RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block New MBL #2: Tip of the Iceberg

"So let me get this straight," said Hero, leaning forward in the shadows of the small cafe, "you believe that there's some kind of conspiracy against you? That . . . 'people' . . . are after you?"

"Important people," Doug insisted, emphasizing his words by gesturing with his hands. Doug's yellow complexion had been replaced by a somewhat more realistic skintone, and he wore a white muscle shirt, was still bald, had some facial hair, and had a gold earring on one ear, like a stereotypical sailor.

"Important people," repeated Hero, who was wearing a leather trenchcoat and a fedora over his mask and costume. "Right." He glanced with a disbelieving expression over at the casually-dressed Quinn Stevens, who tried and failed to hide his own skepticism.

The three new allies were sitting around a table in the corner of the Witching Hour Cafe. It was well past midnight by now. Hero and Quinn Stevens had not expected any calls from their new teammates until the next emergency occurred, but this evening Doug had invited them both over for a late night talk about a subject he refused to even hint at over the phone. While the two each carried mobile phones, Doug was a confirmed Luddite who only carried coins for public pay-phones, so it was much easier for him to contact them than the other way around (although Doug did leave them with a number for an establishment called Hogan's Alley Pub where he could usually be reached; Doug was apparently a co-owner). When they asked him why he had not seen fit to invite the other members of the New MBL, he told them that he didn't want to involve them unless it was absolutely necessary. Besides, he continued, he trusted Hero and Quinn Stevens after having worked with them against that giant lizard-monster, but Captain Midnight and Doctor Marvelo seemed like complete lunatics, and he wasn't sure he could trust the mysterious X-Stream just yet, having never worked alongside him.

So the original three members of the New MBL gathered for the first real meeting that they had as a team since they first gathered together more than a week earlier. And Hero and Quinn Stevens listened to Doug's wild story of faceless hunters riding giant vampire bats tracking him down and killing his oldest friends one by one over the course of seven months. Having lived a long time, Doug had a lot of old friends, but they were rapidly becoming fewer and fewer in number.

"Just hope that I ain't put any'a you guys in danger," Doug continued. "I ain't sure why they're after me like that, but it ain't done me much good to keep moving. A man gotta stop and take a stand fer himself once in a while, know what I mean? I spent most o' my life on the high seas as a sailor-man, hidin' my powers as best as possible, but I'm gettin' kinda tired o' tryin' ta be someone I ain't. I'm a shape-shifter, an' that's what I gotta be. If I can be some kinda hero at the same time, well, that's better than havin' people be scared o' you or hate you or somethin'."

Quinn cleared his throat. "Getting back to this conspiracy you mentioned . . ."

"Oh, I know it sounds crazy," said Doug. "I didn't want ta believe it neither, but that's about the best thing ta call it. Don't know how high up it runs or nothin'. I just know that, whenever I've turned to someone fer help, I've found 'em dead within days. Why do ya think I was so quick ta run out on you guys when that army general showed up and you declared us some kinda super-hero team? I figured that general was five seconds away from turnin' on the lot of us and capturin' or even killin' us all. Hell, fer all I know, that giant lizard we fought was created by the same conspiracy and was meant ta draw me outta hidin'. I wasn't afraid fer myself, y'unnerstand, as I ain't easy ta kill--and many have tried, believe you me--but I couldn't stand the thought of bringin' death to more people just because they knew me."

"Have you ever followed up on any of the police investigations?" Hero asked. "All those friends who were killed must have had their deaths investigated."

"Sure, sure," Doug replied. "I even tried ta help with some'a the investigations, but the coppers just dropped the cases one by one. My friends are scattered far an' wide across the globe, y'understand, but each and every police department that investigated the killin's just wrote them off as natural causes or suicides . . . basically anything but murder. Wasn't till the witnesses to the murders started disappearin' that I really got suspicious, though. A few o' them told me about the faceless killers and the giant bats. Each and every one o' those witnesses disappeared, an' no police officers or authorities of any kind were willin' to try to find 'em. It's like they all got a command from 'on high' ta bury the cases."

"So what are they after?" asked Quinn.

Doug shrugged. "Beats me. All's I can guess is that they want ta dissect me or somethin'. Maybe figure out how my powers work. Not even I know where I came from originally. All I know is that I was found in 1892 in a sealed pirate's treasure chest on a desert island in the South Pacific by a crusty old sailor everyone called Pappy. A blind brigadier named Dugan won me in a game of high stakes canasta, and I was raised in Hogan's Alley in New York under the name o' Mickey Dugan, though most folks called me Doug. After some years as a circus act, I spent most o' my adult life as a sailor, travelin' the length and breadth o' the sea an' discoverin' the length and breadth of my powers, usin' 'em in secret whene'er I needed ta. I made a lotta friends along the way, an' I hate ta see them bein' killed off on account o' me."

"Hmmm," Hero muttered. "There's not really much here to go on, Doug. I'd find it hard to believe your story at all, except for the fact that your shape-changing powers are undeniable."

"All I'm askin' is that ya keep an eye out," Doug said in a reassuring voice. "You folks stand a much better chance o' survivin' those faceless killers, but whoever's behind it all might end up sendin' somethin' else much worse after us. Better that we fight these threats as a team than die against them alone."

"You have a point," Quinn said. "Maybe we should have some kind of system to keep closer contact, just in case one or more of us is attacked while alone."

Doug said, "Yep, an' while yer at it, if ya feel the need ta tell the others about the faceless killers and the giant bats, be sure not ta mention anythin' else about it. We don't know who ta trust. Fer all I know, the PCPD are just as untrustworthy as any other coppers I've had ta deal with over the past few months. An' I definitely don't trust that General Forrest or any o' his military ilk. The less I see o' them, the better. Anyway, I don't know much more 'bout this conspiracy against me than I already told ya. All's I know is that it's prob'ly the proverbial tip o' the iceberg. . . ."

A sleek black limousine rode slowly down a street in the grimy low-rent neighborhood known as Ritter's Block. Passing a building with the words Hogan's Alley Pub painted on a wooden sign above it, the limousine slowed to a crawl, then sped up only to pull to a stop around the next corner.

Jimmy Chang was sweeping up a few broken bottles of beer from the floor of his corner store when he heard the limousine stop outside. Since limousines weren't seen very often in this part of town, Jimmy went over to the window to take a good look at it, thinking it may have been one of the druglords coming around for an inspection. His face went pale as he saw a figure step out of the car and turn around to face him... only the figure could not face him, for he (it?) had no face. Jimmy screamed involuntarily, and the figure walked toward his shop.

The shopkeeper was found the next morning with a hideous expression of fright on his face. He had apparently died from acute fear.

Quinn Stevens looked deep into the mirror of his bathroom. His "super" suit is hanging on a clothing line to dry after being freshly washed, wouldn't want to risk shrinking or turning it pink in the dryer.

They are all nuts.

Quinn splashed water over his face.

Ok, Hero isn't nuts, but the rest are.

Quinn hit the counter, inadvertently shaking the room.

No, they are good guys and I can trust them.

Quinn looked up and into the mirror. A faceless man lunged at him with a knife. The young hero quickly ducked, and the man's knife sliced into the glass, shattering it. Using his powers, Quinn struck forward with a silver energy blast, knocking the faceless man off his feet. Quinn carefully got up and grabbed his mask, and wasted no time putting it on. The faceless man was fast and after getting knocked down, retreated into the apartment. Quinn carefully stepped out of the room.

Suddenly a blade sliced down his left arm, shedding blood over the wall. Quinn counter attacked with a swift punch across the head of the being and continued with another strike. Using his powers, the energy based hero ripped the attacker’s knife from his hand and sent it across the room.

"Who sent you?"

Quinn stepped towards the now weapon less man.

"WHO SENT YOU?"

A knife materializes in the figure's hand, catching Quinn off guard and the figure lunges forward, striking Quinn in the side. The young man lets out a loud scream and uses his powers to send his attacker into the air, through the wall and hundreds of feet away.

Quinn drops to his knees and the knife disappears.

"Shit."

The stroke of the air on the face. That was what Hero was missing most from his previous life. The full-face mask was taking all the fun away.

Hero wouldn’t take it away for anything in the world.

That mask was the key to his present existence.

So much to preserve… so much to hide… so many thing the world must believe buried forever… so many hopes the future reserves…

The Twin Cities were an amazing sight, miles below. Amazing indeed.

The bay, the perfect round shaped leftover of the fall of a meteor, divide the immensely populated area. North of the bay lays Thunder City, and it enormous suburbia, Lightingburg. The city of lights, as many calls it. South of the bay extends Promethean City. City of darkness, to some.

Where Thunder is a complex, beautiful town full of life, Promethean is just the remnant of a true city. Never really recovered from the falling star that, due to the vagaries of Earth tectonic, destroyed Promethean leaving nearly intact Thunder. Some says the superheroes, which were always welcomed in Thunder even in those dark days of hate and distrusting, had a role in preserving the city from the meteor strike.

Hero shook the head. Those were the days of the past. They were behind, and they had to stay there. The future looks brighter, he though, much more brighter.

Suddenly, the line of though was interrupted by a shadow that obscured the sun.

Hero looked up, just to see something flying straight at his face. The hand caught it just before it hit the face.

It was a knife. At first Hero though of having bended the blade between his diamond hard finger, but then from a remote part of his memory recognized the peculiar shape: it was a Malaysian Kris, with the blade curved many times, like a running serpent. Then, it disappeared from his hand.

The Kris, emblematic weapon of the Thugs, the sect of assassin worshippers of Kali.

Memories…

No time for them…

The shadow enlarged, taking the shape of a giant bat, sporting a faceless warrior on the back.

“Fuck” muttered Hero, catching other knives thrown at him. The sight was scaring… the featureless face was awakening something deeply buried in the mind of Hero, a primordial, pure terror.

Hero closed his eyes and catapulted himself toward the odd beast. The fangs of the bat broke when it tried to bite the superhero. The beast screamed silently; Hero fled below the beast, in a blind spot for the rider.

Then, he charged at full force the bat, and out of brute force, took away the wings of the beast. Bat and warrior fled down, disappearing in the Ocean.

This was easy, though Hero. They weren’t ready for someone strong as myself. But, what monster could attack next time?

Landing on the roof of a ruin, Hero took out his Treo from the one of pocket, to call on Stevens.

-Maybe I have a lead- he was thinking. -The knives of those faceless idiots bring to Malaysia… and maybe Doug has been there when he was a sailor. I think we should talk again with him… -

The telephone rang for long, but no one responded.

Quinn couldn't reach his phone in time. As he bleed out, his concentration wavered and his powers were rendered all but useless. The young man pulled his body forward, inch by inch towards his phone. He had one last idea before passing out. Picking up his phone, the young man read off a crumbled piece of paper and dialed.

"Need a hospital"

The words barely fell from his mouth as his eyes closed and he fall backwards. In a blue blur, the hero was gone from his apartment. The small piece of paper he was holding fell to the ground, it read "X-Stream 278-495-2212".

New York City, The United Nations

Baldwin Blackmun walked expertly down the hallway to the meeting room of the Security Council for his 1:00pm meeting, checking his watch to make certain that, as always, he arrived exactly two minutes early. As he did, the lawyer exposed the black serpant tattoo on his lower arm.

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

"Gentlemen," he began as the meeting commenced, "the past year has not been good for you. Aside from the normal incompetence, the discovery that most of your anti-meta Strikeforces were little more than alien fronts have damages the UN's credibility more than a hundred oil-for-food scams ever could."

"We don't need Germaine's shark's reminding us of this," the American Ambassador curtly responded, "why did the Draco Group demand this meeting? We've Heard enough about Strikeforce I through IV in the press."

"As you're aware, in the five years we've been openly operating as a global consortium, our membership has expanded to include over 78% of the world's private wealth. While you politicians hemmed and hawed, we rebuilt Promethean City ourselves. We're here to make an announcement."

"And that is?"

"As of now, the global peacekeeping operations of Project: Strikeforce are being ceded to our organization. The mission parameters will stay roughly the same, but we will handle oversight and direction. Object and we make certain the majority of member nations do vote to not extend funding to the United Nations next year.

I assure you, Strikeforce V will be ready for deployment shortly. Good day."

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

Baldwin Blackmun was quite pleased as he left the building. Especially how the French Ambassador nearly wet himself at the final ultimatum. As the limosuine door opened, he could already see the million-dollar bonus.

"Were they any problems?," John Sainte-Germaine asked from inside the back seat of the limo as Blackmun climbed inside.

"No sir. And what of your talk with Mister Montag?"

"Appropriately theatrical for his caliber, I'd like to think. By tomorrow, Monsieur Shiva should have been successful in retrieving the Host with the Pandora Project. We'll soon be in business..."

"Indeed, sir," Baldwin Blackmun smiled, "now just to form Strikeforce Vanguard..."

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

Thunder City

It was here. It was never here.

according to everything Charles Jenkins checked, the Cooke Building had been on this site for over seventy-five years. From the days of the Depression onwards, G. Everret Cooke and his family had provided insurance services to the people of the Twin Cities for a reasonable price.

It was like Forrest said -- the Institute had never existed.

Someone or something had erased Jenkins and everyone he knew from existence. Somehow, a new continuity had been overwritten, like a tape overwriting an old program already watched. And there wasn't going to be any reruns.

That wasn't all that Forrest said that worried him -- it was that Forrest said anything at all that sent a shiver up his spine (THAT was the classic sixth sense). Whatever this Pandora Project was, they shouldn't have known of him. He had to do some research. And he had to figure out how deeply to involve his new allies.

Jenkins extinguished the butt of the cigarette in his mouth and dropped it to the ground, grinding it under his heel. He had left the the seventh deimension an eighteen year old, and he had really needed a smoke right about now. Once he crossed dimensions, the carcinogens would be cleared from his body and he'd lose any addiction he'd built up -- a nice side effect of his powers.

"Need a hospital"

"Quinn..."

Feeling his way into his uniform from its place in the sixth dimension, X-Stream stepped across the Twin Cities through four parallel realities to the spot in space-time he had felt Quinn Stevens. He was almost gone.

"Shit."

X-Stream had one option left to pull. It was dangerous to do to a fixed-dimensional being, but Quinn would die if he didn't. He'd have to d-shift him...

Elsewheren

Quinn Stevens opened his eyes with a gasp. Before his, his blood stuck out from his torso like a frozen flow. Around him, the world sat, brilliantly stark in its stark definition. Something was wrong. Amidst it all sat X-Stream.

"Sorry for the scare, Quinn. I'll fix the wound once I can work up the quanta to fold back the fifth. For now, sit back and enjoy the third dimension -- cause I'm not quite sure I know how to get you back out of it..."

The telephone rang for long, but no one responded. “Maybe after all cell phones don’t make up for real communicators” though Hero. “Better, we’d need a telepath.”

Hero looked up, and then all around, his eyes wandering over the twin cities. There, faceless hunters were probably preparing to attack all his teammates.

He tried again. Quinn and X-Stream, now, were unreachable. Midnight and Marvelo, luckily, responded soon. Since Doug had not a mobile phone, Hero asked the other two heroes to meet on the roof of the palace in front of the Hogan’s Alley Pub.

Doug’s pub.

When he landed over the terraced roof, amazingly, his two teammate were just there, waiting for him. “Someone arrived early, good friend!” said Midnight, pointing down. Hero walked to the border of the roof.

In front of the pub there were police cars and an ambulance.

With a confident smile, Captain Midnight said;

"I´ll get to the bottom of this."

And so he did...
He jumped straight down from the roof and amazingly didn´t dislocate his shoulders when he caught a lamp pole with both hands, then he let go with a acrobatic pirrouette, tumbling straight onto the closest policecar with a thump, leaving two large dents.

Before the police could protest, he held up his hands for silence.

"Yes, yes. My prescence can be intimidating. But I assure you fellow officers, that I am not here to steal your show. I´m merely here to offer my assistance in capturing the foul villains who..."

"Who the hell is this schmuck??!!" The demanding voice that could be compared to a Black & Decker chainsaw belonged to Sergeant Brottakova, a huge man with a square jaw and most certainly a posterchild of polish union workers.

He waved a finger that very easily could have been mistaken for a sausage as his fist was larger than Cap´s head.
"Arrest that lunatic!! And check if he has anything to do with what´s going on here."

Three officers jumped on Captain Midnight.

He managed to avoid one by ducking and the other by feigning a left turn, but as he tried to slip past the third he accidentaly tripped on a loose pavestone and fell facefirst into the hard street.
Seizing the moment the three officers threw themselves on top of him.

Captain Midnight was overwhelmed.

Marvelo looked at Hero.
"He needs our help"

In the meantime one of the officers screamed with his hands covering his face.
"Ghaaaahh!!!"

And with the other two officers distracted, Captain Midnight managed to shake them of and rose to his feet...

Only to meet a huge fist that collided with his face.

The sergeant who´s fist had just sent Cap into dreamland asked the yelling officer;
"What did he do to you?"

"That crazy fargin farted straight into my face when he had me in a scissor grip with his legs. I´m going to fargin kill him with my bare fists!!!"

Brottakova was just about to silence the enraged officer when a voice behind him said:

"I would think twice before doing that!"

In the Third Dimension

"I'm not sure I understand," Quinn hesitantly said as he poked at the slightly-spongy flow of blood sticking out of the hole in his body, "aren't you a speedster?"

"Yes, and no," X-Stream answered.

The young hero stepped forward and began studying the wound as he continued to explain.

"I'm able to borrow temporal energy where dimensions meet to increase my spped, but only to the speed of a fast car. Beyond that, I move by actually sidestepping through space-time. Instead of going from point A to point B, I lift my foot at A and put it down at B, even if A and B are miles away."

"And you can do this from any distance?"

"Hypothetically. It was assumed at the Institute that a mental block stopped me from conceptualizing going farther than a few miles without passing through through further dimensions and thus involving time. Normally, I take the fifth -- as it were -- to move back and forth, but I can move up to the seventh in case of emergency. Hold on, this'll feel odd..."

Quinn grimaced as the blood began pulsing.

"I'm using relativity to shift matter to energy by way of time. In short, I'm turning quarks into tachyons and tachyons into quanta. If I can accelerate your bosy's metabolism properly, I can convert that quanta into post-glucate energy and trick your body into forming ATP and replenishing the lost blood while your immune system stitches up the wound in the zero-time environment."

"All right. Now, X-Stream, how the hell can you do all this?"

"First of, call me Charles. The name's Charles Jenkins. I can interact directly and safely with the first seven of the eleven known dimensions because I was born with the mutant ability to recognize all sixty-four human senses."

"Sixty four?"

"Yes. By the way, you're healed."

"What?!"

"While I was talking, I switched to the fifth dimension. We've been here a relativistic three months. You've been nourished by a recycled energy-tachyon loop. Now I just have to figure out how to bring a piggy-back out of higher-reality without shattering your sanity."

As Charles turned his back to think, Quinn realized three things. The scene in his apartment was moving again -- in all directions at once. His wound had suddenly and completely healed. And he (both not X-Stream) suddenly had the beard of a man who hadn't shaved in three months...

One of the Promethean City Police officers who had attacked Captain Midnight screamed, his hands covering his face. With the other two officers distracted, Captain Midnight managed to shake them off and rose to his feet, only to meet a huge fist that collided with his face.

Sergeant Brottakova, whose fist had just sent Cap into dreamland, asked the yelling officer, "What did he do to you?"

"That crazy fargin' farted straight into my face when he had me in a scissor grip with his legs," the infuriated officer shouted. "I'm going to fargin' kill him with my bare fists!"

Brottakova was just about to silence the enraged officer when a voice behind him said, "I would think twice before doing that!"

"Who the hell--?" Sergeant Brottakova began, turning around. He looked puzzled for a moment, seeing no one. Then he looked down. Way down. Way, way down. "Oh! Ch-Chief Danner! I didn't know it was you, sir."

"Calm your men down, Sergeant," Chief Danner said. He was a short, mustachioed man in a trenchcoat with a slight resemblance to a middle-aged Gregory Peck, if Gregory Peck was three-and-a-half feet tall and suffered from dwarfism. "And will someone please attend to Captain Midnight's broken nose? Damn it, Brottakova -- can't you see that this man is a member of the New MBL?"

"The terrorist group?" Brottakova said, frowning in puzzlement.

Chief Danner sighed in frustration. "Do yourself a favor, Sergeant: Pick up a newspaper and get yourself up to date on current events. This man is one of the heroes who saved the city last week. Now," he continued, turning towards a detective, "what's the situation here?"

"Guy named Horatio Dunks got himself killed," the detective said. "Owned and ran the Hogan's Alley Pub."

"Dizzy Dunks is dead?" Chief Danner exclaimed.

"You know him, Chief?" the detective asked.

Danner went immediately to the ambulance and reached up on his tiptoes in order to pop his head in and out of a sheet covering a corpse. "My God . . . that man was practically an institution in this neighborhood." A somewhat short (though much taller than Danner), somewhat obese man with a shock of graying red hair lay dead on a stretcher inside.

From behind him came a shout: "DROP YOUR WEAPONS!"

Chief Danner turned around to see Sergeant Brottakova with his pistol drawn on the individuals he recognized as Hero and Doctor Marvelo, who held his umbrella before him but looked completely shocked at the situation.

"I was merely opening my umbrella," Marvelo explained. "Looks like it's about to rain, eh wot?"

"Sergeant!" Danner yelled. "Remove yourself from the scene! These are New MBL members!"

Brottakova grumbled but stood down and walked away.

Hero knelt down to inspect Captain Midnight's bleeding and possibly broken nose. The Captain was just beginning to wake from unconsciousness.

"I must apologize for my men's actions, Mister Hero," Chief Danner said.

"Hero. It's just Hero. And I don't entirely blame your officer. The Captain is a bit . . . over-eager sometimes."

"You do seem a bit more rational than your teammates." He extended his strangely oversized hand upwards. "Kent Danner, Chief of Police."

"Pleased to meet you," Hero said guardedly, kneeling down to shake Chief Danner's oversized hand. "What happened here?"

"I just arrived on the scene, myself, Hero, but it looks like the owner of the Hogan's Alley Pub was killed somehow."

"Doug?" Hero questioned.

"Hmm?" Danner said, his eyebrow raised. "No, no, it was a fellow named Horatio 'Dizzy' Dunks, a local celebrity. Never thought I'd see the day that he'd die. We all figured he would outlive us all."

Hero nodded. "Murder?"

"Possibly," said Danner. "As I said, I just arrived on the scene. Let's talk to the detect--"

"CHIEF!" someone shouted from behind him. "The body's gone!"

"What the deuce?" Doctor Marvelo exclaimed.

"Gone?!?" Chief Danner repeated.

The police officer seemed a nervous wreck. "It was there a moment ago. I turned for just a second to watch Sergeant Brottakova kick a mutt, and when I turned back it was just . . . just gone!"

"Hey guys," said Doug, stepping up behind Hero and Doctor Marvelo and placing his elasticized arms around their shoulders. Doug was back to the pale yellow look that he wore when he didn't want his civilian identity recognized. "Let's go find somewhere ta talk, OK?"

The three New MBLers met on a nearby rooftop.

"Dizzy ain't dead," the shapeshifter explained. "I thought he might be targeted, so I've been impersonatin' him fer the last week. I sent him away somewhere safe. Sure enough, they came fer me last night. The faceless killers. I would'a died fer sure if I'd'a been human."

A woman's scream interrupted Doug's explanation. The three MBLers turned as one towards the sound.

"Giant bats!" someone else screamed for clarification's sake.

“Again!” yelled Hero, shielding his face from the bright sun that temporary appeared between the big, grey fast moving clouds.

There were at the least twelve big bats, the size of horses, which were about to attack the police. The policemen were firing with their handgun, but the beasts were very agile, and managed to avoid every bullet. Finally one succeeded into capturing one of the slimmer officers.

Hero looked at his two teammates. Not able to aerial flight. He was the only one flying. “It looks I am the only one to follow that beast. You two, stop the raids over the police” he said, jumping straight into the air.

Like the falcon identifying the weakest members of the flock by the odd beat of the wings, Hero’s eyes were over the heavy beats of the bat carrying the policemen.

Hero doesn’t really fly. He has no wings, there would be no way for him to push over the air to sustain himself, changing direction or such. He merely jumps. Jumps taller than the higher buildings, so to say…

The first jump was not good enough. The kinetic energy of the first jump, released at the subsequent landing, made him jumping a lot higher. It was heading straight for the predator bat. One metre after metre, his eyes were fixed over his target, ready to save the man and possibly knocking out the oversized noctule.

Just when it was inches to take the hanging leg of the policeman, half a dozen bats converged over him. It was not really harmed… they could have done really nothing to him, his skin being impenetrable to their fangs. But they were slowing his action. All the energy spent, he began to fall, still fighting with the beasts. Hitting one with another, tearing wings, punching muzzles.

When his feet touched land, no one of the six bat was still alive. He looked up, spotted the bat with the policeman, and jumped again.

This time, enraged for the fight, he was able to jump even higher, a lot above the height of the bat.

He was falling toward his target, thinking “Why it has taken that man? Why… where he is bringing him?”, when, like in an answer, the bat let the man loose. “No strategy behind… they are just beast attacking…”

“…fuck!” Hero screamed, when suddenly something hit his mind.

Taking the policeman at mid fall, he looked down.

“It’s a diversion. It’s a fucking diversion…” screamed, depositing the man near the ambulance. With his acute sight hero looked around.

Policemen firing bulletsat the bats.

Midnight using a rope to climb the façade of a building to get to the roof.

Marvelo firing some sort of death ray from his umbrella toward a couple of bats.

Doug…

Doug nowhere to be seen.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!” screamed Hero, catapulting himself in air.

In a jump he was over the roof where they previously met. No traces. A jump higher, his eyes wandering desperately across the roads below.

And the bright yellow of Doug skin, like a road signal hit his sight.

Doug, in a dead alley.

The faceless hunter two metres away.

In the middle, a flying kris knife aimed at the shapeshifter.

And not enough time to stop it.

Suddenly, the kris knife stopped in midair with a silver glow. If the faceless hunter had a face, his expression would be curiosity, but since he doesn’t, he simply stands there looking stupid. That is until the knife doubles back and slams into his stomach.

Quinn, now costumed and a beard under his mask, lowered himself in a silver glow to the ground beside Doug. “You ok buddy?” he asks and gets a nod as a reply.

“Good timing Quinn. I owe you my-“

“Not me-“ Quinn states and motions for Doug to turn around towards where the faceless hunter was. X-Stream had the hunter tied up with rope and frozen in a between dimensions rift. “Ifiguredwecouldgetsomeinfooutofit.”

Doug covered his mouth with his hand and leaned towards Quinn, “Who is that again?”

“The guy that saved my life this morning.”

“Oh, and in turn mine now.” Doug turned towards X-Stream and waved hi. “What is he doing?”

“I think he trapped that dude between dimensions or some shit.”

“I see.”

“I’m just glad he’s on our side.”

“Yeah,” Doug looked at Quinn and shape-shifted a beard onto his face, “Nice beard ‘mate.”

Quinn laughed but had to stop in pain. Taking out a small bottle, Quinn threw back a couple painkillers. His trip between dimensions had taken its toll on his body.

"You guys try and figure out how to interrogate someone with no mouth," X-Stream grunted as he cracked his back and grimaced -- whatever he did to get Quinn between dimensions hadn't been easy, and doing this now hadn't helped, "I'm going to do some recon and see if I can find any more of these guys in the immediate area or find a source point."

X-Stream stood up and took a step forward, vanishing as he did. A split-second later, he appeared about two feet in front of where he had left.

"Plan B. I sit down for a minute, then I go on recon. So, any ideas on interrogating this guy?"

“I don’t think we have the rights to interrogate him” said Hero. “We can only handle him to the police, and hope that midget we’ll let us aware of what they discover…”

X-Stream got standing. “You can’t be serious! We captured him… the police wouldn’t even spot him…”

“Hero’s right” said Quinn Stevens. “Not that I’m happy, but that crook must be handled to the cops. We must keep good relations with them, if we hope to make a difference in the city.”

X-Stream shook the head, and for an instant it seemed his presence became blurry.

Hero frowned under the mask, but it lasted less than a heartbeat, so the man didn’t pay attention to the fact.

Suddenly, the faceless man let out a scream, and died.

“Fuck!” yelled Hero, as him, Charles Jenkins and Quinn Stevens moved at unison toward the villain. “He killed himself!”

“I should have frozen him in third dimension…” muttered Jenkins “but then we couldn’t ask him questions…”

In that moment arrived Midnight and Marvelo, waving joyfully his umbrella, followed by a police car.

“No ugly flying mouse left, merry friends, eh wot?!” said smiling Marvelo.

“I thorn away those horrible fangs with my bare hands from the last of them” stated Midnight.

“I should have had hallucination, then, my joyful comrade” said Marvelo “As I am sure you used your… uhm.. corporeal gas… over it”.

“Ahhh… whatever… I took it down…” concluded the conversation Midnight.

“What we have here?” Chief Danner asked, getting off the car.

Stevens shrugged. “That man is probably the one who tried… who killed…” Quinn stopped for an instant, to give a puzzled look at Doug, but the yellow man seemed not to intend… “Ahw, he was trying to kill one of our teammates. X-Stream stopped him, and in turn he killed himself in a mysterious way. In any case, he died.”

“They killed him” grunted Sergeant Brottakova, from behind the short police officer.

The short man turned around, bending the neck to look at the towering subordinate. “Who cares, Sergeant?” These brave men had saved the city and your butt from those bats, if they had to kill this monster to save one of their one I am not the one who would blame them.”

The noise of a sudden brake stopped the exchange. It was a black humvee, from which two soldiers got off, one sporting a familiar face.

“General Forrest?”

The official, a broad smile on the face, looked around, like to take notice of the situation, and then went straight to the Police Chief.

“Danner… the case is mine from now on. Metahuman affairs… it’s my field.”

Danner’s face turned red. “How the Hell the Army can meddle with civilians matter… the City is mine to guard…”

Forrest shrugged. “You’d be better to find a way to organize traffic… it took me two hour to get here from Lightingburg. Leave the problem to professionals…”

“Two hour.. two hours ago the attack of the bat had not yet began!” yelled Danner.

“Ahh… details. Now, Danner, go. I hope I have not to make a report to the Major…”

The policemen got on their car and went away. The body of the faceless hunter was put on a litter and then in the back of the humvee. “I will let you know what we'll find” said Forrest. The humvee departed at great speed.

“Well… I guess we can go home, guys” said Quinn.

The heroes went their respective ways, and X-Stream stepped out of there/then.

Hero remained still, just raising his hand at the leaving heroes. When they were enough far, he moved away from the position he had for all the time of the meeting.

Under his right foot, there was the kris knife. “Dying, the hunter was not able to teleport it away…” he though.

Taking the knife in his hand, he said to himself: “I guess a visit to the Thunder Historical and Ethnological Museum is in order.”

It was a dangerous game, playing Forrest like this, at least without telling the others, but X-Stream couldn't tell them with possibly endangering them. Forrest knew about him. And he knew about these hunters. Somehow, X-Stream knew he knew. Know it was up to him to find out how.

Following the humvee secretly, he wasn't entirely surprised to see it pull into a back garage of the Cooke building. He was less surprised to see the garage go down at least eight sublevels, each marked by a word in Greek. The truck finally stoped at the bottom, whose level's title was marked in English:

HOPE

It was the Pandora Project. The group that had detected the nonexistant Institute was in the virtual footsteps of that very place. That said, he had no choice but to follow, hoping to hide in higher dimensions.

"Good evening General," a scientist in a lab coat said as the main door swung open, "did the boy lead you it?"

"He did," Forrest replied, "Its in the back. Step one of stopping the incursion the psychics read into is complete. Dissect it and give me a full reading."

"Sir!" a guard at a console suddenly yelled, "we have a breach of security. Its...higher dimensional but localized inside the compound."

"Jenkins," Forrest's voice sounded cold, not his own at all, "Seal the membrane locks. I want X-Stream contained. If he tries to gets out, shoot to kill..."

“Ok, come out!” said Hero. A dustbin suddenly reshaped himself into the form of Doug.

“How do ya noticed me?” asked the yellow man.

“I didn’t. Just, when Forrest arrived, you were not around anymore, so I presumed you reshaped yourself”.

Doug looked at the kris. “Why do ya hide it?”

“Well… keeping the hunter to make investigation on our own would have been kidnapping… hiding an evidence is a minor crime…” explained Hero, jokingly. Then, serious: “We must find from where those men came…”

Sometimes later, at the Thunder Museum…

“Mr. Sweeter? Edmond Sweeter?” asked Hero, accompanied by Doug, addressing a tall, bald man working around an exhibition.

The man turned, to face the two MBL member. Hero froze for a moment, at the sight of the man, then coughed, and showed him the knife.

“Mr Sweeter, we have been told you are the expert on ancient weapons. I am..”

“You are Hero of the MBL. I have read about you on the Gazette. I think you have no friends in the paper…”

One hand of Hero went to the back of his head. “Yeah… there are reporters that believe to live in the past… I guess we need better public relations… “

“Oh, the people love you… after what have done with that reptile… you did a really good job…” said the professor. “Let me see…”

Hero handled the man the kris knife. The man frowned, an expression of sudden pain crossing his face that lasted a mere moment.

“Follow me, please” he said, bringing the two heroes in a laboratory. He put the knife under a binocular microscope, and began to examine it.

“It’s an original Indian kriss. I’d say it come for the Calcutta area, circa first decade of the XIX century.” The man stood up, handling the kris back to Hero.

“It’s the typical weapon of the Thugs cult. A secret society of worshipper of Kali, the goddess of death and destruction. Their name came from the Indian word thag, that means deceivers. The word then became a common English word for criminal.
Basically they were assassins, known to ritually strangle their victims. They were wiped out by the British Captain William Sleeman, in a few years after he was charged with the mission in 1826” explained Sweeter.

“And they are still around these days?” asked Doug.

“Not that I am ware of” said the professor, shaking his head.
“One last question, sir. Were they faceless?” asked Doug.

“You mean like your friend? You ask if they wore full-face masks? No. But they used to disguise themselves before committing their crimes… hence their original name… the deceivers…”

Hero nodded. “Thanks sir. You have been of great help…”

WAREHOUSE – THE DOCKS, THUNDER CITY

Quinn Stevens, now fully costumed, lands on the ground in the back alleyway of a warehouse that is nested on the docks of Thunder City. He walks to a brick wall and presses one of the bricks in. Stepping back, a red light scans down his body and a doorway in the brick wall opens.

The young hero steps in the warehouse, which on the inside is a technological marvel. Gizmos and computers are all over the place, as are inventions and the like. An older man is working on a backpack shaped device. Kevin “Forge” Anderson.

“Kevin.” Quinn says, but his words are blocked by Forge’s saw hitting metal, “MR. ANDERSON?”

The balding man looks up and sees Quinn.

“Quinn!” he shuts and puts down the saw like device, “Young man, how are you?”

The older gentleman walks towards Quinn, who pulls off his mask.

“Tough day. Second mission and I was almost gutted.”

“Oh, your Dad’s gonna be worried. I should-“

“No, its ok Kevin. I’ll be fine, I got a few others watching my back”

“Yes, yes, yes, these MBL guys.”

“Yeah, that’s them.”

“You didn’t tell them your name, did you? You can’t trust just anyone!”

“No, I haven’t taken of my mask with them.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want your family or ME hunted down. Trust me, this is a dangerous game we play.”

“I know.”

“Now, why are you here? Need a laser gun? Antigravity device? Fast shoes? Bullet deflecting underwear?”

“Heh. No, none of those, but I could use a communications device. Something small and directly linked to others…”

“How many do you need?”

“Six would work”

“How about in a ring, that cool and different right?”

“Ah, yeah, I think that works.”

“I can retro build them bigger than normal so they can automatically fit to any finger size, and I can put MBL on them for you and-”

“Sounds great Forge”

“Anytime kido. Come back tomorrow, I’ll have them ready for you.”

“Thanks! Ok, back off to try and be a hero”

“Don’t get killed, or your parents will kill me!”

“Not planning on it!”

Sometime later, eight sublevels under the Cooke Building…

“Unsealed Jenkins!” yelled Forrest at the guard. It was the matter of just pushing a button, and X-Stream phased out of irreality and back into Four Dimensional Space. Under the mask, the young man grimaced.

Forrest handled Charles Jenkins some papers. “They are the readings of the faceless hunter. It’s a cyborg… a metahuman subject with a teleportational device grafted on. Also, the face features have been chirurgically removed and replaced with a sort of bio-display that can show any facial feature. Basically, he could take the sembiance of any other man.”

“Teleportational device, you said” asked Charles… “You mean he can move trough dimension like myself?”

“No” responded coldly Forrester. “He couldn’t step trough dimensions. His implant allowed him to have his matter to be transmuted into radio waves, beamed to a location and then to be recostructed. Anyway, a pretty intresting tech. Alien, probably.”

“Why you are handling that to me?” asked Jenkins. Forrest didn’t respond at first, but just moved toward an enormous map of the city, as wide as the whole of one wall.

“We have registered the transmissions that beamed the faceless hunters… and the bats… They converges here” Forrest said, pointing at a small spot on the map.

“That’s New Bombay… the Indian quarter…” whispered, puzzled, Charles.

Forrest nodded. “It’s centered over the Shiva temple. We tried to have readings of the place, but there is a sort of nullifing field around. No psychis, nor hackers were able to crack it. It hide something more than elephant statues. I will take away the power from the whole city between midnight and one in the morning. You and your friends have an hour to find what’s there.” Said then, he handled Jenkins six pair of night goggles.

“Why don’t you send your men?”

“Jenkins, I can’t risk to burn me and my men in such a mission. On the other hand, you are just freaks… and expendable.”

New Bombay, on the outskirts of Promethean City 11:59 p.m.

“I don’t trust Forrest, I tell ya” said Doug, for the tenth time in a few minutes.

“Yet what he said it’s compatible what WE have found, Doug” said Hero.

The rain was pourting down hard; the six heroes were on the roof of a building facing the Shiva Temple, a massive one hundred tall tower of piramidal shape, all encrusted with a complex figuration of Indian deities, elephants, cosmic turtles and things with fangs and claws that were not easily recognizable.

“Not really a wonderful sight, wot?” said Marvelo, his eyes following the shapoes of the many monsters sculpted over the roofs and walls of the tower.

“Easily to climb over” simply stated Midnight.

Quinn Stevens was looking at his wristwatch. “Three… two… one… midnight”

In that precise moment, sector by sector, the lights of the whole Promethean City went off.

A lighting illuminated the tower for an instant in a spectral white shadowless flash, then it was all black again.

“Put on you goggle, sirs” said Quinn. “And… let’s move, MBL!”

Something nagged at the back of X-Stream's mind. Forrest's behavior back at the base was odd to say the least. He had snuck into a secret location and was discovered. Yet, withing thirty seconds, the general first ordered him hunted down, then offered him intell in the friendlist fashion. Something was wrong there. But this wasn't the time.

"Tachyon bleed," X-Stream noted, "we're in a dimensional hotspot, all right."

"I'm not sure I understand," Hero muttered, "even with the power cut, won't their devices still work remotely?"

"It's what we're counting on them counting on," Quinn replied, " they active a signal, we find where they're hiding."

"And meanwhile I keep them locked down..."

X-Stream smiled as he finished his sentence. In the darkness, it took the others a moment to notice his form becoming transluscent.

"Feeling the charge now, boss," X-Stream said, his voice sounding distant.

"What's he doin'?" Doug asked, confused.

"That's why the power was cut," Quinn answered him, "X-Stream's using it to set up a firewall against any teleportation."

"New Bombay is D-sealed," X-Stream smirked cooly, "whether I can channel a city's power for a whole hour without getting fried is another question, though, so I'd suggest you hop to it. I have to remain sub-dimensional to ride the current, but I'll see what I can do to slow down any resistance."

"Like I said, guys," Quinn motioned, "let's do this..."

“I don’t like this,” Doug said, taking the form of Hero, “I don’t like this at all.”

“No worries man, we’ll be in and out.” Hero spoke with such a strong confidence, “They will not even-“

“These guys have been after me.” Doug began to panic, “And instead of running, we’re going to them?”

“Doug?” Quinn asked, moving past Hero, “Your not alone any more. As long as we are together, no one can-“

He noble words fell silent as the team was raided from all ends by a military like unit with all sorts of weapons drawn.

“They will not fire at us with their men at all sides” Hero mentioned.

“Gentlemen, do we really want to take that chance?” Marvelo had the words of reason.

A short general like solider moved in front of the men.

“There is one missing!” He turned to another solider, “Find X-Stream! Now!”

A unit of men quickly run off into the darkened night as a cluster of units separate all of the heroes and take them off into parts unknown.

“No, noo…” were the faint words of Doug as they trailed off into the night.

One is the loneliest number...

So -- they got the others.

X-Stream stretched as he stood locked in place in the city square. Around him, militiamen milled, unable to see him.

Two can be as bad as One...it's the lonliest number since the number One...

Closing his eyes, X-Stream stepped out of his own shadow. A transluscent filament of himself stepped forward, leaving his real form behind.

"Almost."

The shade closed its eyes for a moment. Like a camera changing focus, the shade fleshed out, while the rest of the world grayed out, his other body included (which turned transluscent instead).

"Better."

The 4th-dimensional X-Stream reached into his belt puch and pulled out a communication device. With a hum of static, it came to life.

'You reading me, Quinn?' he thought as he made his way into the complex, 'Don't be alarmed -- it's Charles. I installed a tachyon relay in your scar tissue when we were cross-dimensional earlier. I can transmit to you in this state but can't receive, and you'll get it as a voice in your head. I'm using the power feed to let me access two dimensions at once, so I can lock the field AND check out the grounds at the same time. I'll report if I find anything. X-Stream out...'

As he looked back at his own distant body, X-Stream couldn't help but realize how he felt he had just somewhat lied to Quinn -- sounding as if he knew what he was doing trying something like this...

Hero felt like a stupid kid taken with the hands in the marmalade jar.

It took so little time to get used to those powers, to that impenetrable body, that he forgot the need for a backup plan... and to always look at your back.

They were ready to start the assault at that fortress masquerading as a temple... and instead those Thugs surrounded them. Just they were not like he remembered them... not naked Hindis armed with knives... now they were organised paramilitary forces, with any kind of weapons...

But that would have not stopped him... not at last after having been separated from the others... as there was no chance any of those weapons could have harmed him... but they were prepared... and one stood out of the military team, his eyes glowing of an arcane light. His sight was mesmerizing Hero... the young man suddenly knew... the Thug was hypnotizing him.

Hero tried to fight back, but it was impossible… he felt completely paralyzed, and fell to the ground.

Now six of those men were carrying him above their shoulders, deep inside the meanders of the temple. The dungeons were lightened by fire torches… and Hero wondered if it was due to the black out or it was the normal way down there…

A distant rhythmic sound pattern deepened… like hundreds of drums beating at unison… or ther incessant work of a giant heart…

Thunder City

"Sir, they're in. And they've been captured."

"As expected," General Forrest smiled as he approached the computer bank, "now we get some real intel."

From the shadows stepped another man. With dark hair and darker eyes, he coolly looked toward the display.

"For you sake, General, I hope so," Victor Shiva said with an indeterminable accent, "the others I don't care about, but we put too much care into creating the boy to lose him like this."

"Jenkins will survive. He's the only one still free."

"He'd best remain that way. That's boy's our bait for the incursion. I may be more patient than my master, but not by much -- don't lose my property."

As Shiva spoke, he raised his arm to brush back his dark hair, revealing the black tattoo of a serpant coiled along his arm.

"Pandora Twelve," Shiva spoke, interrupting the General as he was about to give an order, "let's send our boy some Hope..."

Meanwhile...

X-Stream watched just out of synch as the MBL was led into the main building. The main threat was the one Thugee with the hypnotic stare, He had to be dealt with, somehow.

Suddenly, out of the blue -- for no reason he could discern whatsoever -- he knew what he had to do.

Sneaking around behind the meta, he played the one card he could in his split form. Changing his shift slightly, he began to render himself marginally apparent to enhanced senses, counting on only that one individual having them.

It didn't take a genius to realize the reaction. The Thugee knew he was being watched. And in that moment, Hero was free to strike...

It was the matter of an instant.

All of a sudden Hero felt the mental chains to fade: he was free again.

He didn’t waste time with the Thugs carrying him; he just jumped at the leader, who was looking around, like he was feeling being spied. Hero’s hand posed over the head of the hypnotic man, and squeezed it like an orange. Cerebral matter, bones fragment and skin tissue fled all over the place.

Hero turned back, to face the twelve Thugs remaining. They had all their guns aimed at him.

Hero just smiled.

One foot set further.

All the guns fired at unison.

All the bullets resulted wasted.

Hero was still standing. A smile appeared on his face, and then it was like a blur, as he let out his rage.

One minute, and thirteen bodies were lying, lifeless, on the ground of the corridor.

Hero raised an arm and passed it over his face, to wipe away the sweat; then froze for an instant, to try to decipher the direction from which the drum beats was coming.

He looked on the opposite direction for a moment, and then started running toward the pulsations. He had a feeling all of his comrades were bought there...

Japan

"The answer is no. I've bought out the Technobal like I've bought out the others for my own reasons. I must politely ask you to leave."

As the foreign man spoke, his guests bowed and slowly walked away. Men knew better than to second-guess Prester John.

"Guy, get the Ouroboros division on the line. I need to speak to Shiva."

"Sir," the barrel-chested manservant, covered in tattoos from his previous life in the Yakuza, spoke politely, "satellite communication to Thunder City is still spotty."

"Get the call through. The Draco Group spent a fortune rebuilding Promethean from the ground up, and another fortune keeping our involvement secret. Get me Victor Shiva on the line now. Our timetables accellerating. We need to free the Host now..."

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

Promethean City

It was war, pure and simple. Seconds became minutes, and minutes threatened the hour mark. The MBL were fighting overwhelming odds. It was bad intell -- impossibly bad intell. Something stank here.

"Forrest!" X-Stream yelling into his comm-link, "what the hell's going on?!"

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

Thunder City

"A call for you on the private line, sir," a soldier turned and said to Victor Shiva.

The industrialist nodded and went into the next room, switching on a jamming switch as he did.

"Comte, sir," he answered.

I trust the boy is in position?

"The hour is almost up. He'll be at the heart of the complex at the appropriate moment."

Will he 'realize' where he is?

"Per your instructions, we placed the two key points where they mattered -- Control at the Institute site and the Incursion Point at the Base site. They don't even realize we extended the infrastructure over the old riverline when we rebuilt the city. In all the chaos, it'll go unnoticed. If only we didn't have to sacrifice our dimensional ally..."

His plans don't match ours. We need the Host. I've finished reorganizing the Draco Group and sent you the credentials you'll need to give him when he arrives. Good luck, Victor.

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

Promethean City -- Once Edge Island

An hour was up.

"Shit!," Hero shouted as the clock rang.

All across the landscape, lights flared to life.

"We're boned," Doug muttered.

"Not yet we aren't."

X-Stream recoaslesced himself and dropped back into the third dimension. As he did, the heartbeat in the main temple got louder and louder. Suddenly, in the light, an army of Thuggees charged.

"Stay together," Quinn ordered, "watch your backs..."

But it was too late. X-Stream was already inside the compound. He was feeling the rhythym and following it to its source. It wasn't sound. It was a dimensional pulse. And it was familiar -- he had to know.

Jenkins...

Sixty-four senses screamed panic as X-Stream stopped at the sight of the figure before him. No older than he was, a red-haired boy in black armor, red eyes crackling with a familiar glow.

At last. The stray thread can be cut.

X-Stream had time to think only one thought to Quinn before he lost his dimensional connection -- Run.

Incursion was here...

“Run” whispered Quinn, so softly no one understood in the booming corridor.

“What?” asked Doug. The shapeshifter was sweating madly, and his cloths were badly tattered, but his body was untouched, as the plyable substance forming his body seemed impervious and able to absorb any kind of harm. Heavily scarred and bruised were instead Midnight and Marvelo, altough the latter, even in those dire corcumstances, was able to keep his unperturbed look. Quinn, thanks to his silver aura, was in perfect state, altough he was visibly tired. Hero, on the other hand, was nearly totally naked, as his costume didn’t was able to keep up with his impervious skin, when he was in the eye of the fight.

“I said” replied Quinn, lowering his tone, “that X-Stream just told me to run”.

“Uhm… shouldn’t we take his suggestion, then?” observed Doug, frowning with bony eyebrows like a Neanderthal. The effect was more comic than threatening.

“Never” said Quinn. “We run, to help him, not to escape”.

“What makes you so confident, Stevens?” asked the shapeshifter.

“You, Doug. Your presence” stated the young leader of the MBL.

“Me?” said Doug, even more perplexed.

“There is something big going on right now, Doug. And they have tried to capture or kill you right before this started. I guess whatever this is, you are a match for it, somehow. Don’t forget how this story started.”

And then, turning to Hero: “Are you ready?”
The big man simply nodded, and then started to run toward the core of the temple, ramming his way trough the deep dungeons. “MBL, go!” yelled Quinn Stevens, and fled behind Hero, closely followed by the other three heroes.

Elsewhen...

Quote:

---

VIPER said:
To A Time Long Past...

Knights sit along a round table, with a king standing before them. A battle plan of some sort is being drawn up. A gust of wind knocks a door open, all heads turn but see nothing. A large shadow forms around the king. A hand is placed on the back of the King's neck. The king turns just as the life force is drained from his body. The knights jump up from their positions just as the King's lifeless body falls to the ground. The mysterious "man" known only as Viper slowly lifts the crown off of the King and places it on top of his head. One Knight lifts his sword into the air and runs at Viper. Within a blink of an eye, Viper moves out of the way and slices the knight into a bloody mess.

ANYONE ELSE WANT TO TRY ME?

The knights sit back... Not fully knowing what to do next.

---

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

Once Edge Island...

"How did you...what did you...why are you in the Thuggee Temple?" X-Stream stammered, backing away slowly.

His foe rose to his feet and beyond, his eyes crackling purple-black.

Ye idiot. This is no Thuggee Temple. Why do ye think ye were so shocked to see such firepower? Tis a trap for ye?

"Going to take me out like the rest of the Institute?"

Nay. Ye see, ye misunderstand. I took out me father, but left the rest o' them alone. And ye were never part of them. In fact, I've been wonderin' why ye been so heelbent on me when I've never met ye before, till I used me powers to read ya...

The armored man smiled broadly.

Yer a walkin' breathin' retcon, is what ye are. Ye never were in the Institute. Ye never met m'father. Yer own father never existed. Somebody on this world made ya up to send afta' me and I'm not pleased with it...

As X-Stream stared blankly at Incursion's words, the rest of the team broke in.

"What's going on?" Quinn shouted, knocking back a charging foe, "who's that?"

"I told you to get out," X-Stream yelled, "this ISN'T the place we were looking for -- somebody led us into a trap. A trap meant for me!"

Ah. No matter the world, if a meta can put on spandex, he's bound to figure out how to put M,B, and L together. What say I just kill the lot of ye and get it over with so I can get on looking for who made you?

"What's he talking about?" Hero shouted over the beating of the vibrational 'heart'.

"His name's Incursion. He destroyed the Thunder Institute in my home timeline. I was the only survivor..."

I told ye. Ye weren't there. Yer a retcon.

"He's cosmicly powered. I need to take the fight to him OFF this dimension, so you need to get out of here!"

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

Thunder City

"It's almost time," Victor Shiva coldly said, "turn on his second set of senses. He'll need 128 to hit the eleventh dimension and free the Host.

"Yes sir. Activating retroactive powerup."

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

"What...I...sixty-four additional senses just came online..."

Someone wants a fair fight. I disagree.

"Bring it..."

Thunder City

"It's almost time," Shiva spoke over the line to John Sainte-Germaine, "the commands Blackmun implanted into Jenkins are working -- by the time you've arrived from New York, the Host wil be free..."

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

Edge Island

There merely isn't enough power in this world t'destroy me. y'know?

"Then we'll take it off-world," X-Stream responded coldly, "Quinn, guys?"

The rest of the MBL looked at their fellow member as they fought.

"It's been an honor..."

There was an explosion of sound and fury signifying everything as the dimensional barrier was breached. With the acumen of the speedster he always claimed he wasn't, Charles Jenkins grabbed Incursion (with the 72nd sense, a mother's sense her child's in trouble, and hence temporary superstrength) and pulled him in after him. Or more appropriately, into him.

A moment later, both were gone, while the battle in the temple continued to rage, unabated.

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

Thunder City

"Sir," a technician said as he looked up from the buzzing klaxon, "Charles Jenkins has just pulled Prince Gwyddion Anninistrio'r into the Eleventh Dimension."

"Excellent," Victor Shiva smiled as he pocketed his still-smoking pistol and turned to walk out of the room, "I'll be in the arrival chamber awaiting the Host. Keep me appraised."

With the echo of footstep, Shiva stepped over the newly-murdered body of General Forrest and walked to the elevators.

The Serpent be praised...

The subplot of X-Stream is being continued in:
New MBL Issue 2.5: Fade to Grey

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

Edge Island

As the flash of X-Stream and Incursion's disappearance faded, the rest of the MBL's battle continued, with more unanswered questions...

"Any idea where they went to?" Hero inquired.

"Not in the slightest," Quinn responded, knocking back a mutated enemy.

"Hey," Doug interjected, "less chatting, more hitting!"

But as Doug said those words, there were no monster to fight anymore. As X-Stream had departed from the continuum, the monsters disappeared, like he had brought them with himself, away.

Marvelo, Midnight, Doug, Hero and Quinn Stevens looked at each other, perplexed and astonished.

“It was easier than I expected” said Midnight, flexing his muscles.

“And now?” asked Doug.

“Now we look around. I really don’t understand what has happened, but we came here to find clues about those faceless hunters, and will not leave until we find some” said Quinn, hovering one metre above ground.

They left the ample cavern, exploring level above level. There were dead people everywhere. Most of them were of East Indian features. Some were of various races, wearing the same uniforms of the soldier that seized them before. All of these lasts had a serpent mark on the arm.

“Looks like the place had been conquered minutes before we arrived…” observed Hero, kneeled above one of the dead soldiers.

“Ok, so the soldiers were expecting us… only Forrest could have known…” whispered Quinn, looking at all of his comrades.

“It was a trap all along, indeed… like Jenkins said…” Quinn said.

“Jenkins didn’t say anything, Quinn” replied Hero, his face slightly bent on one side.

“We had that strange bond… when he talked me across dimensions, I also felt… things…” explained Stevens.

“A trap…” wondered Hero. “Don’t make sense. The thugs are the ones hunting for Doug. We, autonomously, found the connection between the bat riding faceless hunters and Thugs. We pointed this temple…”

“No, Hero. You are wrong. Forrest told Jenkins that there was a connection between the faceless hunter we captured and this place. We merely took it for granted because it was an Indian temple, and you already found that the knife of the hunter was Indian. But I think the truth is that we had solved this story the moment we captured the faceless hunter, although we still don’t know who and why send him to kill Doug.”

“So you are saying, Quinn, that Forrest simply took the chance that we were fighting an Indian crook to send us in an unrelated Indian temple to fight his own personal battle?”

“Yes, Hero. That’s what I think.”

“And why he sent a whole army to take us down before even entering the place?”

“Who said the army was from Forrest? I think Forrest send us to fight the monster, while the army was here to welcome him.”

“But they knew we were arriving. Only Forrest could have alerted him, Quinn.”

“Or a mole working with Forrest, Hero. What we really know about Forrest?”

“It looks like the MBL has to do some investigation” said Hero, with a just a hint of a smile.

Quinn looked around.

Marvelo seemed petrified, like the brutal massacre they were into was much more of what he was expecting for his days as a hero; Midnight was moving like crazy around, fighting invisible enemies, his mind lost; Doug was looking outside a big window, overlooking one of the ornate balcony of the temple, seemingly much more interested into the external world than to discover why “a conspiracy” was trying to kill him.

Quinn's eyes finally returned to look at Hero. “Does a MBL still exist?”


THE END (for now?)

Epilogue 1: X-Stream

In the wilds of the Eleventh Dimension, the boy called (but truly named?) Charles Jenkins concentrated. As he did, his leg began to reform. Ideas flowed through his body like blood. His was a perculiar existance, because he knew the Truth.

Charles Jenkins had learned he was fiction. That is why he chose to remain. He would read the Boards and realize what was needed before remaking himself and returning to the Story. he had 128 senses, 123 of which were fictional, at least 100 of which were undefined.

He laughed to himself. Was it Tao to let the Writer define his Senses, define his Powers as he needed them?

He would be back when the MBL needed him -- PRECISELY when the MBL needed him, in a form no one yet knew.

He looked out at the Boards and saw the Readers staring at the First Self-Aware Character.

"I can see you..." he mused, jokily.

Epilogue 2: The Pandora Project

For over seventy-five years, the Cooke Building had stood in Thunder City. Through the Depression and the Second World War, it had lasted. Through the Promethean Disaster and the Rebuilding, it had stood.

Sometime last night, it fell. City examiners credit rusted pipes int he understructure. Looking underneath the building, they found most of the building was hollow underneath. What little was found down there pointed to the remains of an old bootlegger distilleriller. The old structure had gone to its architectural grave with its mysteries.

Not least among its mysteries was the death of General Forrest. A gangbanger was brought in and charged two days later. A drug deal gone bad. Looked like the power of the leaves on his lapel had gone to Forrest's head -- gotten him a bullet on the battlefield he least expected. A tragedy.

Victor Shiva was clear long before the MBL could ever track down the location Forrest was broadcasting from. No evidence remained.

Cooke Insurance never reopened.

Epilogue 3: Prelude - Vox Populi

Six Months Ago - Washington, DC

This must be how Caesar felt, returning to Rome after Gaul. He could already see the parades, the medals, the promotion to General. Smiling as he looked up, Colonel Jack Masters stopped at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial as he made his way to the street.

"Abe. You and I have something in common now. Reuniting a shattered Union."

With a smile, Col. Masters got into his car and started his drive to the Pentagon. The brass would have nothing but good to say to him...

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

"You can't mean that?!" Masters uttered as he punched the table, crestfallen at the news that had just been given him, "my unit just did what the UN never could!"

"No, Colonel," one of the Joint Chiefs interrupted, "America did what the UN never could. New York is ours again, but we can't tell the whole story."

"So what if there were meta involved in our attack?" Masters asked angrily, "this is America -- they have as much rights as any person for recognition!"

"What you're trying to say, Colonel," Masters' own superior, an Air Force General, spoke, "is that you have as much rights as any other man. And not now you don't. One day, maybe. But not now..."

"Generals..." Jack Masters had a sudden look of determination in his eyes as he spoke.

"Colonel Masters, this room is telepathically shielded. An attempt to use your abilities to sway our decision will be considered a court martial-worthy offense. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir." Masters finally understood there would be no parades -- no medals, no promotion -- for the hero of New York, "what now?"

"Now, Colonel, we have a new mission for you."

Jack Masters was handed a plain manila envelope, simply stamped

SENSITIVE COMPARTMENTED INFORMATION - TOP SECRET/SPECIAL ACCESS PROGRAM: VOX POPULI

Just the beginning...

Epilogue 4: GENERAL FORREST

Three days after General Forrest was killed, he returned to work like nothing happened. His secretary ran outside the office screaming like she had seen a ghost, and actually, it was what she though.

For the next few days, the unexpected, inexplicable return of the General monopolized the life of the Army headquarters in Lightingburg. The military police and the CIA interrogated Forrest for hours, discovering he was officially on a secret mission off continent at the time of his presumed murder. That was confirmed by higher ranks in the Pentagon.

Extensive DNA tests were run over the dead body, which, having been shot right in the face, presented many problem for direct recognition. The tests, although extremely accurate, were not conclusive.

After a few days, all went under silence. Forrest was there, yelling orders like always, so how a dead body dressed with his own uniform was in a place where only him could have been at the time, was soon forgotten.

At least by most…