "We don't rightly know, t'be honest," said the ghoul with what may have been confusion. It was hard to tell, as their faces generally looked annoyed or confused, or a combination of the two. "You'd really have t'ask a vault dweller, if y'c'n find one. They're the only ones who have kept any kind of track, other than the Enclave. But they've been gone for some years now."

"Yes, well-"

"It's 2289," came a voice from behind me, "although I may have slept a year or two myself, here-and-there. No later than 2295 though."

I spun to face the voice and was so overjoyed to see a familiar face- even his- that I blurted out, "Heiro-"

He clamped a hand over my mouth and cut me off with, "It's good to see you too, Roo." Looking over my head, he said, "Thanks, Wally, I'll take it from here."

"Y-yeah," stammered the ghoul. "Su-sure thing, Hiro. Y'take care now, hear? Nice chattin' with you, lady smoothskin," he added before shuffling off.

Waiting for the ghoul to get out of earshot before he took his hand off my mouth and started to lead me in the opposite direction, he said, "It's just 'Hiro' now. Legends abound in the Wastes, and unfortunately, I'm one of 'em. I was associated with the Enclave, so my legend is not especially favored by most," he said with a twitch of his handlebar mustache.

"This worries you, because...?"

"It doesn't," he said plainly. "It's just less hassle if folks don't know who I really am. That your ship back there?" he asked, clearly changing the subject.

I pulled my arm away from his hand at that point and stopped. "Yes! It is now! And why is everyone so interested in my ship?"

"You must not have met any Steel Knights yet," said Hiro. I shook my head. He continued, "The Brotherhood is gonna want to claim that as their own- it's clearly pre-war. Is that how you got here?" He stopped, did a quick count on his fingers, and as he started walking again, added, "You should be dead right about three hundred years at this point."

I couldn't hide my surprise, but answered, "I was trying to claim Gunn's body from cryogenic sleep aboard the ship when he was revived by an American. He recovered quickly, there was a struggle, and I got knocked into the cryo chamber. Next thing I know, I woke up in this...this wasteland."

"It's just called The Wastes these days," said Hiro as he pulled me into the mouth of an alley and stopped. "You said 'Gunn.' You mean..."

"Raymond Gunn," I clarified.

Hiro shook his head. "You wanna keep that name to yourself too. Folks blamed Ray's tech for all of this when it first happened. It wasn't him, but it's another legend that persists. You might want to ditch that ship too. Salvage whatever you can use off of it- especially weapons, survival gear, and if you have any kind of water purification system in it. Otherwise, you're gonna spend a lot of time defending it."

"It's actually pretty capable of defending itself- some kind of A.I.- but it's the closest I've got to a home at the moment, so I think I'll keep it."

Hiro shrugged. "Your choice. How long you been awake?"

"About six weeks. Is it...is it all like this?"

"Nah," balked Hiro. "Most of it's worse," he added with a chuckle. "Between what Mr. House started here and the influence of the NCR, this is downright civilized. 'Bout the only thing better are areas reclaimed with a GECK."

"A 'geck?' What's a geck?"

Hiro smirked. "You'll learn," he said with a wink.

"Are you with the NCR then?" I asked.

"Oh no," he huffed. "My alliance with governments ended with the Enclave. No, I'm with the Followers of the Apocalypse now."

"Doom-and-gloom? From you?" I said with more surprise.

"Humanitarian work, actually. And I need t'get back to it. It's good t'see you, Roulette. Find me if you need anything," he said as he headed out of the alley. "We can get a Nuka Cola and catch up."

"Hiro!" I called after him. He turned. "Russia? Is... is it like this too?"

He nodded. "Anythin' else?"

"Yes," I said hesitantly. "I remember you sounding...more proper, in the past?"

He winked, "Well, 'when in Rome,' lil lady. It helps t'throw off the legend. It wouldn't hurt for you t'try it either. Find a way t'get yourself some caps too." With that, he tipped his hat and walked away, calling over his shoulder, "Welcome to New Vegas!"

"Caps?" I said to myself.

Four Weeks Later:

The steel ball clicked and clacked as it bounced to a stop, and the croupier called out, "Twenty-seven! Red! Winner! You're on a roll tonight, Roulette!"

I laughed excitedly as I raked my chips in, and called back, "Wooo! Yes I am! Here's something for you, Arnie," I said with a smile as I tossed three chips his way.

The curly haired man with the thick mustache smiled as he said, "Thank you, Roulette!"

I smiled back, but before I could answer, a hand reached into the middle of my chips, and a man with a sneer said, "Well, well... seems like this is your game, huh? That's gonna turn into a lot of caps. Guess we know how you got your name," he said, looking at the five large-count chips he rolled in his hand.

I reached into my pocket and came out with a four-shot Derringer- a remarkably old relic in this era, but something from my personal equipment in my spy days. Pointing it at the man's head, I answered sternly, "Actually, I got it from a bit different game. One of these barrels is loaded- you want to guess which one, or give me back my chips?"

He let the chips drop on the table as he looked at my small gun with no small amount of fear. The sneer left his young face. One of the chips rolled onto a square, and the croupier called out, "Bets are in!" and spun the wheel.

I looked at the chip- it was sitting on zero. Looking at him furiously, I told him, "You danged well better hope that wins." I stood there looking at him while the ball spun around the wheel, and he looked back at me over my gun, sweat beading on his brow.

The ball made its final few revolutions around the wheel, clicked, clacked, and bounced over slots until it came to rest. "Eleven! Black!" called Arnie.

I clinched my jaw as I pulled the hammer back on one of the barrels. The man-boy's lip quivered, but before he could completely break down, a chip appeared in front of my gun site. "Perhaps this can settle accounts, ma'am? It would save our rugs too," he said seriously.

I glared at the whimpering fool on the other end of my gun for a few seconds before easing back the hammer and holding out my other hand for the chip. The stranger put it in my hand and introduced himself, "I'm Pennyworth, ma'am- the house manager's new butler. Thank you for your cooperation."

The man-boy sagged with relief as he backed away a few steps, then turned to go. "Hey!" I called after him. He turned back around with a start, and I re-cocked and shot him in the knee. Over his screams, I shouted, "From now on, y'keep your hands offa other peoples' danged money! Y'hear?" Looking to Pennyworth, I handed him his chip back with a demure smile, and said, "Sorry about your carpet."

He smiled back pleasantly and said, "The house manager would like to speak with you."

I gave a short, exasperated sigh. "Is it about my ship?"

He nodded once. "Yes, ma'am, it is," and motioned towards an elevator.

As we started that way, I grumbled, "It's always about my ship."

Penthouse:

"Ah, Miss Roulette," called the house manager as we stepped off the elevator into the expansive penthouse suite.

"Just Roulette," I corrected. "Pennyworth here says y'wanted t'see me about my ship?" I asked, practicing the local speech patterns.

"Uh, yes. Thank you, Pennyworth, that will be all," said the short, pear-shaped man.

"Yes, Mister Holmes," answered the butler, and he receded to the kitchen.

"Miss...uh...Roulette," he corrected himself with a smile.

I nodded.

"I was wondering if you'd be kind enough to remove your ship from my roof?" he said with a bit of a pained look.

I raised an eyebrow as if it were the most preposterous thing I'd ever heard.

"In exchange, The House will happily comp you a very luxurious suite," he said, wringing his hands.

I seemed to be considering.

"Please," he practically begged. "Surely you'd prefer a suite to living aboard your ship?" he added with a nervous laugh.

"Hm, no," I said. "It's the only place I feel safe, really. What's the problem, Holmes? I thought we had an arrangement? You don't use the roof, and I'm paying you for its use."

"Well, yes," he laughed nervously, "but that was before the Brotherhood of Steel scaled my hotel again, trying to get to it," he said, hopping in place with distress.

"Those yahoos again?" I grinned. Mostly, I grinned just because the word "yahoos" tickled me. I started using it in a mocking sense about a week ago, but it was growing on me. "The Gunnship fended them off, right?"

"Well, yes, but the Steel Knights disturbed many of the guests as they scaled past their balconies, and later as some of them dropped past them again... screaming...to their...deaths," he said with dismay, wringing his hands over-and-over again.

As a robot whirred by on the terrace, I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb and said, "And? Ain't the Mister Handy's cleanin' it up like they always do?"

"Well, yes-"

"And it is not getting tiresome at all," chirped one of the Mister Handy's as it rolled by the terrace door, carrying an arm and a leg.

Another whirred behind it with a head and another leg. "Nor is it repetitive!"

"Look, Mister Holmes, The Gunnship has a very sophisticated A.I. - maybe I can get it to come up with some kind of defenses for The House? Something that could stop any raids before they get to the roof? I mean, my ship's kind of made a landmark out of your casino, hasn't it?"

"Well, yes, but-"

I put an arm around the nervous man's shoulder and steered him to a couch, where we sat down. "Listen, Mister Holmes, what if instead of moving my ship, it made you some money, instead? Besides just the space rent, I mean."

Mister Holmes seemed only slightly less nervous, but tentatively intrigued.

"What if you made it a tourist attraction? Let people on the roof where they can get a close look at the ship? For a fee?" I smiled at him.

He looked horrified as he undoubtedly pictured screaming hotel guests falling to their deaths.

"I can talk to the ship- get it to differentiate between tourists and Brotherhood of Steel," I assured him. "But they can't go inside!"

Mister Holmes considered, stretching his chin so far upwards you could almost tell he had a neck. "How much of a fee?" he asked.

"You decide," I said with a smile, as I wrinkled my nose and pinched his cheek.

He laughed bashfully, then asked very seriously, "Fifty caps?"

"Why not?" I said approvingly, dabbing his nose playfully with my finger.

"And your percentage?" he asked shrewdly.

"Twenty percent," I said without hesitation.

"Fifteen," he countered.

"You drive a hard bargain, Mister Holmes. Done," I said with shrug and a smile.

He grinned, quite pleased with himself and the idea of this new venture.

I patted his arm and stood up. "Thank you, Mister Holmes. I have to be going now. Nice seeing you!"

"Well, yes," he said as I neared the elevator.

Pennyworth appeared at the elevator as if he stepped out of a hidden panel. Maybe he had. "Good evening, ma'am."

"Good meetin' ya, Pennyworth!" I said, slapping him on the shoulder as I stepped into the elevator.

Lobby:

I stepped out of the elevator and was heading for the street when a big man stepped in front of me, flanked by a couple of skinny protection bots. "You Roulette?"

"Yeah. An' who might you be?" I drawled for effect.

"You shot my brother," he said in answer.

"The twerp in the casino? He was bein' kinda handsy with my winnin's. I don't take very kindly to that. Didn't get his name though. Or yours."

"You are 'Roulette,' yes? It means 'little wheel?' So why don't you call me Big Wheel?" he said with an air.

"Ah, that sneer- I see the resemblance now. Anyway, not bloody likely that I'll call you anything but a doctor, if you don't get outta my way. I was in no mood for your brother, and I'm in even less mood for you." Trying to brush past him, I said, "Now if you'll excuse m-"

"I don't think so," he said as he shoved a firm hand against my shoulder. "You crippled my brother- Anthony is his name."

I brought the four shot Derringer out of my pocket and pointed it at his head, "And what's your name?"

He raised his chin defiantly and said, "I told you: Big Wheel."

I rolled my eyes in aggravation and said, "I mean your real na... Y'know what?"

CLICK!

"I don't really care what your real name is. Y'wanna guess if the next one is loaded, Big Willy?"

He glared.

CLICK!

"You wanna try again? Or y'wanna step out of my way and move them bots off?" I reached into my other pocket for a stun stick and pulled it out by my side, telescoping it out.

Anthony's bigger brother with the bigger attitude rolled his neck to one side, making it crack, then spat next to my foot. "You go to-"

BLAM!

He dropped to the ground and I swung the stun stick at one bot, shocking it into overload, then aimed the Derringer at the other bot.

BLAM!

"Never was very good at that game," I said. Looking to the registration desk, I flipped a chip to the ghoul at the counter as I headed to the door, and said, "Tell Pennyworth I'm sorry about his carpet."

"Yes... ma'am," she called back weakly.

Meandering into the street, I said to myself, "Think I'll go find Hiro- take him up on that Nuka Cola."

I was barely in the room before the lieutenant said, "Captain, sir! The Goliathans are moving through the outer perimeter like it's not there! They're tossing aside men and tanks like they're one and the same!"

"I'm aware of that, lieutenant Tenant. Send the order- I want the Five-Oh-Six down there now!"

A specialist at one of the comms spoke up, "Death Adders, sir?" Trim, with dirty blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looked worried.

"Execute the captain's order, specialist!" barked the lieutenant. "And you refer to them by their proper code!"

"Yes, sir," she said, turning back to her comm and sending out the order. On her screen, the call sign of the receiving unit came up- a shield insignia. "David Alpha Six Division Six responding, sir. ETA... twenty seconds," she said.

"Alpha?" I asked. Even I couldn't hide my surprise.

"Confirmed, sir," said another specialist, this one male with dark skin and a strong jawline. His nameplate read Jet. "We've got one coming in on a narrow band."

"One?" I turned to my left and said, "I said I wanted the Five-Oh-Six down there, lieutenant!"

"Sir," said the lieutenant, "He is the Five-Oh-Six. David Alpha Six is the only one of the DAVIDS to survive the Goliathans so far, and it will take another month for the docs at Techno Station to engineer any more."

"DAVIDS?" I asked the lieutenant.

The lieutenant tapped the specialist on the shoulder once. She pointed at the screen. "His call sign, sir: DA VI D6- David Alpha Six Division Six- DAVIDS." She beamed momentarily before a sadness overcame it, and added, "This being the last one, we call him 'David Six,' sir." She looked up at me and steeled herself before saying, "With all he's done for us so far, sir, some kind of name besides 'Death Adder' just seemed right."

"Specialist... Salt," I said, looking at her ID tag, "if he stops this latest charge, I'll make sure he gets full blown citizenship." I meant it, too.

We all turned to the main screen to watch the city security feeds for the outcome. They showed nothing but the giant, tarnished, brass-colored behemoths that were the Goliathans, advancing from the distance at a full charge. Nothing was slowing them down. The cameras fuzzed with static momentarily, the lights on the scene seemed to dim slightly, then there was a bright flash, replaced by one lone man, standing directly in the path of the Goliathans.

Immediately one of the Goliathans fired in his direction, a huge shell from its wrist cannon detonating on impact. When the smoke cleared, the DAVID was still standing.

"The shield generator is holding, lieutenant," reported Salt, "David Six responding."

The Alpha squared off, his gauntlets beginning to glow blue. As they did, a series of mines flashed in the path of the Goliathans. Surprisingly, many of them fell; all but one. Cameras showed slagged parts, and what looked like blood. "Are those things manned?" I asked.

"That would be news to us, sir," said the lieutenant. "When David Six turns the battle, survivors either completely disintegrate the fallen, or grab them on their retreat. We've never had one to examine."

Still watching the screen, the remaining Goliathan was bearing down on the DAVID. His gauntlets glowing with a full charge now, he swung his arms back in an arc, and swung them forward again- letting the full charge of his gauntlets loose in one blast. Energy bored through the Goliathan's head like a mining drill through glass, and while the head exploded in all directions, the mammoth body crashed forward, skidding to a halt at the feet of David Six.

A cheer went up in the control room. "Yeahhh!" cheered Jet. "He just got D. Sixed!" Looking at me, he regained his composure and said, "Uh, sorry, sir. David Alpha Six..."

"It's okay, specialist. Just remember that your man in the field is more exposed than you are. Take care of him first."

Jet turned back to his monitor and tapped some keys. Onscreen, David Six looked at one of his gauntlets. Tapping an earpiece, his voice came over the comm system, "David Alpha Six reporting, sir. Perimeter secured, Goliathans down, prepared for extraction."

Leaning towards the comm mic, I said, "Belay that, David Alpha Six. I understand that we've never had one of these things to examine before. Roll it over and open it up- let's see if anyone's home."

"Copy, sir," said David Six. Onscreen, the DAVID was blocking the camera view as his boots and gauntlet gave him the power to flip the massive armor on its back. The comm broadcast a loud wrenching sound as he ripped open the chestplate, and then he stopped.

"David Alpha Six? Report," said Salt.

"Lieutenant," he said instead, "you need to see this." From our angle behind him, we could tell that he was positioning his gauntlet cam over the armor, then the feed cut to that view.

Inside, we were surprised to see, "A dog, sir," said Jet.

"No," said Salt, "that's not possible! The Dogs were stopped a long time ago, sir!"

"Lieutenant," I said, "confirm."

Bending towards the mic, Tenant said, "David Alpha Six, confirm this visual?"

"Biggest space baboons we've ever fought? Yes, sir- there's no mistaking that. These Goliathans are being piloted by Mandrillus, sir."

Tenant looked at me, and I nodded. "Copy that, David Alpha Six. Prepare for extraction."

"Copy that, sir," responded the DAVID.

Salt punched a button on her console, the cameras went static for a moment, then back to normal, and David Alpha Six was gone, returned back to base.

"Lieutenant, get me Command on the horn," I said. "Our problems just got bigger than the Goliathans."

The lieutenant said, "Copy that, sir," and tapping Salt once on the shoulder, she started the call to command. We were going to need more DAVIDS, and we were going to need them soon.

How Tom Turkey Saved Christmas Despite Himself

Executive Conference Room of Holiday, Incorporated

Tom Turkey slammed his feathery fist on the oak conference table and gobbled furiously. "This is outrageous!" he fumed. "Who does that Fat Man think he is?!"

A small cherub midway down the table who was fluttering just above his chair looked to the bird officiating the meeting and said, "Now Tom, name calling is no way to..."

"Back off, Cupid!" shouted the furious fowl. "No one ever encroaches on your holiday, do they?"

Cupid landed on his feet in the chair, then sank to a sitting position, only the top of his head visible over the table. Sadly, he mumbled, "Just Hallmark."

They all groaned, and Father Time said, "We've all been there."

"Exactly!" shouted Tom. "And how did it make you feel?" he asked Cupid.

There was no answer from the little winged man. He just plucked his bowstring forlornly.

"How 'bout you, Lucky? Anybody ever mess with March 17th?" Tom challenged.

"Aye, boyo, dey're always after me..."

"NOBODY ASKED ABOUT YOUR LUCKY CHARMS, LEPRECHAUN!" screamed the turkey.

Clearly trying to control his anger, Lucky looked at the ceiling. With his voice shaking, he said, "Ye do a few commercials, and..." he shook his head as he trailed off. Looking back to Tom, he said, "I was going t'say, 'me pot o' gold,' ye daft duck."

"Which you made doing those commercials," Tom sneered. Then remembering something, he reached into his pocket, and said, "Oh, by the way, here's that piece of gold I borrowed last year."

"Oh yeah," chimed in the others, and everyone slid a gold piece across the table to the leprechaun. Cupid's coin sat on the edge as that's as far as the hand peeking over the table could reach.

Lucky raked the gold coins in quickly, then put one knee up on the table as he stretched to reach the one in front of Cupid. As he scooted back into his chair, he said, "Ye're just mad, Tom, because de only company dat ever calls ye fer a commercial is Tyson."

Tom gasped in exasperation. "They wanted to pluck my feathers and slather me in butter!"

"Mm," came a voice from the far end of the table. An old man with bushy eyebrows smacked his lips a couple of times before saying, "That reminds me. Did anyone else skip lunch?" He looked around at the group with a grandfatherly smile as he quietly typed into a laptop.

Turkey glared at Father Time and said, "I'm really glad you go on vacation in a couple of months. Baby New Year is so much easier to deal with."

"Oh, surrre," balked Father Time. "Little brat's always introducing new resolutions and making promises he doesn't keep. Swell guy."

"I like him," came the muffled voice of Cupid from below table level.

Father Time just raised his eyebrows as he continued keying.

"You like everybody!" scoffed Tom.

"Yes, he does," said a snowman sitting next to Cupid. "Even you."

"Oh, shut up, Frosty!" barked the turkey. "The only reason you're even here is that Santa couldn't be bothered to show up! Again!Too busy stealing holidays, I g...obblegobblegobble!" the bird squawked as a snowball hit him in the face.

Lucky laughed. The others snickered.

Tom slowly wiped the snow from his face, breathing heavily with anger. Suddenly, his hand darted out and grabbed the carrot off of Frosty's face.

"Hey!" shouted Frosty. "Dad's nod ride! Gib dad bag!"

"Got your nose," Turkey sneered, ticking the carrot in front of Frosty like a metronome. The eyes of Santa's stand-in followed it back-and-forth a few times before Tom suddenly swiped it upwards, flicking the brim of the snowman's hat and tipping it backwards off of his head, causing him to go inanimate. Tom bit off the end of the carrot, then jabbed the rest into the side of Frosty's head, causing the large snowball to list slightly to one side, and one of the coals that made up his eyes to pop out of its socket and bounce onto the middle of the table.

The room went silent. All looked at the immobilized snowman in shock, not knowing what to say. The silence was only broken by horrified gasps when Frosty's one-eyed head tumbled into the chair next to him, burying Cupid in a pile of snow.

Further muffled by the snow, the small voice of the cherub called out, "I'm okay!"

"Enough," said the voice of quiet horror, sending chills down the spines of everyone there.

All turned to the one member of their conference that hadn't spoken until now. His eyes and mouth danced with firelight from within, and his pumpkin head burned with an unearthly flame. His neck creaked like a dry branch as he looked around the table at the group.

"Oh, how rude of me," remembered Tom. "You all know Jack O'Lantern? He's heading up Halloween while Sam Hain is on leave."

The group mumbled their greetings in unison. Licking his lips, Father Time added, "Now I want pie."

Jack looked at the old man silently. Small flames flickered in his eyes.

Time just shrugged and became very interested in his laptop, still typing steadily.

With a voice that seemed to echo from within his hollowed out head, Jack's voice floated through the room, "I have to agree with Turkey. Claus is overstepping his bounds. Christmas commercials even ran before Halloween this year. He must be dealt with."

Tom sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers together as he smiled. "I'm glad to hear you say that. You'reused to horror, O'Lantern. I think the job should fall to you."

Jack's neck groaned as his head snapped around towards Tom. "Me? You want..." He sputtered and coughed violently with the surprise, the wind of it blowing out the flame in his head. His voice suddenly went normal. "No! I couldn't possibly!"

Tom looked at him with displeasure.

"It's not in our budget! Myers and Krueger are killing us with all of the litigation their actions have brought on the company! I simplycan't," his voice broke. Hoarsely, he added, "Hain would have me back in Sleepy Hollow so fast I'd lose my head!"

"Fine," said Tom, reaching behind his back. Bringing his hand back, he now had a shotgun. Cocking it, he seethed, "I guess if I want something done, I'll have to do it myself!"

"Does that mean the meeting's adjourned?" Father Time asked as he typed.

"Yeees, we're adjournnned," Tom mocked. "Just what in the world are you typing over there anyway?" demanded Turkey.

Time stopped. Then he smiled and said, "Why, the minutes, of course."

Standing abruptly, Turkey raged, "Ooooooo!" and stormed out of the room. All watched silently as the glass door clicked shut behind him.

Pulling a stick lighter from his pocket, Jack stuck it in his mouth and snapped the trigger, relighting his flame. "I think I could go for pie now too. I'm buying. Who's with me?"

Father Time paused with his laptop half closed, looking a little sick.

Cupid stood in his chair and looked at Jack with disgust. "Dude!" he chirped in his childlike voice.

"What?" said Jack.

Lucky answered, "Isn't dat like... cannibalism, lad?"

Jack gasped sharply and his flame went out again, "What?! No! Omigod! NO! I...I mean..." He stuck the lighter back in his mouth and snapped the trigger again. "How could you even think...? I want pecan pie!"

"Ohhh!" they all said, smiling with relief and nodding their heads. They all gathered their things and headed out the door, discussing their plans for the holiday.

As the door swung shut behind them, Father Time called out, "Is it okay if I still get pumpkin pie?"

***

North Pole, Santa's Workshop

Santa sat at his desk behind a mountain of paperwork. He was correlating letters of children around the world from his Inbox with the names on his Naughty and Nice lists. The letters from children on the Nice list were placed in the Outbox for the elves to process, and the letters from children on the Naughty list went into the trash. It didn't matter what they wanted- they were getting coal. Oh, he still read them for expressions of remorse or possible selfless requests for others, but most of the time he was met only with disappointment.

Gazing out his window at the mountain of coal behind the reindeer stables, Santa thought to himself, It seems that the Naughty list gets longer every year. He shook his head sadly as he looked back at the pile of letters on his desk that he still had to go through. Even in disappointment, his eyes still had a twinkle to them, if dimmed just a tiny bit.

He hated to admit it, but that mountain of coal only made everyone's jobs easier: it wasn't as hard for the elves to keep up with the toy orders; he had less stops to make on Christmas Eve; it wasn't as much weight for the reindeer to carry; and the coal was packaged mechanically and delivered by UPS. He preferred Fed Ex, but he felt the gloomy brown uniforms put an extra note of disappointment on the deliveries for the naughty. Something for them to think about for next year.

Santa sighed deeply, took off his glasses, and tossed them on the desk. He rubbed his eyes with his fists and yawned softly with an "Oh. Oh. Ohhhhh."

Just then, the front door slammed open and a cold wind swept in. Santa's head jerked up to see, "TOM?!" he shouted. Tom Turkey shuffled in stiffly, clutching his wings around himself, teeth chattering wildly, and shivering uncontrollably. "Tom! Tom, my dear bird! What on Earth are you doing all the way up here? Why didn't you call?" Santa fretted as he ran to the door. He pushed the door shut quickly and ushered Tom in towards a plush couch in front of the fire. Taking his coat off, he draped it around the the bird's shoulders, put his red hat with the white ball on Turkey's head, stoked the fire with the poker, then sat in a wing chair at one end of the couch, angled towards the fire.

Pouring a cup of hot cocoa for his unexpected guest and one for himself, Santa said, "Goodness, me, Tom! Why are you up here in this weather? I was not expecting a frozen turkey tonight," Claus chuckled.

Tom shivered heavily as he attempted to turn his stiff neck towards Santa. "Ha," his teeth chattered several times, then, "ha," he finished. He sipped on his cocoa, which helped his shivering to subside noticeably, then leaned a little closer to the fire. "I'm f-freezing my t-tailfeathers off, and y-you're making j-jokes," he said.

"Nowww Tom, you know I didn't mean it, and you'll thaw out soon enough. But sit right there! I'm glad you came! You can save me a trip! Just let me grab my lists!" said Santa excitedly, and quick as a dash, he headed into his office.

Hurriedly, he shuffled the long papers through his hands, scrolling through the lists for everyone at Holiday, Inc. He found Cupid, Father Time (of course, the old rascal), Jack, Lucky, and Sam. Confused for a moment, Santa thought, Where is Tom? Could it be? No, certainly not. Not Tom. Still, he picked up the Naughty list and scrolled quickly to the T's. He gasped when he saw Tom Turkey's name, and dropped the list with horror on his face when he saw why. "Frosty?" he choked. Turning quickly to the door, there stood Tom in Santa's coat and hat, with a shotgun pointed right at him. Whether still shivering from the cold, or from what he was about to do, it was hard to tell.

"Tom, please," said Santa sadly. "You don't want to do this."

"Yeah, J-Jelly Belly, I d-do." He shivered hard, then said, "C-Christmas has been p-pushing Thanksgiving out of the w-way for f-far too long, Claus! That's going to s-stop tonight! And I-I'm going to have a v-very," he shivered, "happy Thanksgiving."

Santa shook his head as he reached into his pocket. Withdrawing his hand, he was holding a lump of coal and a card. "Take these," he said. "It's the last things you'll get from me. Add them to the fire and warm yourself up."

Tom sneered. "You'll b-be warm where y-you're going t-too, Fatty. Ho, h-ho, ho!" he mocked, and then he pulled the trigger.

The shot echoed in the small office, and Santa fell hard to the floor after hitting the wall. Tom glared at the fallen Claus, then walked over and kicked the body. "It's p-past time I did th-that!" he shouted. He headed for the door muttering, "Good for n-nothin', lousy-" but stopped when he kicked the coal Santa had dropped from his hand. Noticing the card, he picked both up from the floor and walked out to the fire.

Pulling the coat around him with one hand, he tossed the coal on the fire as he sat down, and turned the card over in his hand. He read what was on it, and jumped up in surprise. "No!" he exclaimed. Then he dropped the card, fell to his knees, and shouted, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The card lay in front of the fireplace, soft light dancing over the face of it. It read:

If something should happen to me, put on my suit. The reindeer will know what to do.

Tom's screams echoed into the night.

A cameraman counts the final seconds before going live as the intro music plays, and then a man starts, “Welcome to the Larsen Channel Seven News. I’m your anchor, Phillip Thyme...”

“...I’m your co-anchor, Paige Webb...”

“...I’m Rudy Day, with the weather...”

“...And I’m Duncan Shot, with sports.”

The camera goes back to Phillip, who jumps right in with, "Our top story today: it was the kick heard around the world! Who can forget this from the Supermodel Vs. Superblonde fight in the Richmond Rhinodome:"

A video clip plays of the event. A goalpost flies from the right side of the screen, catching Supermodel right in the gut, and sending her flying off the left side of the screen. The camera quickly follows to see the flying goalpost catch on the one that is still standing at the other end of the field. Supermodel continues sailing past until she crashes into the stands. She gets up immediately, and soars back across the field to where Superblonde now stands- the opposing twenty yard line.

"Bring it b[eep]ch!" Superblonde yells at the hero. "I'm gonna [beep] up that pretty face!"

Supermodel cocks back her fist while still in flight. "Yeah? Well f--ugh!" she yells, interrupted by a kick to the gut from Superblonde.

"'Fug?'" says the voiceover of Mike Rofon. "Did I hear that right, Ted? Did she just say, 'Fug?'"

Ted Atete is heard chuckling in the voiceover. "Yes, Mike, I do believe that was 'Fug.'"

"Well, that's the most ridiculous fuggin' thing I've ever heard," snickers Mike.

"I think it's fuggin' hilarious myself," Ted chuckles.

"Well what the fug do I know?" laughs Mike.

"Fug it, Mike. Just go with it," snorts Ted.

"Well, heh heh, wh-- bwah-ha! Wh-ha-ha! Why the fug not, Ted?" Mike finally finishes. Then both men lose it in the voiceover.

The camera cuts to Mike and Ted, hosting the Steakout Party at High Stakes- one of many such parties held that night, but the only one officially televised as part of the event. "Well, folks?" yells Mike as he and Ted recover themselves. "What the fug do you think?"

"FUG IT!" yells the crowd, followed by whoops and cheers.

"FUUGG IIIIIT!" Ted yells back.

"FUUUUGGG IIIIT," Mike and Ted yell in unison, raising their grill tongs.

"FUUUUGGG IIIIIIIT!" the partygoers scream back, pumping their fists and raising their beers.

The camera cuts back to Phillip and Paige at the news desk, Phillip chuckling with a good humored smile, and Paige clearly recovering from a good laugh at the antics of their coworkers. "I still think it's so great that they got to go to Richmond and do that," she says to Phillip. He nods. She looks at the camera and says, "Well, that was the story just four months ago. And in that short amount of time, 'fug' has caught on like wildfire. It's been used as the punchline for late night comedians and sitcoms, is all over Youtube, quicklybecame a part of our everyday slang, and was just in time to make the new word list for this year's dictionary. That's right: 'fug' can now be found under 'F' in the 2016 Encarta Dictionary."

"Which is appropriate," adds Phillip, "since it's a replacement for an 'F' word anyway."

Paige groans. Phillip chuckles. Duncan and Rudy can be heard booing from offscreen. Phillip shrugs and smiles at the camera.

"Yes, that was four months ago, but Supermodel is in the news again today as The Sponsors announce a new team mem--" Phillip puts a finger to his ear and listens before adding, "Folks, we're just getting word from the newsroom that there is a robbery in progress at the Larsen City Bank, and shots have been fired between the police and masked gunmen inside."

Paige nods at someone offscreen and turns to the camera. "Mike Rofon is on scene, and we take you now live to him. Mike?"

The camera cuts to Mike, wearing a bulletproof vest over his sport jacket, standing a hundred yards away from police cars that have converged on the bank. Police lights flash, and gunfire can be heard. "Phillip and Paige, the police have cordoned off the area here at the Larsen City Bank, and this is as close as they'll let us get to the scene. As you can see and hear behind me, the police haveengagedthe suspects, and the gunfire has been continuous for the past few minutes- machine guns from the crooks, handguns from the police."

"That sounds like Glocks that the police are firing, Mike. Is that correct?" asks a very concerned looking Phillip in the studio. Paige nods agreement, looking equally concerned at the camera with her hands folded on the news desk.

Mike nods for a couple of seconds, listening as the sound feed delays from the studio to the field. His eyebrows twitch momentarily as he starts, "Uh... it's hard to tell from this distance, Phillip, with... with all of the activity going on here," he vamps as he figures out what to do with the question. "But uh... Glocks are the standard issue for the Larsen City Police Department. So, uh, yes," he nods to the camera. "I think you're probably right, Phillip," he says with a conceding hand gesture. "Those are Glocks you're hearing in the background."

In the studio, listening to Mike over his earpiece, Phillip nods at the confirmation as if he just received the most crucial information he's heard all day. Paige appears to be considering the information gravely.

"Phillip," cuts in Mike, "We're receiving word that a woman in a pink costume has been spotted inside the bank. She's carrying a sword, and it's not clear at this time if she is with the thieves, or if she has somehow gotten inside to apprehend them. Initial thought was that it was the new member of The Sponsors, but the costume doesn't seem right. We're not sure... Gunfire from the thieves has turned from the police outside to inside the bank! So either she's some new hero, or they're fighting among themselves. We're waiting on word fr--"

Mike stops speaking as louder shots are heard from close by the news crew. The camera whips around to a nearby alleyway, where a man in a business suit and a skull mask is shooting the driver of a car sitting at the mouth of the alley. The camera is wobbly as the cameraman apparently ducks for cover, but is still angling for a better shot of what's happening. As the camera stills, the shooter is already halfway down the alley, fleeing the scene on foot.

"Phillip! This is incredible!" exclaims Mike. Jumping into play-by-play reporting, he continues, "Only a few short feet from where we're standing, and only yards from the police, a masked gunman has opened fire on a parked car! Some of the officers have broken away from the standoff and are running towards the alley! They are chasing the gunman down the alley to the next street, and one of them... one of them is checking on the driver of the vehicle. As you can see and hear, there's a woman screaming in the passenger side! The condition of the driver is unknown at this time, but with the number of shots fired in through the driver's window, I can only imagine that we're not looking at a good outcome here."

"Mike, do you think it has anything to do with what's going on inside the bank?" asks Paige.

The camera in the field immediately swings around and shakes as Mike's cameraman runs back to the front of the van and focuses on the bank. "Paige," shouts Mike, "things are pretty hectic out here on the scene! There's a flurry of movement from seemingly everywhere right now, as the police scramble to cover both situations! It's hard to tell what's going on right this moment! We'll continue coverage and report everything as it happens! While we're trying to get some information from the ground, we'll go back to you in the studio, Phillip and Paige! Live at the Larsen City Bank, this is Mike Rofon for Larsen Seven News."

The camera switches back to the studio, where Phillip picks up. "Very tense situation right now at the Larsen City Bank, and we'll keep you apprised with any updates as they happen."

"Mm, yes, Phillip, that is terrible goings on at the Larsen City Bank tonight, and we hope that everyone gets out safe, and that none of our police are hurt." She looks at Phillip hopefully as she finishes.

Phillip nods in agreement. As the shot cuts to another camera angle, he says, "In the meantime, the results are in from this month's Larsen Channel Seven News Writing Contest!" He beams brightly as he adds, "And we'll be right back with Paige Webb and the results, after these messages."