The Becoming (Super Heroes)

[Imperial Overlord]

There is a long running free form RPG being run at Librium Arcana which is a super heroes game set in 2010 on an alternate Earth. This is the background of my character, which I've been writing over at Librium and have decided to cross post here. Enjoy.

In a place beyond the comprehension of most humans, two kings fought in the void. They were terrible beings with alien minds, unsympathetic to man and ruthless to their own kind. They were immortal, but not unkillable, god like in power and diabolical in their cunning. The commanded vast powers and wielded terrible weapons. If man in his ignorance chose to call them demons, even if he was wrong he was not far from the mark. Their servants and soldiers slaughtered each other on what could be termed the sidelines of the battle as the kings struggled against each other and space itself threatened to collapse with the fury of their exchange.

Then one king struck a mortal blow, blasting the other apart and scattering pieces of his not flesh through space. But what never truly lives can never truly die. The demon king possessed neither heart nor brain, but each and ever shred of his flesh was invested with a fraction of his malign intelligence and terrible power. As his armies fled the field and those of the victory hunted down and consumed every piece they could find, one tiny fragment fled through a rift in space-time opened by the battle.

It drifted between worlds, rudimentary senses searching for viable prey to feast on. It found noting. It was too weak, too tiny, damaged too much by the death-trauma of its original being. There, there was something suitable. Not as a prey, but as a host. It was small, weak, but aligned with those forces that humans sometimes called magic and sometimes had much more complicated and scientific terms for. Neither mattered to the fragment. Only survival mattered.

It slipped into the being's world and through the walls of flesh surrounding it. Tendrils thinner than hair slid into the prospective host, converging around the organs that would sustain the host's life. The survivor drew in the rest of its body. There power flow was tied to the underdeveloped nerve cluster of the host, but that could not risk being tampered with. The survivor tied itself into several nerve chains and blood vessels as it phased in and became solid within the mass of its host. The being kicked and resisted, but it was no matter. The bonding had been accomplished.

January 17th, 1982

"Are you okay Mary?" said David Hawkings. He and Mary were sitting on the couch, watching the news and talking about the Radley-Gold Act and the "implications of super-powered vigilantiasm" (his position) and "using powers for the public good" (her position). His wife had gone suddenly pale.

"It's alright honey," she said smiling. Mary Hawkings was a beautiful woman when she smiled. "The baby justed kicked, that's all."

"Really?" he said, extending his hand toward's his wife's belly. "That's wonderful!"

February 6, 1982

"Are you alright?" David asked his wife. She had been morose the last few weeks. He had gotten use to her mood swings, or so he had thought, but the last two weeks had been pretty mad. Now she was sulking around the kitchen. "Do you want to go out to a movie or something?"

"No," she said listlessly. "I'm just tired." She slumped down on the couch.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked.

"No!" she shouted. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just tired of everything. This shitty apartment. Tired of being short of money all the time. Tired of being god damn pregnant."

"I thought you wanted the baby."

"I do. I did. I-, I don't really know." She burst into tears. "I just want it over with! I want things to get better!"

February 25, 1982

David Hawkings opened the door to his apartment, dreading his wife's mood. He was so god damn tired, working long hours for peanuts. And Mary, well Mary was sulking and angry all the time. Her time was so close. What if she didn't change after the baby came. What the fuck was he going to do then?

"Honey, I'm home."

"I'm in the bedroom," she replied sullenly. David took off his jacket and untied his work boots before heading across the living room to the bedroom. The fucking neighbors were arguing again.

"Everything alright?" he asked. "I was just going to start dinner."

"I don't want it," she said. She was swaddled in blankets and lying on her side. The light was out.

Christ. Not this again. "It's just the hormones honey. Once you see the baby, you'll love it." She just lay there.

"Promise me," she said.

"What?"

"If things don't change, after the baby comes, you'll get rid of it. You'll give it away."

"Honey, it won't-"

"Promise me."

Oh God. "Alright," he said. "I promise." What the fuck was he going to do?

March 13, 1982

Mary lay there, looking away. Angela came towards him, holding the baby. "He's beautiful boy," the midwife said smiling. Mary hadn't wanted a hospital. She had insisted against a hospital.

"Yeah, he is," said David reluctantly. A beautiful boy, this kid that had poisoned his marriage. He took him reluctantly. He was so light.

"Can we talk in the other room?" Angela asked softly.

"Sure." They walked into the living room.

"It looks like Mary's undergoing something like postpartum depression. You need to get her to some kind of counseling. A doctor or a priest."

"Alright." It wouldn't do any good. Nothing would. Not as long as the baby was here. He could knew that in his bones. He opened his wallet and took out five bills. "Here's the rest of what we owe you."

"See that she gets help," Angela said. "She shouldn't be left alone with the baby."

'I will," said David. The midwife bundled up to leave. David walked over to his wife. "I'll keep my promise."

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

Later that night a baby, wrapped in a blanket and placed in a basket, was dropped off in a hospital lobby. It had been a cold night, no one had gotten a good look at the bundled up man who had left it. No one had really paid attention at all until the baby started crying.

[Imperial Overlord]

April 28, 1988

Elaine Crawford folded her arms together on her desk. It was hot as hell at her desk because the building's heat wasn't working again, but that was just one more annoyance in the life of a career civil servant.

"Mister and Misses Petrovich, I hope you understand the magnitude of this decision. David has been through a lot. Abandoned at birth, put through the system, rejected by two families after living with them, and removed from a third because of abuse. He's a nice kid, very bright, but he's not very well socially adjusted and not at all trusting. He's going to need a lot of time and love. This is a big commitment. Are you ready for it?"

Ivan Petrovich leaned forward. He was a handsome man in his late thirties. "Life's been very good to us, Miz Crawford. We want to give something back. Giving a good home to a good kid who could really use one, well that sounds like something we can do."

"We would love to have another child," said Susan Petrovich. "We have a room ready and everything. We don't expect it to be easy, but we can give him a good home. We can give him the love he needs."

"Alright," said Elaine. "I'll go to bat and see to placement. Good luck to you." She rose and extended her hand.

"Thank you," said Ivan as they shook.

"Yes, thank you," said Susan.


May 12, 1988

"There it is," said Susan, pointing. "Our house."

"It's so big," said little David.

"Yes it is. And we have a room set up just for you," she said as her husband drove the BMW up the drive way. A touch of the remote and the garage door opened and then closed behind them. They entered the house through the side door.

"Kids," Ivan said, "we're home." A boy roughly twelve years old and a girl about nine, both as blonde as their parents appeared. "This is Heather and John. This is David. He's going to be living with us so make him welcome."

John came over to David and extended his hand. "Hi."

"Hi," said David and shook his hand.

Heather waved. "Hi," she said shyly.

"So what you kids been up to?" asked Ivan.

"Watching the news," said John.

"Really?" said Ivan skeptically.

"Well, they're talking about the Project: Panopticon thing. The super prison. They had some radical footage of Ultima Teams Bravo and Gamma kicking the crap out of some of the guys they want to house there."

"Ah ha. Come on David, let's show you around the house."

July 6, 1988

Susan knocked on the door. "Hey David. Is it alright if I come in?"

"Sure." The dark haired boy was stretched out on his bed, reading The Hobbit.

Susan had a package wrapped with a blue cloth under her arm. "How are you doing?"

"Good."

"How did you like the Fourth?"

"It was real cool," he said his eyes lighting up. "Especially the barbecue."

"Glad you liked it. You seem to be settling in pretty well."

"Yeah, everyone's real nice and stuff. And I don't really mind doing chores and stuff." He was becoming edgy.

"You seem a little worried. Everything alright?"

"Well . . . " he hedged. "I'm afraid it won't last. People don't like me. They send me away."

"We love you. We aren't going to send you anywhere. Which reminds me, I have something for you."

"What?"

She unwrapped the package. Inside was a basket. Curled up sleeping was a black and grey tabby kitten. "Her name's Whisper," Susan said.

"Oh wow." David extended his hand and stroked the kitten softly. Whisper opened her eyes and liked his hand. She began to purr.

November 22, 1988

"I won't," said Heather. "I won't."

"Honey," said Susan. "We'll be back before midnight. We're just going out for a movie."

"I won't stay alone in the house with him!" she shouted, her eyes darting to David and then back.

January 7, 1989

David stalked the house. He could feel their eyes on him. He had done nothing wrong. He never did anything wrong and still they hated him. It always happened. Whisper was dozing on a chair. He approached the cat, kneeling down and stroking her.

Her eyes opened. She snarled at him and struck out with her claws, opening wounds on the palm of his hand before darting into a corner, her fur bristling.

He stepped back and sucked on the wounds. They were minor. He was pretty thick skinned and healed fast. The physical wounds at least. The emotional ones left scars.

April 9, 1989

"We're so sorry," said Susan, "but we can't have him in our house anymore. No one feels safe around him. We feel he could become violent at any moment. We have to think of our other children."

"We thought we could handle him, give him a good home. We were wrong," said Ivan. "We tried everything. We sent him to psychologists, but that didn't work. Nothing worked. We just have to get him out of our house before something terrible happens."

Elaine Crawford nodded and made notations. "I'll put things in motion," she said.

[Imperial Overlord]

June 5, 1992

The blonde cop slammed the fat man against the wall. "Given me an excuse and I'll make you a smear on the wall," the cop growled. "What's a matter? Don't like fucking with someone your own size."

The woman from child services lead two kids out of the house, one a little girl and the other a dark haired white kid about ten or so. Both had bruises on their arms.

"Hey!" the fat man said. "You can't fucking treat me like this. I have rights you motherfucker!"

"Yeah, you have the right to trip all the way down the fucking stairs motherfucker," said the cop. The black cop with the short hair smiled behind his mirror shades. "Just joking ma'am," said the blonde cop with a fake smile.

"Of course," she replied equally insincerely as she lead the kids out of the apartment. The boy lingered, shooting a dirty glance at the fat man. "Come on David," she said as she took his hand and urged him out the door.

March 13th, 1994

"Holy fuck," David whispered as he watched the pillars of smoke rise from the burning skyscrapers. "Holy fuck."

Tiny figures darted near the smoke. Brilliant bolts of light flashed in the distance. Another building burst into flames. "Wish I had some fucking binoculars."

"Nah," said Bobby. David's friend was a little shorter than he was. David could keep a friend for about a year. Bobby was at the six months mark. "They're moving around too fast. Can't you tell who they are?" David liked supers, although he called them "metas".

"I think there's Hellfire, and the green flashes are Powerlord. And I think the explosions are Carnage."

Bobby whistled. "Hellfire and Carnage?"

"Yeah. Powerlord is Tomorrow Project, their heaviest hitter. He can maybe take Hellfire. No way he can take Carnage. Carnage is only number three in Genocide because Tyrannus and Slaughterhouse are in the group."

"So Powerlord is fucked?" asked Bobby.

"All of Tomorrow Project is fucked," said David. "They must have started burning buildings to draw them out. All Genocide does is kill heroes and those are two of their heavy hitters."

"Yeah, but if Ultima shows up they'll been in trouble."

"Sure, if its only them. Beating the tar out of Tomorrow Project is just the thing to draw them out. And then say Tyrannus or Slaughterhouse or maybe both show up. Or maybe some of Genocide's mid rankers like Frostburn or Scalpel."

"Fuck," said Bobby.

"Yeah," said David.

"You know anything about Tyrannus?"

"Besides that he leads Genocide and is a fucking powerhouse?" said David. "Nope. He came out of nowhere and got the scariest fucks around and recruited them into Genocide. He's the one without the history."

"Huh," said Bobby. "What do you think?"

"Fuck if I know," said David. "Captain Liberty's evil twin brother for all I know. I gotta jet. Foster folks expect me home soon."


April 3, 1995

David stared at the screen. "It can't be," he whispered.

His foster father sneered. "Holy shit. Captain Liberty leading Genocide."

"Dan, language," said Laura, his foster mother.

"Sorry, but . . . ." he gestured at the screen. "Captain Liberty was Tyrannus."

May 28th, 1996

"Betch ya can't do it," said Tommy.

"I can do it," said David. He was pretty athletic and could beat up kids a year older than him. He had been in enough fights to know.

"Bullshit," said Tommy. "No way you can reach the top of the slide from the top of the jungle gym. No fucking way."

"Ten bucks says I can," said David.

"Alright, you're on. Ten bucks." David climbed up to the top of the jungle gym. "Get everyone out of my way."

"Alright," said Tommy. "Hey!" he yelled. "David's gonna try and and jump it. Get outta the way." Kids moved to the side, but all eyes on the playground turned towards him. There wasn't really much of a run up to the jump up here, just a step of two. He took them and leapt.

He sailed through the air toward the top of the slide. Almost. He bounced off, flailed for a grip, twisted and fell. Badly. Pain shot through his arm. Tears leaked out of his eyes as he bit back crying.

"Hey," said Tommy. "That looks painful. Better get you to the nurse. And you owe me ten bucks."

[Imperial Overlord]

The doctor came back into the room. He was short, with a neat black beard and mustache. "Well David, the x-rays came back. You're arm is broken, but your ribs are fine. We did find something disturbing though. Maybe we should wait for your parents."

David looked up. His arm was in a sling. "My foster dad is working and my foster mom is out of town. Her mom's sick."

"I see," said the doctor. "Well, the problem is David is that when we did the x-ray of your chest we found a mass near your heart. We're worried about it, but we need parental permission to do tests."

"Okay. I guess I'll be waiting for a while."

"Ya, probably. Look, David, there's a good chance we're going to want to keep you overnight. Just so your ready for it."

"Okay."

May 29th, 1996

"Well we've gotten some interesting results David," said Doctor Timmons. "We're going to have to run some other tests to try and see what we're dealing with."

"More needles?" David asked. They had stabbed him in the chest a couple of times last night. It hadn't gone well, he knew that much. The had had trouble getting what they wanted.

"Just one. It's a big one, I'm afraid, but just once." The mass in his chest had proven to be quite needle resistant so they were going to use one for taking marrow samples.

"Okay. When can I get this cast off?"

"It'll be a while. You broke your arm. It has to heal."

"Okay."

May 30th, 1996

"I heard you broke a needle in some poor kid's chest yesterday," said James Stewart.

"Yeah," said Timmons. "That's what I wanted to consult with you about. That kid's got a mass in his chest that's tougher than bone."

"And you called an oncologist? This isn't like anything I've ever seen. You want a metaphysician to take a look at this kid."

June 1st 1996

A dark haired woman walked into David's room. "Hello David. How are you?"

"Okay, I guess. The cast itches."

"Yeah, they do that. I'm Doctor Mary Cavanaugh. I'm afraid I'm going to give you a whole bunch of tests all over again. Not many with needles though."

"That sucks."

"Yes it does. I'm a specialist David. The tumour in your chest isn't like anything close to ordinary. I'm a metaphysician and I deal with the extraordinary."

His eyes went wide. "I'm a meta?"

"Maybe. That's what I'm here to find out."

June 2nd, 1996

"He broke his arm how long ago?" asked Cavanaugh.

"Twenty-eighth," answered Timmons. "Five days I guess."

"Healed in today's x-rays. Poor bastard."

"So he's a meta."

"Meta with accelerated healing and cancer. Happens sometimes. Cancer from hell. This kid is going to be lucky to survive the year. Going to suck to break it to his parents."

"He's a foster kid," said Timmons. "Seven fucking families he's been bounced between, including the two where he was abused. Kid's used to the short straw. I guess he's going on the government meta list?"

"Yeah. Never a sure thing with metas. His system could end up eating that tumour for breakfast for all I know. We'll have to see."

June 3rd, 1996

Taskmaster adjusted his glasses and looked away from the battery of computer screens that surrounded him. He picked up the phone and dialed.

"Taskmaster. I have a prospect. Foster kid. Cavanaugh's treating him. Medical abnormalities."

The voice on the other end replied. "How old?"

"Fourteen."

"If he lives and we can get him, he'll be trained by eighteen. Keep a line on him. If he pans out we'll take him."

[Imperial Overlord]

June 8th, 1996

Mary Cavanaugh was reading lab reports when her cellphone rang. She picked it up and turned it on. "Cavanaugh."

"This is Fadeout."

Mary adjusted her sitting position before answering the spook. "What do you want?"

"The boy. His results?"

"He has amplified healing abilities and probably strength. The growth in his chest is like nothing I've ever seen. Psychologically he's pretty stable."

"You'll be treating him at the House."

"He's in foster care."

"That'll be handled." When the black part of the U.S. military wanted something done, it got done.

"Alright. Anything else."

"That'll be all doctor. I'll let you get back to your work."

June 12th, 1996

David looked out the window. Miles and miles of forest lined the rain slicked road. He watched a droplet slide down the glass. He turned around to face Mary, who was driving. "Do we have much further to go?"

"No, we're almost there."

"These guys are pretty powerful, huh. I mean I'm out of foster care and a ward of the state just like that."

"Yes, yes, they are."

"You don't sound like you like them."

"I don't like some of the things they do," said Mary, "but its better that some things get done than they don't. I'm a metaphysician David, one of the best in the world. To work with metas, in any meaningful way, means you have to go either the outlaw route and no ethics at all and really terrible things or working for the government and maybe making the world a better place for everyone. I chose option two, but there are consequences. Technically I'm a civilian, but I work for these people and do consults for a few other government agencies."

"They allow that?"

"It's a secret program. Very secret. If I vanish off the face of the Earth, that'll attract attention. If I'm available on a limited basis, then I can't be doing deep black work, right? That's there reasoning. Besides, it lets them know what everyone else is up to, so its a win that way as well."

"Huh."

She turned the card down a side road. More trees went by as she drove down the road. "They have the best facilities in the world David. I'm going to be able to help you better here than anywhere else. Trust me."

"Okay." A house, no really a mansion appeared ahead of them. Electronic gates swung open as she drove inside and headed for the garage. The doors closed behind them, trapping them inside the cavernous building. Three men in dark uniforms and wearing dark glasses were waiting. Mary popped the trunk and opened the door.

David opened his and got out nervously. Two of the guys went to retrieve the suitcases from the trunk. The third came up to him. He was a big guy, light brown hair and muscular. "I'm Fadeout," said the man. "The doc is in charge of the medical side. I'm in charge of the rest. We'll be working together."

"Working?" asked David.

"Well, I'll be working, you'll be training." The man extended his hand. David took it.

"Glad to meet you," the boy said unenthusiastically.

"The pleasure is mutual," Fadeout replied.

[Imperial Overlord]

June 15th 1996

Fadeout walked into Cavanaugh's office. "Well doctor?"

Mary looked up from her computer. "He's an interesting case. Heals about three times as fast as normal, half again as strong as he should be, good reaction speed, and then there is the not tumor."

"What about it?"

"It's not a tumor. It's a foreign organism wired into his lungs, heart, and spleen as well as most of the major blood vessels in his chest. It's extremely tough and its drawing in a fair amount of energy from the boy's body. And that's not the weirdest bit."

"Which is?" Fadeout asked.

"David's some kind of energy conduit, in the same way a magician is."

"You mean like real magic, quantum foam or whatever they call it manipulating magician, not stage magic right?"

"Yes, but that's not all. It's empathically active and not in a pleasant way. Its projecting a low level empathic field weak enough that most people won't consciously detect it, but nasty enough to creep out a concentrating empath."

"You're the expert. Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"The only abnormal part of his body is the 'tumor'. It's grown into his system to such a degree that we can't remove it without killing him and appears to be the source of his heightened strength and regenerative powers."

"So this is some kind of meta maker organ?"

"Maybe," she replied. "I don't know enough about it to make that call yet. It's feeding off his body like a parasite, drawing energy, oxygen, and blood from him and kicking parts of his body into overdrive."

"Doesn't sound even remotely natural."

"It isn't, but beyond that I can't tell you who made it or how."

"So we have some kind of totally new meta making process that baffles the top woman in the field and one subject of unknown origin."

"Yes."

"Have you told Taskmaster yet?"

"I have a few more tests to run, but they probably won't get me any useful data."

"Fine. Run them. This is all sealed."

"I know the drill," she said.

"You'll be doing the check ups on him."

"Alright. Isn't he a little low powered for your team."

"If he stays this way, yes. On the other hand, I want to know what people with these implants are capable of first hand."

June 16th, 1996

Fadeout walked into David's room. David sat up in bed. "How are you feeling?" the government spook asked.

"Alright," said David.

"Good. Get up. You'll start training today."

"Training to do what?"

"Serve your country."

"For as long as you want me," said David sadly.

"Not like that," said Fadeout. "Not anymore. It's the thing in your chest that drives people away, but we won't throw you away. You have some extraordinary abilities and your country needs you."

"So I'm going to be a superhero?" said David skeptically.

"No," said Fadeout. "We aren't flashy like Ultima. No one's going to call you hero, but you'll get the job done. You'll be saving lives and making the world a better place. You up for it?

"Yeah."

"Good. Now move!"

[Imperial Overlord]

August 14th, 1996

Taskmaster walked into Fadeout's office. The agent looked up and then stood. "Sir! I wasn't expecting you until next week."

"I decided to stop by early," said Taskmaster. The black operations master looked like a middle aged bureaucrat in fairly good shape with greying hair. He took off his horn rimmed glasses and cleaned the lenses with a cloth. "How is he?"

"I have trainers rotating through him. No one stays in contact too long, everyone has a break after dealing with him for a month, everyone comes back. He expects to be abandoned, he doesn't really open up, but at the same time he hates being alone. I'm trying to schedule time with a teep or an empath to get a good read on him."

"And how is he progressing?" asked Taskmaster.

"Very well. He's always had a interest in metas, wanted to be one. Probably linked to his being an orphan and getting bounced from family to family."

"I take it he responds well to being initiated into a stoic warrior society?" said Taskmaster with a slight smile on his face.

"He's very receptive, yes sir. I just don't know how useful he'll be. His powers so far aren't that impressive."

"We'll see. Cavanaugh wants to do follow ups. If nothing else, he is contributing to our database. He'll also be a prime candidate for juicing."

"True," said Fadeout. "From what I can tell he's quite likely to survive the process."


September 7, 1996

"Just take a seat here David," said Mary Cavanaugh. "And take off the gown. I'll have to attach a bunch of sensors to you."

David looked around the examination room and took off the hospital gown. "Who's watching through the one way glass?"

She shrugged. "Some higher ups. Maybe someone on oversight. Don't worry about it, I don't."

"You're not naked."

"I don't have your muscles. Maybe I should get a few ex-military types to run my exercise schedule."

"Sure. We can do a late night infomercial for our fitness program. Get in shape the black ops way."

She chuckled and began attaching sensors to his chest. "Keep 'em coming kiddo. When you retire you can hit the comedy circuit."

"This is about the thing in my chest, isn't it?"

"Yeah, we're just checking on it. Relax."

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

"Well," said Fadeout in the room on the other side of the mirror, "there he is. I want a read on him and what is sending out the bad vibes, which is probably that thing in his chest."

"Have they biopsied that thing yet?" said Dreamer, a petite Chinese woman with short hair.

"Yeah. It's freaky is the short answer. Mystics and scientists don't know what the fuck it is, but they use ten thousands words and vague speculation to cover it up."

"Okay," Dreamer said. She breathed in slowly and closed her eyes. She centered her perceptions on the teenager in the next room.

She passed through the almost inperceivable waves of negativity emanating from David. He was unsettled and defensive, but not hostile. She probed deeper. He was lonely, untrusting, somewhat cynical. He was used to failure, used to misery, used to be abandoned, but he hadn't given up yet. He armoured himself against the world and its cruelties, but there was still a boy in their who wanted to be held and loved. She could feel the evil there, stronger. It tasted different than David. She headed toward it. It was close, very close.

Dreamer screamed. She screamed and screamed and screamed. Fadeout hit her with a psychic wave and she passed out. He slammed the intercom. "Cavanaugh! I need you. Now!"

October 4th, 1996

Fadeout's phone rang. He had been a long, long day. "Yes," he answered.

"Fadeout," said Taskmaster. "I hear that Dreamer is lucid."

"Yes sir. She's mostly recovered."

"Her report?"

"Let me get it. The whole thing should arrive at your office tomorrow, but the most important part is, let me see," he flipped through a couple of pages, "yes here it is: 'endless appetite and malice, a void of compassion. Absolutely the worst thing I have ever touched.' She's crawled through the minds of members of Genocide, I might add."

"I am aware. The boy?"

"Shaping up pretty good. Putting on the right kind of weight and damn near as strong as an Olympic weight lifter and still rising. He ran the one hundred yards dash in nine point six yesterday. Three new things about him though."

"Oh?"

"Energy consumption is increasing beyond what we can account for is one. Still tests. The second is that his flesh is toughening up. Ordinary needles tend to break, scalpels barely work and need to be replaced and so forth. Cavanaugh thinks its a reaction to being biopsied. She charts it from back then."

"And the third?"

"His system filters toxins like no ones business. Rasputin is a pussy compared to what it would take to put our boy down."

"Keep on him."

"Will do sir."

[Imperial Overlord]

February 7th, 1997

"Kid," said the squat and muscular man, "this is not acceptable work. This is a half assed fucking job and you disrespect me and yourself by doing it."

"Sorry sir," said David. He was seated at his desk in his room. He looked away.

"Look at me, David," said Allen. "I know you can do better than this. You're smart. Now show me it in your work."

"Yes sir."

"I know you are. You got called on it. Do you know why you should be sorry?"

"I fucked up."

"Yes, but do you know why it matters?"

"Because Ancient Greece is important?"

"No, because having smart soldiers is better than having dead soldiers. Among other things they tend to live longer and do the right things without having to be told. Goes double for Marines and metahuman agents. You're going to have to learn all sorts of shit and you're going to have to think for yourself in the field. You're going to need to recognize bullshit when you read it or hear it. The ancients believed that the ideal man was perfect in mind and body. You have to be smart as well as tough."

"Yes sir."

"Okay. Do it over. Right this time."

March 18th, 1997

Fadeout vanished and then rushed David at superhuman speed. The knife in his hand was a blur. The boy parried and retreated, thin cuts appearing on his arms as he retreated across the mats. David swept his foot out to take out Fadeout's legs. The invisible agent wasn't there. David heard Fadeout's feet to his right and punched. He connected.

Fadeout resumed invisibility as he jumped two his feet two meters away. "Christ, you hit hard. Even rolling with it."

"You cut me."

"Yeah I did. You heal quick. Let's see what kind of damage I did." He walked over and examined David's arm. "Barely broke the fucking skin with a fucking combat knife and strength in the upper human athlete range. Hmm, bleeding is slowing down already."

"Yeah. That's me. Don't have time to bleed."

"What's that from?"

"Predator. Jesse Ventura. God damn sexual tyrannosaurus."

"I think you're going to be okay."

[Imperial Overlord]

September 6th, 1998

"Sit down," said Fadeout. The red headed woman shook her head.

"I prefer to stand sir."

"Suit yourself," Fadeout said with a shrug. "How did it go?"

"I haven't completed my formal report yet, sir."

"I'm not asking for it. Just the informal one."

"Looking at him is . . . . sir, when I look at someone and see their possible futures, its like looking at a bunch of mirrors, each one with a different reflection. When I look at him, I get pieces of broken glass. It's like looking at a fragment of a reflection in a mirror-shard. He doesn't fit."

"What do you mean he doesn't fit?" said Fadeout irritably. "Your reading the future. He can't just not fit."

"I think it's the parasite sir. I don't think it is from our space/time."

"Well, the magicians think the same thing."

"Its not rooted in this universe, not the way everything else is. And it bonded to David. I can't tell you what's going to happen with them. Or what could happen. I just don't know."

Fadeout nodded. "Alright. Type it up for the formal report. I'll pass it on. It was worth a shot."

"Sorry I came up empty on this sir."

"Don't worry, you have plenty of company."

April 20th 2000

Taskmaster walked into Fadeout's office. The agent blinked. "Sir, what are you doing here?"

"Talking about the next mission in person."

"The Afghanistan thing?"

"Yes. Our intelligence thinks they have a meta at the camp and their is a significant possibility of high tech Russian military hardware."

"Please. We know the latter is bullshit. Even if that meta genius of theirs is real, what's his name, Red Silver-"

"He probably is real. And some of the rumours about his results are probably based in reality."

"Probably," said Fadeout, "my ass. Who the hell code named him Red Silver anyway?"

"Christians In Action," said Taskmaster.

"Of course they did. And he has to be real. Any day now the covert op to buy unobtanium components for whatever tech fantasy is in vogue this year will bear fruit. Except it never does. Whatever shit the Russians have, it's staying Russian and not being dumped on the black market. The size of the CIA's hard on for Russian ultratech goodies won't change the fact that they aren't going to get any. And they sure as hell aren't going to sell any to the Afghanis. Christ."

"Who are you taking for the mission?"

"You mean our 'fuck with Uncle Sam and we'll fuck you up' response? Myself, Ice Queen, and Iron Mike for sure. Not settled on anyone else."

"I want you to include David on this. He's eighteen now, nice and legal."

"The kid hasn't killed before."

"First time for everything. He tests well and he will be going on a crew with experienced operators."

"Point. And he is nicely Kalashnikov resistant. Alright, I'll put him in the training cycle for this, see if he sinks up. Have we got a code name for him yet?"

"Blackheart."

[Imperial Overlord]

April 28th, 2000

Fadeout's team was seated in the back of MC-130H Combat Talon II airplane. The plane was designed for use in infiltration and special operations, which made it the ideal choice for transporting four metahuman black operators into hostile territory. They were all equipped with night vision goggles, survival equipment, and ceramic plate reinforced body armour. All of them, except for the blonde woman, carried weapons.

Iron Mike stirred in his seat and looked over at Blackheart. The kid was tall and muscular, although a bit on the pale side for a white boy. "Kid," said Iron Mike, "I gotta ask a question."

"Ask," said Blackheart. The former steel worker was just as tall as Blackheart, but stockier. He had also done a tour in the Army and had then been sucked back into the military when he developed his powers.

"Off all the pieces you could be packing, why a fucking FN?"

"Works for me. And I'm partial to 7.62."

"Kid, it's a shitty caliber for an assault rifle. That's why no one but the third world uses it anymore. Even if you are super strong."

Blackheart shrugged. "Coming up on the jump point," said Fadeout. "Can the chatter."

"I hate this shit," said Iron Mike. "Jumping out a perfectly good airplane. Bullshit," rumbled the big black man.

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

Four parafoils slid through the night air. They landed not to far apart near a rocky hill. Iron Mike landed badly, bouncing off the rocky ground but eventually regaining his feet. He wasn't even bruised. The Ice Queen and Fadeout touched down safely.

Blackheart was touched down perfectly as if he was guided down on wires. He began bundling up the chute and moving towards his comrades. It was just after two o'clock in the morning, local time. So far so good.

They joined up. "So," said Fadeout, "if intel is right they're up there in those buildings with a small arsenal of high tech weapons."

"If not?" Iron Mike asked.

"If not the MC-130H picks us up and we go home. I'm going to go recon." He checked his watch. "I'll be back in thirty minutes." Fadeout turned around and vanished.

Blackheart settled down to wait. He had trained with the team, but didn't really know them that well. Just as well, all things considering. Spending too much time around him didn't have a good effect on people.

Fadeout came back. "One sentry and dogs. I'll take the man, Ice Queen handle the dogs." The petite blonde woman nodded. Blackheart suppressed a wince. Poor dogs. Unlike the humans, they didn't deserve this shit.

Fadeout went invisible and two minutes later Ice Queen followed. Another five minutes later Iron Mike and Blackheart followed, Blackheart with a silenced .45 in his hand.. The covered the ground quickly, climbing up the hill. The signs of Fadeout and Ice Queen's passage were obvious, a man with nearly severed head lying on the ground in a pool of blood and several frost covered canine corpses.

"Mike, Blackheart, secure the perimeter," said Fadeout through the tactical radio. "Ice Queen and I will be moving inside and security the buildings." Which meant killing everyone inside, checking for any ultratech, and setting explosives in any weapon caches. So far everything was going well. Probably too well.

That's when an explosion enveloped Iron Mike and all hell broke loose.

[Imperial Overlord]

The explosion staggered Iron Mike. Blackheart could see someone standing in the window of the other buildings. He had something big in his arms. He fired again. Another explosion burst around Iron Mike and he fell backwards. Blackheart emptied the magazine of the pistol into the window. The shooter fell back. Iron Mike began to get to his feet.

There was shouting coming from all the other buildings, except for the one with Fadeout and the Ice Queen inside. She had probably frozen them in their sleep. Blackheart holstered the pistol and drew the FN. The time for subtlety was over. "Securing building two," he said over the radio.

The door burst open and as a robed fighter with an AK burst out. Blackheart put three in his chest, double tapped the guy behind him, and moved in over the dying men. There were no lights on inside.

The extremists slept with their rifles close at hand. Blackheart switched to full automatic and sprayed the group carelessly before ducking back behind the door. He had only hit four or five guys, but now the damage was going to be done. Panicky men fired recklessly in a enclosed space. Bullets that didn't strike flesh punched through clay bricks or ricocheted inside, bouncing around like angry metal wasps. They had probably killed more of their own in a few panicky seconds than Blackheart had.

The agent reloaded his assault rifle and threw a grenade inside. A few seconds later it burst. There was gun fire everywhere now. Total chaos. He moved in. Three men were still standing. He put two rounds in one, three in the second. The third man fired in his general direction on full automatic.

One bullet grazed his right arm and hurt like hell. Two more hit his torso and flattened themselves on his body armour. He barely felt those two. He put three in the shooter's chest and then double tapped two of the crawling wounded. Everything seemed secure here. He reloaded and headed outside.

An explosion took out a corner of the building and knocked him off his feet. Chunks of hardened clay flew like shrapnel and bounced off Blackheart's hardened flesh. The agent got up and emptied his rifle in the general direction the blast had come from and moved around the other side.

The gun fire was dying down, hopefully because of the other side was dying. He saw the last building was completely covered in frost. "This is Ice Queen," said a voice over the radio. "I'm about out of juice, but I think that's most of them." Blackheart inched forward.

A tall man smashed his way through the frost covered wall and out into the open. His beard was white with frost and his robe moved stiffly around him. He was at least seven feet tall and most definitely meta. Blackheart burned the clip into his chest.

The bullets shredded this robe, but didn't penetrate. He grunted and turned towards the agent. The Afghan began to run straight at him.

Iron Mike roared and moved to intercept. The two big men crashed into each other. Blackheart could almost feel the ground shake.

Iron Mike drove a fist in the Afghan's sternum. He grunted and punched Iron Mike in the face. The agent reeled back. The Afghan struck him twice more in the chest and then picked him up and threw Iron Mike at Blackheart.

Blackheart dodged out of the way. Iron Mike went through the wall. The Afghan charged him. Blackheart tore off the night vision goggles. He needed his peripheral vision more now. The big man was strong enough to toss around Iron Mike, but not fast. Maybe Blackheart had a shot.

The agent stood his ground until the last possible moment. Blackheart wasn't superhumanly fast, but his speed was at the top end of human performance. He sidestepped and grabbed in Afghan's swinging left fist as he came by, twisting in an Aikido derived move. Leverage and technique made up for the disparity in strength. Blackheart could hear the elbow pop.

The Afghan roared and spun, shaking Blackheart off. The agent rolled to his feet in enough time to avoid a boot to the ribs and leapt away. Blackheart began running. The Afghan chased him.

Blackheart spun around and whirled, leaping into the air and bring his leg down in an axe kick. The Afghan was too slow to counter. An ordinary man's head would have burst like a melon under a sledge hammer. The Afghan was knocked off his feet and fell back. Blackheart ran up and kicked him in the ribs as he tried to get to his feet. He flew a dozen feet and then pushed himself up with his good hand.

He charged again. Blackheart ran and jumped, his superhuman strength propelling him up on to the roof of the building ahead. The Afghan followed. Blackheart went low, kicked his legs out from under him, and then kicked him off the roof. He land with a loud thump. Of course, he got up again and leapt. Perfect.

The Afghan's jump was clumsy. Blackheart met it with one of his own, coming in at angle. The agent wrapped his arms around the Afghan's head and twisted, trying to break his neck. The impact dropped them both to the roof.

The Afghan grabbed Blackheart with his good hand and yanked him off. He began smashing Blackheart into the wooden roof, which broke before the American's skull did. Blackheart wiggled around and kicked the Afghan in the throat. He dropped Blackheart and bent over gasping. Blackheart kicked in the head again and off the roof.

Frost covered the Afghan again as Ice Queen spent whatever juice she had left trying to take him down. He struggled to his feet. He didn't notice Iron Mike coming up behind him. Blackheart might not have been strong enough to break his neck, but a loud crack proved that Iron Mike was. The Afghani fell limp on the ground.

"Nice work kid," said Fadeout. "Now lets finish the job."

[Enigma]

I'm hoping my story would be at least one tenth as good as yours. Good work.

[Imperial Overlord]

May 3, 2000

Fadeout walked into Taskmaster's office. Taskmaster looked up from his desk. "Welcome back."

"Thank you sir."

"It seems you ran into some unexpected difficulties."

"Yes sir. The mission was still successful."

"The kid came through with flying colours according to your report."

"He did. Kept his cool and stepped up when it went to shit. The psyche eval when he came back is a little troubling though."

"He killed at least a dozen people. I'm not surprised," said Taskmaster.

"He's adapting it too well. The shrink thinks the thing in his chest was spiking his adrenaline and endorphin levels when he killed. Blackheart's a good kid, doesn't much like the idea of killing. Will do if it is necessary. But he enjoyed killing over there."

"So our tumor does have an agenda."

"Sir, everything we know about it says its a nasty fucker with some kind of rudimentary intelligence. Its bad news sir."

"Agreed. But Blackheart himself is stable? Reliable?"

"As far as we can tell yes to both."

"Good. We have other problems. The weapons aren't what we expected?"

"Sir, there was Cyrillic writing on the guns. They were hyper tech."

"Yes, but they aren't from our Russians. We found another cache of them with fresh traces. They're from the late twenty-second century."

"Fuck."

"We have a time bending gun runner who apparently takes payment in drugs and uncut diamonds and who is not concerned about who he sells to. Fortunately nothing nuclear or larger than man portable has shown up."

"So far."

"Correct. On the other hand, there are advantages to his lack of discretion in his choice of customers. A certain amount of information can be released to various law enforcement agencies and their assets tapped to help in the search."

"Sure that is wise? Other governments will find out."

"Selling in quantity to criminal and terrorist organizations will make that inevitable and our data suggests this is just the tip of the iceberg. Keeping these hands out of terrorists groups, criminal cartels, and rogue nations is the priority."

"Yes sir. And the weapons?"

"Whatever group of military scientists and engineers wins the tug of war gets them."

[Imperial Overlord]

March 3, 2001

Blackheart slipped a finger around the collar of his new uniform. It was two piece black suit, form fitting but bulked out. New fancy multilayered armor, covering him from neck to toe. Fancy helmets with mirror shade visors optional.

"You don't look half bad in that," said Iron Mike. Tables full of weapons and gear were stretched out in front of them.

"Thanks. You're not wearing one."

"Nah. Not my style. Light armor won't do jack for me, I can already suck down an RPG and get back up. When I gear up I wear some seriously heavy shit. Of course, I'm strong enough to flip tanks."

"We're going after Slipstream," said Blackheart. "World traveling gun runner. Might want to suit up."

"I will. Just looking for some boom-boom toys. What are you going with?"

"Usual forty five as a pistol," said Blackheart, "and a blast from the past for heavy shooting." He picked a dark metal gun off the table with a drum magazine and a huge barrel.

"The alt future Rusky bomblet launcher? Nice."

"I figure using his own merchandise to take down any heavy hitters has a nice touch of irony. Besides, turn about is fair play."

"And payback is a bitch."

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

Fadeout looked over his team. Iron Mike, Ice Queen, Blackheart, and Shriek. They were all wearing nice faceless black mirror shielded helmets with coms and sitting in the back of a nice, anonymous van. "Okay, remember we're working with the Feds on this one. Their informant found out about the buy so we couldn't cut them out. The Powers That Be want him either dead or captured. Don't talk to the feddies more than you have to. The credit for the bust is all theirs. We're here because some people think the feddies can't be relied upon to come through without help. Questions?"

There were none. "Okay, let's move." The back doors opened and they ran through the chill night air to the building in question. The meet was taking place on the fourteenth floor of an almost skyscraper. Just Slipstream, his muscle, his Armenian mob buyers, and their muscle. Small intimate party that they were going to crash. Yeehaa.

There was a lookout on the ground, but Shriek put him down with a mind blast. Fourteen stories worth of stairs beckoned. Blackheart started hauling ass up the stairs. Iron Mike picked up Shriek and Ice Queen and followed. They slowed to a stealthier creep down at the eleventh floor.

"Feddies in position," said Fadeout somewhere in the rear. "Blackheart?"

"Ready."

"On three. One, two, three."

Blackheart went through the door, bomblet launcher in hand. Sheets of plastic were draped in several places, but non load bearing interior walls had yet to be installed, leaving naked girders exposed. There were about a dozen guys next to a pile of large crates. Several of the men carried big suitcases.

What caught Blackheart's attention were the two three meter tall matte green bipedal robots standing stiffly at attention. Both of them had four barreled rotary guns on their left shoulders and a very large bore something or another on their right arm. The criminals scattered, most of them going for cover and drawing guns. One, a Hispanic guy built like a fireplug, began heading towards him.

The feddies showed up. Two fliers, a blonde woman and a brown haired male in nice blue uniforms, dropped off a black woman and a Chinese male. Blackheart shot the closest bot with his bomblet launcher. The shell blew the rotary cannons apart and sent hot fragments of metal flying. Blackheart's next shot punched a big hole in its chest plate, but didn't stop it. The other 'bot opened up with its rotary cannon on the feds. The other gun shot something explosive because it blew a chunk out of an I-beam when it missed.

Blackheart had cleared the door. The Hispanic guy was still coming for him. He was Blackheart's height, but more heavily built than the muscular agent. He had a scattering of pockmarks on the left side of his face. He pulled the bomblet launcher right out of Blackheart's hands and tossed it away.

The robot that Blackheart had fired upon had not returned fire due to the proximity of the Hispanic to its target. Iron Mike was sufficiently out of the fire zone for its processors to decide he was a valid target. The big meta wasn't wearing a helmet, but was wearing a cuirass, gauntlets, and boots of armor plate. The robot shot him twice in the chest, wrecking the breastplate. Iron Mike got back up.

Blackheart unleashed a flurry of blows on the Hispanic. He struck at the eyes, throat, feinted toward the groin, and then went at the solar plexus. The Hispanic dodged, block, and then grunted as the last blows struck home. Blackheart stomped on his knee as he went down. He missed though, striking the Hispanic's thigh. The man thrust himself up with his hands and grabbed Blackheart's left wrist. He put his other hand on Blackheart's bicep, grunted and took the blow to the face, and threw the agent out of the building.

[Imperial Overlord]

The world spun around Blackheart as he fell. He could feel his heart beating like a jackhammer in his chest and the air whistling by his ears. Part of him was screaming at the rest of him that he was going to die. It was very convincing.

Another part told the first part to shut the fuck up. He wasn't an ordinary human, a fourteen floor fall on to asphalt was bad, but survivable. He could take the shock in his nearly unbreakable bones and his unnaturally tough organs could survive. Crippling injuries would heal. If he landed right and didn't splatter his brains all over the street.

He twisted in the air, coming down feet first. Time was moving at a crawl. He was focusing every ounce of his will into landing right, taking the shock on bended knees and rolling with it so he didn't shatter the bones in his legs. He wasn't going to die. The ground rushed at him. He shouted his defiance.

His descent slowed, at first it seemed merely a trick of perception and then it struck him that it truly was happening. His boots touched road and then he was shooting up in the air. He was flying. He was honest to the White Christ flying. How the fuck did he do that?

Time for answers later. He came back into the fourteenth floor. One of the Ultima boys was sprawled unconscious or dead on the ground. The damaged robot was junk, but the other was still fighting. The Hispanic was there too. He was engaged in a brutal slugging match against Iron Mike and winning.

Bullets were flying. Two hit Blackheart, but he shrugged them off and landed behind the Hispanic. Full auto gun fire made hearing someone sneaking up on you very difficult. Blackheart landed and grabbed the Hispanic by his shoulders. The bastard was heavy, almost three hundred pounds which was more than he should have. It was undoubtedly enhanced density muscle and bone, nothing unusual in super strength metas.

The Hispanic had just figured out something was happening as Blackheart's fingers dug into his flesh like talons and he heaved Hispanic back and to the side. The Hispanic spun through the air and existed the building the same way he had sent Blackheart. "Happy landing asshole," Blackheart said through clenched teeth.

The intact battle robot was encased in a block of ice. Most of firing had stopped. Fadeout's voice barked in his ear. "Glad to see you back," said Fadeout. "Explain later. Advance and get me Slipstream's ass."

Blackheart and Iron Mike ran towards the enemy positions, bullets whizzing by them or smashing themselves on their flesh and armour. Blackheart drew his automatic and sent half a dozen rounds at a man as they closed. Most missed, but one or two of them hit and he fell bleeding. Blackheart emptied the gun at the rest of them, causing them to duck back and kept going forward. They were of no consequence and would be swept away momentarily.

There were two men not on the firing line. One was a small white guy with dirty blond hair who was wearing shades. The other was a six four bald man with Slavic features and a shaved head. He wore gleaming silver gauntlets on his hands and black goggles over his eyes. Cables connected his gloves and goggles to something under his trench coat. One didn't need Blackheart's training to know he was going to be trouble.

He was also smart. He didn't bother shooting at Iron Mike, which would have at best probably only have pissed him off. Instead he shot at the floor. Blazing white beams fired from the knuckles of his gauntlets and blew apart the floor around Iron Mike's feet. He fell through. Iron Mike was not what you would call a light guy. He smashed through the floor of the story below us and before he stopped.

Baldy grinned and Blackheart leapt. The meta got a fist to the face shield for his efforts, the tough plastic crumpling under the blow and Blackheart was knocked back. Baldy moved in for the kill.

Blackheart kicked him in the leg and felt metal bars under his clothing. Baldy toppled backwards and Blackheart got up and tossed his helmet aside so he actually see worth a damn. He hadn't been surprised to connect with a metal support as an exosuit explained Baldy's strength and cabling. He didn't intend to stand around and be used as a punching bag by him though. Baldy was getting back up. He was stronger than Blackheart and had better armour, but he wasn't as tough and he was slower. Blackheart punched him between the eyes. Bone cracked and splintered. Baldy went down and stayed that way.

A beam of crimson light burned through Blackheart's armour, left shoulder, and exited out the back. A gasp of pain escaped the agent's lips. The short man raised the pistol of dull red plastic again. Blackheart dived away. Two beams stitched through the air where he had been. Then the short man turned and jumped out of the building

He was descending slowly to the street, a briefcase in his left hand. The fucker was going to get away. Sure Blackheart could fly after him, but he hadn't been going that fast on his trip up. Slipstream would turn him into swiss cheese if he tried that. Fuck this, he thought to himself. Think asshole.

His pistol? Hard shot to make even if Slipstream didn't have a body armour or a force field to go with the ray gun. Nothing around big and nasty to throw except for baldy's body and that wasn't something that was likely to bring Slipstream down. He stopped for a moment. The idea was crazy. Fuck it, he thought.

He picked up baldy's body in his right arm and hung it in front of him like a shield. Baldy was wearing some kind of at least semi armoured exoskeleton. He would make an excellent shield. Blackheart flew out the window and down at Slipstream.

The traveller through time and space was a lousy shot. Three shots missed Blackheart and his armoured meat shield by a wide margin. Two more were near misses and two burned their way through baldy's armour, then his body, out through this back armour, through Blackheart's armour, and into his flesh. Pain exploded through his body as he took a hit in the right side of his abdomen and lost a chunk of his left lung. Neither shot stopped him. He smashed into Slipstream and drove him into the ground.

Slipstream waved the gun furiously. Blackheart caught his gunhand and squeezed. A plastic or ceramic gun should have been crushed along with the bones in Slipstream's hand. Blackheart couldn't even make an impression on it. Slipstream screamed. Blackheart grinned ferociously at him. "Hurts doesn't it?" He ground crushed bone together. He wasn't in a mood to be nice. Then he let go of Slipstream's hand and grabbed his throat.

Slipstream's left hand dropped the suitcase and went to his belt. A powerful sensation of vertigo hit Blackheart. He could feel the world twisting, bending away. Panic rose out of his chest, fear and rage mixed into an single chemical cocktail. Slipstream became insubstantial and vanished, all of him except for one piece. The piece Blackheart was holding onto, a gory mass of meat that included a section of the jugular vein and the carotid artery. Wherever Slipstream ended up, he wasn't going to be a problem anymore unless he had friends who could raise the dead.

Blackheart folded over and breathed a sigh of relief. He could hear someone running towards him. He looked up. It was the Hispanic. Jesus Fucking Christ, could he ever catch a break? And then he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

He reached down and picked up Slipstream's ray gun. Slipstream had been a bad shot and panicky as well. Blackheart was neither and the gun had no appreciable recoil. Crimson beams blew threw messy holes in the Hispanic's chest at point blank range. He fell at Blackheart's feet in a rapidly expanding pool of blood.

Blackheart stuck the pistol in his belt and flew back up towards the fourteenth floor. Too bad his radio had been in the helmet, but he would manage. The clean up shouldn't be too bad. They were winning when he left and Iron Mike should have gotten back into things, which would end it pretty quick. Writing the report on this was going to be a bitch and he as sure as hell wasn't looking forward to a new round of biopsies with Cavanaugh. Even when you win you can still lose.

[CaptainChewbacca]

Kickass. Write more NOW!

[Imperial Overlord]

May 2, 2001

A dozen metahumans sat in the briefing room. Fadeout was standing at the front, projector control in one hand and a laser pointer in the other. He clicked the button. A man sprawled in a pool of blood appeared. "This is the late and unlamented Bonestorm. Someone, probably the Russians, shot him in the middle of the street in the early morning and got away. Which means we don't have to worry about him. Problem is, you step on one of these cockroaches and two more appear." He clicked the slide control again.

A young woman with dark hair and brown skin, her face half hidden by the collar of her trench coat appeared. "Caress, real name unknown, and a long list of false identities. She's got a nasty one-two punch of a paralyzing psychic projection and a death touch. The Brits just missed nabbing her in London, but they did toss her apartment. What they found was a trouble.

"She had been sloppy and they were able to retrieve some email correspondence off her hard drive. Full print outs later, but the meat of the matter is that she has been talking with someone using the handle Corpse King. Yes, he's supposed to be dead. We don't know if he's somehow still sucking in oxygen, someone else is using the name as a cover, or an admirer has decided to take the handle. Yet. What we do know is that he was recruiting her for a group called Black Arion and from what we've been able to gather they intend to follow in the footsteps of Genocide. She agreed to join.

"The Brits, not being morons, decided to share this information. These guys intend to be seriously bad knews and this isn't the first time the name has cropped up. Concrete information is hard to come by as they are keeping a low profile, but the emails and some other evidence suggests they are up to something really nasty." He clicked the slide again.

The image up this time was of a red skinned humanoid with black claws, fangs, and long dark hair. He wore a gold crown around his forehead and bone-white body armour. "Corpse King, for those of you fortunate enough not to have had a briefing on this evil motherfucker. Claws that can cut through steel, super strength enough to flip and Abrams, durable as all hell, blood boil vision, and the ability to animate the dead as a kind of super zombie. Fortunately it only works on corpses in good condition and doesn't last too long unless he's around to renew it. Unfortunately, he has the means to make a lot of them. Kill on sight."

As Fadeout continued with the presentation, Taskmaster observed through the one way mirror. He wasn't alone. Glamour was with him and the petit mage held a red crystal in her hands. "This is close enough, correct?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "And he is unaware of what is happening?"

"He hasn't been informed," said Taskmaster. "He is aware that he maybe being watched, but that is normal for him."

"I see. But he is unaware that I am going to attempt to tap into the parasite? He is linked to it, it could know if he does."

"He doesn't know. Attempts to contact the entity through psychic means have been disastrous. That's why we are doing this. No direct contact."

"Glad to know my brain cells are considered valuable."

"They are. Now link the crystal to his parasite and copy the memories."

She nodded and closed her eyes. The crystal began to glow with a vibrant red light. Flashes of lightning played across its surface. "The parasite isn't resisting. I'm getting a steady stream from it."

Taskmaster wasn't surprised. The constant projection of negative emotions suggested it would be easy to make contact with it. Furthermore the parasite didn't resist telepathic intrusion by blocking, but instead by reciprocating in such a manner than it tended to put the telepath in a coma. If the connection to the parasite's mind was with information storing crystal instead of a human brain then the risk got lower and the chance of useful information higher.

The crystal stopped glowing. "I have succeeded," said Glamour quietly. "The crystal now holds the memories of the parasite that it was possible to covertly access. It was easy. There was no resistance of any kind."

"Good," said Taskmaster. He extended his hand. "You are dismissed."

"Yes sir." She left the room.

"Flashback," he called. A blonde man wearing a conservative suit entered the room. "To my office."

"Sure thing." The meta touched him on the arm and they appeared in a darkened room.

"I won't need your services for the rest of the day."

"Yes sir." Flashback vanished. Taskmaster placed the crystal in black iron holder that was waiting for it. Images appeared in the air in front of him.

The cold, dark void of space. The light of distant and alien suns. Monstrous creatures moved there titanic bodies through the void, unholy masses of eyes, maws, and tentacles. Around some were schools of lesser minions, star spawn in service to star gods. There were peaceful meetings and conversations mind to mind. And then there was violence.

Terrible energies were summoned and used. Fangs, claws, and tentacles thrashed and grabbed and tore. Asteroids were shattered and continents devastated as collateral damage. A moon was split opened and shattered. And then there was falling through space, a bright light ahead. A feeble groping. A bending of space and nesting in flesh. Warmth, food, energy, growth.

That was the end. Taskmaster turned off the device. Some portion of an alien entity, perhaps the one of the elder star gods some magicians believed existed, resided within Blackheart. It retained a portion of its original memories, even if only a small fraction of them. It displayed little intellect, but it was growing and so was Blackheart's powers. He was going to have to think about the next step.

[Imperial Overlord]

May 22nd 2001

"Doctor Cavanaugh," said Taskmaster as he walked into the woman's office. He paused to adjust his glasses. "May I have a moment of your time?"

Mary Cavanaugh repressed an urge to check her hair. She was one of the foremost experts on metahuman biology, perhaps the foremost expert on metahuman biology, and Taksmaster made her feel like a schoolgirl. "Of course," she said. Not that she had much choice. She couldn't do her work without security clearance and that would be gone if she didn't comply. That was one of the realities of her work. Metahumans were of upmost concern to military and intelligence organizations and if you wanted to work in that field, you ended up working for them in one capacity or another. Taskmaster was better than most.

"Thank you," said Taskmaster. "I've come to talk to you about the Blackheart parasite."

"Symbiont might be a better word for it," she replied. "Although it is hard to be sure."

"I defer to your expertise, of course, doctor. Your report indicates it is growing."

"That's what the scans have shown," she said.

"And his powers grow with it."

"I've noticed. That was also in the report. As was my best guess on why he spontaneously developed the ability to fly."

"Yes, your supposition is that the alien tissue functions in a way similar to that of jellyfish masses. The more of it there is, the smarter they get."

"In layman's terms yes. It appears that each cell of the mass functions as a kind of neuron. It possesses some kind of rudimentary intelligence. It decided to use some of that power to save him. Probably through an empathic linkage since it isn't directly linked to his nervous system. Yet."

"You think it will."

"It continues to grow. I can't imagine it not reaching his spine by the time he's thirty. Then who knows what will happen."

"The power was under his control. He's the one who can fly."

"Yes sir. For now."

"He's in control?"

"According to everything I can determine."

"And his powers will continue to grow."

"If I'm right."

"Thank you," said Taskmaster. He turned to leave.

"Sir, what is going to happen to David?"

Taskmaster turned to her, considered keeping her in the dark, calculated possibilities, and decided to tell the truth. "Agent Blackheart will likely be very valuable during the coming crisis."

"Crisis?"

"Available data suggests that the terrorist group Black Arion will commit a series of devastating attacks in the near future. My colleagues in other organizations are not so convinced. Baring an unlikely set of occurrences, they will succeed and metas will war in the streets of the world. A lot of lives are at stake. David could save some of them. If he's in the field."

She nodded mutely. "Thank you."

"You're welcome doctor. Keep up the good work."

[Imperial Overlord]

September 11, 2001

Blackheart walked across the gym to the weight lifting bench. He reached down and picked up a pair of forty five kilo weights and put them on the bar. Then another pair and then another pair. He put on four more weights, bringing the total up to four hundred and fifty kilos, not counting the bar and then thought better of it and put on another pair. Easy enough reps for him but safety was always a consideration. "Yo John."

"Yeah?" said the big black man. He was busy on an exercise bike set to simulate the rider carrying an extra ton with him. The agent code named "Iron Mike" was peddling madly.

"Could you spot me when you're done?"

"Sure thing kid. Broken the half ton mark yet?"

"Yeah. And stop calling me kid."

"Sure thing. Kid." He smiled, showing perfect pearly white teeth.

"Asshole."

"You bet."

There was a soft bang of displaced air and a blonde man in a white suit appeared. "Flashback," said Iron Mike. "What the hell is it?"

"Gear up. Now. The whole country is going to pieces." Flashback touched Iron Mike and then they both vanished. A second later he reappeared near Blackheart and teleported him as well.

Both agents found themselves in a crowded locker room with a dozen of their colleagues in various states of undress. Everyone was suiting and arming up. "What the fuck is going on?" Blackheart asked as he shed his gym clothes and reached for his armour.

"Don't know," said Fadeout as he secured the fastening to his armour. "Bad, bad shit though."

Taskmaster walked in the room. "Listen up," he said and adjusted his glasses. "Continue changing." Fadeout reappeared with the Smith. Both men were carrying an armload of weapons. They put them down and then vanished again.

"Smith and Fadeout will bring the rest of your gear. I don't have much time for a briefing. A meta terrorist group, probably Black Arion, has struck at half a dozen major cities in the continental US. Bodycount is already going to be at least five digits. The terrorists that hit New York are still there. They've damaged the World Trade Center and have continued to attack the city. Local forces aren't able to stop them. We're intervening."

Fadeout and Smith reappeared. Blackheart grabbed his bomblet launcher and a bandoleer of shells for it. Then he grabbed his hammer. It was a monstrosity with a meter long steel handle and a fourteen kilogram head.

"Everyone on channel six," said Fadeout. "Fliers in first, spot and engage to delay the targets. The rest of us will back up and reinforce. Let's put these fuckers down."

Flashback touched Silver Flame and they both vanished. A moment later he reappeared by Blackheart and touched his arm. They vanished and reappeared on the top of a skyscraper on Broadway. To the southwest smoke rose into the sky from a rough line from the collapsing wreckage of the World Trade Center to City Hall. "Christ," Blackheart whispered.

Another bang meant that he was alone. The metahuman took to the air, flying towards the smoke and the carnage. Ahead of him he caught a glimpse of Silver Flame, who was engulfed in white fire. She was a heavy hitter. A lance of fire flashed from her hand to some point on the street below.

Whoever she was shooting wasn't happy. A car door was flung at her. She dodged easily and fired again, using both hands to channel an intense blast of fire that was painful to look at. A bar of hazy distortion swept at her. She dodged out of the way.

Silver Flame continued around a building and made a hand gesture showing three fingers and indicated that he should flank around from behind. He swooped down in an arc come up on the enemy from behind.

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

Obelisk didn't flinch as the beam of fire caused the abandoned car to detonate. Glass and chunks of steel bounced of his armour weave black suit. It covered him from head to toe. He didn't need to wear armour, but he did so because it was annoying to be naked after shrugging off an RPG hit.

The massive metahuman turned to his compatriots. "Fuck this shit. Guillotine, get her next time she pops out. Speed Demon, fuck this shit. Go kill some fucking New Yorkers while we ice the do-gooder."

"Got it," said the meta in dark blue armour weave. He raced down the street, accelerating to a velocity more than five hundred kilometers an hour over a fifty meter stretch. In each hand he held fifty centimeter long hardened steel scythe blades. They cut through fleeing men and women like a wire through soft cheese. In ten seconds he left a swath of carnage three quarters of a mile long and more than a hundred people dead or maimed.

As Speed Demon killed Blackheart came flying around a building behind Obelisk and Guillotine about five meters off the ground. Burning and wrecked cars littered the terrorists' path, along with vehicles abandoned by those who had tried to flee on foot. Dead and wounded were scattered everywhere. The buildings had huge holes in them where cars had been picked up and thrown into them. Smoke rose from countless scattered fires.

Blackheart closed on the eight foot tall gorilla wearing black, his hammer drawn back and ready to swing. The skinny bastard wearing white shouted. "Obelisk! Behind!"

Obelisk turned just enough to take Blackheart's swing to the side of the head as Blackheart flew buy. Obelisk fell like a steer in a slaughter house. Silver Flame popped out and sent a bolt of white fire at Guillotine. A shimmering distortion appeared about two meters in front of him and repelled the flame.

Telekinetic or force field tricks of some kind Blackheart thought as he swooped around. He dropped the hammer and unslung the bomblet launcher. "Go high!" he shouted. Time to see if the fucker could handle attacks from multiple directions. Blackheart touched ground and ran around a parked minivan to get a shot at Guillotine.

A four meter long spear of distortion flew at him. Blackheart jumped back, out of the way. The spear stopped on a dim, widened a little, and flew at him. Blackheart leapt back, taking to the air. The telekinetic blade ripped all the way through the back half of the minivan and through the space he had occupied just a moment before.

Blackheart's height gave him a vantage point on Guillotine's location. He fired two shells at him, one hitting the trunk of the car he was hiding behind and the other hitting the windshield of the car behind him. The resulting explosions sent metal and glass flying everywhere and battered him like a rag doll. He fell to the sidewalk and rolled behind cover.

The bastard was tougher than he looked if he was still in shape to fight, but unfortunately a lot of metas were. Blackheart descended to finish the job. A blast of white fire hit the street just behind him and off to his left. Blackheart spun around to see Obelisk advancing, the silver fire scorching off parts of his armour to reveal reddened skin. In his hand he held Blackheart's hammer.

"I believe this is yours," he growled as he slammed the head into Blackheart's stomach like a lance. The blow lifted him up and sent him flying through the plate glass window behind him and into a clothing store. Blackheart lost his grip on the bomblet launcher and it went spinning across the floor.

Silver Flame sent another bolt of fire into Obelisk's back. The Black Arion terrorist flinched and hissed through his teeth, but didn't turn. Instead he took a step forward. A long distortion appeared above Silver Flame and dropped diagonally, slicing through her left shoulder and coming out at her right hip. She fell from the sky in two pieces.

"Now," said Obelisk, "that sucker punch of yours fucking hurt. It still hurts, even with my regen." Blackheart got to his feet and Obelisk continued talking. "So I'm going to take it out on you. I'm really going to fuck you up and then you're going to die."

[Imperial Overlord]

Obelisk swung the hammer in a horizontal sweep about level with Blackheart's chest. The meta was strong, far stronger than Blackheart, but not fast. Blackheart flew above the strike and then dropped down on Obelisk, hands clutching at the terrorist's head.

Obelisk dropped the hammer and grabbed Blackheart as the agent's thumbs found the terrorists eyes. Blackheart pushed. Even Obelisk's eyes were toughened but not quite enough. Blood shot from his eye sockets as Blackheart pushed his thumbs through the terrorist's eyes and into his brain. Obelisk screamed and shuddered.

Guillotine sent a plane of force flying at the agent. Blackheart went flying up, smashing himself into the ceiling. His missed losing limbs to the force blade by inches as it sheared off the top of Obelisk's head. Obelisk's body fell.

Blackheart flew to the back of the store, crashing through a door as Guillotine sent another cutting plane after him. Blackheart went low as he got behind the wall and continued to flee. The blade sliced through the wall just over his head. Blackheart crashed through the back door and took to the air, circling the building from behind.

He heard gun shots as he flew and then a shriek. Probably a cop or some poor shmuck with a gun. Against a meta with a armourweave suit, nothing short of a miracle was going to allow the poor guy to prevail.

Blackheart flew around the corner. He had lost the bomblet launcher back when Obelisk had hit him which meant his options were close quarters or throwing stuff. Guillotine had his back to Blackheart and was sending his cutting plane to slice through a row of parked cars. Blackheart flew straight at his back, fists extended.

Guillotine jumped out of the way as Blackheart blew passed him. The cutting blade flew back, on a course to slice him in two. It was faster and more maneuverable than the agent. Blackheart flew sideways, smashing through a plate glass window and through an office with people cowering inside. The blade followed him blindly through, narrowly missing and slicing through a wall. Blackheart dodged into the corridor.

This was bad. Guillotine could kill anything he saw almost instantly and he was in Manhattan, a city packed with people. Every second he lived was another opportunity to commit mass murder and taking him on head on was suicide. He needed to play this one smart and he needed to do it fast.

He ran through the corridor, heading towards an office that overlooked an adjoining street. He went through the glass and dropped to the street. With a heave he picked up a manhole cover. He zoomed around heading for the top of the building. Guillotine would expect him to come from behind, but maybe not from directly above.

Blackheart reached the top of the building and swooped over the roof to descend upon Guillotine who was looking around cautiously. A blade/shield shimmer was dancing around, covering most angle. Blackheart through the manhole cover and then swooped over Guillotine.

He missed. It struck the rear windshield of a nearby car. Guillotine jumped back and scanned behind him, trying to trace where the throw had come from but Blackheart had already passed overhead and he didn't see him. The agent dropped like a bat out of hell.

At the last moment Guillotine realized something was happening and looked behind him and up. He had a brief moment in which to recognize Blackheart's forearm coming right at his face and then his skull exploded like an overripe melon.

Blackheart floated above the dead terrorist and looked around. To the south was a trail of wrecked cars, bodies, and burned and battered buildings. To the north was the mile long line of bodies left by Speed Demon's killing spree. "Christ," he whispered.

"This is Blackheart," he said into his headset. "Silver Flame is dead. Two terrorists down, one speedster loose."

"Blackheart," said Fadeout. "We need you on Fifth Avenue now! It's Dreadnought."

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

A man walked forward, wrapped in armour of animated steel that made him a demigod. It moved with his body like his own flesh and provided an extra layer of protection for his enhanced body. He looked out upon the havoc he wrecked from the eye sockets of his skull mask and he liked what he saw. Fires and corpses everywhere. As Diva wished. As it should be.

He strode forward and raised his hands. Jets of flame blasted from his gauntlets and blew into the pair of buildings in front of him. He raised the jets and they sliced into the buildings like fiery swords, cutting them base to top. Fire gushed like blood from the wounds and he saw that it was good.

Bullets from some of the baseline insects ahead bounced off his armour. He sent fire jets ahead to cook them. Men screamed and cars burst into flames. A flying man, wrapped in green nimbus, shot an emerald beam at him. It cut through his armour and even sliced his flesh. He bled.

Dreadnought raised a hand and fire burned through the meta's force field and sent a charred mass falling from the sky. His armour responded to his will and reformed over the wound. The road around him became icy and we wreathed himself in fire as he stepped forward. The ice sizzled and steamed away. He lashed out with flames blindly. He could not see the ice maker, but that did not matter. He was stronger. Always stronger.

He stopped by a pair of burning cars and drew forth the metal. The range of his metal mastery was very short, but it served. Half of the cars dissolved away as he reshaped their mass into a myriad floating blades that followed him. He then sent the blades flying in all directions at speeds nearly equal to that of bullets. He couldn't alter their paths once he sent them as they left the range of his power, but at that speed and in those numbers why would he need to? The screams of fear and pain were music to his ears.

He found the ice maker. He was entombed in a ten meter tall golem of ice, a construct that paralleled his own armour. A giant ice spear flew at him but was vapor before it touched him. He pointed both hands at the ice golem. Fire gushed forward and steam and boiling water billowed away from the impact of his flame jets. Chunks of ice calved off the golem and fell away until there was nothing left but a cloud of steam. The cold died. Such was the fate of all who stood in Dreadnought's way.

[Imperial Overlord]

Dreadnought walked through a wrecked car, the body of the vehicle literally disintegrating before he touched it as all the metal tore itself free from the car's body and reformed into lethal shards orbiting Dreadnought. Dreadnought unleashed another wave of fire and metal projectiles, setting the nearby buildings alight and sending a wave of razor edged metal down the street. Hundreds of meters away, fleeing pedestrians and drivers in their cars were injured or killed.

A shell impacted on his sphere of control and was torn apart before it could strike him. Then another and then another. Dreadnought looked around but could not see his attacker. Frost began to form on his armour.

A stealth operative and another freezer, Dreadnought thought. Was this the best that they could do? Easy enough to deal with. He wrapped himself in a corona of flame and turned the closest two cars into ammunition. He sent blades flying in all directions. They flew through windows, tore through the sides of cars, and embedded themselves into concrete.

A big man ran around the corner towards him. He was black and wearing some kind of armour plate. Dreadnought sent a wave of blades against Iron Mike. Several penetrated his armour and drew blood, but the big man didn't even slow. Dreadnought extended both his hands and focused.

Two narrow streams of fire smashed into Iron Mike. The agent pushed forward against the streams as his armour blackened and cracked. The corona of fire around Dreadnought died and frost once again formed on his armour. Dreadnought killed the fire streams and the frost rose away from his armour as steam. He was going to have to kill the ice cube soon, but first he had to put down the brick.

Blades formed on his gauntlets, Wolverine style but even more excessive. Dreadnought wasn't that strong, but his metal control power made his armour incredibly powerful. He was going to fuck this boy up.

Iron Mike punched him in the chest. One ton of flesh and steel flew ten meters as Dreadnought was briefly airborne from the force of the blow. Dreadnought flew up and charged back, claws extended. He hit Iron Mike in the chest with both fists. The blades shattered on Iron Mike's chest, but the force of the impact knocked him back and down.

Dreadnought dropped on top of the stunned meta and began pounding with his fists. Iron Mike's nose gushed blood and his lip split. He bucked and tossed Dreadnought off him. He got to his feet, but Dreadnought's ability to fly as long as he was wearing his armour made him faster. The Black Arion terrorist was floating a foot off the ground and struck Iron Mike in the face with a flight enhanced kick. Mike toppled, fragments of teeth flying from his mouth.

Dreadnought approached an SUV and tore it apart with the powers. The metal flew coalesced into a massive hammer head. The bludgeon rose a hundred meters in the air as Iron Mike shakily rose to his feet.

Blackheart rammed Dreadnought from behind with a full force flying charge. The force of the impact broke Blackheart's left shoulder and sent Dreadnought bouncing and sparking over the pavement.
The hammer head came crashing down, its last moments before impact unguided by Dreadnought's powers so it obliterated a car beside Iron Mike instead of crushing the meta. Blackheart fought through the pain and flew over to kick Dreadnought in the head as he was getting back up. The terrorist fell over, tried to get up, and Blackheart kicked him again.

Dreadnought got up again and blocked Blackheart's next blow. He swung and Blackheart dodged to the side. Blackheart hit him in the face hard enough to dent the skull mask. Then Dreadnought landed a blow on Blackheart's lower ribs. They cracked. Another blow struck him in the upper right side. More ribs cracked. He struck Blackheart in the left shoulder. The agent screamed and fell.

Dreadnought kicked him away and Blackheart did his best to roll with the blow. Heat rose from Dreadnought's armour. He smiled as he realized he had exhausted the ice cube. He extended his hands. "Burn," he said.

A wave of flame rolled over him, scorching away his skin and hair as his armour began to melt. He writhed and screamed. Dreadnought's gaze lingered for a moment, enjoying his agony.

Incredibly strong hands gripped his head. "Leave the kid alone," Iron Mike said through broken teeth. And then he twisted. Steel twisted and deformed and bone broke. Dreadnought's lifeless body clanged on the street.

[CaptainChewbacca]

Fucking badass! Go Iron Mike! Its nice to see this isn't just Blackheart pwnzoring everyone.

[Imperial Overlord]

September 23, 2001

Taskmaster adjusted his glasses and stepped forward. "Doctor Cavanaugh."

Cavanaugh looked up from the reports. She looked like she hadn't aged a day in the last ten years. "Taskmaster," she said and then went back to reading. "What do you want?"

"I'm just here to inquire about your patients."

"Golden is still in a coma. The last round of surgery was a success so his chances of coming out of it at sometime are pretty good."

"And Blackheart?"

"I'm surprised he's doing this well. His accelerated healing is allowing him to make a truly remarkable recovery."

"I'm glad to here that. Can you go into specifics?"

"He came with broken bones and burns over eighty percent of his body. He was missing the tips of two fingers which were burnt right off and he was blind and in constant pain. The bones were set and he's regenerated all of his skin and both of his finger tips."

"Excellent news. And his eyes?"

"Weird stuff. They've healed, but there's a bunch of extra structures mixed in with the cones and rods."

"Best guess doctor?"

"He's growing energy beam projectors. Two metas with gaze beams have similar structures in their eyes."

"Interesting. That would suggest the symbiont is further modifying his body to suit its needs."

"Yes it does."

"Can I speak with him?"

"Go ahead."

Taskmaster walked over to the door and opened it. Blackheart lay in a bed, his dead white skin contrasting sharply with his short dark hair. "Boss," Blackheart said and tried to sit up.

"Save your strength," said Taskmaster. "How are you doing?"

"I could be better. One hundred thousand dead in New York alone."

"Yes, it was pretty bad. L.A., Chicago, D.C., and the rest didn't get hit nearly as hard. If they taken out the bridges at the start of their killing spree instead of the towers it would have been worse. They almost succeeded in doing that anyway."

"No one will tell me about our losses."

"Heavy enough. Silver Flame, Triphammer, and Fadeout all died."

"Fadeout?"

"Yes. One of Dreadnought's blades hit him. He was dead by the time medical treatment got to him. And Golden is in a coma."

"How are things on the Hill?"

"D.C. is suddenly very interested in meta terrorism. They have a ton of cash to throw around but personnel and expertise is hard to come by. In fact, most of it is spoken for. There's a cannibal feast going on where everyone is telling their favorite lawmaker why they should be the one to get another agency's budget and personnel."

"Fuck."

Taskmaster took off his glasses and began cleaning them with a cloth. "That does sum it up nicely. We're okay for the moment as we did a better job than any other alphabet agency, but reality only has so much power on the Hill. Next year and the year after it will be harder."

"I'm ready whenever you need me."

"I need you yesterday. You'll hit the field when the doctor says so. And you'll be mixing with a new team."

"Boss-"

"That's not up for debate. All the teams are being reorganized to deal with our losses anyway and then there is your particular brand of empathic poisoning. You'll be part of a new team who haven't had much exposure to you."

"Yes sir."

"Good. No relax and get some rest. It's not like your former are going to disappear off the face of the earth. They just need some time away from you to reset to normal. Far better that way than burnout, yes?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now get well. There's a hell of a lot of work for you to do."


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

The woman wore a black dress that revealed a lot of smooth brown flesh. Her long dark hair hung down to the small of her back. She was impossibly beautiful. "It could have gone better," she said.

Corpse King leaned back into his chair. "It went well enough. We lost no one we couldn't afford to lose and killed more than a hundred kay. The war will come sooner now. We will have our Apocalypse and our New Eden."

"Diva is right," said a man wearing a white robe with a long blonde beard and hair. "We succeeded, but we could have done better. We should have used the other plan for New York. First the bridges and then the monuments."

"It doesn't matter," said Corpse King. "Sure we could have killed more but we made the impression we wanted. Manhattan burned. We set the greatest city in the world on fire and we killed firefighters in batch lots. We killed and killed and killed. This was Ultima's East Coast headquarters and the city with more independent metas than any other than earth and they could not save their city. We won, brothers and sisters."

A suit of gleaming silvery armour leaned forward. He spoke with a smooth, masculine voice. "Corpse King is correct. Manhattan can be rebuilt, eventually, but the desired psychological impact was obtained. The Apocalypse will come and we will be there to build a New Eden on the ashes of the old world. But first there is a matter that Diva has brought to my attention." His head shifted towards her.

Diva smiled. "One of my worshipers works in D.C. He is a most useful source of information. A particular government agency has been pursuing us intently for the past year. Their agents were present in New York and performed quite well in several key confrontations."

"Sounds like they need to die yesterday," growled the Corpse King. He addressed the silver armour. "Do you or the Prophet have a plan?"

"Chronos and I have an idea with some merit," said the man in robes. "If they do not know about them already, they will soon learn of Power Monger and Diva. They would be high priority targets."

"You can't seriously be suggest-"

"Relax Corpse King," said Chronos. The cyborg shifted position slightly. "They will be no where near our carefully selected ambush site. We capture at least one alive and either the Prophet or Diva will extract information from him or her. Then we gut them."

[ThunderGod]

loved it..I even registered just so I can keep in with it...Love the Action

ThunderGod

[LadyTevar]

loved it..I even registered just so I can keep in with it...Love the Action

ThunderGod

You should try reading thru the nearly 200pages of RP Blackheart's suffering through.