A Scripta

((Forgive me, I forgot Kuro's full name))

A seemingly unarmed Suicidal Bombardier flipped a casino chip from one of their first jobs as he leaned against the wall waiting for Kuro. He saw Kuro come down the street, a man dressed in street clothes, which was unusual for him. "Bomber-san," he said and bowed slightly.

"Konnichiwa, Kuro-san," he replied, and bowed a little deeper.

The Japanese man smiled and bowed again. "Where do we go?"

"While we're the ones that are punctual, Tony's boys are late." A truck rumbled around the corner and slowed down approaching them. "Maybe not."

The truck stopped and the driver leaned out. "Yeah, I remember yous. Get in dah back."

Bomber nodded, undid the latch and peeked in. There were some boxes and pallets strewn about, so they found a place to sit. Another man came around, smiled wickedly at them, and shut the door. He heard the latch locking them in.

Bomber couldn't see in the dark - it wasn't hard for him to negotiate around by feel if he needed to. He also knew how to get out of one of these trucks by force if necessary, and he had the tools to do so.

"So how do you like working with Ryu?"

"It is prosperous," Kuro replied.

"What do you do?"

"Whatever he asks."

Bomber fell silent. Finally they stopped and Bomber heard the door unlock, the latch come up. The door opened, spilling bright light into the darkness, but both men rose fluidly as if the lighting hadn't changed. "Tony!" Bomber called, seeing the man in purple, "How the hell are ya?"

"Yeah, just get out."

Bomber followed Tony, not without glancing around. They were at a typical nondescript wharf, probably at the opposite end of Cap au Diable, because it looked out to an empty skyline. They headed down a small dock and into a freight boat.

"Oh, my manners. Meet my temporary assitant, Kuro."

"Greetings Tony-san," he said with a bow.

Tony looked the slight Japanese man over, probably assessing if he could beat him up. Kuro did nothing to betray his ability with open-hand fighting that he demonstrated constantly to Bomber. He only smiled at Tony, who looked a little disconcerted.

"Yeah, whatever. C'mon, I got shit to do today. I'm only here to get my money."

"You look pretty good for a man who had his stomach ripped out by flying glass."

"You know about that, huh?" Tony looked him over.

Bomber tapped his helmet. "I see everything."

Tony now looked like a man who wanted to get rid of them, and fast. He brought them to the hold and threw open the doors. Kuro took a deep breath and Bomber wondered what he smelled, because he couldn't smell anything due to the filtration of the helmet. He turned the corner and realized what it probably was.

A horse. A beautiful, proud, chestnut brown stallion, with a black mane and smoldering dark eyes. Bomber was stunned, absolutely stunned.

Kuro, however walked by it and made a precursory walk through the hold, giving each animal a glance. Bomber remained behind, staring at the animal. He reached out to the horse and patted its forehead. "What beautiful meat you are!" he whispered.

Kuro had gone back through a couple of other stalls while Bomber watched the horse. Then he called him over to one. Bomber absently took out another poker chip and walked it over his knuckles as he went over. This one was a lighter brown, almost rusty colored mare. "This one?"

Kuro nodded. Tony turned and yelled at the man standing at the door. "Brian!"

The man jogged down to them. "Oh, that's Fartherston. She ran maybe eight races, foaled two. One of her foals just fetched half a mil."

"How much?" asked Bomber of Tony.

"Half a mil."

"Screw you," Bomber snapped, "That's what her foal got, not her. Eight races, did she win any?" Brian shook his head. "Three hundred K."

"What the fuck you think I do, give these away? She's got time enough for a couple more foals. Four-fifty."

Kuro said quietly, "There was a difficult birth." He pointed to a scar along her stomach.

"Ha!" cried Bomber triumphantly. "Damaged goods! Three-fifty."

"I'm givin' it to you at that price."

"Probably not."

Tony waved his hand. "Get the papers."

Kuro stepped forward, "Bomber-san, there is a stallion that would be a perfect match."

Tony whirled on him, "Now you want two?"

"Let's see it."

"You said you had a stud and a stable -"

Bomber turned around so fast he caused a breeze and got his helmet right in Tony's face. "I'm not shopping at Macy's. This is fuckin' Wal-Mart." Tony's men stepped forward. Kuro stepped back, looking casual but probably in a ready stance.

"I'm doing you a favor getting these animals off your hands. Now if you're nice about it and not such a prick, we can have a consistent mutual relationship. But if you're going to act like you're doing me a fuckin' favor, flying glass can go a lot higher than your stomach. Kapeesh?" He stepped in closer and said quietly, "I can hit a pick-axe wielding miner at five hundred yards." Stepping back he said, without looking at Kuro, "Let's have a look at that stallion."

Tony regained his composure by saying, "Are you threatening me?"

"I don't threaten." He fell in next to Kuro. While Kuro showed him the stallion Brian returned with the papers. Bomber pulled out a huge stack of bills and counted out some to Brian. "Thirty-five ten-thousand notes."

Tony's eyes almost bugged out of his sockets. "I didn't know they made them that high."

"And you. In the Family." Bomber tsked. "Guess they don't trust you with the money, huh?" Bomber peeled off one bill and tucked it in his breastplate, then turned his back on Tony.

Bomber heard the snick of guns being drawn. "Bomber-san."

He turned around to see Tony and the men bearing guns on him. "I knew you were going to do that." He flicked what looked like the poker chip at them, and it exploded in mid-air. Body parts and dollar bills blew everywhere, hitting Kuro and Bomber, while Brian ducked.

"That cost me a pretty penny but damn it was worth it." He turned to Brian. "I need two bridles."

Brian plucked them from the stall nearby and fastened them onto the horse, then ran to get Fartherston. Bomber took a yellow card, peeled off a piece of paper covering an adhesive, then stuck it on the horse's neck. He pressed the red button. Then he handed the card to Kuro. "Press the red button. I'll meet you there."

He stuck the other card on Fartherston's neck and turned Brian. "Nice doing business with you." He pressed the button on the horse and tossed something at him. Brian flinched, but it looked like a poker chip. As Bombardier faded in a teleportation, he bent to pick it up. Bomber heard the explosion as the last sound before leaving that ship.

The horse stood in front of the door of the Tiki lounge, and Bomber absently grabbed the reins, pulling it forward. He saw Kuro standing off to the side, a crowd gathered around him and his horse. "Hey, Kuro, let's go."

"Hey, man," asked a man, "Where'd you get the horse?"

"What horse?"

"That one."

"What're you talking about?" Bombardier turned in Kuro's direction and made a twisting motion with his index finger against his temple.

"That horse."

"Look, I don't know what drugs you're on but I don't see a horse."

"It's right there!"

Bomber walked out the door, pulling the horse behind him. Kuro followed silently. At every inquiry, he kept asking, "What horse?" Finally they came out in Sharkhead. They walked around and ended up in an alley.

"Think you're all set?"

Kuro nodded and pulled out a cell phone. Bomber sat on a stoop and took off his helmet, letting the darkness wash over him blissfully. "I'm going to have to lay low with the Family for a little while."

"We can protect you, Bomber-san."

"I'll be fine." He smiled. "I hope he'll be happy with it."

"I am sure my master will be very pleased."

Soon enough, he heard a truck. Mickey, you're sending two animals to the glue factory.

"Shut up."

"Bomber-san?"

"I don't sleep. I bleed. Go, go see. I'm fine. I can fly a chopper, all I need is seven-thousand rotations."

He didn't hear the truck stop, the animals get aboard, and he didn't see the concerned look Kuro gave him as he climbed into the truck. As the truck drove away, people passed by without a second glance at the babbling blind man.

*****Spoiler Alert (though most of the readers of this blog already have gone through the Lady Grey TF) *****

When Nate wanted to talk to Jack, he would bring himself to a pier in Talos Island.  This pier looked out among the water, seemingly into infinity, and the water lapped gently among the piles, creating a soothing and comforting sound to him.

No one seemed to bother him, as he sat on a box, seemingly looking inward.  It was a place no one knew about - except one.  And he was at his home now, being taken care of.

Nate had sensed a disturbance in Jack after working for Lady Grey.  So when Vagabond released him from service, he flew here. 

You should have gone with Frosty.

You're important to me, too.

Warmth emanated from his heart to fill him.  Nate smiled, focusing on the water.

What bothers you?

I wasn't there.

I'm sorry, what?

I wasn't there.  I should have gone - Jack should have gone.  Or I should have gone.

But the obituary...

Lied.

"Lied?"

Yes.  We were no where near Team Alpha.  Do you know how old Jack was then?  Seventy-four.  Statesman took one look at us and knew Jack couldn't do it.  There were hundreds, thousands of other heroes.  We stayed home.   Nate felt regret now.  We stayed home.

Nate stepped aside, so while in the old costume that he had worn when he was the vanguard with E, Fyre, and Stronghold, Jack came to the fore and Nate allowed him full expression of the emotions that welled up in him.

He put his face in his hands and he cried.

13:06:37 [Team]Keen Techno: Um, excuse me... you've got... butterfly wings? ::points with the hand::
13:06:39 [Team]Mirestorm: If my memory serves me.... the fair...er..fairfolk can certainly handle their liquor.
13:06:51 [Team]A-Cappella: Oh, that's true.
(He's not quite a fairy, but that's okay)
13:07:01 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: Yeah, I do. What's it to ya.
13:07:08 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: Got a problem?
13:07:18 [Team]Keen Techno: How cute!
13:07:29 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: Cute?! CUTE!
13:07:34 [Team]A-Cappella: I thought so, too! Well, then he started shouting.
13:07:36 [Team]A-Cappella: Like that.
13:07:52 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: I'm not frickin' CUTE!
13:08:01 [Team]A-Cappella: ::mutters:: You're kinda cute.
13:08:16 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: Whazzat?
13:08:25 [Team]A-Cappella: You're handsome.
13:08:40 [Team]Keen Techno: Wow! It's even more cute when you're angry!
13:08:51 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: Heh. You're taken.
13:08:58 [Team]Keen Techno: Can I take you home?
13:08:59 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: I. Am. Not. Cute.
13:09:04 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: No!
13:09:07 [Team]Keen Techno: ::laughs::
13:09:17 [Team]A-Cappella: ::giggles::
13:09:26 [Team]Mirestorm: More tattos Mr. Butterfly...more tattos
13:09:27 [Team]A-Cappella: He'd take care of you, I bet!
13:09:37 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: ::mutters:: Fairies.
13:09:55 [Team]Keen Techno: I'd hug you and call you George! How's that?
13:10:01 A-Cappella laughs
13:10:01 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: Yeah, I need more tattoos.
13:10:09 [Team]A-Cappella: Butterfly tattoos?
13:10:13 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: My name ain't George - NO!
13:10:31 [Team]A-Cappella: You know, until you find a way out of this, you should just try to roll with it.
13:10:46 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: I'm ignorin' 'em.
13:10:59 A-Cappella slides her arm into Mire's
13:11:00 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: But if it gets me chicks... ::grins::
13:11:01 [Team]Mirestorm: We'll try to do the same ::smiles::
13:11:12 [Team]A-Cappella: I bet the girls will love it.
13:11:17 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: Yeah, 'preciate it.
13:11:28 [Team]A-Cappella: It's like having a puppy with you all the time. Except it's a butterfly. And it's you.
13:11:36 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: A puppy.
13:11:43 [Team]Sonic Butterfly: I'm cute and then I'm a puppy.
13:11:54 [Team]A-Cappella: No...girls go nuts over guys with puppies.
13:12:06 [Team]A-Cappella: I'm saying it's like you have one with you all the time. Believe me, you're nothing like a puppy.

Bomber turns the corner and...

[Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Go not softly into that good night...
50:01 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Place the hold...
50:43 [Local]Suicidal Bombardier: Want fries with that?!
(Sets someone on fire)

53:04 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: I will try not to breathe...
(Sets up the Poison trap)

54:00 [Local]Suicidal Bombardier: What did you have for breakfast?
54:16 [Local]Suicidal Bombardier: Let's see!
(watches the Longbow puke from the poison trap)

55:49 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Oh yes!
59:16 [Team]Ryu Tatsu: Bomber. Doing what Kain was doing before he has a chance is not a solution.
(I totally missed this)

59:37 [Local]Suicidal Bombardier: Scuse me
(as he goes in the middle of a group to set up a trap)

59:54 [Local]Suicidal Bombardier: Lie down and die, it'll be easier on us all.
(as he hits them with a slug)

58 [Local]Suicidal Bombardier: Makeup!
(I have no idea, we had walked into a room with a warden, maybe that's what it was)

02:54 [Local]Suicidal Bombardier: Say hello to my little friend!
(setting up the Poison Trap)

03:44 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Smooooke on the waaater...
(watching the poison trap)

[Team]Lunatrix: Ambush coming.
05:29 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Outta traps.

06:25 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Hey!
06:35 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Can I shoot this barrel of explosives?
06:40 [Team]Ryu Tatsu: No.
06:43 [Team]Lunatrix: There's another ambush coming.
06:45 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Darn.
07:48 [Team]Lunatrix: Another on its way.
08:02 [Local]Suicidal Bombardier: Say hello to Harvey. (The acid mortar)
08:54 [Local]Suicidal Bombardier: Good boy!

They leave because the ambushes keep on coming.

09:59 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: More Longbow!
10:10 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Woo!
10:38 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: ::sorrowfully:: No more Longbow?
11:28 Suicidal Bombardier bumps into Kain. (Who's invisible)
11:36 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Oh, there you are.
11:39 [Team]Ryu Tatsu: Because of our... interference... Longbow has stepped up their plans. The Sky Raiders are offering us a substantial payment to assist their forces in the upcoming battle. And by assist, it sounds like he has a specific task in mind for us.
12:04 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Three point shot from the foul line! (Another "What the hell does that mean?" moment)
12:23 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Hey, um...Glowie.
12:50 [Team]Kain X': ::silent::
13:35 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: ::takes Kain's head with both hands and presses his own helmet against his forehead::
13:41 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Don't.
14:13 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: :: taps his helmet gently against Kain's forehead::
14:29 [Team]Kain X': ::winces not in a painful way::
14:34 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Kill. The. Bear.
15:00 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: :: releases Kain::
15:30 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: You can kill the bear.
15:39 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: It's easy. Just get a gun.
16:02 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: You gotta find the right caliber.
16:11 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: And use the right bait.
16:20 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Easy.
16:49 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Talk to me, Glowie.
(Takes off the helmet)
17:03 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: See, I won't even look at you.
17:51 [Team]Kain X': ::deeper tone:: You're sure insistent. (A ha, Luther! Nice to meet you. Let's wake up Kain, shall we?)
18:08 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Part o' the parts.
18:45 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Ain' movin'. (He knows Kain feels the need to heal, and if he stops breathing - which at that moment he realized he doesn't really need to do, though he needs air to speak - that Kain will struggle up to heal him)
19:16 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: ::stands absolutely still, doesn't seem to be breathing::
20:14 [Team]Kain X': ::grins under the mask::
21:11 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: ::is still standing still::
21:59 [Team]Kain X': ::blinks, wide-eyes, muttering to himself:: Stop... that...
22:20 [Team]Kain X': ::voice comes back to normal:: ... Bomber?
22:35 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Hm?
25 [Team]Kain X': You... did I...
54 [Team]Kain X': ... I didn't see you there. Your helmet...
24:15 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: :: tilts his head::
24:25 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: The Bear.
24:43 [Team]Kain X': ::looks at Bomber sideways::
25:09 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: ::realizes that he wasn't breathing and takes in a deep breath with a gasp::
25:25 [Team]Kain X': Are you okay?
25:32 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Huh.. uh.. yeah.
25:52 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Now you...
26:04 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: I bet there's a chip in there.
26:17 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: I bet the Bear's a chip...
26:26 [Team]Kain X': You know, Bomber...
26:42 [Team]Kain X': ... radiation can have uses other than destruction. (Bomber freaked out in a mission accusing Kain of building an atomic bomb - or becoming one)
27:05 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: I know.
28:02 [Team]Kain X': My research is not about destruction, either.
28:14 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: What is it about?
28:45 [Team]Kain X': To make people live longer.
29:01 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: You're kidding.
29:07 [Team]Kain X': I am not.
29:21 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Why?
30:13 [Team]Kain X': ::chuckles weakly:: I wonder...
30:47 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: So you want to help people live longer, preferably healthy lives, I suppose.
30:52 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Not like...
31:00 [Team]Kain X': So far... it's all been... failures... but still...
31:16 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: People die?
31:42 [Team]Kain X': Because I fail.
32:31 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: People die because you fail.
33:08 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: That's bullshit.
33:09 [Team]Kain X': I should not.
33:26 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: It's bullshit. You're human, last I checked.
33:50 [Team]Kain X': And humans make mistakes.
33:55 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Even Ryu makes mistakes, and he's not human, and he takes it and moves on.
34:07 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Stop being so hard on yourself.
36:09 [Team]Kain X': I can't take it anymore.
36:19 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Take what?
36:20 [Team]Kain X': I have to succeed. Once.
36:34 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: And how do you do that?
37:10 [Team]Kain X': Researching.
37:52 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Plan the attack. Gather recon and information, collate and sift, look for holes.
38:15 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Coordinate and plan, offer contingencies, look for holes in all of them.
38:29 [Team]Kain X': Holes...
38:44 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Are there?
39:23 [Team]Kain X': It's... unlikely.
39:48 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Sure there is. You got a bear riding your ass.
40:31 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Dance with the bear or kill it - why dance?
40:55 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Do you need to? Kill it then.
41:07 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Or dance with it and slip the knife in when it's not looking.
41:08 [Team]Kain X': ::quietly:: I do.
41:36 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: You dance for a reason?
41:50 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Flirt with the fire? It burns.
42:20 [Team]Kain X': I must endure.
42:48 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Martyr.
43:04 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Have a hairshirt.
43:23 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: For what? For what do you dance with the bear?
43:38 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Love, money or rockets? (I told Keen that Rockets meant power. I think.)
43:58 [Team]Kain X': A few of each.
44:26 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: You want to keep dancing or do you want it dead?
45:02 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: If you want it dead I'll expunge it for you. We all would.
45:44 [Team]Kain X': No... I don't want it dead.
46:12 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Put it to sleep.
46:36 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Tuck it in nicey nice, tell stories and make it compliant.
46:44 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Let it dance for you.
47:13 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Can't beat 'em? Join 'em.
47:25 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Then...slip them the mickey.
49:16 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Say so? Wanna?
49:49 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: You can't think - the Bear. Right there.
49:58 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: :: points in Kain's general direction::
50:09 [Team]Kain X': ::sighs::
50:28 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Bear hears the music and changes his dance.
51:04 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Step ahead, learn to lead.
51:30 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Let the Bear think it leads...but it dances to your music.
51:59 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Did you see my fish? (I have no idea what that meant. NONE.)
52:13 [Team]Kain X': Fish?
52:26 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: I need to find my fish.
52:54 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: But let's put your Bear to sleep sometime.
53:19 [Team]Kain X': ::dispassionately:: Sure.
54:01 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: ::waves his hands in front of his face even though he can't see them:: (Don't know what that means, either)
54:42 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Hey, Glowie, know anything about brain surgery?
55:03 [Team]Kain X': Some of it.
55:21 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: I got a bullet right here, can you take it out?
55:27 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: ::points to his temple::
55:41 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: It's itchy.
56:20 [Team]Kain X': I could do it.
56:23 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: I'd trust you over those Me--
56:52 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: You got the tools?
56:58 [Team]Kain X': I assure you I'm not one of them.
57:07 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: I'm sure I can dig up a saws-all.
57:15 [Team]Kain X': I'm afraid I do not.
57:54 [Team]Kain X': Hm. I don't work with such instruments.
58:16 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Oh - a drill?
58:20 [Team]Kain X': But I'm sure we can--
58:29 [Team]Kain X': No.
58:44 [Team]Suicidal Bombardier: Uh...I'm running out of options here.

(Right about then, Ryu says good night)

just testing mobile capabilities. ignore me.

Bombardier twirled in his hand the new badge he had just received for his service to Silver Mantis. The memory of the prior night's work haunted him. Not the guns. Not the Lost.

The Meat Doctors. The beds. The blood. Drain his blood. Take out his eyes. Break him. Fix that patch. He won't die. Good...No more pain. No more screaming. No more feeling except when he was "restarted", and then, the bliss.

The pain that got him every time was when something tore through his mind like a richocheting bullet in his skull.

He clenched his jaw. There was a hole in his helmet from last night. He didn't want to tell them how he felt the bullet enter and stop just before his temple. When they all left him at the tanker, he took off his helmet, feeling for the hole behind his head. It was sealed over with skin, as what happened whenever Kain or Ryu healed him. If he pressed the hole, he would pierce the skin and feel the thick black tar that was his blood.

He didn't know how long he stood on the catwalk, twirling the badge. His alarm on his comm went off and he realized he needed to be somewhere...

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

Tony Lafazia didn't look up at whoever was casting a shadow across his table. "Look, whoever the f--"

He heard the slide of a gun being drawn. He jerked his head up to look at a pair of golden visors attached to a red and yellow helmet.

"Where's--" he looked the man over. "Who dressed you, a blind man?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I heard you breed horses for racing." Tony leaned over to look around the man. "Your boys? They're out in the back showing the flowers what they had for lunch. And breakfast. They're probably working toward last night's dinner. Can you smell it in the air? I can't, but..."

Tony sniffed and smelled something worse than rotting garbage, alcoholic vomit, and zombies all rolled up into one. His stomch lurched.

"Now, I wanted to speak with you but your gatekeepers wouldn't let me through." The helmeted man hooked his foot around a chair and pulled it over as Tony put a handkerchief over his nose. "Guess I wasn't dressed properly. Anyway," he sat down, the gun across his lap, "I've come into some money and I'm interested in investing in the racing business. First, I'd like a stake in a horse you already have. Second, I'd like a mare for breeding."

Tony removed the handkerchief and said, "You got a stud and a stable?"

"Absolutely."

"You sure you don't want a stake in the mare? If the colt sucks--"

The gun came up. "I'm already asking for a stake of one of yours and my own horse. I think you're getting greedy." He rose, shoved the chair back into its place. "I heard the Paivas were much easier to deal with--"

"Okay, okay. Part of a horse and a whole mare. Got it, got it. Siddown, we'll talk."

"Actually, your boys should be finished with their visit, so I'm going to leave you to get together a list. I'll be back tomorrow and I want to be able to inspect the horses in two days. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah - " the smell assaulted him and he put the handkerchief to his nose again. The helmeted man tipped an imaginary hat to him, then leisurely strolled away.

Tony watched him go, as if he hadn't a care in the world. He whirled on his men and saw they were in different degrees of pale and shaking.

He turned back to his table and reached for the bottle of wine. He touched the mouth of the bottle - and it exploded, sending a good chunk of shrapnel into his stomach.

As the ambulance sped away, Bomber watched him from a roof.

Now, now, Mickey, what're you gonna do with a horse?

"I've always wanted a pony." He turned to the shadowy figure next to him. "A horse is just a big pony."

Where are you going to put it?

"I'm giving it to Ryu to hold onto."

You sure that's a good idea? You'll never see it again.

"Sure I will. I'll see its bones."

If the breeders find out--

Bomber turned to face the shadow head on. "Someone will always sell. ALWAYS."

The shadow shrugged and walked away. Devil inside, devil inside, every single one of us has a devil inside.

Bomber retorted, "She talks to angels; they call her out by her name."

The shadow chuckled and stepped out into the light.

Yes. I have nothing to do at work.

She dialed the number that she had memorized months ago. She took a breath and started in with the false Southern accent that she had developed to make men think she was stupid. It worked, for the most part, but she disliked using it.

“Begin reporting at the beep,” the pleasant female voice said when the line picked up. Dusty rolled her eyes and started:

“Hey, sugah, the mark’s got himself a cape. An’ he don’ seem t’ tucker out so easy.” She chuckled lustfully. “Which can be good f’r me. When’m I gonna see ya, sugah – I’m missin’ ya, an’ this here purty voice on th’ line don’ cut it. Call me.” She hung up the cell phone and tucked it in the pocket under her breast.

Glancing up at the clocktower, she knew that her mark would be at the Market or the lab. The lab was closer, so she dashed that way.

Her entry into the lab was a loose board in a boarded up cellar window. She had just lifted it when her phone vibrated.

She gasped in pure pleasure, as that area was sensitive to Arcticans. She swallowed, took a mad dash two buildings down, and tried not to swoon. She pulled out the phone, still vibrating in her hand, took a deep breath and said, “Hello?”

“Hello,” said a deep rumbling voice.

“Hello, sugah!”

“I am sorry I haven’t been able to meet you, Dusty,” he continued, while she closed her eyes to listen to the accent and continue the pleasure the vibrating phone started. “I have been very busy.”

“It’s okay,” she said, her breath coming in gasps. “Sometime, though…” She tried not to cry out as the Fallhon hit her.

Suddenly the world was brighter. She was on top of the world, could have anything, be anything. She could easily barrel through a stone wall, cut down an army. She was a goddess, and all were below her, mere mortals, her servants.

“Dusty?” came the voice over the phone.

Dusty chuckled and put the phone back to her ear. She could crush him, this puny man, make him her slave, and have him sing at the end of her sword. Easily, so easily…

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice clear without any trace of accent. “I was wondering when we could see each other.” She paused, narrowed her eyes at debasing herself like this. “Sugah.”

I will make him serve me, watch my brothers break him into tiny pieces. Him and all his kin.

“I am sorry, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I am a very busy man. I must go. Your reports are well-valued and you shall gain a bonus.”

“But—“

“Gutentag,” he said, and clicked off.

“[Stupid Terran, you have no idea of the power I wield,]” she snarled. “[I control more powerful creatures than--]”

Her legs buckled as the Fallhon crashed. She fell, suddenly dizzy. The moment passed in seconds. Taking a couple of deep breaths, she focused on the grass at her back, the phone in her hand. Grinning, she put it back in her pocket. She pressed the button on her belt that made her invisible and headed back to the lab.

Wombat threw the book across the room and a spirit caught it before it slammed into the wall. Ever since meeting that mysterious new alien last night, he had been obsessed. The spirits that followed him had no idea what was an “Arian, Aerian, Airian, Airien, Arien…” and all sorts of variations thereof. He compared angels located in his tomes. Going entirely by feel, he didn’t think it was the same thing.

He had been up all night, pouring through all of his book, binding spirits for discussion, and nothing, NOTHING. He sat down heavily in a huge winged-back chair and rubbed his face.

“Master,” whispered a spirit in an ancient language, “are there many Ahriens?”

Without thinking, he replied in the same language, because that particular spirit laid itself over him. “She kept telling me to talk to a Hope’s Fury, as if I know who or what that is. Wait.” He sat up. “She mentioned Masonry.” He went down and out of the apartment to the pay phone.


“This is a first, you wanting something from me.”

Wombat motioned to the picnic table. The big white haired man sat on the table top, while Wombat nestled on the bench. “Mas’nry,” he said, “ya got a girl in yer band, she’s got wings.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “StarWyng. So?”

“What is she?”

“Aerian.”

“Spell that.”

“A-E-R-I-A-N.”

He looked down then shook his head. “Never heard of ‘em.”

“Oh supposedly there was some sort of war and the Kheldians betrayed them and Aerians ‘eat’ the Kheldian that joins them. Something like that.”

Wombat looked contemplative. “How’r you an’ Lodestar workin’ out?”

“Fine,” he said with a snarl. “Why do you ask?”

“Would he know more about these Aerians?”

“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“Mas’nry, I know y’ don’ trust me.”

“Nope. You’re going to take our blood. That’s what you want to do with her, too, isn’t it?”

“Mas’nry…

and the muse fell asleep.

Eating and drinking made him sick.

Bombardier sat alone in Pocket D, where he had become friends with one of the waitresses. Since he could take off his helmet and not worry about someone taking off with it anymore, he felt he could sit in the far back and just let the cool ambiance wash over him.

When he first took off the helmet he had a huge dinner, and threw it all up hours later, undigested. Then he realized he hadn’t truly eaten for as far back as he could remember…he just never felt hungry. It was a memory to have a huge T-bone steak – a memory he didn’t need.

So as he sat with the chair tipped back against the wall, a drink sitting untouched in front of him, he listened intently to the people in the booth next to him:

“…yeah, so Burke says that they just built two memorial statues over in Steel Canyon.”

“They’re always doing that – “

“No, these’re special. They’re made of gold.”

“Screw you!”

“No kiddin’, man.”

“Yeah, like we could steal something like that – “

“Not steal it! Destroy it. Rumor is some Fortunata is ready to pay a big price for it to get destroyed because the statue is her brother, father, uncle, whatever. And she hates him. And, even better, a hero comes along to try and save it.” The voice turned sing-songy at those words. “Know what that means?”

“One less hero in the world.”

“And then you scalp ‘em!”

Bomber turned his head toward the voices. “Seriously?” he asked.

“No, not really,” came the voice. “You take their cape. Bring it over to the Facemakers, they’ll dye it to what you want an’ it’s yours. Recluse doesn’t allow capes, unless you earned it.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Then when his friends helped Glowie destroy the statues so that he could earn the right to wear the cape, he realized that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

He went to Burke, who told him in no uncertain terms that he needed to secure passage to Paragon City. He connected him with Lorenzo Anzaldo over at the Recluse Docks. His friends assisted with Anzaldo’s request to take out the Longbow at a warehouse. He didn’t remember much of that night, but did remember when and where the boat to Paragon City was leaving.

So the next afternoon, he waited in the water as a tugboat with a gaudy mermaid at the prow chugged up to him. A rope was tossed down and he climbed swiftly into the boat. “Stay down,” the man said, and threw a tarp over him. Finally they pulled the tarp off of him.

“Yeah, like this one’s gonna be easy to hide,” said one of them.

“Just tell me where the statue is. I can fly there and drop out of the sky like a bomb.”

The sailors chuckled. “Sure, man. Statue’s three hundred yards due west from the train that’s right over there. Time to get off the boat.”

Bomber quietly dove off the boat and started swimming the thirty yards or so to shore.

Longbow were everywhere. Glowie would love this! He thought. But then he remembered how Glowie just froze after taking out the gang of Longbow in the warehouse. Bomber couldn’t wake him up…

“Focus, dumbass,” he muttered to himself as he dashed along the rear wall of Steel Canyon. Nobody looks behind buildings - and there was not one Longbow in that route. He came up behind a huge building and had his first view of the statue. It was made of what looked like silver, not gold!

Stupid asses, he thought angrily, as he snuck up on the nearest Longbow and shot him in the back of the head. A Longbow Flamethrower aimed at him, but his trigger finger was faster. Fire flew in both directions, catching easily in her hair but deflecting off of his jacket. She fell to the ground screaming, while he turned his attention to a group of Longbow advancing. He threw a set of caltrops, backed up, and brought out Harvey.

As he came out from next to the building, six Longbow dead behind him, he assessed the situation. The silver statue didn’t stand alone; three Longbow were guarding its corners. Fourth one must be on coffee break. He dashed to a tree directly across from one of the Longbow guards.

He threw down a small sea of caltrops, then set up Ralph right behind. He readjusted his sight, loaded a full-metal jacket bullet, and aimed at the furthest Longbow’s head. The crack of his shot seemed to echo everywhere, but didn’t.

The Longbow fell, dead. No one noticed.

That was a first. He looked down the barrel of the gun. “Nice job,” he said. “Let’s do it again.” Another re-adjustment of the scope, another full-metal jacket. He shot the one in the left-hand corner and he went down, but he was tougher. Plus he attracted attention – the one in the right-hand corner saw him and shot at him.

The Longbowman stopped at the caltrops and jerked away, but Bomber caught him square in the chest with a slug and he went down, the caltrops piercing the uniform adding more blood to the spreading pool underneath him. The second Longbowman was trying to pick him off, but Bomber rushed in and set him on fire.

Now he concentrated on the statue. He could still blow it up and gather some silver bits, sell them on the Black Market. First he set the acid mortar to soak it in acid, then he set it on fire. He watched disappointingly as it slowly turned into an unrecognizable blob. The silver pooled at his feet as he heard someone yell, “Halt in the name of Longbow!”

He shook his head, knowing that phrase sounded so phony. He threw down a set of caltrops, then set Ralph at the bottom of the stairs. “Hey!” he yelled, waving his hand, “I’m over here!” He picked off one of the Longbow to prove it.

A group of five of them, two with flamethrowers came rushing at him. He checked his tank just to be sure, then backed away from the bottom of the stairs. The Longbow, fired up by his killing one of their group, ran down the stairs and Ralph woke up, spewing poison gas everywhere.

“What’d you have for breakfast, firegirl?” he demanded as he peppered her with bullets. “Is that Twinkie bits I see? Don’t eat very healthy – “ he shot the head off another at close range. “What do aliens eat for breakfast – oh, nice shot. All over my boots.”

He put a hollow soft-point in his rifle chamber, aimed it at the alien Longbow Commander who was bobbing as he threw up. “Keep still, will you? Oh, forget it.” He pulled the trigger, hoping it would hit.

The alien’s head and half of its upper torso exploded, getting yellow blood and gore all over Bomber. “Hey! Your blood matches… um, something.” He looked back at the silver puddle that was the statue, sighing heavily. “Silver bells, silver bells, it’s Christmas time, in the city…”

He started up the stairs, and walked across the small promenade, then gave a small gasp of joy. A silver statue of a woman (“Nice ass!”) was across the way, also guarded by three Longbow.

He had nowhere to really hide and set up his traps, so he decided to use the stairs as his bastion for the moment. Throwing down the caltrops, he set up his mortar at the top of the stairs, set Ralph just four steps away from the caltrops, and took aim.

Again, the crack echoed seemingly everywhere – again the Longbow woman went down and didn’t get up. Again Bomber looked down the barrel of the gun. “You’re such a good little girl!” he crooned.

But this time the guards heard it, and so did a few others. They started up the stairs and ran head-first into Ralph. The few that could get past him without retching yelped as they hit the caltrops or as they were soaked in acid. Bomber waited a moment, switched on the flamethrower and doused them with napalm and flame.

This time he knew better – he approached the statue and started shooting at it. The grenade weakened it so it toppled over, then he shot at it to break it into manageable pieces. “Halt villain!” he heard someone yell in an echoing voice, as if the person had a bullhorn.

“'Stop in the name of Longbow!' 'Halt villain!' Stop, stop, stop! Jesus H. Christ, they’re so into this control shit, bunch of tyrants, all of ‘em. No wonder Glowie hates them.” He plucked up some large chunks of silver and tucked them into his breastplate, and turned to face his new threat.

She ran away, leaving one lonely Longbowman with a rifle firing pitifully at him.

“Are you kidding me? You?” He absently tossed a web grenade at him, holding him down. Meanwhile the brave heroine was running to the other statue. He shrugged, pulled out another hollow-point. “This’ll make a hole big enough to drive a truck through,” he said and took a few steps back to give himself some range. Just as the man broke free of the web, Bomber fired into the man’s chest and his organs exploded out through his back.

This still didn’t attract the attention of the hero, who came running up the stairs on the opposite side of the promenade, looking very confused. Bomber stayed below the other set of stairs, just beyond her line of sight, and set up his normal Ralph-'Trops-Harvey pathway. For insurance, he set up the Nurse next to the wading pool. Then he calmly approached the top of the stairs.

“Hey, sweetheart! Over here!” He threw a grenade – it knocked her down the other set of stairs. “Jesus, she’s stupid. It’ll be a good thing to put her out of her misery, don’t you think, George?” He patted the force field generator. It hummed in response.

He backed down the stairs and waited until he heard Ralph hiss. He studied imaginary fingernails as he listened to her retch. She tried to yell the normal heroic slogans at him, but caught herself being sick.

He finally looked up when she stopped, but she was holding her stomach and severely weakened. He calmly loaded the regular bullet into his rifle. She looked up at him, pleading in her eyes.

“And the cradle…will rock…” He fired and it went clean through her skull.

Quickly he yanked off the cape as she fell, making sure no blood got on it. It was blue with white lightning bolts through it. “Hey, look, it matches… nothing.”

(yet another origin story for Bomber)

Dr. Louvat regarded the newest Vahzilok servants. Most of them looked like the simply cobbled together brutes that he expected. However, for once, a few promising ones looked like they could take better commands than "fetch".

"That one," he pointed to a bald one who had its back turned. His nurses walked over to the man and tapped him on the shoulder, then picked him up by his arms and brought them back to Louvat. The creature looked at him, its eyes blue but empty.

"What's your name?" Louvat asked.

"I don't remember."

"Excellent." He looked at the creature. "Looks like you're a hermaphrodite," he joked. "Do you know what that is?"

"Yessir."

Louvat raised an eyebrow, then looked closer at a three-inch scar on his chest. It looked like something had been burned off, something in the shape of a diving bird. Louvat touched it, then pressed hard into it. It yielded, but didn't break, like the rest of the zombies.

"Well, interesting. You're alive."

"Yessir," he said.

"What's your oldest memory?"

"Seeing Zach."

"Must be the Builder," muttered one of the assistants.

"Still, this one's a smart cookie. Get it dressed. I really don't need to see what it's made of. Put in Wake Shunts."

The assistant tugged the creature's female arm and it followed dutifully. It went into the next room. "Lie down."

The creature did so, and it was strapped down. Empty eyes stared at the ceiling and didn't flinch as the assistant sawed open its upper bicep. He parted the skin, and muscle, and took the drill the nurse offered. He drilled two vertical holes about two inches wide through the humerus. He then took a curved piece of metal and thrust it into the lower hole, wiggling it around so that it went through the hole and the small space between the muscles, then came out of the upper hole. He took a portable welding torch and welded another curved piece of metal onto those, slightly burning the skin. Then he sewed the incision together, and cauterized it with the torch.

The creature did not flinch even while the drill bore through its other arm, while the fire burned its skin, and the smell of burning flesh garnered no reaction. "Get up," the assistant ordered. When the creature stood, it swayed and fell, passed out.

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

Two very large electrical clamps, one red, one black, were attached to either side of his shoulders. A female doctor with a clip board studied the hanging man, with wires and tubes attached to him. "What are we injecting today?"

A girl at a table glanced at the computer screen. "Nine thousand ccu's of Compound 37730."

"Good. I know Dr. Danault has been waiting for the results on this for a few days now. How high has the dosage been before expiration on normal specimens?"

"Six thousand ccu's. However this specimen does not seem to expire."

"Which is why we are using it. You had its eyes removed?"

"Dr. Forrester believes it may realize its position and wish to leave."

The woman nodded. "Begin the experminents."

As the chemicals were pumped through the man's veins and he screamed at the searing pain, Stanley Piper watched from the rear, realizing he had found an excellent recipient for his newest invention. Piper didn't have time to wade through the paperwork at the lab, he had a different, better, more efficient idea. He just needed to see Operative Waites...

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

The specimen was set on its feet for the first time in what seemed like a very long time - and it fell backwards, hitting the floor. "No damage!" it heard from its left and turned its sightless eyes in that direction.

"He's been hanging like a side of beef for three months," said a voice. "Lay him on this table."

Picked up again, and lay flat. If it thought about it, it would be irritated. The same voice said, "You're safe here, we're not going to pump you through with chemicals and zap you when you flatline."

It didn't know if that was good or not. "What do you do here?" it asked.

"Brain surgery," said the voice with a chuckle. Something touched its chest. "There was a tattoo here. A bird - oh, Screaming Eagle. My uncle had one of those. Were you a pilot?"

Screaming Eagle, screaming plane pull the stick fight the dive - fire she screamed

"Yes."

"Cool. Okay, we're going to put you to sleep for a little while. When you wake up, you'll be able to see again. We hope."

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

Suddenly, the world came into view and it was bright. Then it flashed out. Then it came back on. Flashed out. This happened often - he would be in darkness, mostly floating and painless, then suddenly he would see the white of a cieling, or some dark splotch, or a blur, or a clear face.

Finally, something pretty came into view. A dark haired woman smiled at him.

"He sees you, Viv."

"Hi," she said gently.

"Hi," he replied, though it sounded like he hadn't spoken in ages.

Another man came up from behind her. "You are one tough bastard. Thought we lost you a few times."

"Yessir," was all he could manage.

"Hungry?"

"Yes'm," he replied to her.

"We'll have to start you on fluids, but we have to take the helmet off."

"Helmet?"

"Yes," said the man. "Those bastards took out your eyes so you wouldn't run away." The man looked up. "Oh, Dr. Piper."

A large blond man stepped into view. "How are you feeling, Mickey?" He only shrugged, or at least tried to with the restraints. "Untie him, for Pete's sake."

"Is that my name?"

"It's the name in your memories. We've downloaded them all. They're all still in your head."

"Hurts. My head."

"It'll take some time for the connections to work without pain. Give him a sedative and shut the helmet down. We'll try a little bit daily."

He was "awakened" often. He would be in comfortable darkness, then he'd feel heavy, hear things all around him, then the world would snap into view. He lost track of time, but then one day his world snapped into view before he felt heavy and could hear. Once it came up, all his senses seemed to "come online."

"Get up, I know you can! Hurry! Arachnos!"

He focused on Vivian, who handed him a shotgun. "I know you know how to use this. We need to get out of here."

He got up on wobbly legs and forced himself to stand, to walk, to follow Vivian down a side hall. "They already got Stan. We have a safe house, we'll - "

Gunfire echoed around them, and Mickey turned toward the direction. He could see the men there clearly. With a quick movement of his arm, he pumped the shotgun, turned, and fired from the hip. Three of them flew backwards, and he turned to Vivian. She lay in a slump on the floor, blood trickling from her mouth, her white lab coat sprinkled with dark dots.

He felt something prick him near his kidneys, then he pumped the shotgun, fired. The shell flew out and bumped into his shoulder at the same time the man went down, full of lead.

"Vivian is dead, long live the king." He started aimlessly down the hall, firing the shotgun at anything that even resembled an Arachnos. He blew the head clean off a Fortunata with one of the Spiders' own guns. He saw one of Dr. Piper's assistants. "Mickey, c'mon! Shoot any Spider that moves!"

He followed Max down a series of hallways, and Max gathered more scientists, patients, whatever he could get. He had him shoot computer terminals, explore storage units, and shoot anything that moved. However, they were caught in a room, and he was the last man standing. He let them pepper him with bullets from an automatic and he fell hard and fast.
----------------------

Pain tore through him. "You will LEARN!"

His skin burned. "Bow down to me!"

His bones thrummed with energy. "What's my name?"

He glared at the fat bald man in front of him, though the fat bastard couldn't see the glare behind the helmet.

"Again."

"Whaddaya wanna do, boss, make 'im dance? We c'd shoot 'em--"

"No, I'm havin' fun with this. Midas said I could play--" He was zapped through with electricity, but this time, he had expected it and forced himself to stay awake. He played opossum.

"I think he's dead, boss."

He could see him approach. "Maybe we can get that damn helmet off--"

He moved his arm and grabbed the fat man by the throat. The man with the controls of the electricity panicked and turned it on suddenly. The conduit went through his arm into the fat man's body, so he died jerking like a fish on a hook.

He dropped the smoking body and yanked the wires off the metal posts in his shoulder. He fell the few feet to the ground. A series of bullets peppered him but he no longer felt them; instead he approached the gunman even while he was still firing and poked his eyes out. The gunman dropped the gun, screaming, and, now armed, the helmeted man sprayed the room.

Looking out at his destruction, he grinned under the helmet. "Family." He rummaged around and found a jet pack. He wore nothing but shorts, but strapped on the jet pack, grabbed the guns he could see and stuck them in the straps. Then he walked out.

He walked by Family who gave him a strange look before realizing that he wasn't a real Bombardier. By then their faces had been blown off. He got to a hall, at the end of which was a window, but two groups of Family standing around between them. With a grin, he started up the jetpack.

The noise attracted their attention, and, armed two-handed, pistol in the right, shotgun in the left, he suspended himself a couple of feet off the ground. Then he dove headlong into the group.

He emptied one clip, quickly drew the second pistol and emptied that. He had one shot in the shotgun because he couldn't pump it one-handed and moving; he shot four, threw the shotgun away, pulled out another and shot the window. Although the glass shattered, the aluminum frame didn't - he plowed through it getting nearly gouged down his chest and abdomen, and the jetpack got gouged as well. He smelled oil leaking as he flew out of the building - and found he was at least a hundred yards in the night air.

He flew until he fell like a meteor into the sea.

Dusty Angel watched him again. Longbow meant nothing to him, no more than meat. She smiled and sighed softly. Father would like him. Mother... she smiled even broader. Mother wouldn't let me go that easily.

He turned and walked away, and Angel was close enough to see his eyes - brown, angry. Disgusted.

She got up from her perch in the doorway, when she felt something cold nearby. "[Dashaway of my blood]," whispered the wind.

Angel waited until the group was out of earshot before she spat, "Kay!"

"[Demon summoner! Face the wing'ed night!]" Fading into sight was a young man with white hair, not unlike the man she was watching, but much, much younger with bright blue eyes. He wore the simple Arctican soldier's uniform - thin blue metal with some paint symbolizing his slight rank. "Face you demon - say where?"

"Kay, I'm working." She tipped back her black cowboy hat.

"Quiet quiescence."

Angel shook her head. Ever since being injected with the puberty enhancing drug all male Arcticans were required to take, her brother, who was called the Arctican equivalent of Winelord (because of his amazing capacity for all sorts of mind-altering ingestibles), had taken it and - ironically - lost his mind. Sometimes he was understandable. Most times he wasn't.

"Kay."

He waved his hand up and down in the direction of where her quarry went. "Bubble time, no, yes?"

She sighed. Why did they let him out? Probably because they couldn't stand him back home and hoped he would be found dead in a ditch somewhere. There was a Terran saying, "God takes care of children and fools."

"Next bubble," he said, and started following them.

"Kay!" She made herself invisible and followed him. The people he walked with were all in gray and lighter gray, except he had bright green accents - and Kay was heading right for him. He had pulled out a dagger and was within fifty yards when Dusty tackled him.

The two of them faded out of their invisibility as the group of men turned. He rolled her over, she rolled him over. He kicked her up, but not very hard - hard enough for the tail of her coat to fly over her head and her hips to tilt up, so the entire group had a clear and unobscured view under her miniskirt.

They only saw a white patch, before Kay shoved her sideways, she fell flat on her back in the ashes. With a laugh, Kay disappeared before her eyes.

The wind was knocked out of her, and her skirt had hiked up much higher than normal, almost all the way up to her hips. The men were grinning at her. She stood up, bent over and reached down for her hat, giving the men a view of how high her miniskirt had gone, and what enticements lay underneath. A couple of them started toward her.

She drew her sword quickly and held it against the two of them. She grinned broadly at them. "Sorry, sugah." She looked beyond them to the white haired man. "This heah package is for him."

He folded his arms across his chest and regarded her. She still hadn't fixed her skirt, and it rode up even higher so that a bare few inches covered her nether regions. His eyes went slowly from there, up to her slightly parted jacket showing just the smallest hint of what lay beneath that...

She grinned, turning invisible. He stared at the spot she had been, then turned to the other men. He took two steps, then felt something sharp poke him in five places at his butt and squeeze. He whirled around but heard the tinkling giggle on the wind, then saw the glimpse of a brown coat as the girl disappeared.

“Kat, kitty kat, kitty kat scratch!”

Katrina offered a little chuckle. “Yes, Bombardier?”

“Say, I need your help.”

Katrina looked up from mending the net to see that Bomber had gotten his chestplate off and his jacket unzippered. She peered at his chest, seeing something red or brown on light skin. She got up and walked over to him saying, “What can I do to help?”

“I’m trying to get this jacket off, but see the shoulder bars?”

Katrina parted the jacket and was immediately assaulted by the overpowering smell of sour alcohol. She stepped back at it. His chest was very very light, covered in scars that were either darker, or patches of almost olive with white lines, or deep dark red gouges.

“What?”

“You smell like you fell into a vat of vodka.”

“I didn’t.” He slapped a hand on his ventilator. "Can't smell it."

Katrina took a deep breath and parted the jacket on one side. He moved his arm a little to pull it forward while she pushed the shoulder back. She could see that it was indeed embedded in his arm.

“I will have to cut your jacket.”

He nodded. She went to the net and plucked the razor cutter from the deck. She tucked her hand down his shoulder and felt the bar with her fingers, then lifted the sleeve so she could cut a line parallel to the bar that connected the two bars on the outside, creating the hoop. She put the razor in the material and slit, but it didn’t go through.

“It’s armored.”

“Figures.”

She got the scissors. Nothing. Then she got the wire cutters. Nothing. She pressed with her thumbs, to try and find a spot that was soft, or at least thin. Klaus came walking down the dock to see her feeling along Bomber’s arm. “Vhat you do?”

“I’m trying to get his jacket off…”

“The bars are in the way,” Bomber said.

“Cut ze bars.”

Bomber nodded. “Could do that. How?”

“It’s easier to cut the jacket, papa.”

“Not if armored.” Klaus walked over and tugged the jacket. “Kevlar.”

“Kevlar is broken down with ultraviolet rays,” Bomber said. “Also radiation. My arms have been exposed, so somewhere there has to be a more susceptible place. Don’t ask me how I know, because I don’t.”

“How do we find it?”

“Slash away.”

“But your jacket will be ruined.”

He shrugged. “I can buy a new one.”

Katrina started a few inches above the bars. It wasn’t until about the middle of his shoulder that she found a spot that she could slash through a few inches. After fighting with the material and his arm, the finally squeezed the bar through, and then he tried to pull his arm out.

“The gloves are attached.”

“Kolera,” Katrina spat, and turned her attention to them. They didn’t come off from pulling, so she looked around for a latch, a lock, a twist – she found it connected to the jacket. She twisted the fat band connecting his glove to the jacket and felt it release. She had to unscrew it a little, and then pulled the glove off.

It was his right hand, the hand that pulled the trigger of his gun, what he considered was his weak hand. She stared at it for a moment, then it was pulled out of her hands as he shrugged his arm out of the coat.

“There! Half off!”

Barechested, he was covered over in scars, a few huge gaping almost gouges in his arm and chest. Bits of skin were different colors; a very light white to a slightly darker hue, with scars all around as if they had been sewn on. The bar on the arm went all the way around, bulging under his skin.

Bomber caught her look. “How bad is it?”

“Mirror,” was the only thing she could say.

Klaus stared at him too, but his face was impassive. “Razor,” he said, holding his hand out for Katrina to give him the razor cutter. He had twisted the glove off, and was working on the shoulder. Katrina put a hand to her mouth in shock seeing Bomber's other arm.

“Get bucket,” Klaus snapped. “Soup un vater.”

Klaus turned to Bomber as Katrina almost dashed into the cabin. “Jew lucky, I see var.”

“How bad is it?”

“Bat. Very bat.”

The alcohol smell was stronger as he got the other sleeve off. Katrina reappeared with the bucket full of soap and water. “Mirror,” Klaus ordered, as Bomber bent to the bucket.

Bomber took the sponge with his right and the soap with his left, and stopped, dropping them both into the bucket. He started at his right hand, small, dainty, with tiny nails and a slight yellowish tinge to the skin. His left hand came into view – large, square like a shovel, callused and rough, darker colored, with small patches of white all along his forearm. Both looked like they hadn’t seen sunlight in quite some time, though the darker colored parts seemed like simple natural pigments.

Then he picked up the razor with the dainty hand and whispered, “Prick me, do I not bleed?” and slashed his left arm. Katrina saw it and gasped, but Klaus only shook his head at her and held up his hand. Blood didn’t flow, but oozed out of the wound, thick, almost black, with the alcohol smell attached instead of the normal scent of iron.

Bomber touched the blood with the dainty fingers of his right hand, then pinched it between his fingers, watching as tiny threads spread between his fingertips as he pulled the fingers away from each other, then back together.

He whispered something, then turned to Klaus grabbed him by the front of his shirt and screamed at him, “PUT IT BACK!”

The two of them moved to get Bomber dressed again, while he suddenly froze in place. They lifted his arm, got the bars back through, reconnected his gloves. He stayed there, unmoving, until sunset.

“Longbow. Files.”

“Yes.” He watched the green android, who focused steadily on him. He had asked her to help him access them.

“Why.”

“I need to find Hisagi. Daisuke’s brother.”

She took a fingertip off her hand and connected the Ethernet cord directly to it. “Last. Name.”

“Matsumoto.”

He waited. Her body twitched once or twice, then she said, “Faultline. Training.”

“Faultine’s pretty big, Grav.”

“Wears. Longbow. GPS. Device.”

“Can you get a fix on him?”

“Working.” He couldn’t tell, but he believed that she was hard at work trying to get in and cover her own tracks. Longbow wouldn’t just let a computer into its systems – it would have safeguards, there would be things in place to stop her or slow her down, or bombard her.

“Guardian. Matsumoto. Overlook. Dam. Control. Room. 1839. Hours.”

Masonry glanced at the clock, it was 7 pm. If he was just starting his shift… He hugged the android. “Thanks Grav.”

“Affirmative.” Masonry took the teleporter to his base, and then to Faultline. If Grav could feel scared, she would have never done that again.

As Daisuke practiced walking back and forth across the room, Masonry said, "I talked to your brother last night."

Daisuke stopped to focus on him. "What happened? What did you say?"

"I told him he was stupid for joining up with Longbow to go after George. That he might as well put a target on his chest - Daisuke, what's wrong?"

"Longbow? He's *with* Longbow?"

Both of them knew Longbow weren't the perfect group of angels that the press and the Phalanx made them out to be. Mase had almost killed the son of one of them, and Guardian Page grudgingly kept an eye on him throughout most of his tenure with the team. Not to mention how they were compromised and how E almost lost his daughter.

"That's what he said, to try and alleviate my fears."

"But George was arrested for killing Longbow."

"Supposedly he still is." Mase started absently plucking lint from the blanket on the bed to avoid looking at Daisuke.

"Mase, Mase - "

He looked up at Daisuke, whose face carried worry, frustration, and fear all at the same time.

"You have to stop him." He motioned around the room. "I would but I *can't*!"

Mase's eyes bored into Daisuke's. "How do you expect me to do that? Beat him into the ground? He won't listen to words."

"Did you tell him why George was there?"

"Didn't you?"

"No, I didn't get a chance to - he ran out." Daisuke approached Masonry. He bent low so that his face was level with Mase's. He said quietly, almost a whisper, "Mase, find him, tell him. You've got to stop him. Whatever it takes..."

Masonry peeked around the corner of the doorframe and looked into the dimly lit room. Most of the light came from machines surrounding the still form in the bed.

He looked around, saw that Fyre had stepped out. He nodded to himself, went inside. He took a position next to the bed, on the opposite side of the chair that Fyre usually occupied.

"Hey, E, how's it going? I talked to Fyre a couple of days ago. She said it's not better or worse."

Masonry absently traced some of the glowing green scars on E's arm as he spoke. "Sorry I haven't been around. I've been with Frosty. He's out of the woods now. He found his father - something about his father lost his memories and was working for some villain over in the Isles. Him and his wife. His wife's still there and he wants to save her, but his best friend George - that's Frosty's old man, his guardian - he's over there too, and his dad thinks George is going to try and save his wife. Whoever this villain is who used them, his dad talks about him like you used to with Styrm, with reverence and awe. I guess if someone can make you into a puppet, that's how you sort of feel about him.

"Styrm's still not talking. I know they won't let me back into the Zig unless I was a prisoner again, and then I wouldn't last long. I'm sure they're not using the same kind of methods that I would - he'd still be able to talk, but he wouldn't be able to walk. Or eat."

He sighed, caught himself tracing the scars and stopped. "Frosty and I..." He looked up at E's face. "I love him like no other," he whispered. He chuckled a little and looked down at E's chest. "It's not what you think, it's not sex, believe me. I'd do anything for him, anything. I'd give up my life for him, without a second thought. But thing is, I know he he'd never ask me to do that, and that makes it all the more poignant. I don't know how to explain it. I comfort him and he brings me joy." He smiled up at E again. "He brings me peace."

Masonry coughed, looked around. "Yeah, well, enough roses and chocolate crap. I don't think you need to hear it, nor do you really care. He should be getting out of the hospital in a couple of weeks. I don't know where he's going - probably back home. Then I'll be free to rampage through the city again all by my lonesome, I suppose. Futura might keep me busy - we got a whole slue of new recruits and a couple of them are pretty interesting. Jack knows them, so it's kinda funny."

He caught himself tracing E's scars again. "Yeah, well, anyway..." He leaned forward, his face close to E's. "Jason, I know you're in there, somewhere. Please come back."

Masonry closed his eyes and gently kissed E's forehead. He whispered, "I miss you."

(grr. This is what happened when I threw the muse M&M's and told her I wanted Bomber lucid. It's not working...)

Katrina looked over the man lying on the floor of her father's tugboat. They woke up one morning and there he was. Her father, Klaus, had a good sense of people, took one look at him and his gun and pronounced him "harmless". Katrina thought her father lost his mind.

They fed him. Like a stray cat, he stayed. He would disappear around dusk and reappear by sunrise curled up in the nets again. He didn't say much - Klaus's English left much to be desired, so it was a pretty quiet boat.

Katrina's husband had died in a storm a few years back. Her father was a crusty sort, and the two of them always got along. He had been almost crushed when she married, and was thrilled when she came back to the boat. She didn't mind.

They decided to keep him because he seemed to know where the fish ran. They went out one day, and then he told them in a panicked voice to stop. When they did, he grabbed the nets and threw them over the side.

Klaus demanded "Vhat you do! Ve arr too close to ze dock!"

He put a finger to his helmet - "Shhh. I feel the sea monster." He tip-toed around the boat, motioning for them to sit down. They did, and he tip-toed back and forth. Katrina said to her father in Polish, "When we get back, Papa, we need to tell him to go."

Then he stopped, cocked his head. He suddenly bent to the nets. "Quickly! Haul them up!"

All three pulled, and Katrina could tell by the pulling that there was something heavy in the net. When the edge of the net crested over the starboard rails, fish spilled out. Not just any fish. Pounds and pounds of cod - fish in high demand in this part of town. Fish that could be sold quickly and easily. They could take a couple of days off.

After selling the catch, Klaus was going to hand him a third, but he refused it. "I got money stashed. You need it to repair the crack over near the bow."

"Vhat crack?"

He dove over the side, looking up expectantly at Klaus. Klaus waved his hand, saying, "Vhere?"

He jumped out of the water and tagged an area. "It's not in the water, it's above the waterline, but the crack might be heading south, if you know what I mean."

Klaus nodded, they took a few days off, moored the boat and did some repairs that he hadn't found. They stayed in the apartment - he slept out on the balcony because he said he wanted to. Then this morning...

Bomber had taken to sitting at the docks with his helmet off. He could smell the sea, the rotting fish, the garbage, which didn't bother him much. He could feel the cool breeze off the water, and sometimes the wetness of some spray caused by a distant boat. His ears were peeled for any tell-tale walking or slither of movement: one hand was on his rifle while his helmet was safely tucked between his legs.

He heard someone approach, so he picked up the rifle and held it loosely in his arms. His finger found the trigger. He had worked with this weapon long enough that he automatically placed his hands in the right places.

"Take it easy, Mickey," came a voice to his left, and he shifted the gun so that the barrel pointed in that direction. "Put that down."

"I don't know you. I can't see you. You know what happens when people get scared and they can't see you and they're backed into a corner and someone comes at them and you know what that person in the corner would do to you?"

"I can get an idea."

"Good, because I don't feel like getting shot."

"Mmmmkay." Bomber felt the man come closer, and he pointed the gun up a little higher. "Mickey, I'm here to help you."

"So is that my name? I thought it was Bombardier."

"It was supposed to be, but it didn't quite work out that way."

"Who are you?"

"You don't remember me?"

"Should I?"

The man chuckled. "Good. Very good."

"I hate when people do that, it sounds like something very evil is going to come down the pike. Do you know anything about sea monsters?"

"Actually, I do. I am one."

"Oh. Gonna eat me, then?"

"Actually, I will." Then Bomber felt something on his head, like a vise, something wrapped around his skull and started to crush it.

He didn't have the helmet, so he had no protection, and he felt his skull get tighter, and smaller, and heard the crack of the bones of his skull - he uttered only a small scream before he felt his head break open.

The connection re-esablished as he came out of consciousness. He could see through the darkness of the disposed metal crate, knew he was alone here. Nobody would come into this box, it's a tomb.

Mickey, Mickey, Mickey.

He whirled around, grabbing his gun from the floor of the box, looking all around him.

The levee breaks...where's your microphone?

"Two turntables," he muttered.

Go north to Chicago.

"Swan..."

Hummingbird! We're all free now.

Bomber sat on the floor of the box, continuing his disjointed conversation until the sunlight erupted through the hole in the ceiling of the box, centering on the floor near his hand.

"Goin' to Chicago...goin' down...goin' down now..." He tried to grab at the shaft of light, but it escaped his grasp.

For some of Luther's backstory.

August, 1942

Ten men stood in the lobby of Wewelsburg castle, handing their coats off to the lower-ranking SS men dressed in formal whites.

"I could get used to this," said one, brown-haired but with red, almost glowing eyes.

"Don't," snapped a handsome blond. "We're here because the Reichsführer-SS wants us.”

An older member of the ten men, with milky white eyes that would normally mean he was blind, focused those eyes on one of the white-clad boys. The young man swallowed and looked nervous.

“Ges,” said another blond, this one with a short beard.

Ges only grinned ferally and turned to him. “Blut.”

Blut blinked slowly, shaking his head. “Stop.”

“Heil Hitler, mein Herren,” came a voice at the foot of a set of stairs. They turned to see a man in a black SS uniform, unlike the field gray they wore. They all turned and answered the officer, offering the stiff-armed salute.

The man came over and looked at the handsome blond. “Good to see that Rommel released you, Reichsführer der Schlachtfeld.”

“He is preparing for the final thrust into the Nile, Obersturmbannführer,” he replied. “Another couple of months and the Tommies will be eliminated.”

“So we have heard, that is excellent news. Come with me, gentlemen?”

The ten men followed the young man down into the depths of the castle. The air grew cooler and thicker. A young member of the group balked, but Blut put a hand on his shoulder and they continued down stairs and stone tunnels. The largest of them had to squeeze sideways through the doorway.

Finally, they came upon a large round room. A multi-armed swastika was in the center of the floor. The Reichsführer der Schlachtfeld shivered. Magic.

The Reichsführer-SS, Heinrich Himmler, stepped out from an alcove. He wore a fake smile pasted on his face. Himmler and the Reichsführer der Schlachtfeld hated each other, and their animosity came off in waves. “Luther,” Himmler said, calling him by his first name, offering his hand.

Luther refused it, looking up into Himmler’s watery blue eyes with his own steel grey ones. “What do you want of us?”

Himmler took it back, looking like he actually expected Luther do that. “Your men will be embarking on the greatest excursion any man has ever done.”

“Heard that before,” muttered the twin brother of the man who had said he could get used to being waited on. He spoke in English, and only two other men in the room knew what he said. Their eyes laughed, but they kept focused on Himmler. The small man accepted the translation from Blut in his mind, who then used his telepathic ability to disseminate it among the rest of the men. The twin brother coughed for a moment as Himmler continued on:

“Luther, you and your Jagerverbande are going to go back in time.”

The room was silent. The big man to the rear rumbled, “You’re serious.”

“He’s very serious,” said Luther, studying Himmler. “How far back in time?”

“We are thinking maybe three years. Knowing what we know about you now, we could have utilized you on the Eastern Front.”

Luther glared at him. “You had us then! You could have used us THEN!”

Himmler blinked like a cow. “We did not.”

Luther seethed. “No. You did not.”

The two men glared at each other. Finally Luther snarled, “When is this wondrous journey expected to take place?”

“Tomorrow at dawn.” He motioned to the vault. “You will stay here, meditate and prepare yourselves.”

“Wait,” said the big man, “Nothing to eat?”

“You must be pure when undertaking such a difficult journey.”

Luther rolled his eyes heavenward. “Twelve hours won’t kill us. We’ve gone through worse.” The men nodded, and Himmler looked them all over.

“Stier, the man who is a bull.” He said this to the large man in the back, the one who mentioned not eating. “Eule,” he went over to the young man, “the mind reader. Feuer and Pfiel, the fire user and the sniper.” He looked at the two twins.

“Blut, he who reads auras. Ges, he who works in the shadow. Messer, the knife thrower;” he nodded to a young man. “Sani the healer,” he said this to a very pretty blond man. “Wolf, the rabbit’s foot.” This was offered to a man who refused to cut his hair, but had it pulled back in a tight pony tail – entirely against SS regulations, but he seemed to always get out of any punishment detail. “And Luther. The immortal.”

Luther’s eyes narrowed. “I think you are misinformed.”

“Oh no,” Himmler said with a smile. “The Führer told me.”

Luther couldn’t counter that with anything – he had been the one who told the Führer himself.

Himmler gathered up his coat against the chill air of the vault. “Be prepared and vigilant, gentlemen, for tomorrow you ride.”

He and his entourage of five left the room, leaving the ten men to stare at each other in disbelief.
-----------------------------------------

Glossary: (All ranks, titles, and German words are real except otherwise noted)

Reichsführer der Schlactfeld (Overlord of the Battlefield - fictional) Reserved for Luther only, the title was presented to him by Hitler in 1941 during the first invasion of Russia.

Reichsführer-SS. Reserved for Heinrich Himmler, leader of the SS.

Obersturmbannführer – Lieutenant Colonel in the SS. Abbreviated Obstbf.

Tommies - slang for British/Commonwealth soldiers.

"I'm getting sick and tired of sucking my meals through a straw."

The Facemaker nurse looked the...man over. He was well-covered so she couldn't see the details of his body. He stood lopsidedly, which meant one leg was shorter than the other. He was encased in the armor, and she doubted she could get it off easily. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

"So you want your helmet off?"

"And to be able to put it back on."

"Oh, sure. Do you want your head to remain on this body?" She wasn't being sarcastic.

"Could you do that? I'd appreciate it." Neither was he.

She beckoned to one of the side rooms. She had him lay on the bed and restrained him. He put his arms in the right places - he had been in such a position before, she realized. She opened a drawer that presented her with everything from a scalpel to a hacksaw. She examined the helmet with a critical eye.

She heard a noise coming from the helmet. She stared at it, blinking. He had fallen asleep.

Shrugging, she took out a screwdriver and jammed it into a side hole. That woke him up with a cry, and she smiled under her mask. She dug the screwdriver in more, and started prying, trying to separate the two halves. That didn't quite work. She went after the seam between the front and back. That only succeeded in scratching the helmet because she couldn't gain purchase in the seams.

Another Facemaker peeked in, just as she had a mallet and chisel in her hand and was aiming it at that seam. "Hey, Krissie, don't do it like that."

"Huh?" Krissie looked up at the other Facemaker.

He walked into the room. "I've seen these helmets before. It's easy." He walked over to the wing that was on the side of the helmet, pressed a black button and pulled the wing forward. It turned on a wheel and clicked.

The light hiss of air was followed by a small "snap" as the front and back separated. To anyone else, the smell eminating from that would make them nauseous at the very least. Rot, combined with sweat, dirt, and fear, Facemakers had dealt with worse, both in looks and smell, so this was nothing to them - not to mention the ventilation device on their masks helped.

Slightly disappointed, the first nurse peeled away the helmet and stared, blinking. Anyone else would have recoiled.

He had unhealed sutures all over his face. His eyes were sealed shut. She glanced at her scalpel to wonder if she should try to cut them open. He had scars on the back of his head, testament to more unhealed or inadequately healed wounds.

The man on the bed took a deep breath and coughed. "Ugh, what is that smell?"

"You," the Facemaker said, slowly undoing his restraints. "When was the last time you had a bath?"

"I don't remember. Where are you?"

Meanwhile, the Facemaker looked inside the helmet: there was a black protrusion on both sides of the front section of the helmet. There were two holes on the side of the man' head - these would correspond to the protrusions.

The Facemaker stated, "You're blind, you know that?"

"Oh, that explains why everything's dark! I thought I looked so ugly that you didn't want anyone to see me so you shut the lights off."

"There is that," she said. "There's a connection inside your helmet that helps you see, I guess."

"Hm." He held out his hand. "Where's my helmet?"

She handed him the front part. He felt the protrusions on the side, then fit them to his head with a slight click. "Still can't see."

"Maybe you need to put the whole helmet back on."

He nodded, and she handed him the second part. Then she took his hand and showed him how the wing section worked - though he would have to take his glove off to do it, or have someone do it for him because it was a small hole. "Or stick something in the hole to hold the button down."

"Got anything I can use?"

She looked around and got a pen, handing it to him. He practiced opening and closing the helmet a few times, then put it back on. He gasped for a moment. "Oh, there everything is. It takes a little bit to warm up." He turned to the Facemaker. "So, how much?"

"Three K."

He ducked a hand under his breastplate. "Here's three and fifty. Thanks for your help."

"Sure. Let me know if you need anything else removed."

"I might." He walked out of the Facemaker's with a grin, thinking of a thick steak dinner. "I wonder how blind people eat..."

"I want the ability to kill without compunction..."
Masonry's conditions to Styrm when "the plant" asked him to join.

(This takes place many many months after Frosty gets out of the hospital)

"I'll quit the Freedom Force."

Keen Frost turned to Masonry and smiled. "Mase, they won't let you. Parole."

"Hide me. It's another freakin' country!" At Frost's look, Masonry stood up and folded his arms across his chest. "Yeah, I know. I'm whining."

"You are whining. It's only six months. I'll be back in no time."

Six months. Did Frosty have any idea how much trouble he could get into in six months? How he could possibly mess up his parole? Only Jack could stop him now, and a lot of people knew how effective that was.

So when the airplane carrying Frosty turned into a small speck in the sky, Masonry looked around the airport in a killing mood. He hated everyone and everything...

The Isles.

He grinned ferally. Of course, why didn't I think of that before? If I tell the parole officer where I'm going, it doesn't matter, as long as I check in every month and, on the Isles...what's another few dead bodies?

Jack didn't like the idea, but, then, he didn't have much of a choice. Mase contacted a few people who got him passage to the Isles. For about two weeks, he lived in Port Oakes, beating the few Family and Council that he found. Then some Hellions started hanging around him. Thought he was cool. Thought he was strong and could handle himself - and protect them from other sharks in the water.

So he does. As long as they do what he says and they keep the doe-eyed worship that they came to him with. Otherwise... what's another few dead bodies?

Angel tossed her hat at the coatrack and missed. "Chah," she snapped.

A man's deep voice chuckled. "[Someday you will hit it,]" he said in Arctican.

Angel looked at the man seated at his desk, his boots up on it in the pose of being very comfortable. He had dark red hair, and was dressed in dark blue colored armor with light blue triangles that looked like fangs at his collar. "[Anything new?]" he asked.

"[I met someone,]" she said, taking off her jacket and draping it on the armless couch.

"[Is that good or bad?]"

She chuckled, went over to the man. "[Good, I believe.]"

The man put his legs down, took her hands and held them to his chest. She smiled at him. He closed his glowing blue eyes, eyes that on another planet would be useful in their ability to see in infrared, but on this planet was too bright. He took a deep breath and breathed on her hands, freezing them.

Angel removed her hands, flexing her fingers, letting the ice fall off. "[Someday we should attempt that the way humans do.]"

"[I understand I cannot.]"

Angel shrugged. "[If there were a pure Arctican female I am sure it can be provided. I understand surrogates may be used...]"

"[We could test it. But not today.]" He motioned to the array of computer screens. "[Kay has abandoned his post - again - to chase...] butterflies?"

"[Small winged creatures that would be no where near here.]"

"[Then why does he chase them?]"

"[Why does he do anything, Blood? I am so glad that the Acceleration Injection did not affect you like that.]"

Another huge man entered the room. "[Sister. Brother.]"

They both saluted him. "Fox," they both said. He looked similar to Blood, but he did not wear armor like his brother. His "armor" was thinner, more like material, that allowed his natural ability to flow through - the ability to create ice around him. All Arcticans had this ability - he honed it and used it in public, especially on Earth, where it was thought to be unusual.

He had black hair, angular features, and green almond eyes. Earth women were jealous of his thick black lashes and enjoyed his easy manner. He was able to easily present the beneficial side of joining the Winters in their work on the Isles. He worked mostly in Paragon City, while his family ran through the Rogue Isles.

"[Been dancing again, Angel?]"

She grinned at them. "[How else do you expect me to gather information?]"

Fox blinked slowly and focused on his sister. "[So you provide your body to any of them,]" he waved his hand absently southward, "[for what?]"

"[Some satisfy me.]" She glanced at Blood.

"[By sticking a part inside you that does not belong there. You enjoy that?]"

"[Just because you do not does not mean that I do!]"

"[She is still half-human,]" Blood said quietly. "[It is possible that it is required.]"

Fox turned slowly to Blood. "[Terran males disgust me. They are wrongly placed.]"

"[They think the same of us,]" Angel said. "[Who are you to tell me what to do? You may be a Frost, but I can command you.]"

He turned to his sister. "[Then do so.]"

She advanced, then pressed her hands against his chest, and Fox gasped, moved backwards. She chased him until he hit the wall, and he shook his head. "[Stop.]"

She hit his chest and he grunted in pain, holding the area. "[For your information, Fox, I have found something out.]"

"Huh," he said, trying to regain his breath.

"[There is someone who has requested my services - other than the human version of pleasure. He wishes me to watch someone.]"

Blood chuckled from the other end of the room. "[And this is important why?]"

"[He seems to be a leader of men.]"

"[We could form a coalition with him.]"

"[I do not think he is open to that suggestion just yet. It is his will and no one else's, I could sense that.]" She glanced at Fox who now stood up, the paleness of his face apparent. "[I will watch this man, it may be that the other man is more important.]"

"Competition, [I believe Terrans call it.]"

Fox only nodded. "[Do as you think best, my Lady.]"

She smiled and walked out of the room. "[Who knows? Maybe he will satisfy me as well as Blood.]"

Masonry leaned back in his chair, his head back, and almost falling asleep, when he heard a sharp rap on the window. He jerked awake, turned toward the sound.

He got up and went to the window, tugging at the sash and opening the curtain. He chuckled at the sight that met him and threw open the window. "Hey, Star."

"Hello Lodestar Nathan. You see Keen Frost?" The woman floated on her white wings in the air outside.

"Yeah."

"He better?"

"He's stable. Doctors are trying to get some nutrients in him to get his organs working right again. It's slow going." He looked down at the window pane. "He hasn't woken up yet."

"Rest heal?"

"That's what Jack says. I want to try and heal him, but I'm afraid to."

"Ummmm...N'shta say do what feel right."

He smiled a little. "When the time comes."

She nodded. "I go fly."

"You do that. I'll see you later."

She went straight up into the air and Mase closed the window.

About three hours later, Mase was gently caressing Frosty's arm, healing himself when he could no longer feel his fingertips. Frosty still generated frostbite, but it didn't mind Mase. To him it was a small discomfort.

Providence had come in to see him and drag him and Fyre away for a quick lunch. Both of them were distracted, and Prov understood that, so kept her chatter to a minimum. Food was sustenance, not something to be enjoyed yet. As soon as they were finished, they both almost ran back upstairs to their vigils.

Mase's focus was on Frosty, on caressing his arm. Mase rested his head on his own arm stretched across the bed railing and didn't hear someone come into the room.

"Mase."

Masonry jerked up at the voice, looking like a deer in headlights. He blushed suddenly and jumped up from his chair. "Hi..." he coughed, "Hi, Hisagi."

Hisagi crossed his arms and regarded Masonry with a stern look which eased up quickly. The two men switched places. "How is he?"

"No change since I called you."

"Hm." He gazed at his brother.

"I'm going to wait outside."

Hisagi nodded. Masonry went over to the busy nurse's station. One of them looked up and smiled, "Hi, Mr. Greene."

"Hey, Carol. Busy, I see."

"Shift change."

"You're staying?"

She nodded. "A double."

"That must be rough on your family."

"I don't have one."

"Not even a boyfriend?"

She looked down and blushed. "No."

"Are you serious? A pretty girl like you without a boyfriend? We should remedy that."

She blushed even more. One of the other nurses came by. "You like to make her blush," she said in heavily accented English.

"Wamuiru," Masonry said, and Jack fed him the rest of the words in Swahili, "[I am surrounded here by beautiful women, and it's only right and proper to make them happy.]"

Wamuiru laughed deeply. "[You like to see them blush, don't deny it.]"

"That too," Masonry said with a grin. "Maybe on your break, I can take you for coffee." He looked to the two of them, "Both of you."

They both smiled back at him. "Maybe," said Carol.

A male doctor glanced their way and said with a smile, "Mr. Greene, stop flirting with the hired help."

"Oh, should I flirt with you too, Dr. Eastman?"

The entire station started laughing, even while Eastman blushed slightly - and so did Masonry. He looked up at a round mirror that was mostly used for people to glance up at in case a cart was coming down the hall so they could avoid collisions. He could see the doorways of four rooms, one of which was Frosty's.

He nodded to Dr. Eastman, who came their way. "Any change?"

He shook his head. "None at all. His core body temperature is still -28 Celsius."

Masonry nodded. "Will there be any...damage if he doesn't wake up during a certain time?"

"I doubt it. His brain activity is still steady. I've seen something like this before in other heroes. He's in hibernation. If anything, he'll freeze."

Masonry's eyes widened slightly.

"I don't believe he'll freeze to death, Mr. Greene. Like I said, I've seen this before." He smiled. "As he warms up, we need to make sure there's no permanent damage to his organs because he didn't take in anything during that entire time he was on fire." He glanced at a screen. "Unfortunately the nutrients aren't going in because they're freezing as soon as they reach his skin. We need to add something to at least get it in his blood stream."

"Is his blood frozen?"

"It is very, very, very sluggish. The IV drip is down to one every five minutes."

"I can probably warm parts of his body, but not all at once, not without..." He swallowed and looked away.

"It's all right, Mr. Greene. We just need to take it slow."

Mase glanced up at the mirror again and saw Stronghold come out of the room. He glanced at Masonry, then the doctor. "This is Daisuke's brother," Masonry introduced him.

"We've already spoken," Stronghold said. He glanced around, looking like he was in a hurry.

"Oh, right. You're his next of kin, sorry." Mase turned away. "I'm going... back."

"Call me if there's any change, Mase. Doctor." He went down the hall, a man with a purpose.

Eastman glanced at Mase. Masonry smiled a little. "He's always like that." Though he acted a little more harried than usual.

"Do you want a TV in there?"

He shook his head. "I like the quiet. You get used to it after a while. Plus Jack is full of stories to keep me entertained."

"Jack? Oh, your Kheldian."

He smiled. "Does he need to sign a request for release of information, too?"

"I think the HIPPA rules don't quite apply," Eastman replied with a smile. "I'll check in on him soon."

Masonry nodded, turned to the two nurses who had gone back to work. "Remember, Carol, 'Iru. Breaktime."

"If you are not asleep, Mr. Greene," said Wamuiru.