The Presidential X-perience RPG

The peace and quiet of the Virginian night was broken by loud explosions that erupted from the Pentagon. From a massive hole in the wall where the explosion had occurred came a being dressed in a billowing cloak that hid most of his body and face. On his head was a helmet with long extensions that looked like a mix between wings and bat ears. He carefully lifted his arm from beneath the cloak to look at what he had just obtained. The device in his hand looked like a futuristic, extraterrestrial heart that gave off a calming red glow. He stared at it for a few moments before a several troops came rounding the corner and held their rifles at him. “Put the device down and put your hands over your head!” yelled one the soldiers as they primed their weapons to fire. The stranger turned his head from left to right to see all the soldiers that had surrounded him. He then stared that the tank barrel that had lowered itself to aim right at him. He casually turned to face and stared down the barrel for an extended moment before leaping into the air and disappearing instantly.

“And that’s the news for tonight, this is Niel Ca…” said the news anchor before a strange being appeared right in front of him. “Hey, what do you think you’re…” began the anchor before being silenced by a cold, piercing glare from the intruder. The stranger then turned to face the camera. “Good evening people of the world,” began the stranger in a calm, deep voice that sent chills down the backs of thousands. “In three days time, I will attack the White House and kidnap the President. And to prove I am quite serious about this, I am the one who has been stealing from high security government instillations from all over the world for the past few months.” He then walked right over to the camera and made sure only his eyes could be seen. “I look forward to seeing you then, Mr. President.” The stranger then backed away from the camera lens just as two security guards came running in. They were just within arms-length when the intruder disappeared again.

A special news broadcast from the White House press room came on the very next morning. President Obama walked up to the podium and stood began to address the reporters. “It has come to my attention that someone has threatened to kidnap me. I assure you that I am taking this matter very seriously and have therefore called in the best of the superhero community.” He then gestured to Sideslash, Overkill, and Longshot, who were standing right behind him. “These men have been asked to ensure this threat is taken care of. Thank you, no more questions.” He and the three heroes walked out and began the preparations for the day of the announced kidnapping.

Inhale…exhale. Inhale….(people scurry to and fro like ants, harried, hurried)…exhale. Inhale…(sounds washes over him like the ripples in a magma pool)…exhale. Inhale…(alarms, alarms, and gunshots, but that’s all in the past)…exhale. Inhale…(it’s all in the now, in the stillness, in the sandpaper-roughness of the worn stone against his skin)…exhale…(His meals spoil as they sit untouched…the staff try substituting the food with mice. They eat the rotten remains and grow fat)…Inhale…(It’s all coolness…his heart is slow…all is calm. All is calm. All is well. He can see nirvana, and he lets it fill him. (His eyes are glass, his scales are edged with dead-white)...Exhale. (He is…)

Heat washes over him, and the HERE AND NOW rushes at him alarmingly. He leaps to his feet, microscopic fibers on his palms cutting into the rock on which he slept. How long…how long? Did he dream? A man stands at the thick glass window, watching. Waiting. Neal (!!sss!ss) walked towards him, thick swathes of shed scales peeling away with each stride, revealing the gleaming red-gold scales beneath. The film fell from his eyes, flame rippled down his back. Reptilian Adonis, he did not try to hide his nakedness.

“Neal” A chip lodged deeply in his auditory canal translated the word into a series of hisses and clicks. “Neal, General Morgenstern requests your presence in the briefing room.” A name…no more real than ‘Neal’s own. A false face to strike fear into the pawns in this game. “I shall be there shortly.” His own hissed words were turned into the vowels and consonants of human speech by an implant in the back of his mouth. The government grunt departed. Neal readied himself to meet an audience.

A second skin of woven black…completely impervious to heat or cold, maintaining constant environmental pressure. Vent releases on the wrists, neck, ankles, and back. Compound goggles, glittering orange. Resistant to fogging, shattering, providing full 360 degree view thanks to the miracle of reflection. Oxygen systems, checked and checked and checked again. If they fail, they merely fuel the fire.

He leaves his room…the others, the humans, talk behind his back. He tastes their words. The vibrations of their voices give meaning: “…Lowered the temperature in his room minutely. He didn’t even realize it. Lizard’s been sleeping for four months! Perfect stasis…no food, no water, and he looks better than ever now. Perfect soldier. And he didn’t even know!’ Neal hissed softly, the translator softly burbling nonsensical words. Though they spoke truth. He WAS stronger now. He was matured, his senses alert, his powers heightened…

A conference room, the same as in hundreds of thousands of buildings across the world. Neal stood at attention, watching General Morgenstern closely. He did not speak. He was a soldier. The General put a disc into a briefing screen. A news report began.

An intruder. A threat. An ultimatum.

“I am to stop this man?” Inflectionless. Cold. He had grown past hotheadedness. In his sleep he had seen nirvana. “If you come across him, yes.” Neil waited…he would be given the primary objective in due time. “Your main goal is to protect the president. Follow him at all times. If he is teleported away, tag along. If there’s an explosion…” Ah, the true face of the thing. Laying down his life for a country not his. For a society not his. “We think your abilities would allow you to absorb or contain the worst of the blast.” Neal did not react. He neither affirmed nor denied. “You will follow the president at all times. You are not to be more than ten feet from him at any given moment. Hide. Your suit will mask your heat signature.” Neal signed the message objective and set out.

New York City, a place without rest, a testament to human accomplishment. However, for every industrious accomplishment, there were a thousand inexcusable deeds. Down in a crevice, beyond light, a heartbeat pounded like a beacon calling out to its pursuer. The heartbeat ricocheted off every surface like a solid object. Even in a place devoid of light, the hunter stalked his target with silent demeanor. The fool stumbled over a trash can, tripping out into the street, cars swerving around him. The cacophony of screeching tires and honking horns blared in the hunter's ears, but he endured. The prey was cornered. No shadow to run to, all these eyes upon him. Nowhere to run.

With one single, bold stride, the hunter stepped into the ethereal glow of the street light, giving a face to this enigmatic pursuer. His red coat rested squarely on his shoulders beneath a black quiver bolstered by a golden crest. His pale gray mask let the light resonate in a faint, silvery glow. Panic filled the eyes of his prey, a deer's fleeting heartbeat as it backs in against the rock, an arrow in its hide. With pedestrians standing petrified around him, the hunter made his approach, allowing the tension to mount in the thief's heart with each slow, noiseless step across the asphalt.

Suddenly, a floodlight crashed down on the hunter. He spun his head skyward to witness faceless silhouettes operating the light. Several pedestrians cast off their disguises and revealed their stark black and white uniforms. A black van sped by the parked cars and came to an abrupt halt, two more of these nigh-identical agents emerged from the van.

"Longshot, I presume." one of them stated, buntly as one would expect a thick necked, crew cut government agent to speak, "You're not an easy man to find."

"I consider that a skill." Longshot murmured, not dignifying the agents with his full attention, "What's this all about?"

The agent removed his glasses and tucked them firmly in his breast pocket, folding his in a display of formality. With a belabored sigh, he asked, "How would you like to serve your country?"

Washington D.C.

In the conference room of the White House, Longshot was trying very hard to assess his situation, and just how much sanity he had left to spare. There he stood, before a crowd of swarming reporters, shoulder to shoulder with two others of the masked hero persuasion, being introduced to the world by the President of the United States. Only once had he appeared openly in public. Someone of immense power could afford to be a public figure, because X-ray vision removes a criminal's sense of safety in the shadows. Longshot and those like him had to remain enigmas, urban legends that frighten people at the mere mentioning of their names. Granted, he was no creature of the night, but a silent, efficient hunter in the darkness was plenty threatening. And yet, here he stood in the spotlight, having his name announced to the whole world.

Longshot scanned the crowd. A heartbeat was like a fingerprint. It identified a person, fleshed them out in their activities, their habits, their emotions. He tried to listen for any frantic jumps, like someone standing up to make their move. He had been briefed on the threat they'd been assigned to handle. Very little was known about him, but he was substantially powerful, armed to the teeth with classified government equipment, and he could be absolutely anyone in this crowd. With a concise final statement, the President ended the conference and proceeded behind the stage, the trio of heroes following after him.

In the oval office, the three heroes were spread out across the room. Longshot sat on a couch in the middle of the room and looked to the Commander in Chief as he stood behind his desk, sleeves rolled up and a stress, not only of the last few days, but of the job he had undertaken, wearing away at him more visibly than when he was in public.

"If you don't mind me asking, Mr. President..." Longshot asked, "why choose three unregistered, technically outlawed, masked crime fighters to protect you over the best and brightest? With special forces, secret service and all manner of government agents at your disposal, why pick us?"

Taking a moment to select his words, President Obama replied, "Not only do I trust you three... I want to send a message to your community. While I believe in the laws to keep you in check, you're all out there every day, putting your lives on the line without the desire of glory, or recognition, or even a government paycheck. Your noble efforts... are worthy of recognition and I have utter confidence that you three can see me, and the nation, through this crisis. That, and Sidelash has earned some pretty big approval from the folks at FOX News and I can't wait to see how FOX & Friends tries to make me look bad for working with him."

Longshot almost broke his stern demeanor with a light chuckle. He leaned back in his seat and kept a firm hold on his bow just in case. "I'm listening to check if our threat is incoming. Nothing so far. In the meantime, let's try to connect the pieces and figure out who this guy is. Maybe then, we'll stand a chance. Now..." Longshot paused, standing up and looking between his three constituents, "What did he steal?"

Archeron groaned. The demon was over two stories tall, and was currently tearing apart his Aston Martin. The car was the first off the line, and therefore, he hated to lose it. Not a moment too soon, he got a lock. "I'll see you later." With a few quick mental commands through the relay between his suit and the weapons installations, he primed a Judas missile. With a password entry, the missile jumped between the silo and the demon. The reverse-engineered demonic soul-powered warhead slammed home, exploding with a bright flash. Suddenly the demon was absent, the second of silence a brief respite. The air rumbled, and then a mighty crash sounded as the Hell portal slammed shut. That was the funny thing about vortexes. Easy to tear, a lot harder to seal.

"Mr Zarek! Demon Slayer!" Archeron turned. A government official shook his hand. "It's a privilege and an honour to meet you. The President requires you. Now." Archeron nodded quietly and followed.

The White House

His skull-mask would discourage any too deep questioning, and the whole idea of it, to strike fear in peoples' hearts, seemed to work on the reporters. Every time he spotted a questionable individual in the crowd, he ran a check on them. There were two other heroes he stood with. Longshot, a legendary archer. His ability to stay in the shadows was impressive. Even Archeron had been unsure of his existence. And a hero named Overkill. A real powerhouse, Overkill would, Archeron assumed, be the number 1 choice to duke it out with the attempted kidnapper if it came to it.

He chuckled at the mention of FOX News. They constantly approved of his demon slaying actions. Well, he did have some leverage on them, as he could single-handedly point out the devil's advocates among any number of their employees. When Longshot asked what the guy stole, Archeron shut off his vocal emitter. Now, quietened to the room, he ordered Stanford and Angel to use the supercomputer to hack the government's various databases and find out what the guy had stolen. Reactivating it, Archeron dictated a short list of some of the tech the criminal had taken. There was a whole lot more he had taken, but the list was surprisingly advanced, even to him. "Guys...We have a problem. My technology, the bulk of it, at least, is back at my HQ. I need to go back, retrieve my heavy-duty stuff, and then get back here. I just need approval to tear open an intra-dimensional vortex." His "jargon" was pretty basic. All he was going to do was tear open a portal that simply traversed this dimension, as opposed to an inter-dimensional vortex, which is what was required to cross to different worlds.

The Sahara Desert...

No one saw it coming. Everyone was under the impression that the Skrulls had been defeated by earth and it's great heroes a long time ago. What they didn't see, was that they only defeated a scout army. The real threat had just arrived. The entire Skrull armada had appeared without warning, slaughtering and taking the place of humans and superhumans alike. Although the various heroes of our time had decimated a vast portion of the invasion, millions still remained. Compared to the trillions that landed, the heroes might look like they had won. However, the forces of earth did not make it. Only one now remains.

Peter Matthews was off world for the invasion. His short period as a deputy Green Lantern had the Guardians of Oa call on him once more for a galactic threat. Upon his return home, he saw something that he could not fathom. A world in flames. And even though the rational part of his mind told him that there was no one left to avenge, it would be pointless to stay, that he should leave earth for good. This was his planet. And Earth's Mightiest Mortal would not allow it to be perverted for a race of aliens that he nearly gave his life to defeat months ago.

He made his stand in the Sahara desert. A large arena for the largest battle since World War Warsman. The Skrull population poured over the dunes around him. Their alien stench filling his nostrils immediately. He didn't mind. He knew of a much worse aroma that he would be smelling in the near future. Butchered Skrulls. They had taken the forms of thousands of heroes and villains from the world before. Closure, Canine, Darkchild, Paragon, even the deceased like Andferne and Eclipse. Now, Overkill would defeat an entire universe of heroes, single handidly. But, there was something odd. the front lines of the Skrull army was led by someone who did not make any sense. Karen Schiro. Not a superpowered hero that a Skrull would likely take the form of. She was a secretary at Champion tower. She approached him and said two words. "Simulation: Override."

Champion Tower, Champion City...

The virtural training session dematierialized around them and Peter looked at the young secretary confused. "Ms. Schiro? What's going on?" She spoke apologetically. "I'm very sorry to disrupt your training sir, but there are a few government agents who wish to speak with you." Peter nodded slowly. Given his past, the government was not his favored interupption. But, he was a Champion. And he knew his duty. "Thank you Karen. No apology necessary. I'm on my way." Peter began walking toward the door, but stopped before he left and turned once again to Karen. "Oh yeah! How's Thomas back in LA?" Thomas was her 11 year old son. She smiled. "He's great, first string nose tackle on his little league team now. He says it's all because of your tips." Peter smiled and laughed. "That's wonderful. I'll have to drop by and cheer him on." And with a quick smile, he made his exit.

He personally would have loved to chat with Karen a little more. Pete liked to take time to talk to all the staff and break up the humdrum mood around the tower. That's one of the little things that made it easier to cope with the city being in ruins. But, with everyone seeing the threat to the President and him now having government agents waiting to speak with him, this was a bit more important. Peter stepped into the meeting room where there was three men dressed in the cliche black suit and sunglasses. "Mr. Matthews, the President has need of you. We've talked to Mr. Barnes already and he recommended you for this operation. Gather your equipment, we'll brief you on the way."

The White House, Washington DC...

Already the three heroes who were technically a part of the President's bodyguards were taking charge of the situation. Sideslash, formerly an angel and now a demon slaying mortal, was busy preparing himself while Longshot, a bowsmen and excellent vigilante, got information to try and identify the criminal in question. Peter looked at Longshot and wondered how he felt being around someone who now looked frighteningly similar to Eclipse, a hero that he fought with and against during last years King of the Vine Tournament. Regardless of how Longshot felt, Pete was happy to be working with him.

Overkill decided to work on something different from his new coworkers. The night of the attack. "First off, we have to look at all possibilities here. Why would somone announce to the public that they're going to do something like this? Have you heard of a criminal who went to the police station and said 'Hey, at noon tomorrow I'm robbing this bank'? That makes me think two things. One, this is a trick and he plans on doing something different while we're distracted here. Or two, and this really scares me. This guy actually thinks he can actually kidnap the president no matter what we do."

He looked at the agents around him. "Gentlemen... We need everything we've got and then some. No matter how this goes down, we need everyone on their A game before, during, and after two nights from now."

Longshot looked out the window behind the President's desk. The moon was half full. His eyepiece was set to night vision and he simply scanned back and forth, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Still nothing. He had recognized Overkill's theory that this was a diversion. Perhaps the world's mightiest mortal wasn't as big a meat head as he appeared. The president had seen to it that security around every major government research center and stronghold had been intensified, but the archer knew no firepower in a soldier's hand could stop this assailant now.

"Let's think..." he said, turning back to his associates, "It appears that everything he stole was developed for military use. He's armed to the teeth with experimental high-powered weapons. If he wanted to break in here, or anywhere, he could. All we can do now is prepare for when he comes and try to figure out who it is. Could be some crazed nut job who thinks he's the angel of death, or he could be the real deal, super powered, cybernetic, whatever, and a genuine genius. I wish he would just show up so we could get a solid answer instead of sitting here talking about it."

Longshot paced around the oval office. As out of his depth as he was, President Obama was more so. "Perhaps... this man was hired... by one of America's enemies. He's stealing our top secret projects and topping it off with my capture."

"Unlikely." the archer replied, "If we were dealing with a hired assassin, they would simply do it instead of causing a panic and bulking up security around his target. He wouldn't make things harder for himself if he was just after a paycheck, or if he's some radical trying to bring down the enemy. No, our man's out looking for a challenge. He doesn't have any legitimate motive, and that's what's making him so hard to pin down." Longshot turned back to the window and whispered, "He's just waiting, toying with us like a shark circling its prey. He's letting the tension mount. He wants us to be afraid."

"Please, gentlemen..." the President interjected, "I'm not afraid for myself, or even the nation. I know that America can weather any threat, with or without me, I'm just worried about my family." And suddenly, all the stigma melted away. The aura around him gave way and Longshot saw what was living beneath the impenetrable armor of the President of the United States: a man. Just a man who was afraid for the ones he loved and trying to make sense out of an upside down world. The archer stepped closer to President Obama and rested his hand on the man's shoulder.

"You're family will be fine." Longshot answered calmly, "And so will you, Mr. President. I guarantee it."

The Next Day

 The strange being watched the news as the President announced the three heroes he had chosen to protect him. “The archer and demon hunter are interesting choices, but futile none the less,” he said to himself as he eyed blood-red brawler. “He is the only legitimate threat. Computer!” several monitors lit up and gave the seemingly empty room an eerie glow. “How long will it take to put a layer of infraglium over my armor?” It took the computer a few minutes to make the necessary calculation and put them on the screen. “1 day, 4 hours, 27 minutes, and 37.685 seconds,” said the computer as the man nodded in approval. “Begin the process immediately. I need to be ready by the deadline that I have set.” The computer beeped in acknowledgement as several mechanical claws reached for him and began pulling the metal armor from his body. Once all the armor sections had been removed, he casually walked over to a section of the wall and began planning his assault.

Two days later

The assailant pulled a very large, high tech rifle from his cloak and readied to fire it. He took careful aim at the least populated area of the building, which turned out to be the left wing of the White House. He fired several shots silently at the building, each projectile sticking to the wall. On each projectile was a small digital counter that counted down from 00:15. The man quickly put the weapon back under his cloak and on his back before leaping from the window and disappearing in mid-air.

The explosions sounded from all over as the little bombs went off in the left wing. Most of the secret service force went to intercept the infiltrator that wasn’t even coming through there. Just outside the Oval Office, the infiltrator appeared and landed perfectly on the floor. The few agents still there were caught by surprise as he jumped towards the wall, breaking through the concrete and drywall with ease. The infiltrator flew through the wall and onto the back of one of the chairs in the room. Everyone inside seemed completely confused as he leapt forward again, knocking over the chair and whoever was sitting in it. The man seemed to soar through the air as he tackled the President through the large window and onto the lawn below. The stranger casually flipped in the air and re-arranged President Obama so that he was cradled in his arms when he landed on his feet. “Don’t worry Mr. President,” said the assailant as he casually reached into his cloak and pulled out a strange, futuristic headband from his cloak. “You won’t feel a thing.” The man placed the headband right on Obama’s forehead, the device clamping shut as it made contact. The instant the device clamped shut, the small red light on the front lit up and the President went limp as he went into a trance. The strange assailant then started to run towards the fence, the numerous police officers looking surprised as he easily jumped over them.

One of the officers pulled a gun and took aim at the kidnapper. “What are you doing!?” snapped another officer as he forced the man to lower his weapon. “You might hit the President!” The officer looked at him sheepishly as the kidnapper landed on one of the police cruisers and casually hopped from car to car until he’d crossed the sea of vehicles. The stranger then proceeded to duck and weave through the heavy traffic at speeds no normal human could even come close to running. This would prevent his pursuers from firing on him, lest they hit the innocent motorists.  

It was so fast. It was faster than even Longshot could comprehend. One moment, the attacker was some swift apparition, landing silently in the center of the oval office, the next, everything was devastated, the infiltrator was making his escape, and he had the President. Longshot pulled himself out of the delirium. His eyes rolled in his head. He had taken a hit as he tried to throw himself in the path of the mechanical monstrosity as it attacked the president. He snatched up his bow and shambled towards the gaping hole in the wall. He braced his ribs and shook his head frantically in an attempt to regain full consciousness. The archer fell to his knees, but he drew an arrow. He dropped down to the floor, but he pulled back on the string, taking aim at the fleeing madman. He moaned in pain, trying desperately to keep his eyes open. The intruder hopped the fence. Not a single agent opened fire, for risk of hitting the Commander in Chief. Longshot zeroed in, aiming right for the base of the attacker's spine, concealed beneath his flowing cloak. His vision waned and the bow went slack. Unconsciousness embraced him and he reluctantly accepted it, he had failed.

Darkness gave way to a faint sliver of light, and finally, he fell back into reality. He would sit up frantically, searching his surroundings in a panic, but he was simply too weak. He took slow, labored breaths and closed his eyes to rest. That is, until he heard her voice. Her slow, calming voice called out to him like an angel, "Look whose awake... good morning, Potshot." Well, maybe not an angel.

Slowly, Longshot cracked his eyes open again and propped himself up on his elbow, looking up to see her. She wore a grey uniform, black combat boots, a bulletproof vest, a red beret capping her short, blonde hair and black, fingerless gloves. She had an emblem stitched into her sleeve, but the archer was too groggy to make it out. She was leaning on the splintered remains of the Presiden'ts desk with a cigarette clinched between her teeth as she waved the match back and forth, killing the flame. It was still dark out, only the moon and a few lights below illuminating her.

"Where..." Longshot began, bracing his aching head, "What... what the hell happened?"

"You screwed the pooch, boys." she said with a grin, "Our mystery psycho took the President, and now I'm here to clean up your mess." "And who might you be?" Longshot asked.

"Special Agent Hannigan. CIA. Metahuman Affairs Division. And, just so we're clear, I worked very hard for that 'Special' that's in front of my name, so if we could skip the masked-man macho act outta you three, I'd much appreciate it. Since the President is gone, I'm now in charge of this operation. He asked that if things go south, I take command over you loose cannons."

"You're not wearing the usual suit and sunglasses I see all the other drones wearing." Longshot scoffed. "Yeah... that's because I'm dressed to kill. Literally. Now, we've got tapes at every which angle of this guy breaking in, so why don't we get to work figuring this out instead of wasting our breath?"

They watched over and over in slow motion as the glass and stone burst and the attacker escaped with the President in his arms. "We have no idea who or what this guy is," said Agent Hannigan, "But we can identify what appears to be some sort of advanced cybernetic implant right here." She pointed to his leg just as he made contact with the ground, "It might be an exosuit, or he could be a cyborg, maybe he's a full fledged robot, or maybe it's just some really flashy body armor." The video began playing again. He landed effortlessly on the grass and something came out of his cloak. "Wait a minute! Freeze frame!" Longshot called out, "Zoom in." They watched as the image enhanced and they saw a crescent shaped piece of metal in the attacker's hand.

"That seems to be some sort of mind control device. It was confiscated from some mad scientist, your department." Agent Hannigan stated, "Our mystery man stole it from a high security research facility right here in D.C."

"Right..." Longshot replied, "I think I fought the guy who invented it once. It was a receiver for a specifically tuned radio wave. It translated the wave and shot the conditioning program right into the wearer's frontal lobe. Did he take the transmitter too?"

"No." Agent Hannigan replied, "It's still in that facility." "Right..." said Longshot, "So if he's using it, that means it has to be in range of the transmitter. That means he's somewhere here in Washington. Have your computer single out any area in the city within a four mile radius of that facility."

Agent Hannigan smiled and quickly typed away at her keyboard. The President's personal shadow still clung to the ceiling. He was far from inconspicuous in that costume, so why he refused to simply come down was anyone's guess. Longshot turned his eyes back to the computer screen where a small, triangular area of the map was quickly drawn of the area. "Okay..." Hannigan sighed sarcastically, "That narrows it down. We've still got four miles in any which direction to search." She quickly pointed to the world's mightiest mortal, "Overkill, get searching. We could use a bird's eye view on this. Take Sideslash with you. This guy may be too powerful for you."

Longshot and Special Agent Hannigan sat across from one another on the tattered couches of the Oval Office. It wasn't long after midnight. A man in a dress shirt and tie handed the agent a cup of coffee. "Thank you, Jimmy. You want some, Cupid?"

"No thanks." Longshot answered, "Any ideas about where he might be? We can poke around in that area for weeks and never find him if we don't think of a more exact location."

"It'll come. In the meantime, what's your name?" Agent Hannigan asked. She got no reponse. "Oh, right, secret identities. Well, my name's Melissa." She set down her coffee cup and put her head in her hands, "Oh my god, I just realized how crazy this all is. Why the hell did I get into this business?"

"Because you wanted to know." said Longshot. "Huh?" Melissa asked. "I can read people, and I know that you're like me. When you were young, you watched masked men and women in tights flying over your head and all you wanted to know was why. Why did they have this incredible power? More importantly, why did they use it for good? Why would anyone with that kind of amazing power do anything selfless with it? And when you finally got your answers, you realized that all you wanted to do was be like them, to help people. But here you are, stuck on the ground. So, you do everything you can, whether its operating within the law or doing exactly what they do with a much higher mortality risk, because that's the only way you know how to live. So yeah, we see weird things. We throw ourselves way out of our own depth because all we want to do is make the same amount of difference without bench pressing a mountain. Whether we're swallowed by a living ocean on some alien world or erased from existence by some mad god, we die with the knowledge that we did everything they would have, and we saved the world."

"You strike me as a smart guy, Longshot." Agent Hannigan said with a smile, surprisingly calling him by his real name, "I guess I always admired the guys who do this stuff with nothing more than a utility belt. Or a bow. But they always struck me as, I don't know, kind of... sad. You can always tell that someone like that throws themselves in the line of fire for some tragic reason, and that... that always made me kinda sad."

"Hmm... I guess we understand each other pretty well." Longshot sighed. "Yeah." Melissa chuckled, "In a perfect world, we might of ended up together."

"Yeah," Longshot whispered, "A perfect world."

"Wait a minute..." Agent Hannigan murmured, suddenly springing up from her seat, "I've got it!" she ran over to her computer and Longshot followed. "We both know how weird these super types can get," she continued, "And if there's one thing they love, its putting their hideouts in the flashiest places possible. In a place like D.C., that means he probably set up shop in one of the main tourist stops. And there's only one of those in range of the facility... the Washington Monument."

"Hannigan, I could kiss you!" Longshot exclaimed. "Save it slick!" she interrupted, "That's not all. It has a perfect panoramic view of the city. He was watching the White House all this time, and he can see us coming from anywhere." She drew a cylindrical grenade from her belt, "This is an EMP grenade. It has a limited range, but if I can get it up close to our boy, I can short him out and not risk damaging the President's headband."

"Alright! Hold on, I had somebody restring my bow. I'll go get it and we'll hunt the bastard down." Longshot said, running down the hallway.

Upon his return, the archer was surpriesed to find that Melissa was gone. "Where's Agent Hannigan?!" he asked one of the secret service agents nearby. "She left on a solo infiltration and rescue mission, sir. Her specific orders were that she was not to be followed."

"No, he'll kill her!" Longshot cried, "Or worse." He quickly snatched the agent's walky talky and called out, "Overkill, Sideslash, this is Longshot. We know where this son of a bitch is. Agent Hannigan already went on her own and her life could be at risk." he said, almost forgetting the President in his rushed speech, "Meet me at the Washington Monument." With that, he jumped out onto the grass and ran through the the city at breakneck speed towards the Monument.

Panic...

Peter was caught off guard as the assailant burst through the wall next to him. Chunks of drywall flew through the air and knocked him out of his chair. Rolling back to his feet, the mysterious attacker was now perched on the back of a chair like an owl ready to snatch up a helpless mouse. Overkill fired energy from his eyes, but his target made his next move, grabbing the President and leaping out of the window behind his desk. Longshot was at the opening, aiming his bow at the mystery man. But, he had taken a rough hit, and Peter saw him fading. "Longshot, take him now!" The bowman wobbled in his stance more. He wasn't going to be able to do it. "Longshot! Take him! We might not have another chance! Take him down!" He passed out and began falling. Peter rushed to catch him and laid him on the ground.

Looking up to where the kidnapper was running, Peter saw that he had already cleared the fence and was gaining distance. "Crap!" He lept from the new opening and flew after him as he spoke in his communicator to the secret service and those that he was hired with. "This is Overkill! I'm in pursuit! the President has been kidnapped, I repeat, the President has been kidnapped! Archeron, with me! DCPD, shut down all roads out of the city! Nothing in, nothing out!" The agents on the other end confirmed what they heard. Peter wasn't even sure if Acheron was able to follow him. He lost sight of him and the creepy lizard secret service guy during the kidnapping. Peter flew as fast as he could, but the kidnapper had already gained too much ground. "Crap! I lost him! Does anyone have eyes of the target?! Repeat! Anyone have eyes on the target?!" Peter heard a single word over the communicator. "Negative." The President was gone.

Peter was still searching the streets for any sign of the kidnapper or the president. Using infrared vision, he searched for anything that looked like a kidnapper and his captive. A body in the trunk of a car, a powerful lawyer in a secret study in his house with a woman who was not his wife, children playing cops and robbers. All misguided leads. The search for the President was looking grim. Archeron was searching the streets as well, Longshot was recovered and working with the secret service on the tapes of the kidnapping. The more time that passed by, the closer their window of oppourtunity to rescue the President came to being closed for good.

Suddenly, a call over the communicator. "Overkill, Sideslash, this is Longshot. We know where this son of a bitch is. Agent Hannigan already went on her own and her life could be at risk. Meet me at the Washington Monument." Peter thought this was odd. Such a public place? Why? But, he trusted Longshot and beelined straight for the monument. The tall white obelisk stood firm as Overkill approached it. On the ground, he saw a grey uniform making it's way toward the structure. He landed next to the female agent and ran with her. "Agent Hannigan I'm guessing?" She looked at him shocked. "What are you doing?! I gave orders not to be followed!" Peter shrugged. "I could tell you now that I can care less about your orders cause I'm technically a vigilante so I don't work with your orders. I could tell you that I wasn't following you here and was ordered to come here by someone else. But, I'm going to say, your welcome for assisting you." Hannigan rolled her eyes as the entered the monument.

The blonde agent turned to him as they got inside. "You want to be stubborn? Fine. Split up and we'll cover more ground." Pete nodded and made his way higher into the large structure. About half way up, he noticed foot prints that didn't match the others he'd been seeing. They were all different sizes, but the same pattern. Peter guessed they were standard issue boots for the guards. This set was entirely different. He spoke into his communicator. "Longshot, it's Overkill. I'm at the monument. The kidnapper isn't here, neither is the President. But, the kidnapper almost definitely was. I got foot prints in a spot that has a clear shot of the White House." Peter looked around more. Near a window, he found a bit of black powder. "It looks like I got som GSR here as well. This is where he fired the explosives from. But, I got something else."

Peter looked at the ledge. Half a shoe print told him that the kidnapper lept from this point. But, what drew his attention was small slivers of black metal. He tried to pick one up and immediately felt his energy being pulled from his body. He dropped it with a quick shout of pain. It was clear. The kidnapper's armor was black. "Longshot, this guy's wearing beta-infraglium. I'm next to useless against him. He can kill me if he touches me by absorbing my energy." He shook his head. "What do we do now?"

The stranger watched as the blood-red brawler and the secret agent enter the Washington Monument and begin to climb it. He had already hidden the President and was preparing his second move. The kidnapper brought his wrist to his face to look at a small watch that sat firmly on his wrist. The clock read 1 hour and continued to count down. “This really is just too easy,” he thought as he casually walked from his hiding place on the top of the Monument and began moving towards the windows facing the now destroyed White House. He made no sound as he quietly crawled to the very top of the window. He quietly chuckled to himself as he heard Overkill yelp from touching the slivers of infraglium he apparently left behind. He then heard the hero warn his allies. “Longshot, this guy's wearing beta-infraglium. I'm next to useless against him. He can kill me if he touches me by absorbing my energy. What do we do now? ” The stranger then stuck his head into the window, surprising the both of them. “I gave all of you three days to prepare and you proved to be next to useless at stopping me. You four are just pathetic.”

Agent Hannigan pulled out her gun and brought it on the kidnapper. “You are under arrest for the kidnapping of the President. Put your hands above your head and come quietly.” The stranger shrugged before doing as the officer said. She was pulling out her handcuff when the stranger slid down the window and fell towards the ground below. Agent Hannigan quickly ran towards the window and watched as the stranger opened up his cloak and began to glide through the air. “D@$% it!” cursed the agent as she watched the kidnapper glide towards the Air and Space Museum and swiftly landed on the ground. The people ran away in terror as he calmly entered the museum and proceeded towards a door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONEL ONLY. The door bent like wet clay as he tore the door open with one hand. He casually walked down the stairs until he was in what looked like a massive underground storage warehouse.

It took the four heroes and Agent Hannigan a half hour to arrive at the storage warehouse. They didn’t get very far in when they saw the kidnapper standing on nothing in mid-air. “You all have been truly disappointment,” said the stranger as he appeared to be walking down a flight of invisible stair that wasn’t there. “Three of you are supposed to be the best superheroes the world has ever known, two of you specially trained government agents. It took me only 30 seconds to break into the White House and take the President, and the four of you were in the room when I did it,” he said as he gestured to Overkill, Salamander, Sideslash, and Longshot. “But I’m going to give you all a chance to redeem yourselves.”

The stranger reached the floor and seemed to walk through a curtain of air, disappearing in thin air. He then reappeared to their left, walking through the wooden crates in a similar fashion. “You probably think I’m just a hologram meant to distract you, but I can assure you,” he said as he playfully slapped the nearest hero on the face, “I am the real one.” The kidnapper casually walked forward and seemed to walk right through the hero and disappear once again. The assailant reappeared in front of them again, in both of his hands was every EMP device everyone had with them. “It’ll be an issue if you knock my dimensional transistor out,” he said as before smashing them together into little metal chunks. “Now,” he said as he rubbed any remaining pieces from his hands, “we’re going to play a little game. I’ve hidden Mr. Obama in this very room, but at the same time, he isn’t here. He is in a pocket dimension right next to our own, which can only be reached with a dimensional transistor.”

The stranger’s cloak opened up to reveal a banged up blue helmet with a large crack down the middle. In the middle of the crack, a rectangular hole that looked like it had been made by the blade of a sword. The small black visor in the front of the helmet was slightly cracked where the left eye was. “This is what remains of the last hero who tried to get in my way. It tried to stop me while I was…acquiring the infraglium for tonight. I sent it to the scrap heap in 3 blows . Anyways,   I’ve modified it to allow whoever uses it to see into the pocket dimension and travel back and forth between it. Sadly, it is too badly damaged, so it’s only good for one round trip.” The stranger then revealed his other hand, which held a strange looking remote control the size of a garage opener. “This little device is the remote control that removes the mind control device on his head.” He looked at them and he gave them a look of disappointment. “I augmented the headband too. It only puts the wearer in a trance where their greatest desires are fulfilled. Just think of it as a mechanical Black Mercy plant. This remote allows you to remove it safely, otherwise you’ll rip his mind apart and send him to the mental hospital.”

He then put the helmet in a large gym bag and the little remote in a small pull string pouch, which he put around his neck. “Here’s the game,” said the kidnapper as he placed the gym bag on his back, the strap draping over his chest. “You have one hour to take the helmet and remote from my person. You can use whatever you can get your hands on, but you can’t leave the room. Doing so will result in an automatic forfeit and the Obama’s life will be in my hands. The only other rule is that only you five can participate, any outside help will also result in a forfeit. If you manage to succeed, then you get the President back and I’ll let you put the cuffs on me.” He then leapt onto one of the metal shelves and performed a black flip through a wooden crate without breaking it. When he reappeared, he was crawling on the ceiling like a lizard on the wall. “The game begins now.” The stranger performed a back flip away from the heroes, landing on the ground dramatically, and began to run through the maze named the Smithsonian.

Longshot arrived at the base of the Washington Monument just in time to witness their mystery maniac leaping an obscene distance, a feat that seemed rather insubstantial given his prior accomplishments, and landed effortlessly at the doors of the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum. The intel he had on beta-infraglium was slim, but enough to appreciate their circumstance. He dashed up the steps and flung open the door, frightened for the lives of his allies, especially Agent Hannigan. The archer looked upward to find her already moving down the winding staircase. "Are you alright?!" he asked. "Top of the goddamn world!" the agent answered gruffly, "The son of a bitch got away and took the EMP. I had a shot but he was just..." Longshot interrupted, "Too fast, yeah, he does that."

"Well, let's go! We've still got a job to do!" Hannigan howled, bumping Longshot on the shoulder as she went.

Moments later, they arrived on the steps of the Smithsonian, a massive group of National Guard trucks, tanks and S.W.A.T. trucks pulling up behind them and troops pouring out. Hannigan ordered them to take a defensive position around the Smithsonian and prepare to flank the enemy the instant he reared his head outside the building. She walked up with Longshot towards the mangled and dented door that marked their target's trail. "I'll be no good in there," she said, "So I want you to do everything you can to command those loose cannons, Longshot. We can have all the power in the world, but it won't be worth a damn if it's not coordinated. The President's life is on the line, and so is my promotion, so I'm trusting you with this."

"You're trusting me?" asked Longshot, "But, I thought I was an idiot." "You are," she said with a grin, "But you're the only idiot I trust." She patted him on the shoulder and they parted ways. He raced across the stark stone floor, or at least, until Melissa called out to him, "Hey!" He spun around and was greeted by a warm smile as she said, "Stay safe, idiot." He nodded and smirked beneath his mask before leaping up the steps and through the broken door.

Inside the Smithsonian, their enigmatic adversary stood before them, the orange light of earliest dawn just barely peaking in through the glass and lighting the otherwise abysmally dark room. He held out Hannigan's EMP grenade, along with every other device he had collected, and crushed them without hesitation, barely even applying his full strength. He went on for some time, explaining the situation to them, feeding the heroes their only options. Typical supervillain talk. Longshot listened for any key information and spent the rest of his time focusing to find any weak points in the man. He found nothing to be exploited. All he could see that seemed vulnerable was the small, exposed window of his face between his elaborate helmet and the drapings of his tattered cloak, and even that didn't seem right. Why would someody so well protected leave such a blatant weakness, and one that could easily prove fatal? Like everything else about him, this was obviously not what it seemed. He held out the cracked visor in one hand, and in the other, the remote for the headband keeping the President docile. Longshot pounced, reaching for both in an attempt he knew was futile from the beginning as the man jumped silently out of his path. He bounded all around the room with impeccable speed, earily noiseless, aside from the wafting of his hefty cloak. He raced off in the winding hallways and the hunter went after him.

Over and over, Longshot fired, each arrow missing it's mark. Here and there, they would pierce his cloak, but none would fly true. "Overkill, keep your distance!" he barked, "Sideslash, get that visor!" With that, he jumped up and tried to face his opponent on the same footing. He tracked his every move, leaping back and forth and running at breakneck speed that would rival an Olympic track star. Finally, as the man rounded another corner, the archer knew he had him. They were in a long straight, no sharp turns to take. Longshot jumped up and to the side, bouncing off the wall. A he was coming down on his opponent from an angle, he stretched out his arm and fired a cable, aimed directly between his shoulder blades, While the cable was still in flight, its concrete-piercing claws extended hungrily outward, he stripped every explosive cartridge from his bandoleer and hurled them at him, aiming for the back of his head, his arms and his legs. The cable wound in and he drew an arrow, ready to pry open and jab any crevice possible in the assailant's armor. There was no more holding back, no more hesitation. A life was at stake and there was no way to save him than to put this madman down.

He had been delivered in the dead of night, smuggled through the servant’s quarters. Curled in on himself, he took up no more space than an armoire. Less perhaps. A nightstand, a dusty piece that could be shoved into the dark corners of an attic and forgotten for decades. The President (just another man, he had no scent of especial authority, his bearing was no longer strong) did not like him. He asked why this was necessary, was this man…this THING…really to be trusted? Neal wondered why he was the first to ask. It was not the President’s choice anyway…the flashy heroes, they may have been requested, and no doubt they would be sufficient. But they were wild cards, they thought and acted for themselves, they could be corrupted, bribed, could simply give up. Neal was a soldier. He would not ask ‘why’, he would simply do as he was told, for whatever reason. That was the Neal they wanted. But he had shed his skin, and with it he had shed his childhood of servitude. Whatever had happened to the anarchist firebrand that had voyaged out to the surface? An ember, he had smoldered down below, and now new fuel had been added. Soft winds fanned the flame. Complacency was burned away. He was tired of being a pawn. Perhaps now he would be a knight…a wildcard who moved erratically across the board.

These thoughts were buried, deep down. He was still intent on his mission, intended to fulfill it to the best of his abilities. And so he lurked in the President’s quarters, a bug on the ceiling. (He scared the children…Bo barked at him incessantly until he was removed elsewhere by Secret Service). He did not partake in the strategy talks of the other heroes, preferring instead to rely on his own judgment and quick reflexes.

It was night on the day of the supposed terrorist attack. Michelle had been crying all morning, before falling into exhausted slumber. Neil had barely moved since his arrival. The microscopic barbs on his hands and feet dug into the ceiling. An explosion from somewhere else in the building rumbled, plaster filtered down creating a white film over the opulent furniture. Agents scurried hither and thither, all so very panicked.

A man appeared, bursting through the wall like a sinister Kool-Aid Man. (This is when Neil should have moved, was supposed to leap to the President’s aid with no thought for his own life or limb…he could have too, he was fast enough, he had heard the assailant coming by the vibrations of his footsteps.) He should have moved…but he did not. He remained on the ceiling, impassively watching it all. The President was whisked away, and the kidnapper vanished across the sea of traffic.

Neil’s comms unit immediately buzzed into life. “You had better be dead if the news reports are correct.” Neil nonchalantly listened to the streams of abuse before responding. “He was too fast. I didn’t have a chance to move.” Silence. “You lie. We’ve seen you move. You can tag speedsters. Well Neil, we don’t take well to liars here. Let me make this extremely simple: We don’t NEED you. You are not invaluable. We have enough of your DNA to make a small army of lizard-men. Leaving your skin just lying around was not your best move. So to the point: Get the president back or you will freeze to death. That suit of yours has limited life support. And Washington in the winter? Well, you can put together the pieces.” It was all true. He would die. And yet…he still couldn’t bring himself to care. This was not his fight, no matter what they all said. This was not his country…he had no more allegiance to it than he did to anywhere else. This leader was only a man, one for whom replacements existed for already. (And perhaps in his heart Neil was rooting for the kidnapper? In his brazen disregard for the fragile power structure?). “Move Neil. Or we shut down the suit now.” Neil scurried down the wall. He didn’t have to make his decision now. He just had to play along.

He didn’t say a word on the way to the Washington Monument. His heated oxygen was now a commodity he could not afford to waste.

Flamboyance: often a cover for limited abilities or a mask to disguise true colors. Examples: the ruffled desert lizards or the insects deep within the Amazon. However, it might be a warning. Examples: Venomous snakes.

“I gave all of you three days to prepare and you proved to be next to useless at stopping me. You four are just pathetic”.

The question: Was this man a puny lizard, or a fame-loving komodo dragon?

The woman who shared Neil’s given surname acted rashly. Fool. It did not do to act before thinking things through. Obvious that the man was prepared. Neil did not harbor kindly feelings for Agent Hannigan. Presumably he was named after her, and he resented his ‘mother’. Just another tool to be used to control him, just another pawn in this game. Perhaps she had contributed to ‘research’ the sciences that had enslaved him. Perhaps he bore her name like some petty specimen beating its wings against the glass…

Time passed as they pursued the kidnapper, another notch on the gauges that determined Neil’s life. They reached a warehouse full of tricks, where the kidnapper tried to impress them all with smoke and mirrors. Speeches and…“we’re going to play a little game. I’ve hidden Mr. Obama in this very room, but at the same time, he isn’t here. He is in a pocket dimension right next to our own, which can only be reached with a dimensional transistor.” Suddenly Neil was all ears. This sounded more interesting. A pocket dimension…who WOULDN’T want one of those? And of course the important man trapped inside was only a bonus. Neil grinned, baring a row of vicious fangs. Maybe he’d play along with this little game after all.

“This is what remains of the last hero who tried to get in my way. It tried to stop me while I was…acquiring the infraglium for tonight. I sent it to the scrap heap in 3 blows. Anyways, I’ve modified it to allow whoever uses it to see into the pocket dimension and travel back and forth between it. Sadly, it is too badly damaged, so it’s only good for one round trip” Hm. One round trip wouldn’t be enough. He needed a new world, not another prison. And the mind control band that the kidnapper mentioned next? Wasted in its current usage. Brainwashing on a massive scale should be simple with a simple change of wavelength.

(Ah Neil! Have you not realized why you were cast out of your home yet? Destruction for its own end is not noble, whatever the name you give it. Wars are to be ended, not begun. Woe to those that saved your life!)

“You have one hour to take the helmet and remote from my person. You can use whatever you can get your hands on, but you can’t leave the room. Doing so will result in an automatic forfeit and the Obama’s life will be in my hands. The only other rule is that only you five can participate, any outside help will also result in a forfeit. If you manage to succeed, then you get the President back and I’ll let you put the cuffs on me”

Neil was still torn…should he help recover the pointless figurehead, or refuse to play this little game and go after the helmet instead? An insistent beeping made up his mind for him. He had an hour and a quarter. After that his life support systems would go out. He would freeze in broad daylight. He would shiver in the grips of hypothermia while the mercury read in the fifties. (But how much time did he have if he actually used his powers? Compromised the integrity of his suit?).

Neal didn’t think that a full frontal attack would work well. But he was conflicted…the best way to attack would be through the air ducts, yet he wasn’t sure if they counted as part of the room. And if they weren’t…if he caused the ‘forfeit’ who would save HIS life? There was another option of course. He wouldn’t leave the room, no, no, that wouldn’t do.

Instead, he pried off one of the vents. He inhaled deeply (his oxygen gauge protesting loudly) and blasted flames throughout the ducts. Wherever there was a vent, a gout of flame emerged. He did not think this would honestly stop the kidnapper, but it would distract him at the very least.

The Game Begins...

The makeshift team of secret service, both government agents and mysterious vigilantes, followed the clues to the Washington Monument. From there, they followed the kidnapper to the Smithsonian Museum where he laid the rules for getting the president back. Everyone spread out and tried to grab the helmet with the interdimensional capabilities and the deactivation device for the mind control band the President had. The mutant(?) secret agent they had with them cast fire into the ventilation system. With any luck, he'd tag the assailant and do something.

Longshot took the lead, telling Sideslash to grab the visor and ordering Overkill to keep his distance. "Guys, remember, his armor is beta-infraglium. It was designed to pull my energy out of my body. If it does, it'll be indestructible. But, right now, it's extremely brittle and will break easily." He knew what he had to do. It was risky for his life, but he couldn't risk making his opponent indestructible. He pulled the energy out of his armor and claymore making them extremely brittle as well. But, this way, if the kidnapper got a hold of him, he wouldn't drain the energy from his armor.

Peter's armor was the original form of infraglium. It only reacted to being infused with energy. Beta-infraglium was made by Medicorps to be more aggressive. That version would pull the energy out of him if it touched his skin. Lucky for Pete, his armor covered a lot of his body and the suit he wore under it covered a lot more. The only exposed portion was his head. He quickly grabbed the sleeve of Agent Hannigan's shirt and ripped it off. "What the heck are you doing?!" He wrapped the fabric around his head in a mask that covered his neck, head, and face. "Don't worry. I can still see." Having covered his eyes as well, he needed to use infrared vision.

This wasn't the best situation as the other agent just heated the walls, but he would be able to survive. Peter was on his guard. There was still the possibility that the kidnapper would try and rip at his armor and clothes to get at his energy. He needed to do something. He ran to head off the two figures he could barely make out through the heated wall that he guessed was Longshot chasing down the criminal. Peter rounded the corner in front of them and flew backwards to keep his distance. The criminal between him and Longshot, he had to try and help his new partner out.

He saw Longshot throw something. It was cold and had hooks on it as well as a flexible part on the back end of it that seemed to connect to the man throwing it. A grappling hook. Longshot had a plan and Peter wasn't going to let it fail. He attached a gravity anchor from the hook to the criminal's shoulder. If he dodged, the hook would follow him. But, Overkill wasn't convinced that it would work. The criminal had displayed some sort of phasing ability that allowed him to walk through walls. If he used it again, the hook wouldn't work. So, Peter came up with a back up plan.

The archer created an explosion. The brightness hurt Peter's heat seeing eyes. He ignored the pain and kept working. He knew the criminal would have a tough time seeing while he was surrounded by flames, both from the explosion and the nearby vent. For the next 30 feet behind the explosion, Peter turned up gravity. 20 times the normal, as long as he still suffered from gravity, he would be pulled to the ground, intanglible or not. To prevent him from falling through the ground, Peter sent electricity through the floor. Enough to harm the criminal and mess up his intangibility (hopefully), but not enough to mess with the much needed electronic devices that he was holding.

As a last move, he had to keep his eyes on the flames. When Longshot would come jumping through, the last thing he needs is to be pulled to the ground 20 times faster than normal into electricity. So, once Peter saw him, he would turn off Longshot's gravity field, allowing him to harmlessly move through the altered area, and pull him the rest of the way through it so he could stand once again. If this worked and the criminal was on the ground, tied with a grappling hook, blown up, shot with arrows, and electrified, Peter would run through the area, fighting the high gravity and painlessly absorbing the electric shocks he felt, and make a grab for either of the items they needed. If this failed, Longshot and Sideslash were waiting for the next round.

Longshot had seemed to be the only one who was keeping pace with the assailant and was even going on the offensive. The augmented archer was firing arrow after arrow in attempt to hit his target, but only hit the cloak whipped through the air behind him. “You’re gonna have to be more precise if you want to hit me Paxton,” taunted the stranger before the metal claws of the grappling hook dug into his shoulder. This prevented him from moving fast enough to avoid the first explosive that hit him in the back of his neck. The mystery man spun around as the other explosives came flying towards him. They barely missed him, striking the floor barely behind him and surrounding him in flames. The archer then came soaring through the flames and tackled his foe to the ground, attempting to stab him with an arrow he had clutched in his hand. The kidnapper quickly delivered a one handed open palm strike with enough force to easily send him flying into the ceiling and possibly break a rib or two.

The assailant then jumped back onto his feet to see Overkill coating the ground with electricity. “You’re not strong enough, none of you are,” he said as he casually walked up to the blood-red brawler, his face cold and calm while his voice gave a menacing tone that would send shivers up anyone’s spine. “And you’ve already lost,” he added as he pulled the duffle bag from his back and pulled out its contents. The helmet had broken into two pieces from the archer’s attack and the wires in were barely sparking. “Now I’m the only one who can bring him back. WHY ARE YOU ALL SO PATHETIC?!!!”

The assailant walked into the gravity field that Overkill had created seemingly unaffected as he began made his way towards the hero. Flames poured from the vent he was walking under, engulfing him as he walked through them. Still he remained unaffected as the fire lingered for a few extended moments. The electricity on the floor seemed to crawl along his body like snakes as they coiled along his body. The infraglium began turning an eerie electric blue as it began to absorb the electricity the hero was putting out. He stopped when he was only a few inches from Overkill and stared at him with cold eyes that were made frightening by the light coming from his body. “You fools aren’t worth my time after all.” With that cold utterance, the assailant brought up his clenched right fist up to his own face. When he opened it, a small amount of black powder trickled from his palm, turning electric blue when it hit the ground. The assailant quickly blew onto his hand, the cloud of metal shavings engulfing Overkill. He then walked past him and continued on his way out.

He was in front of the stairway when his arm disappeared in the air and pulled the President out of the pocket dimension. Obama was strapped down in a wooden chair, a common villain cliché, but one that made the Chief of State easier to move. The stranger casually walked up the stairs back into the Air and Space Museum and walked out to see an army of National Guard, S.W.A.T., and police officers surrounding the building. “Step away from the President,” said Agent Hannigan into a megaphone. The kidnapper coolly continued walking forward as the army began raising their weapons and keeping them ready. He was only a few feet from Agent Hannigan when he threw the President up in the air and threw a punch straight into the ground. The sheer power from the punch blew the makeshift army all over the National Mall. The tanks and armored vehicles were the only things that didn’t move very far. As the dust cloud cleared, the kidnapper leapt up into the air and gently caught the President and floated down towards the ground. When he landed, the assailant looked at the watch on his wrist. “24 minutes left, piece of cake.” He began walking away from the museum with the President as Hannigan tried to pick herself up from the roof Air and Space Museum before collapsing and losing consciousness.

As if it were a brick wall, the enigma's hand swatted Longshot in the stomach, sending him flying into the ceiling. He dropped to the stone floor with dry wall dust showering down on him. The mystery man ripped the grapple hook out of his shoulder and continued on his path, tossing some dust in Overkill's face. Longshot ran his fingers over his abdomen. One of the carbon fiber plates concealed in his coat was cracked, but it had absorbed the impact. He picked himself up and ran out after their target.

He stood in the open doorway, watching as the mystery man walked down the steps of the Smithsonian. With the visor broken, he had no choice but to withdraw the President from his pocket dimension. That removed Longshot's suspicion that he had simply killed the President and bluffed to raise the stakes. The archer drew an arrow and attached a tracer before taking aim. This time, if he got away, they would know right where to follow. Before Longshot could get the tag on their opponent, he punched the ground and sent Agent Hannigan flying back. "Melissa!" Longshot cried. The ground shattered all around him, their backup was scattered around the National Mall, and in the wake of his decimation, he simply walked away. At a casual gate, with the President slung over his shoulder, he simply walked away, as if to insult everyone who stood against him. They hadn't left a scratch. They hadn't made any difference against this mysterious enemy, and he knew they never could. Unfortunately, he underestimated them.

Longshot fired his arrow into the back of their enemy's knee, then darted after him, leaping into the air. He came down on the man's shoulders with as much force as possible, then bounded off and landed in front of him, casting a gas cartridge in his face. When the knockout gas burst all around them, Longshot swung upward to strike the man on the chin with a strong uppercut. Even with the padded knuckles, it would most likely break his hand, but there was no holding back. As the punch followed through, he pounced on his enemy, which would be like tackling a a house, but he still tried. He put all the force he had into it and snarled at the madman, "How do you know my name?!"

He had only gone a few feet beyond the now ruined stairs feeling the arrow stick into his knee. He already knew who it was and was let out a sigh of annoyance as he set the President down on the ground. The archer pounced on the kidnapper’s shoulders just as he straightened himself. He didn’t flinch or move as Longshot jumped off his shoulder blades and threw a gas cartridge in his face, or the uppercut to the chin that came shortly afterwards. It was only when the archer was about to tackle him again that the assailant responded. While Longshot was in mid-air, the kidnapper quickly grabbed him by the front of his costume and held him while he barked out his question, “How do you know my name?!”

“I know a lot about you, Mr. Riggs. I know about who finances you, where your secret caches are, even about the drugs in your systems that leave you disfigured. Heck, I even know about your birth parents.” He took a moment to let it sink into the archer’s head just how much he could really know. “I know all about the four of you, your favorite moves, your personal quirks, even what you had for dinner last week. And it’s all because I did the one thing you reject heroes failed, or even refused to do, like I’m sure you’re doing right now.” The assailant threw Longshot on his butt and crouched down to look him straight in the eyes. “I bothered to research my opponents. If you had bothered to actually read any of the files about the thefts, you’d know that not one person has died. Many have been sent to the hospital, some in critical condition, but they ended up living and continuing their lives without lasting disabilities.” He then got up and began to slowly walk around the archer, his eyes never leaving his prey. “There’s only one reason why you excuse for heroes triumph over the criminals who challenge you. Heroes…have an X-Factor, something that changes themselves or the situation so that they end up on top.”

The kidnapper stopped for a moment as he was struck with inspiration. “X-Factor…an appropriate nom de guerre for someone as unknown and unpredictable as me.” He then reached down and pulled the tracer from the back of his knee. “If you’re going to hit me with a tracer, you should at least be discreet about it,” he said as he crushed the little device between his two fingers. “You won’t be needing it anyways, I’m not going to disappear again like last time. Since I know the four of you aren’t going to be a challenge, I’m just going to take a nice stroll around the National Mall, see the sites with the President here, then take him right back home.” X walked back to the President and hefted him onto his shoulders, just as the other heroes started coming out of the museum. “And make sure to tell them that if any of you try to pester me while I’m taking my little tour, I will go after the ones they care for most and make vegetables out of them. And I’d hurry if I were you, cause if one of you bothers me, you all will pay for it.” He then started down the street, whistling a little tune as he went on his merry way.

Longshot had not volunteered for this assignment. Until only a short time ago, he had no knowledge of the attacks or of the mystery man who perpetrated them. All the sparse information he had was given to him by the man whose life now hung in the balance, and the mysterious mastermind was lecturing him about not doing his research. "For somebody who tries so hard to be mysterious, you sure gripe a lot about me not knowing enough about you." Longshot muttered under his breath as his enemy walked around him in circles.

“There’s only one reason why you excuses for heroes triumph over the criminals who challenge you. Heroes…have an X-Factor, something that changes themselves or the situation so that they end up on top.” the assailant mused to himself, overlooking every time Longshot had sacrificed his own blood, or happiness, to ensure justice. And even then, he was implying that fate itself was on their side, which begged the question why he would even bother attempting this. “X-Factor…an appropriate nom de guerre for someone as unknown and unpredictable as me.” He continued, ripping out Longshot's tracer, “If you’re going to hit me with a tracer, you should at least be discreet about it. You won’t be needing it anyways, I’m not going to disappear again like last time. Since I know the four of you aren’t going to be a challenge, I’m just going to take a nice stroll around the National Mall, see the sites with the President here, then take him right back home.”

The man now called X-Factor hoisted the President once once again and began to walk away. "If you know me so well, you know I'm not one for giving up." Longshot said, drawing three arrows, loading two with explosives and one with a tazer. He drew back on the bowstring until it groaned under tension. Just as he was about to take the shot, X-Factor stopped to glance over his shoulder at Longshot, “And make sure to tell them that if any of you try to pester me while I’m taking my little tour, I will go after the ones they care for most and make vegetables out of them. And I’d hurry if I were you, cause if one of you bothers me, you all will pay for it.”

Longshot paused for a moment. He thought back to his birth parents, the family he never had, the night he went home. It was cold, rain scattering the Boston skyline. A mansion sat atop a grassy hill on the outskirts of town, lights glaring out the windows, illuminating a lonely oak tree that stood nearby. A dark figure stood at the front gate, clad in a heavy, tattered coat. He simply looked up at the mansion on the hill for some time, standing stoically as the icy rain pelted his shoulders. After some time standing there, he jumped off into the dark like a flash.

The rain finally subsided and the mansion door gently cracked open, two lonely little people walking out. The man, who was in his early fifties with streaked grey and brown hair, draped a coat over his wife's shoulders. She was petite, sullen and silent. They were both dressed in black, as one would wear to a funeral, and the wife carried a wreath held tightly against her breast. Together, they walked down a winding path that lead to the slope out behind the house. They stood there for a moment, staring down at a light gray headstone, still wet from the new fallen rain. The wife knelt down and placed the wreath on the ground, against the stone. There, engraved in the sheer, cold rock, were the words, "Paxton Anderson Riggs, 1992-1992, 'A lost son who never came home, a light that burned out far too soon.'" As she stood back up, she embraced her husband and, with the pain only a parent who has outlived their child could know, she whispered, "Goodbye, Paxton... we love you." And as they had so many times before, they each lay a hand on the grave and walked back up the path. Little did they know that that man watched, perched from their tree. Beneath his unbuttoned trench coat, his red and black uniform was visible. The lingering raindrops trickled down his mangled, unrecognizable face, mingling with his tears.

The stranger bowed his head as they walked by beneath him, and let out a tortured, raspy sigh. "Goodbye..." he whispered, "I love you." And with that, he was gone. The branch rattled slightly and the husband, who could once be called a father, looked up, as one does when they hear a noise in the night, but shook his head and continued with his only love back into the house. High on the rooftop, in the silver moonlight with his coat flapping in the wind, the stranger took one last look at the home he could have had before running off into the night.

Longshot had visited his parents numerous times since then, but they would never know it. He couldn't bear to meet them, to tell them of what he had become. Instead, he let them keep him as a picture on their mantle, a perfect memory that nothing could taint or destroy. He let them hold on to all they had left of their son. Due to the family fortune, they had been targeted more than once for home invasion, and every time, their assailants were mysteriously stopped by some unknown savior. This threat was different. He had no hope of stopping X-Factor alone, and he couldn't gamble their lives on this shot. He lowered his bow and let X simply walk away.

Pathetic. Not strong enough. Not worth the time. These are the words that Peter Matthews had just heard. Him and the other heroes had just given this man everything they had. And what had they done? Nothing. His gravity changes, his electricity, Longshot's attacks. They had done nothing. Besides more bad. Peter had taken the makeshift mask off to see what the assailant was showing him. The helmet that was the key to getting the president back had been broken. The only way for the president to come back now, was if the assailant got him himself.

Peter was defeated. All that he had tried to do was what he had always done. And he was useless. This man was like trying to catch smoke with your hands. What could Earth's Mightiest Mortal do against him? Against him, he could do as much as Earth's Mightiest Microbe. He was lost in his own head. Too lost to know what was happening around him. The kidnapper pulled a black powder out of his pocket and before Overkill could make a move against it, it was blown at his face. He knew it wasn't going to be anything good, but he wasn't expecting this.

He coughed after he inhaled the substance. Then he knew. Beta-infraglium. Ground up in a very fine powder, he inhaled it and it started doing it's job from inside of his lungs. A cry of pain, followed by gasps of breath. The metal began drawing out his energy from the inside. It being tied with his life force, losing it in his lungs first made breathing extremely difficult. He fell to the ground, choking on nothing. His hands scratched at his own throat. His eyes were open wide as he begged for something to save him.

Suddenly, like the grace of God, agent Hannigan pulled him up off the floor. "Come on, hero. Just walk with me." The lack of oxygen had left his legs weak. He did his best to support himself on his own legs as the agent put his arm over her shoulders and carried him towards the team outside. Every step felt like it took hours. The stairs lasted forever. Every bit of movement was like the weight of the world on him now. Hannigan groaned as she finally got him to the top of the stairs. She opened the door and yelled for a medic.

A few members of the SWAT team had taken him from her as she told them that Peter had inhaled something and now he couldn't breathe before going to confront the kidnapper. Peter's vision was fading. The officers dragged him to an ambulance nearby. It and two others were there as a precaution incase someone, mainly the president, was in need of medical attention. Peter looked up and saw the paramedics begin to work on him. It was the last thing he saw before passing out.

He stopped when he saw Overkill get carted away on a stretcher into an ambulance. The man who had kidnapped the President and threatened to harm a hero’s innocent parents stopped in his tracks and stared at what he had done. Almost on instinct, he set Mr. Obama down and ran towards the ambulance. He covered the 10 yards between the two in moments and was soon hopping into the back of the ambulance. The paramedics jumped back in shock as the kidnapper stared at the dying hero. There was already an intubation tube in his mouth, which was giving off a red glow from the metal shavings in his lungs. X reached for the front plate of the blood-red brawler’s costume when Agent Hannigan raised her weapon and aimed for his head. He quickly turned around to see her before pulling his own gun and shooting her in the shoulder with a tranquilizer dart.

X-Factor grabbed the chest plate again and ripped it and the cloth underneath off to reveal the vulnerable skin it protected. “Get the paddles ready,” he said to one of the paramedics as he jumped back out of the ambulance and began to push it towards a fire hydrant. The paramedics stared at him like deer in headlights before he yelled in a fearful voice, “Do it NOW!” They jumped again before they began fumbling around to do what he ordered. When they finally prepared the paddles, the ambulance was now directly in front of the back doors. “When I tell you to, intubate him again and give him the paddles.” The paramedics gave him confused looks while the kidnapper ripped the top off the hydrant, releasing a massive stream of water. Grabbing a plastic bag from the ambulance, he ripped it open and poured its contents out onto the ground. Their confused looks turned to those of shock as they watched him fill up the torn bag with the water coming from the hydrant.

When the bag was filled, he jumped back into the vehicle and began pouring water down the tube, into Overkill’s lungs. The hero gagged and convulsed as his body tried to get rid foreign liquid. X didn’t stop pouring until the entire bag was emptied, then began performing hands-only CPR to expel the liquid. Each time he applied pressure to his chest, the kidnapper sent a light energy pulse to re-energize the brawler’s body. Soon bright red, glowing water began pouring from his mouth, turning black as left his skin and poured over the stretcher and floor. He continued this until there was barely any water coming out from the blood red brawler’s mouth. “On my mark,” said X-Factor, and the paramedics placed the paddles on his chest. “CLEAR!” Overkill convulsed upward as the paddles set off their charge.  The other paramedic removed the previous tube and intubated him again, then began pumping air into his lungs.

They repeated until there weren’t any more glowing shavings coming out of his mouth. Overkill was hooked up to a heart monitor and he would cough occasionally to get any remaining water droplets out of his lungs. X didn’t bother to see if he was conscious or not, his only focus now was to get the president back. Obama was nowhere to be found, so the kidnapper brought out what appeared to be an miniature iPad. A map of the city appeared and revealed the president to be traveling down the road towards one of the many safe houses the government had throughout the city. He touched the corner of the device and a small timer that read, “14 minutes 41 seconds” before continuing to count down. He quickly turned off the device before any of them could see the warning about his power being depleted to 30%. Without any warning, X-Factor leapt into the air and opened his cloak. Using the air currents and the secret rockets in his boots, the kidnapper began to glide towards his target.

Longshot watched in awe and confusion as X-Factor actively saved Overkill's life from the injuries he himself had inflicted. What was his plan? The archer could make no sense of it. They had barely managed to track him down, and he couldn't figure what this mysterious foe wanted from all this. What was his endgame? Was he simply trying to prove that he was powerful? X stepped down out of the ambulance and Longshot gestured for the troops and officers to lower their guns. He jumped into the air and glided off on rockets built into his boots. There was nothing they could do. All they could hope was that X-Factor honored his word and returned President Obama unharmed. It made Longshot feel sick to simply watch him fly away without a care in the world.

Agent Hannigan leaned against the back bumper of a black SUV, her arm in a sling. Longshot walked up to her with two cups of coffee and handed one to her.

"Rough night." he said.

"Tell me about it. I can probably kiss my promotion goodbye. Whataya think this guy's plan is, anyway?" asked Agent Hannigan.

"I dunno." replied the archer, "I can't make heads or tails of it. Makes no sense. He goes to all this trouble kidnapping the President, then promises to return him after a leisurely stroll around the National Mall. He saves the life of someone he tried to kill, than flies off without as much as a howdy-do."

"Ain't that the way. Damn metas don't make any sense until after the fact, which means we have to partake in my least favorite activity..." Melissa paused to take a sip of her coffee, "Wait and see. Now, drink up. You're probably as tired as I am."

"Nah." Longshot shrugged, "I don't need coffee really."

"You can drop the act, Robin Hood. I saw your face when you were out cold."

"Wait... you mean you..."

"Yep."

"And you still talked to me?"

"Pal, I've eaten at Taco Bell. You're gonna have to do MUCH worse than that to sway my stomach." as she spoke, Longshot smiled under his mask, hoping she wouldn't notice. "Well..." she continued, "Ain't you gonna tell me your origin story? You gotta, I've seen your secret identity."

"That's just the thing," said Paxton, "I don't really have a secret identity. And if I did, with a mug like this, would it really be a good one?"

"Well, I need to hear a good story. I need cheering up after all this."

"Yeah..." said Longshot, "So do I."

Melissa smiled and approached one of her subordinates. "Call me if there's news." she ordered, answered only with a salute. She returned to Longshot, grabbed his arm and slung it over her shoulder. "Let's go for a walk." she said with a grin. Longshot gladly walked with her down the steps of the Smithsonian and down into the National Mall.

It had taken a long long time to choose which bits of tech he would need to fight the criminal. He had then needed to calibrate the tech to his target, which had required figuring out what it was.The footage had given him some clues, but he had taken ages, and therefore, his jet only arrived in time to see the guy fly off. He thought for a moment, and then descended on a rope. He looked around, and saw Overkill in the back of an ambulance. "Overkill? What the hell happened?" He asked, hoping for an answer.

"Well, the guy stomped on Overkill, had a few words with Longshot, and then saved Overkill's life. Then he flew away, and Longshot and Agent Hannigan went into the National Mall." A recent update, no doubt. By his reckoning, Longshot could only have entered a number of moments before him. However, since the archer and the government agent had entered the mall together, he deduced they wanted privacy, and he did not want to be a third wheel, so he entered the mall, and, hoping not to get their attention, walked away from them, appearing as though he was searching the mall.

He was only a few feet away from the speeding black limo when a sudden spasm of pain shook him, causing him to lose control and crash into the side of a delivery truck before falling onto the ground. X-Factor began to pick himself up when he began to cough up a dark substance that resembled blood. “Looks like the infraglium didn’t absorb Overkill’s electrical powers after all.” The being picked up himself up, clutching his chest and pulled out a small tape recorder from his belt. “Note to self, make anti-electrical modifications next time I face Overkill.” He coughed up more of his blood and began to sprint after the limo. It was almost out of his sight, but at the speeds he was running at, it didn’t take him very long for him to catch up to the vehicle. Someone in a black suit came up from the sun roof and started shooting him with a hand gun. The bullets ricocheted off the armor plating on his body as he crawled under the limo and move out of sight. Bullets continued to go through the floor, barely missing him as he reached the spot. With his enhanced strength, he tore through metal floor as though it were made of aluminum foil.

In front of him were three agents in black suits, each with a handgun aimed directly at him, behind him, his target and two more agents. The agent in the middle of the back seat stood up and grabbed the intruder with a strength no normal human could possess by his neck and pulled X through the hole. X-Factor struggled to break free, but was sent flying through the roof by a single punch from the agent into his stomach. He coughed up more of his blood as he flew into an office building, landing in a heap of fallen cubicles and broken office equipment.

His head was throbbing as he began picking himself up from the debris. He ran up to the broken window he had just come from and watched as the agents pulled into a parking garage on the left. X leapt through the hole, performing a flip in the air before landing on his feet. He wobbled a little as he tried to turn toward the garage, but recovered and ran to the entrance. Without a moment to lose, he jumped and began rotating like a drill and began tunneling into the earth.

He dug for a few minutes until he hit a layer of metal he couldn’t dig through. He stopped spinning and pulled an explosive charge from behind his back. He activated the timer and backed away as the seconds ticked away. He was just out of the hole he’d made when a plume of fire shot out into the night air. When the fire died away, X jumped back down the hole and slid into a huge, high-tech base. From just the sheer look of the complex, he could tell this wasn’t a government safehouse. The agents were just getting out of the car with the limp body of the President when they spotted X-Factor and charged at him. One moved at speeds that could rival the fastest speedsters while one coated himself with armor made entirely of water. X let out a groan rushed the three men.

The speedster was the first one he came into contact with, he attempted to punch the intruder, but X easily jumped over him and fired a projectile tazer at the water man. The strong man grabbed the wires before they could hit his comrade and yanked the assailant towards him. X-Factor attempted to move himself so he would have the advantage, but was struck by a blast of water that sent him flying into the wall on his right. X collapsed on the ground as the three super humans began to gang up on him. Before they could land another blow on him, he let out a high-pitch sonic scream that caused all three agents to cover their ears before collapsing on the ground unconscious. X staggered to his feet, clutching his chest when a muffled female voice started coming from all three unconscious metas. He walked over to the nearest and pulled out the earpiece and put next to his own. “All units respond. What’s going on?” He could identify the voice immediately as he brought the little mike further down the wire up to his mouth. “Poseidon, Hermes, and Hercules are indisposed,” he said in his cool, confident voice. “I’m coming after you next.”   Before she could respond, he crushed the little ear bud and began shuffling towards Obama and the exit.

It took him ten minutes to reach the National Mall, and he sat and watched as Agent Hannigan and Longshot walking along as Sideslash shadowed them. X let out a chuckle as he watched the demon hunter. “Even when you don’t know the situation, your instincts always seem to lead you to the right conclusion,” he thought as he pulled out his grappling hook and fired it at the Washington Monument. The little claw mechanism grabbed the stone tip and he leapt from the building he was on and swung around the monument until he was in the general direction of Longshot and Hannigan and let go. He flew through the air and crashed right in front of him. He groaned as he got back onto his feet and when he stood up, he started making his way towards the two of them. “Melissa Hannigan,” he said professionally before wobbling a little on his feet, “You are under arrest for treason.” The two of them were obviously confused as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “I think you’ve got this whole situation backwards,” she said as she pulled out her gun and brought it on to him.

“Wrong,” he said as he reached into his cloak and pulled out an official badge that looked different than a usual badge. She stared at the badge for a moment before dropping her jaw in surprise. “H…How…How do you have one of those?” she asked in fear as he put the badge back in its hiding place. “Same place you got yours,” he said as began moving in on her. “I know all about you Ms. Hannigan, or do you prefer your code name, Aphrodite? You and the other members of B.E.A.S.T. were created several years ago to be a secret branch bent on keeping the superhero community in check.” He then turned to face Longshot, “B.E.A.S.T. stands for Brigade of Engineered Ancients and Supernatural Terrors.” He then turned his attention back to her, “Each of you were given a code name based on your power set. Poseidon had water control, Hermes super speed, Hercules super strength. You have the ability to produce pheromones to manipulate whoever or whatever you desired. That power ended up corrupting you, believing there wasn’t a being alive who could resist your pheromones, much less being completely immune to them.”

Agent Hannigan let out a laugh as she cocked her gun and kept it pointed at him. “You really have lost it, haven’t you?” Her laughter ended when X pulled out a gun and fired it at her, the bullet whizzing by her neck and passing effortlessly by her hair. Everything was still for a few moments, no one moved. Then nearby squirrels, birds, stray dogs, and stray cats came rushing towards her, putting themselves between her and X-Factor. X lowered his weapon and let out a confident smile. “I think that proves what I’m saying is true.” Hannigan gave him a scowl as he continued to explain. “You were planning on using your abilities so you could get a job as a secret service agent. Once you were in, you would have the current President and future presidents around your pretty little finger, making you the most powerful person on the planet.”

“Shut up!” shouted Hannigan as her hands clenched into fists. “I was the only one who caught you by surprise,” continued X-Factor, completely ignoring Hannigan’s shouting. “When I broke into the security base here in Washington D.C. to steal the mind control head band, a man who went by the name Hephaestus attacked me. His abilities took me by surprise I was barely able to escape from the base, but I left with more than I bargained for. I managed to take a motherboard from his wheelchair and analyzed it in my lair. On it was a list of Greek gods and creatures and what file about your whole plan. The motherboard burned itself out before I could finish decrypting the file, so I had to take find the others on the list and see if I could find out more.” “Shut up!” shouted Hannigan again, the animals around her growling and becoming agitated. “Over the past few months, I started gathering more data about B.E.A.S.T. doing so under the guise of robbery. Each time I obtained a new piece of the puzzle until my last robbery when I obtained the final piece.”

“I SAID SHUT UP!” screeched Hannigan as she reached into Longshot’s quiver, pulled out an explosive arrow, and shoved it right into X-Factor’s face. The shaft exploded and X reeled back and let out a cry of pain, smoke drifting between his fingers as he clutched his face. When he removed them, a metal skull that looked like it came from the Terminator movies was staring at her and Longshot. Before he could do anything, a black blur swept him off his feet and sent him flying into the Reflecting Pool. The kidnapper attempted to get back onto his feet when the water washed over him and encased him in a water filled bubble. Several beings dressed in black began pouring out from the police barricades, each one making their way towards Reflecting Pool. One of them was in a wheelchair, another held his hand out towards the bubble, which continued to shrink as he grew closer. One had small electrical sparks coming from his hands and hair, and one looked like a strong man. The black blur stopped on the edge of the pools to reveal itself to be another man dressed in a black suit. Hannigan walked over to join the group, stepping up to the strong man. “Poseidon, open up a hole to the robot’s chest. Hercules, hit it until it breaks.” The strong man and the man with his hands extended nodded as a hole opened up to expose X-Factor’s chest to the air.

By now his face had mostly covered itself with new synthetic skin and it glared at the strong man as he struggled to break free. His limbs were locked in place, unable to move as the water held him still. Hercules threw his first punch and X opened his mouth and coughed up blood. The strong man punched the robot again and again, his chest plate denting and breaking under the relentless blows. Black clouds of oil began mixing with the water as more and more blood began spewing from his mouth. The entire National Mall was filled with the sound of ringing as the punches kept landing.

X-Factor dropped down in front of both Longshot and Melissa. Longshot reached for his bow, and she for her gun, but the mysterious automaton cut them both off at the knee as he attempted to arrest Agent Hannigan for treason. The Hunter was blindsided. His pulse began to race as he was exposed to all these secrets. He could feel something inside him dying. And as he focused every sense he had on Agent Hannigan, he could tell that she was having the same reaction. The fluttering of her eyes, the fierce pounding of her heart, the intense pheromones that practically burned in his nostrils, it all painted the picture that she was just as swept up in disbelief as him.

A bullet passed just by her head and Longshot pounced to tackle X-Factor, as did dozens of surrounding animals. The archer nearly fell to his knees. X-Factor was telling the truth.

It always hurt to know that the person he had built up in his mind as a villain was right, but it hurt all the more when they was right about someone he had considered a friend. Suddenly, a dark blur fell from the sky and struck X-Factor, flinging him into the iconic Reflecting Pool. Before long, people dressed like government agents, but obviously wielding immense power, gathered around the crater X-Factor had made upon impact.

"Hannigan..." Longshot called out in desperation, but she couldn't hear him. She advanced to take her place up alongside her comrades. She began spouting orders and they began tearing X-Factor apart. Longshot braced himself from the shock. He had to think. He looked into his eyepiece. Just before she had walked off, Longshot snapped a picture with the X-Ray setting of the lens. He worked the dial to zoom in on the still he now had of Agent Hannigan. There, wedged under her collar bone, was a bulbous gray mass, the pheromone gland.

The agents of B.E.A.S.T. tore into X-Factor, torturing him and rendering him utterly defenseless. Strange how the tables had so suddenly and drastically turned. Agent Hannigan, or rather, Aphrodite, watched as he was torn apart, and would very soon be reduced to scrap metal.

"Melissa!" called out a familiar voice behind her. She turned to see Longshot, standing before her in a sign of complete and utter defeat. His arms hung loosely at his sides, his hands were not balled into fists.

"Leave, archer." she hissed, "This is none of your business."

"You're right. I don't have any business with B.E.A.S.T. But I don't want to talk to Aphrodite. I want to talk to Melissa."

"Get out of here." she said with a tone that was somewhere between conviction and doubt before turning back to her team.

"I know where she went." Longshot replied, "I know what happened to that woman who thought she could live in a world filled with meta-humans, who was too stubborn and too smart to know she was out of her depth... the woman who became my friend."

"She wasn't real." Aphrodite snarled in annoyance, "She was just a fantasy to make you trust me."

"Was she? Or are you the fantasy?"

"This is what I was trained to do. This is who I was trained to be."

"Yes. And Melissa conflicted with that training, so you just got rid of her."

"What're you talking about?!"

"The pheromones you emit don't just effect the people around you. It's a double-edged sword. Your emotions and instincts decide which pheromones control your victims. And what emotion were you feeling when it backfired? I know what it was. It was shame." said Longshot, "You were so ashamed at what you'd become, what you'd become a part of, that you let the pheromones bury you until all that was left was this. I know who you really are, Melissa. I just want to bring her back."

Aphrodite stumbled for a moment. She braced her temple, but quickly recovered. She drew her pistol and gestured for her allies to continue with their work. Stepping down to Longshot's level, she rose her pistol, aiming it right between Longshot's eyes. She narrowed her eyes, focusing in and gently squeezing the trigger. Longshot remained perfectly calm, and watched as a single tear raced down her cheek. The gun trembled in her hands and she dropped it to the ground.

"Oh god!" she cried, falling into Longshot's arms, "This can't be happening! I have a family, memories! And this other person inside me keeps pushing me back down!"

"It's okay, Melissa..." Longshot whispered, falling to his knees with her.

"No! It's not! I... it feels like being dead, Longshot!" she broke down, sobbing. She clutched tightly on his arm and he ran a hand gently through her hair. "I'm real!" she cried, "I'm real! I AM!"

"It's okay..." Longshot repeated, "Everything's gonna be okay. I don't know how, but I'm gonna fix this."

"Wh-what are you gonna do?" she asked.

Longshot clenched his eyes and buried the tears now welling behind them. "I've saved more people than I can count, people who I don't know, who I'll never know, never befriend... never love..." Longshot whispered, looking up in hellbent determination as he took firm hold of Melissa's hand, "And I'll be damned if I can't save you." With that, Longshot jumped up, firing two explosive arrows at the feet of the speedster, simultaneously shooting an arrow with a tazer cartridge directly into the one coated in water armor, who began convulsing and fell to the ground. Before any of them could recover, the Crimson Archer dove headlong into the fray.

X-Factor was about to be killed. It would be against everything Longshot believed not to take action and put a stop to it, but his resolve was only strengthened a thousand fold by the rage that now boiled in his heart knowing that Melissa was tearing her own mind apart trying to discern who she really was. If no one with any real power would put an end to this madness, Longshot would have to be the one.

He charged when he saw the men attacking the robot. He may not have power, but he could try. His right gauntlet crackled with energy. He rolled in front of the mechanical menace and swung a fist at the strong man who was laying some hurt on the robot. "Not your fight, pal. Sorry!" He turned to the robot. "I know you from somewhere, don't I." It was a statement, not a question. He turned, seeing that his strike had merely knocked the man off balance. "Weird, that normally KO's people. Well, try this!" He cranked the voltage up higher, and swung another punch. The man, with impressive speed, dodged his punch and delivered a strong blow to the center of Archeron's chest.

He flew an impressive distance, but came to a halt by firing his jump jets. He probably had a cracked rib or two. "Gearo! Hit him hard!" A second too late, he realised what he'd said. "I mean...You are Gearo, right?" Behind his mask, he looked embarassed.

The water bubble collapsed as Poseidon was being electrocuted by the tazer, and X fell onto his knees as he coughed up a mix of water and oil. He was groggy and his arms were barely holding his weight. Hercules wasted no time and grabbed X’s helmet in order to knee him in the head. The helmet cracked in half as the kidnapper’s head flung back and he fell back into the pool. Hercules walked towards his downed opponent and reached down to grab him by what remained of his chest plate. A smirk ran across the face of X-Factor as he shot his hand up and sent a small jolt of electricity into the brute’s eyes. The strong-man screamed as he backed away, clutching his stinging face with his big hands. X moved with great agility as he leapt into the air and kicked Hercules in the head. Hercules fell backwards into the Reflecting Pools waters as X landed on his face. The assailant leapt again, this time towards the safety of the concrete edge. As Hercules rolled over and started getting back to his feet, X pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He took a large drag and exhaled a massive amount of smoke before turning to look at the strong man. “F&%# you,” said the robot as he tossed the remains of the cigarette right into the B.E.A.S.T. agent’s face.

As soon as it made contact, Hercules and the entire pool burst into flames, the sound of unbearable screaming barely heard over the roaring flames. He tried to put out the flames by smacking them on his body like a bug, but that did nothing as he continued to be consumed by the flames. As soon as he collapsed to the ground, Poseidon had recovered from the tazer and used his hydrokinesis to lift all the oil covered water off his ally and out of the Reflecting Pool. Hercules laid in the empty pool, completely naked and covered with grotesque burns. He let out a high pitch whine and his body noticeably shook in pain as he attempted to reached out to his allies. His team mates looked at him in horror, the turned their attention back to the robot. By now, he had ripped a part of his cloak off and wrapped it over his face like bandages, revealing only his glowing blood red eyes. “Who’s next?” he said in a cold, merciless voice as he turned to look at all the people around him.

Poseidon glared at X-Factor, then let out a roar of anger as the burning water came at him like a tsunami. X ran forward, across the empty pool and leapt towards the water bender. Small arms of water shot out from the water armor, but the assailant turned to the side to avoid them and continued to turn. His leg stretched to cover the gap between them, and kicked Poseidon with in the neck as the wave of water struck the ground. His neck let out a sickening popping/cracking noise as Poseidon’s body went limp and fell to the ground. X grabbed him by the head and chest and carefully set him to the ground, the water armor melting away in his hands. Removing both his arm braces, the robot placed them on both sides of the neck and tied them together with another piece torn from his cloak. “If your neck moves in any direction, you’ll be dead before you even realize it,” said the kidnapper coldly as Poseidon continued to glare at him.

Zeus and Hephaestus charged at the monster, electricity pouring from Zeus’s hand while Hephaestus’ eyes shot flaming beams. X avoided the electricity, but was hit dead on by fire and was sent flying into the Lincoln Monument. He hit the stone walls with enough force to create a spider-web crack before landing on the ground with a thud. The two B.E.A.S.T. agents grinned wickedly as they approached the monument, their eyes glowing with electrical and fiery energy. X slowly picked himself off the ground and began limping towards the statue of Abe Lincoln as the two agents drew nearer. He squeezed into the crack between the wall and the back of the stone chair and crawled towards the center as Zeus and Hephaestus reached the steps. Each of them fired a blast from their hands, taking chunks off each side of the monument and working their way to the center, toying with their trapped foe. X remained in his hiding spot as he tried thinking of how to escape. He couldn’t take another blast from either of them, and his battery was almost completely used up. “This doesn’t look good,” he thought as the flames and electricity began to lick the sides of his body.

Hephaestus and Zeus had cornered their opponent, gladly demolishing the Lincoln Memorial to get him. They blasted the harsh stone floors, working their way in on either side. Suddenly, Zeus was struck in the back and fell to the wayside as Longshot landed silently before them. Hephaestus turned his focus to the archer and Longshot darted back and forth, letting the flames trace his path. He wound closer and closer to the enraged Hephaestus until he delivered a sharp uppercut to his chin.

Hephaestus slowly turned his head beck down and stared at Longshot with a burning gaze, a thin trail of blood escaping the corner of his lip. Longshot would have made some comment showing just how nonchalant he was about his outmatched scenario, but this was no time for jokes. It was no time to laugh or taunt his enemy. His friend was suffering, and Longshot saw no need for the charade.

The Hunter jabbed the powerful, Greek-themed agent in the ribs before bounding back and dodging his continued attacks of scorching flame. Zeus was beginning to recover and Longshot tossed a gas cartridge from his bandoleer between them, filling the area in a potent cloud of knockout gas. In the momentary blindness, he approached a dark blue mass in his infra-red lens and looked down.

"Get up." Longshot ordered, extending his hand to X-Factor.

X let out a sigh of relief when the flames and electricity had stopped. Another couple of inches and they would have fried him inside and out. X-Factor began crawling out from the wrecked statue and was greeted by Longshot, who extended his hand to help him out. He had almost grabbed it when a black blur came whooshing past them, snatching his hand and pulling through the remains of the statue. When his eyes re-adjusted to the sudden change in motion, he saw Hermes was holding him by what remained of his chest plate. X was sent through walls, trees, and any other object that was near them as Hermes raced through the city. “You do know that speedsters have one critical weakness, right?” said the kidnapper as he grabbed onto Hermes’ wrists. The speedster looked at him with a quizzical expression as X swung his body to be directly in front of Hermes and stomped on his legs with super human strength. The bones splintered under the force and Hermes began to wail in anguish as he began to fall. The two tumbled for a quarter of a mile before they came to a stop. Both were covered with deep gashes and their blood was pouring from the wounds. X began to pick himself up and looked at Hermes, whose rising and falling chest was the only indication of life.

A loud, mechanical wail came from his limbs as he attempted to stand up. His legs wobbled as he looked around to see where the two had landed. He was standing on a bridge near the Jefferson Monument, the lights from the national landmark and the city making the waters below glow. X brought a hand to his face and noticed that the makeshift bandage mask he had been wearing was gone. He decided to replace it later and try to make some repairs and regain some of his strength. This was not meant to be.

From behind him, a massive beam of blue fire struck him in the middle of his back and came out from the center of his chest. He looked down slowly, his face blank with shock as he brought his right hand towards the hole. The oil pouring out from the wound was on fire, as was the small stream pouring out of his mouth and eyes. All he could hear was the confident, high-pitched laughter coming from behind him as his vision began to fade. He stumbled back as his eyes began to close and he fell over the rail and into the river below.

Longshot slapped a pair of riot cuffs on Zeus. The stand-in of the Greek god would undoubtedly snap them like twine, if he were still conscious. The archer looked to the horizon as a trail of dust traced the path of Hermes and the mysterious X-Factor. In his momentary distraction, Longshot was blindsided by a burst of fire from Hephaestus. He fell, rolling down the steps and patting out the flames on his coat. He watched as the agent descended upon him. "A feeble effort, Apollo..." said the agent mockingly, "Looks like I'm gonna have to take back that bow and arrow."

Without thinking, Longshot threw a small gray orb aimed straight at the face of Hephaestus. It burst and his face was covered in a quickly hardening flame retardant foam. He managed to claw a small air hole for himself in time, but was completely blind as Longshot delivered a sharp kick to his ribs.

His opponent defeat, the hunter looked back in the direction of the Jefferson Memorial. He zoomed in on his eyepiece and saw X-Factor, beaten broken. He was about to break into a run to rush to his opponent's aide, but the kidnapper was suddenly run through and set aflame, plummeting into the river below. Longshot instead turned to his allies. "Somebody get him out of there, now!" he ordered.

Agent Hannigan lay unconscious on the ground near the decimated reflecting pool. Longshot raced to her side and fell to his knees. "Melissa..." he whispered, praying he was not too late. He put a finger to neck. Her pulse was fading, but she was alive. A paramedic ran up to them.

"Step aside, sir." pleaded the paramedic, "Let us handle this."

"She's poisoning herself..." Longshot whispered, turning to the man and shouting in response, "You can't take her! She's poisoning herself! Her personalities are at war and the pheromones are killing her!"

"Sir," the medic stated firmly, "You have a concussion. You're delirious. Please, just come with us and you'll both be alright."

"I can't do that." Longshot replied, powering up his teleporter console silently behind his back.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice, sir. You need medical attention and--"

"I'm the only one who knows what's killing her!" Longshot interrupted, "You people trusted me with the safety of the President, you can trust me with her." The paramedic backed off and Longshot held Melissa tightly in his arms, cradling her dying body as a faint trickling of light began to gather around them. "It's gonna be okay, Melissa. I'll fix this. I'll save you." With a blinding flash, they were gone, and in their wake was only the weakest echo of his voice, "I'll save you."

THE REMOTE WILDERNESS OF ALASKA

Longshot materialized on one of the teleporter pads in the cold, dark tower that he and his teammates called home. He looked down at Agent Hannigan. He didn't have to take her pulse to know that she was fading. He bounded down the steps and into the elevator, gently shaking her in his arms as if it would wake her up. "'Just hold on, Melissa." he whispered impatiently as the doors closed.

The elevator carried them to their destination and Longshot checked her pulse again. "Hang on, just a little longer."

The doors opened and Longshot charged down the hallway, kicking open the door to the infirmary. "Hang on, Melissa! You can make it!" he cried laying her on the operating table and flicking on the lights. He gathered a tray of surgical tools and began undoing her bulletproof vest, sticking an IV in her arm as he rolled up her sleeve. He cast off his quiver, his jacket and his gloves and pulled on a pair of latexes before picking up the scalpel and looking down at his patient. "I can do this." he whispered. He narrowed his eyes, lay a comforting hand on Melissa's forehead and plunged the knife.

Melissa's eyes drifted open to the dim light of the Beacon's infirmary. She slowly sat up, but she was gently forced back down on the table. "You need your rest." said a kind, familiar voice. As her vision cleared, she looked up to see a friendly face, Longshot.

"Am I...?"

"It's gone." Longshot answered, "It's all over now."

"Not quite. I probably just threw my promotion out the window."

"You're alive."

"When I hand in my report on this, I may not consider that to be such a great thing."

"Yeah," said Longshot, "You'll need to look over your shoulder for a while. Your friends are likely to hold a grudge. I know from experience. But still, it's behind you. Now, you can do whatever you want. It's your life again."

"I really appreciate it, Longshot." she said, putting her hand on his.

"No trouble." he replied, glancing out the window, "I help people. That's just how I'm wired."

"I get that." she murmured, sitting up again and looking into Longshot's eyes, "Folks like us, they need every leg up they can get. You saw what went down today. I almost got sucked into being one of them. Guess somewhere down the line, that curiosity about power turned into greed."

"You have the rest of your life to make up for that mistake, Melissa." said Longshot, "And folks like us, we could use somebody working on the inside, somebody we can trust, who can help us make the world a better place."

"Still stupid enough to think people are good." Melissa chuckled.

"Still crazy enough to prove me wrong?" asked Longshot.

"Nah. Think I'll let you keep this one. I'll see what I can do in Washington." she reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder, "And try not to get yourself killed out there."

"I'll try, but no promises." Longshot joked. Melissa leaned in towards him, and as much as he told himself to, he couldn't turn away. "Well..." Melissa whispered, "In case we don't see each other again..."

She closed her eyes, but stopped short, rearing back to look at him and asked, "Wait, how old are you?"

Longshot paused for a moment before uncomfortably answering, "Twenty."

"I'm twenty-eight!" she snapped, pounding her fist on the operating table. There was an awkward silence between them. She pondered for a moment, then shrugged, "Aw, screw it." Without warning she ripped off Longshot's mask and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him. He unclipped his quiver and embraced her. The halls of the Beacon were silent in the frigid, dismal night. The troubles of their pasts, the chaos that had surrounded them, was miles away. For one night, they could rest and know that all was right.