RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block --Vanguard--

Lykopis and Merrick made their way to the train station in Munich. They were about to go up the giant steps when Lykopis stopped in midstride. "Do you have cash?" she asked.

"About seven euros in my wallet. Why?"

Lykopis frowned as she checked her pockets. Nothing. "I was just thinking that cash would be a good idea. If we use your credit card, the police are sure to track us."

"You're right. What should we do?"

Lykopis bit her lip. "You know this town better than I do. But didn't we pass a few pawn shops about a quarter mile back?"

Marrick nodded. "Yeah, but don't we need something to sell?"

Lykopis just smiled and grabbed his wrist. "Don't worry, that's my job." Merrick followed. It was funny. His fiance used to drag him around shopping the same way.

"So...uh...I'm kind of curious about everyone else on the team..."

"Oh, I guess I should have mentioned more about them, eh?" Lykopis wasn't paying attention and was nearly hit by a car. Drivers in Germany had a reputation for not caring about pedestrians. "It's just that Mxy has gone and messed everything up. And I really thought I knew this group! I mean, just look at Icarus."

"He seemed kind of immature."

"Well, you should have seen him before all this. It's like he was still in puberty or something. The mental maturity of a tweleve year-old.

"I think he's grown up a little. I suppose he's always been the baby of the group." She gave a little laugh. "Sort of reminds me of someone I use to know, a long time ago.

"You're right, he is still a little immmature. But he's trying to make sense out of his own body. Can you imagine waking up...to that?" Lykopis shrugged. "Plato said there were two types of people. I've always seen life as a tragedy. But Icarus? Heh, he always saw it as a comedy. Perhaps it's time to stop snapping at him for being that way."

They were still pretty far from the pawn shop. Merrick didn't realize he was feeling for the piece of metal underneath his shirt. "Yeah, I guess people have different response to pain. So did everyone else change as much?"

"A few days ago Ozzy was flesh and blood, same as you and me. Well, not quite the same, actually. He's always been tough to beat in battle -- damn near impossible because he's so invulnerable. I don't know what happened to him here."

Merrick quickened his pace to keep up with Lykopis. He wanted to learn more about the people he was with. "You think it might have something to do with that woman?"

"At least he hasn't changed on the inside." Yet. Lykopis could still remember the day when her cousin, Jocasta, reveiled her metallic hands and told Lykopis of her own hidden agenda. Lykopis never understood what was more revoulting -- her own cousin plotting to kill her, or the twisted pieces of metal shining and clicking where there ought to be flesh and blood. And now, both Icarus and Ozzy are like her. Please let him stay the same! He might get on my nerves and he might boil my blood, but please, Goddesses, let him stay the same!

"I think he'll miss Adem. We'll all miss him, of course, but those two were thick as thieves sometimes." Lykopis realized she was missing Adem as well. She still was unaware of the note he had given Ozzy before they went to Germany. Ozzy was the only one who knew he wasn't coming back.

"What's the name of the creepy guy again?"

"Victor? Oh, he's always been like that. Well, except for the blindness. That's new." Lykopis winced. "He wasn't as creepy as he is now. But he has always been that detatched."

"But he can't have feelings, right? So he's not scared or worried that he's blind?"

"He's...readjusting, I suppose. To compenstate for his loss."

They continued their walk. "What about the others?"

"The last time I saw Grimm, he was walking around dead. Granted, he still acts the same, but who knows what Mxy's done to him."

"Both he and Phil were on a different team, so I only met them a few times, and those were usually in the heat of battle."

"Not exactly the best time to get to know someone?"

Lykopis gave a loud laugh. "Ha! I couldn't disagree more! People reveil their true selves in battle. It's the most honest form of communication on the planet. The vagabond fights differently than the king. The thief and the warrior have different paces. You can tell so much from the way they hold their sword."

Merrick was impressed. He still didn't believe that Lykopis was really who she claimed to be -- but her knowledge was still respectable. And her eyes lit up in some eery way when she talked about battle. "So, really, you won't know how everyone's changed until you see them in a fight."

Lykopis nodded. "Which hopefully won't be anytime soon." Did I just say I wanted to avoid a brawl? Mxy must have done more damage than I thought!

They reached the pawn shop. 'Big Gunther' was written in gold letters on the window. Merrick did the math in his head. Tickets to Hamburg were fifteen euros. Ozzy, Grimm, Icarus, Victor, Lykopis, Phil, and himself...seven people. "We need a little over a hundred euros."

Lykopis nodded. She leaned on the counter. It was covered with dirty magazines, crumbs, and drink rings. "Hello? Is anyone here?"

No one answered at first. Lykopis called again, and finally, a stout older man eating some potatos entered from the back. This must be Big Gunther, thought Merrick to himself. "Are you buying or selling?" he asked in German.

"Selling." she said quickly.

The man looked her up and down for a moment, and then went back to his potatos. "Sorry, the place is full enough, we're not accepting anything else."

Lykopis was not use to hearing the word 'no'. "Wait a minute, please." She lifted up her pants. Both the stout gentleman and Merrick leaned forward. An dagger with an ornate sheeth was strapped to her leg. "This is a seven-hundred year old dagger used in what's now the Middle East." Now it was her turn to lean forward. "Seven. Hundred. Years. Old." The man was practically drolling. Merrick suspected it wasn't the knife. "I'm sure you're just interest the carot."

"Don't get my wrong pretty lady, I like antiques as much as the next man...let me just go in the back and test the gold. Please, have a seat! Have a drink...one moment." He rushed into the back room, heaving like a winded horse.

"Great," said Merrick. "You just handed the guy a sword worth more than my car. That'll keep him fed...for at least a day or two."

Lykopis just stood there in the plush chair Gunther had offered. "I can't believe I'm selling this." She looked up at Merrick, expecting pitty. "I killed forty angry soldiers to get that knife. Forty. And it wasn't even just regular soldiers, the shiek sent his royal guards to kill me. And it turns out, they were all his nephews. I had no idea I was slaying half the royal family."

"So then what happened?" asked Merrick in mock amusement.

Lykopis had to think about this for a moment. "The shiek came to fight me. He was taking all of this very personally. I mean, he still had his horses. Well, then I killed him, because he wasn't just going to let me walk out of there. Hmm. I just now realized I killed off an entire dynasty in a single day." Damn, I was good.

The stout man came back, still breathing heavily. He pulled another ugly chair and pushed it towards Lykopis. She could smell the potatoes and cheese coming from his breath. "It's all good! All genuine! So, forty euros for the pretty lady...and her friend."

"What?" said Merrick and Lykopis at the same time. "That thing is worth at least two thousand dollars!"

Gunther grabbed the food he had left on the counter and put some in his mouth. "Huge difference between buying and selling. But you won't get a better deal anywhere else on this street." He rubbed one of his chins, as if to confirm the notion.

"Three hundred." Lykopis learned to swindle money from the best. How hard could it be?

"Forty-five."

It could be hard after all. "Two-fifty. You're getting a deal."

Another bite of potatos. "Fifty. You look too desperate."

Lykopis was getting distracted by the heavy breathing. Plus, he had gotten mashed potatos on the blade. She was getting unnerved. "Two hundred. Or I'll find someone else."

"Two hundred for a little butter knife! What kind of fool do you take me for!" Merrick realized that the man had his fat fingers around Lykopis's knee. "Unless you have something else to offer? I'm a very loney man."

Lykopis looked like she wanted to be struck by lightning then and there. Merrick just wanted to laugh.

The party boarded the train, and Ozzy sat down next to Phil. "Thanks for helpin' out back there," the former prizefighter said.

Phil shrugged. "I spent too long trying to find all of you to lose any of you."

"Fair enough." Ozzy shook his head as the doors hissed shut. "D'you ever get tired of being you?"

"Come again?"

Ozzy chuckled. "Do you ever get tired of being so level all the time, you know? You seem to have it together pretty well."

Phil raised an eyebrow. "The hell are you talking about?"

The train lurched into motion, forcing Icarus to grab hold of a seat to avoid toppling down the aisle.

Ozzy frowned. "You know what I mean, right? From what I've seen - and granted that hasn't been too much - you seem to be in control of the situation most of the time. How do you do it?"

Phil let out a burst of uncontrollable laughter.

"I'm serious, man!"

The telepath regained his composure and looked at him. "You wanna know the truth? I fake it."

"You fake it?"

Phil nodded. "Right now? I'm a fuckin' mess, dude. I'm scared shitless. The whole damned world has been fucked up beyond all recognition. I don't know what the hell's goin' on anymore. I spent forever trying to track my teammates down, because I thought that would make things okay. But guess what? Now I can't seem to use my powers properly, and I'm finding out everyone else is just as fucked up as I am."

"Join the club."

Phil shook his head. "Ever since I regained control of my own mind, this team has been the only constant source of stability for me, the only thing that kept me going until Leslie came along. Now I look at the newspapers from as far back as possible, and there's nothing to show that the team that's kept me going ever existed. I don't know what to do. I don't know what's going to happen."

"Well, what about before that? Back when everything was 'normal', you were always on top of things. Right?"

Phil laughed again. "I'm not just being modest here, Oswald. Sure, I have powers that let me do some pretty cool things. But that doesn't mean I'm anything that special. To be honest, I've pretty much always pretended to be someone who's got it together... more for myself than for anyone else."

Ozzy shrugged. "I'm no prize, Philsy, but I've never felt the need to pretend to be anyone other than who I am."

"I'm not so secure with myself, Ozzy," Phil replied. "I used to pretend because I didn't know who I was and I hoped that somehow it might become who I was. Now that I know who I am, and that it's definitely not something I'm proud of, I've been pretending in the hope it might somehow cover up the truth about my past."

"What a crock of shit!"

Phil's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"Here you are, with all these powers, with the opportunity to help everyone else make sense of all the stuff that's goin' on, and you're concerned about how you might look in a pressure situation." Ozzy folded his arms and shook his head. "That's pretty sad, dude."

"What would you suggest?" Phil retorted crossly.

"I'm tryin' to sleep, Philsy!" Grimm said from two rows up. "Quit bein' a whiny bitch!"

"Fuck you!"

"I love you too," Grimm replied. "Shut it."

"Asshole," Phil muttered.

"All I'm sayin'," Ozzy answered, "is that it's a new world now. All bets are off. Who cares if you don't always have an awesome catchphrase for every situation, or if you aren't undebatably in command of every single situation? Who cares what you look like?"

Phil didn't answer.

"'Cause quite frankly, I'm usually not watching you. I don't need you to look good. I just need you to do your thing and keep doing what you can to help the rest of us." Ozzy leaned forward. "Look, I know you're scared. Hell, I'm scared. But we've got more important things to do than be scared right now. I don't know all the particulars of what you found out about your past - you might tell me, you might not, doesn't bother me either way. But we can't be worried about ourselves. We're all here for each other, okay? You don't have to impress me or anyone else. Just be who you are, man."

Phil looked at the floor. "But... what if I don't like what I am?"

"Then you'd have more in common with most of us than you realize," Ozzy replied with a smirk as he donned a pair of headphones and fired up his iPod.

Phil looked out the window for a good portion of the ride to Hamburg.

“Can we get audio on this?” Ian McGregor asked.

In a small office on the east side of Munich, McGregor stood shoulder to shoulder with Grissom Montag. Sitting in front of them, one of Montag’s security personnel was fiddling with the audio controls on a thirty-two inch LCD screen.

The three were watching the security footage of Vanguard’s intrusion into Montag’s house.

“Thanks,” McGregor said as sound began emanating from the speakers alongside the screen.

”I’m like… a hub…” one of the figures on screen said.

“That’s one’s funny looking,” Montag said, pointing at Icarus Sidewinder. McGregor raised his finger to his mouth, urging Montag to be quiet.

On the screen, Icarus held a hand to his ear, moving it slowly back and forth and mimicking a headset. "Remember how, on our way up here, I could... hear things? See things?"

“Interesting…” McGregor whispered.

“That’s just creepy,” Montag said.

“Indeed,” McGregor replied.

“You’re telling me he can sense information… but he didn’t know he was being filmed?”

“I get the impression that they’re finding themselves recently… altered. I don’t think he’s in full command of his abilities. Yet,” McGregor explained. “Okay, now that’s interesting,” He added, pointing at the screen.

“What?”

“The shiny one.”

On screen, Ozzy Baxter had his hands planted against the burning stove. He didn’t even seem to notice the flames pressed right against his hands.

“And that one looks straight at him,” Montag said, pointing at Victor. “Isn’t he supposed to be blind?”

McGregor stared silently at the onscreen appearance of Victor Reilly. “Yes.”

McGregor kept his gaze fixed firmly on Reilly.

“What? Something familiar about that one?” Montag asked.

“Maybe.”

Schweinfurt, Bavaria. Somewhere in the middle of Germany.

The sleepy small town railroad station was nearly deserted. Gone the commuting people, mainly students from the nearby villages returning to their homes, the station had taken over it’s sleepy mood, helped by the fist sun of the incipient spring.

Only a party of strange looking people remained under the large metal shed covering the main dock at the first track. Sitting on wooden benches painted green, the seven people, six men and a woman, were all silent and still. Every ten seconds, the face of one, in no particular order, lift up to look at the large clock hanging outside the wall. It would have looked at it for an instant, then it would had shaken slightly, it would have taken a lost-any-hope look, and then would have returned to concentrate over the pebbles in the railroad track.

It was ten past four in the afternoon.

The silence was broken just by the monotonous song of a male collared dove, defending his nest territory from the top of a large spruce in the station’s garden.

Do-doooo-do.

Do-doooo-do.

Do-doooo-do.

Do-doooo-do.

Do-DOOOO-do.

Do-DOOOO-do.

Do-DOOOO-do.

Do-DOOOO-do.

“ENOUGH” shouted one of the people, the larger one, standing up and walking to the railroad side. He kneeled, took one boulder in his right hand and, all of a sudden, he cast it to the bird, in a perfect parable.

The bird took flight just one instant before the boulder touched his perch, to fall miserably on the ground, a few inches from an officer who was checking parking disks on cars in the parking lot behind the station.

The bird posed a few branches away and began to net its bottom’s feathers.

The officer angrily looked at the man, still in a pitcher plastic pose, receiving a mix of applause and laugh from his companions. The officer’s anger build up, but the size of the man counselled him not to bother.

The man smiled.

The dove suddenly started to sing again.

The big man shouted. “Sixteen. Fucking. Hours! Five. Change. Of. Trains!” His eyes were fixed over one of his companions, who just shrugged.

“Grimm, for that ridiculous amount of money, these tickets were just what we got. It’s a miracle they were enough for all!”

“Merrick is right. We got all what we can from that slimy! And you should just thank I had something to sell” replied the only woman, a tall beauty.

“Right, Lycopis”, said Merrick, nodding. And, again to Grimm: “It would have taken that money for just ONE ticket, for one of the fast trains. There was no way we could afford them”.

“And don’t forget we are less of a target using secondary ways. We are in the middle of nowhere, now, and it’s very probable whoever is following us has no idea where we are” explained another one, a young man with short hairs.

“Phil, that woman has resources above the average. How the hell she has found us in Merrick’s home?” asked Grimm.

Phil shook his head.

“Maybe we have bugs on our body. Tracking devices,” suggested another one, older, his eyes moving around strange paths.

“No Victor, we are clear. I would feel anything like that,” added the one looking younger in the group, trying to conceal his appearance under a fedora hat. But there were evident gleaming strings of metal covering his features.

“And don’t you feel anything about our assaulter, Icarus?” asked Grimm to the young man.

The young men shrugged. “I don’t know the slightest about her… even her name… it’s difficult to start a search about her…”

The six people continued to talk, waiting for the next train. Just one remained silent all time, seemingly lost in distant thoughts.

Then, he stood up.

“Where are you going, Baxter?” asked Grimm.

The other opened his arms. “We drank a lot at Merricks home…” he replied, believing it was a sufficient explanation.

Grimm’s head bended on one side. “No, not alone:”

“Grimm, I’m an adult. I don’t need you acting mommy…”

“And I don’t need you acting childish. That wore can be around here right now…”

Baxter shook his head. “No, nooo… you chained her in Munich, she had no way to find where we go… she will be searching us there, if any…”

“Don’t care. Phil, go with him,” ordered Grimm.

The man known as Phil Smith looked at Grimm. It seemed it has to reply something, but then he shook his had and said nothing. He stood up, and shrugging at Baxter, looking at the sky, followed him toward the toilets.

The place was ample and empty. Ozzy entered one of the smaller rooms and Phil remained outside, confident there was no one in the place. Otherwise, he would have felt.

One minute had passed, when a bolas tightened to a rope fled around Phil Smiths neck.

The man’s eye opened way, the mouth gasped for air. The heavy bolas, hanging from the neck like an oversized necklace ornament for an instant seemed to levitate, pushed away by telekinesis, but it had just the effect of tying more the rope around the neck. And then, the lack of blood to the brain cut off the masterful mind of Phil from his body, and he fell to the ground, senseless.

Nadia Li looked at her Rolex. Two minutes more safe, then the other people could come to check.

As expected, the door opened, Ozzy Baxter alerted by the thud of the body of Phil over the pavement was coming out, but he had still the trousers opened and he was trying to close them.

The tip of an electrical whip hit him on the back; he screamed, stumbled upon his own trousers, which were falling at knee level, and fell to the floor.

Next to the main door, now closed, was Nadia Li. Covered in back leather, a wicked smile on the face.

“It looks soon I will have the money for the boob job and something more, thanks to you, honey”.

The whip produced a long arc in the air and fell again over Ozzy, who endured a big pain. But before the woman was able to snap the whip again, the metal man took the end of it in his right hand and hauled it back.

Nadia pointed her feet to make resistance. Ozzy, with the other hand, ripped away his trousers and get back over his legs.

Nadia gritted his teeth. This time was Ozzy to smile.

A pull, and then the rope of the whip was passed around the arm, so that it was shorter, pull after pull.

The distance between the two fighters was shortening second after second.

Nadia was pushing harder over the charge button, but as much Ozzy had visible pain when electricity discharged from the tip of the whip, he was holding up.

Nadia was sweating. “Are you ready to punch me like you did with Marshall, Fist?”

The pull over the rope loosened.

Nadia pulled harder, regaining the whip and sending Baxter to roll over the ground.

The man was again on his feet in no time. But his expression had changed. It was like… begging…

“I can’t have killed Drake” shouted desperately Ozzy.

“Ah no?” said Nadia. And with an ample gesture, dozen of pictures fled for the room, landing all around the man. “Look at the hamburger!”

Ozzy froze. What he was seeing… it was unbelievable. The picture were footage of a security camera… and like in the frames of a comics, there were depicted the last battle of Drake Marshall with the Fist. The green armoured hero head to head with the metal skinned gangster… up to the point where Marshall was killed punch after punch, until his whole body and his face were just blood dropping masses of chopped flesh.

A tear crossed the gleaming face of Baxter.

“The tin man has a soul?!” noted, cynically, Nadia. And then, out of patience: “care to dance?”

Ozzy raised his eyebrows, and looked at her, but there was no trace of fury. “No. Not anymore. I am guilty. Take me”

And saying that, he raised his hand, one next the other, offering her to handcuff them.

Nadia was astonished. “It ends like this?”

Ozzy just nodded.

“Do you believe I’m going to trust you?” asked Nadia, eyeing his Rolex. One minute and forty-five seconds had passed.

“Do what you want, I will not fight” replied Ozzy.

_______________________________________

One minute fifty-five seconds later Grimm rushed in the bathroom, only to find Phil Smith tied like salami to one of the radiators, still senseless.

Of Ozzy Baxter there was no trace.

The sun bathed a soft glow over the airfield, the frosty mid-morning air beginning to warm with the coming day. The pilot walked with a casual stride, half-reading the folded newspaper in his clutches, sipping on his first cup of coffee. Nearing the Sesna, he slid the paper under his arm, using his free hand to dig into his pocket for the keys. That's when he was suddenly grabbed from behind, a firm hand clamping over his mouth.

"Keys." Victor's voice hissed into his ear.

*********************************************************************

The containment van cruised on a small, open road, seventy-miles out of Munich, headed for the city. Traffic was non-existant, the van taking this quiet route for exactly that reason. In the back of the van, two Interpol agents sat across from each other silently. One was reading a morning paper, while the other fiddled with his Ipod.

Sitting next to one of them, the slick Asian frame of Nadia Li rested comfortably, a cell phone plug in her left ear. Every so often, she would nod and murmur something to the voice on the other end. Across from her, Ozzy Baxter sat silent, head down in thought. A massive, thick metal collar wrapped around his neck, connected down to an interlocking bolt-lock on his chest, and one in the middle of his back. His arms were behind him, locked into two thick titanium stocks that were being held by the bolt-locks.

He had said nothing since being captured.

Up front, the two drivers chatted back and forth, making small talk about the night before...

"{And you bought it for her?}" the driver asked, sipping on his coffee.

"{I want to actually have sex again, right?}" his passenger replied, shrugging.

"{Heh...see, that's what I'm saying...FUCK marriage, you know?}" the driver insisted.

His partner wrinkled his nose, and rolled his eyes, waiting for the normal diatribe about the ills of marriage. He wondered how long he would have to listen this time.

Luckily for him, the answer was four-point-seven-seconds.

That was the exact amount of time it took before their bodies were suddenly ripped straight out through the windshield by an invisible force.

The van rocked, tires suddenly locking up in a loud shriek of rubber. Everyone in the back were immediately thrown forward from the sudden descent in speed.

The enormous vehicle slid on smoking tires, slowing and slowing, until it finally slid to a final, jolting stop...

...an inch from the outstretched fingers of Phil Smith.

The back doors of the van suddenly ripped outwards, Grimm tossing them behind him with little care. Ozzy squinted from the sudden sunlight, as Grimm's massive hands clamped onto the restraining collar. His teeth gritted, as he slowly began rending the metal.

Nadia was pulling herself off the floor of the van, checking her nose for blood, when she felt the sharp tip-end of Lykopis' blade resting on her jugular.

"I wouldn't..." Lyly's voice came from the silouetted figure above Nadia.

The two Interpol agents were still a bit dazed, barely making out Victor's presence entering the back of the van. They didn't have too long to find their bearings, as his heels make single, quick jabs at their temples, releasing them of their consciousness.

"...Grimm?" Ozzy asked, just now getting a handle on the situation.

Outside, Phil signaled the Sesna in the adjacent field, Icarus nodding in the cockpit, hitting buttons to fire the engines.

"...hang...uff!...hang on a sec..." Grimm replied through gritted teeth, his massive strength making slow work of the thick titanium.

"How...how did you.....how did you find me?" Ozzy asked.

"Icarus was able to track Li's cellphone signal..." Lykopis replied still holding the woman at bay.

The metal collar finally snapped with a final grunt from Grimm.

"Okay...." he breathed, hoisting Ozzy by the shoulder. "...let's go..."

"No."

Grimm paused, looking back at the man.

"What do you mean, 'no'? Come on!" he barked, literally jerking Baxter out of the van.

Lykopis began backing away, sword still out.

"Don't bother trying to stop us." she said to Nadia.

"I won't ever stop coming for him. I promise you that." she replied to the Vanguardian.

"And we will never stop taking him back." Lykopis smirked, stepping out of the back of the vehicle.

"Grimm...GRIMM!! STOP!!" Baxter yelled, finally jerking away from the giant's grip.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Grimm yelled in kind. "We don't have time for this! We have to go!"

"I'm not going!" Ozzy replied.

"Ozzy? What's wrong?" Lykopis asked, walking up to the man.

He stared at her, glancing at Grimm for a moment, and back again.

"Lyly...." he began, his face contorted with guilt. "...I...I did it."

Lykopis opened her mouth to contradict him...

"No." he stopped her, holding a finger to her mouth. "I did it. I...I murdered...Drake Marshall. I've seen....I've seen the pictures.....the evidence."

"Ozzy, you don't know that to be true..." Lykopis insisted. "...they could fake anyth--"

"Why?" he interrupted. "Why would anyone...anywhere...fake those....fake what I saw."

The brutal images still burned in his mind.

"I killed him. Me." he said, his voice dropping to a rasp. "I killed my hero."

Grimm sighed with exasperation, flinging his arms against his side. Lyly just stared at the man, searching his eyes for something. Anything, besides the pain and torture that she saw.

"I killed my friend..." he whispered, looking down. "..I'm guilty."

"Come on!!" Icarus yelled from the field.

"Ozzy...we..." Lykopis began.

"Go." he said, suddenly looking straight back up into her eyes. "Just go. Now."

The two stared at each other for a moment, an unspoken emotion passing between them.

She took his hand, and held on to it even as she was stepping away. The fingers finally slid from her grasp.

"...this isn't over..." she said.

And Ozzy could have sworn he heard her voice crack a bit.

He smiled, watching her leave.

"I know." he finally said quietly.

She gritted her teeth, and with that, turned and ran towards the plane. Grimm just stared at the man another moment longer. Then, giving him an understanding nod, turned as well.

"...be strong..." he remarked over his shoulder, headed for the plane.

A small, sad smile came over Baxter's face, watching as the plane took off, climbing into the sky.

"Back at you..." he breathed.

Then, turning, he walked back over towards the van. Standing there in the back, staring at him with an obvious perplexion, was Nadia.

They looked at each other for a moment in silence. Then, Ozzy climbed back into the van.

"I.....I don't understand..." she finally said to the man.

He didn't look at her. He just sat there.

"No.....you probably wouldn't...."

Adjustment.

The last couple of days had been all about adjustment for the group that had once been known as Vanguard. To be sure, the burdens on their shoulders were far weightier than those of most anyone else on the planet. In the past 48 hours, they had been flash forwarded one year into a future that none of them had ever experienced, into bodies that simultaneously were and weren't their own. Coping with new powers and limitations, the group had essentially been rediscovering themselves... as well as realizing that, metaphorically speaking, they weren't in Kansas anymore.

Vanguard, it seems, was not the only thing to change. The world around them was... different. Vanguard had never existed as a formal group. La Perdita was a lump of lifeless igneous rock. No one had ever heard of Mandelovia. Grissom Montag was a millionaire. Penny was one of his myriad employees. Tommy Foxe had died of a drug overdose. Drake Marshall had died at the hands of their friend Ozzy Baxter.

And, to top it all off, the group was falling apart at the seams. After Prometheus replaced them back into the 'real' world, Edmund had essentially vanished and Adem had decided, for reasons all his own, to leave. Ozzy was taken by a government mercenary known as Nadia for his crime... and went willingly, filled with remorse at being responsible for the death of his hero.

Icarus, Lykopis, and Victor were the only members of Vanguard Europe still left.

They were not alone, however. They had been joined by two of Ozzy's friends from the original Vanguard: Grimm and Phil Smith. While both remembered the world as it was, they too were incredibly different. Not that Icarus knew one way or the other, having never really gotten to know either. Oh, he'd met them, sure... but he really only knew their names.

Then, there was this Merrick guy. Apparently, he was just a man from this present timeline. Whether he had existed in the old world is uncertain and, at this point, irrelevant. He had helped rescue the group from a barrage of Munich law enforcement officers. Lykopis was now in the back of the plane, attempting to explain how the group had come to be and what they knew up to this point... but something told Icarus that it would probably just leave the man confused and only make him want to leave. A story like theirs was just too unbelievable to be true.

New world. New abilities. New team. New struggles.

Adjustment.

"...ain't it a bitch..." Icarus sighed, gazing out at the skyline ahead of him.

"Beg pardon?" Phil spoke up from the pilot's seat beside him.

"Just talking to myself, Snow White," Sidewinder answered, not really bothering to make eye contact. "No need to concern yourself..."

Phil raised an eyebrow. "Something on your mind, Icarus?" he asked.

"What the fuck do you care?" Icarus said, eyeing the gauges beside his station. "Besides," he said, finally turning toward Phil, "can't you just read my mind?"

Phil's eyes narrowed in frustration. "No, for your information, I cannot." Now it was Phil's turn to avoid the gaze of the other. "For some reason, while my telekinesis has improved exponentially, my telepathy in this new place has... regressed."

"Well," Icarus said drolly, "sucks to be you, doesn't it?"

The formerly Unidentified Man tightened his jaw and furrowed his brow. Then, he flipped on the automatic pilot and spun to face the younger man next to him.

"Listen, kid," he said evenly, yet forcefully, "you're not the only one suffering here. We're all hurting. This is a time of adjustment for all of us..."

"Y'know, that's really easy for you to say," Icarus said. "What happened to you? Your hair changed colors? Your powers switched off a bit? Let's go through my changes, shall we?

"One: I can't fly. Two: I can hear, see, and transmit information in my head! Three: I am a fucking cyborg with no more hope of getting a date again. Ever! And, four: I am absolutely worthless in a fight!"

"How so?" Phil asked. "Surely, you know basic hand-to-hand combat skills, yeah?"

"Sure," Icarus said, "when I'm in the air! As long as I'm grounded, I'm not good for shit! I mean, even back in the old days, I had a gun!"

"Yeah," Phil said, running a hand over the spot where his old shoulder holster would have been.

"Seriously, when that Nadia bitch showed up, I would've given my right arm to have a gu-- AAAHH!"

A pain shot up Icarus' right arm. His grip immediately released from the controls of the plane, where his hand had been resting. His eyes clamped shut from the pain, which seemed to be twisting his arm inside out. The sinews and bones that made up his arm felt like they were being ripped out and reformed altogether.

Suddenly, the pain was gone altogether.

"...whoa..." came the whispered voice of Phil Smith from somewhere beside Icarus.

Slowly, one at a time, Icarus opened his eyes... to see that his hand had been transformed into something resembling a small cannon.

"Yeah," Icarus said, nodding slowly. "'Whoa' works..."

"What?" Victor asked, hearing the astonishment in Icarus' voice but not being able to see what exactly was unusual.

"Um... my arm," Icarus said, holding it out from his body in Victor's direction.

Victor held out his hands and ran them up and down Icarus' arm, feeling his way around the cannon.

"Is that a...?" Victor began.

"Yeah."

"I see."

"Well, that'll come in handy if that bitch who took Ozzy comes after us," Phil said.

"She won't," Grimm answered.

"You're right. I suppose she has what she wanted."

"What about those guards who were with her?" Icarus asked.

"They're dead," Victor said.

"What?!" Grimm replied.

"You asked me to incapacitate them. I did so in the most efficient way possible."

Everybody went silent.

The man who would be Artemis Cross casually rested on a bench. The evening sun freckled though the canopy of green leaves above him, glittering in haphazard patterns off his silver piercings. His foot bobbing to a silent beat, he sat there content in his own little world.

A shadow passing in front of him broke his quiet revelry. He looked up to see a woman nervously looking at him...

"So...uh...hey!" she began, her gentle voice trying to find some level of authority in the words. "You look lonely..."

Cross stared at her in the same way a child would view a complex mathematical equation.

"No, not really." he replied innocently.

She seemed momentarily stunned by the response, obviously trying to regroup her approach.

"Oh...oh...uhh....well, b-big....umm..yeah, big boy..." she tried again. "...if you're looking for a good time, I know where you can find one..."

She paused, shaking her head with a confusion.

"No...no...I mean...no, I mean...if you're looking for a good time...I..wait..." she sort of stammered, trying to remember something obviously complex. She took a deep breath, nodding with some form of mental acceptance. "Are you looking for a good time? Yes. Yes, that's what I mean. Are you looking for a good time..."

"Always!" Cross nodded with a goofy grin.

"Oh." she said, seeming to find some surprise in his positive response. "Oh, yes...well...I know where one is....I...no. Wait...oh...what am I supposed to say? Ummm..."

She bit her lower lip a bit, trying to figure out what the proper response was...

"Well, if you're looking for a good time, then I'm the woman for you." she stated in a very rehearsed fashion.

She then paused, tilting her hip out to the left a bit, obviously trying to show off her curve in a sexy manner. It came across as a back spasm.

"Are you in pain?" Cross asked, his brow furrowed.

Her expression fell a bit, letting her posture resume its normal off-balance tilt. And, finally, just sat down on the bench next to him.

"OH....poot." she said with a disappointing sigh. Her head hung low, trying as she might to wiggle her feet out of the platform stilts that seemed to have been surgically planted to the bottom of her feet.

"What's wrong?" Cross asked, turning in his seat to watch her.

"Oh, nothing..." she replied. shifting uncomfortably in the tight, neon-red skirt. "...I just suck at this..."

Cross was becoming more and more lost.

"You seem to be sitting, just fine." he shrugged sincerely.

She giggled a bit, looking over at him. The small smile on her face obviously shone through the gaudy make-up she was wearing. And, it sparkled more than the fake-gold earrings she pulled at.

"No, silly..." she finally said. "...I was trying to proposition you..."

"Proposition me...for what?" he asked, curious at this enigma that had made herself comfortable next to him.

"Well....for sex..." she explained, seeming to find more embarrassement that he didn't understand.

"Oh." he said, his face going into a thoughtful expression.

"I guess I didn't do it right..." she sighed, looking back down again.

Artemis thought about this for a moment, then turned back to her.

"You could try again, if you like?" he offered.

She glanced over at him, unsure of his sincerity.

"You....serious?" she asked cautiously.

"Absolutely." he nodded with the same dumb grin.

Her smile suddenly widened, like finding that red bicycle at Christmas. Then, she bolted back up on her now bare feet. Cross got a better look at her, now. She was much shorter than her incredible height had at first suggested. A smaller frame than her poor attempt at being sexed-up. But, the smile. The smile was real.

She cleared her throat, as if getting ready for a recital.

"Okay....okay....okay..." she breathed to herself, trying to find her moment. Then, she opened her eyes with steady determination.

"So...you looking for a good time...big boy?" she asked, finding more confidence in her words this time around.

He grinned, nodding.

"Better...much better..."

"Really??" she squealed. "I didn't flub the end?"

"No, no...the 'big boy' was perfectly paused..." he nodded.

She squealed again, twirling in place with a childlike glee. Artemis just smiled, enjoying her innocent joy.

"So?" she finally asked, still a bit breathless with the achievement.

"....so?" he asked curiously.

"....so....are you?" she prompted him. "Interested?"

"In a good time?" he made sure.

"Yeah..." she nodded, still grinning.

"Always!" he responded exactly as before.

"Oh!" she nodded, the reality suddenly sinking in. "Okay, great...let's go..."

Cross looked back and forth.

"Go where?"

"It's up to you....uhh...your...place?" she offered weakly.

Cross narrowed his eyes.

"Is this about sex again?"

"Well........yeah..." she shrugged.

"Oh." he said, glancing away in thought. "Okay. Well then, no. I'm not looking for a good time."

Her expression crashed.

"Did I...did I do it wrong? I can do it again!" she fumbled.

Artemis stared at her for a moment.

"Actually, I kind of liked it when you were sitting down here..." he replied, patting the seat next to him.

She paused quizically, finally sitting down next to him.

"You...I'm not really..." she began, stammering a bit. "...I'm not sexy enough, am I?"

"No, not at all." Cross replied. "I think you're hot."

She seemed to find some joy in this.

"You're just saying that..." she shrugged off.

"No I'm not." he stated matter-of-factly. "You have a killer ass."

"I do?!" she squealed, suddenly looking back up at him, all the previous excitement returning to her expression. "Really?"

"Without a doubt." he assured her. "And your tits are truly happening."

She giggled a bit again, looking down at her own modest bossom.

"...they're real, you know..." she added in a quiet modesty. "Wanna feel?"

"No thanks." he said, his grin becoming wider. "But, I would like something from you..."

She looked up with anticipating eyes. "...yes?"

"Your name, please."

She stared at him for a moment, to see if he was joking. But, as with this entire exchange, his sincerity had not altered.

"Ummm...Candi." she finally said. "Candi Cannon."

"Candi Cannon." he repeated with a nod. "That's a neat name."

She shrugged, looking away a bit.

"It's just...my stage name." she admitted.

"Oh? What stage is that?"

"The Red Room...down near the east bay..." she explained. "...well, it was...it closed last week..."

"Never been there." he said. "What's it like?"

She shook her head, trying to find the words...

"Like any other strip club, I guess..." she explained innocently. "....it's sort of...red. Lotsa red carpet and stuff."

"I like red." he nodded.

She looked back up at him again. And this time, she really stared at him, trying to find a handle on this odd man.

"So....what's your name?" she finally asked.

"Artemis. Artemis Cross." he said, offering her a hand. She shook it with a gentle grip.

"I like your name. It's...neat." she finished, mimicking him.

"It's just my stage name." he shrugged.

"Ha! And what stage is that, Mr. Cross?" she responded in kind.

"Life." he smiled.

She paused, her quizical expression returning.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"Nowhere near."

"So...what are you doing? Here, I mean?"

He looked around, as if searching for the answer himself.

"At the moment....waiting on the bus..." he finally admitted.

"The bus?" she asked, looking around, herself. "But...this is the park..."

Artemis seemed taken back with this information, suddenly looking all around him. They were, indeed, sitting on the bench in the middle of the city park.

"Well...guess that explains why it hasn't come by in the last seven hours..." he nodded.

She began giggling, he in turn finding something humorous in her laughter.

"I like you....you're funny..." she said innocently.

"And I like you because you think that..." he replied.

She laughed even harder. He matched it, to an almost disturbing degree.

After a moment or two of this, she turned to a forward facing position again. He did the same. And the two sat there quietly for a few minutes.

"So....where are you going?" she finally asked.

He shrugged.

"Down a path less traveled..."

"...what?"

He looked over at her.

"Oh, sorry. I thought you were speaking metaphorically." he explained. "Umm...no idea. I have no idea where I'm going."

"I know how you feel..." she nodded, folding her arms.

".......metaphorically?" he asked to make sure.

She grinned at him. Then, finding some emotional hiccup in the moment, her expression fell.

"I need to get out of this city..." she mumbled mainly to herself.

"So, what's stopping you?" Cross asked.

She looked up at him, not actually prepared for this man's sincere interest.

"Nowhere to go, I guess..." she admitted.

"I know how you feel." he nodded. "Literally."

They both smiled. And Cross knew that he liked this girl.

"You know...since neither of us has anywhere to go...why don't we go together?" he offered.

She paused, studying him.

"But...but I don't even know you..." she stammered a bit.

"Well, I don't know you either." he replied in kind. "And, don't try anything with me, I'm telling you right now. I'm not that kind of guy..."

She broke into laughter again, Cross just grinning. Mainly at making a successful joke.

"So...seriously?" she asked again, "You want me to just up and take off with a stranger? To...to anywhere?"

"And everywhere." he said. "Your choice, of course. Go nowhere here....or go nowhere with me...somewhere else."

She thought about this for a few moments, still not quite sure she felt comfortable with the situation.

"How...how do I know I can trust you?" she asked.

He studied her in return, finally leaning over to whisper something in her ear.

She jerked back with an excited giggle, rubbing her ear.

"What was THAT??" she cooed with a flushed pant.

"My real name." he stated seriously.

"It tickled my...my...my head..." she replied, shaking her head back and forth a little.

"That's why I don't say it often." he shrugged.

"And...and you said it to me? So that I'll trust you?" she asked.

"Yes."

"....that's an odd form of trust..." she admitted.

"What's more personal than someone's name?" he asked sincerely. "I'm giving you my real name freely, as a sign of trust."

She thought on this for a moment. Then, she leaned over looking straight into his eyes.

"Twyla."

"Twyla?" he asked.

"That's my name." she said. "Twyla Jones."

He held his hand out, shaking hers again,

"Pleasure to meet you Twyla."

She grinned.

"Ready for our journey?" he asked, standing up.

"Yeah...yes." she said, finding some type of refreshing confidence in the statement. "Yes I am."

"Good...let's go." he nodded, beginning to walk.

"Wait..." she stopped him. "...I just need to get some things from my place first. Is that okay?"

"Sure, I don't see why not..." he shrugged. "...which direc--"

A burst of wind suddenly ripped at his hair and face, cutting his words off. After blinking a few times, he looked up at her.

She was still standing there. But, now, she had a bag thrown over her shoulder.

"Ready." she smiled. And, in her eyes, he could see that she was terrified of what his next reaction would be.

"That was......fast." he admitted.

"....yeah..." she replied with a cautious expression.

Cross smiled.

"Neat." he said, offering his arm out.

She gave a relieved smile in return, wrapping her arm through his.

"Neat..." she agreed.

The two set off down their new path...

"You did what?" Icarus asked, the cannon on his arm slowly transitioning back to its more traditional hand-shaped state.

"I killed the two agents who were helping the bounty hunter take Ozzy," Victor replied.

"Why?" Icarus shouted out across the cabin of the plane, his voice strained with alarm.

"They were a threat. They were armed and obviously well trained. We needed to eliminate them to have any hope of rescuing Baxter."

"We asked you to incapacitate them," Grimm said to Victor, rising from his seat. He had to lean forward to keep his head from hitting the ceiling, which somewhat ruined the assertive look he was going for. "Incapacitate. That means, like, knock them out cold or something. Tie them up. Punch them in the kneecaps, I don't know... but killing them? Fuck."

Victor cocked his head at Grimm, and held out his hand. "Hi. Victor Reilly, human killing machine. Have we met?"

"Human? Ha," Icarus said quietly from his seat.

"Excuse me?" Victor replied, rising from his seat to match Grimm's stooped but still imposing stance.

Icarus craned his head around to be facing Victor, leaving Phil with the controls of the plane. Victor continued to stare off into space, his eyes focused on nothing in particular.

"I said 'Human? Ha.'" Icarus said, louder this time.

"And what exactly in the name of fuck is that supposed to mean?" Victor asked, his voice rising above its usual monotone for the first time since they had found themselves pushed forward a year.

"It means a human would actually give a damn if they had taken two innocent lives," Icarus began, his voice rising in pitch and volume as he spoke. "A human would wonder if those men had wives, or children. A human would think twice before murdering someone. Human? You're more machine than I am. And I'm beginning to question why the hell we keep you around."

Victor dove forward down the aisle of the small plane, placing his hands against the seat backs to propel himself towards Icarus. Judging by where he'd heard Icarus' voice from, he made a calculated guess and lunged at the pilot's seat.

As Icarus stood to face his challenger, Victor felt two strong arms wrap around his chest and pull him back.

"Calm the FUCK down, Reilly!" Grimm said, struggling to keep the blind assassin under control.

Victor wriggled around in Grimm's grip, finding himself face to face with the big man. Victor pulled his head back then drove it into Grimm's forehead. With a yelp of surprise, Grimm momentarily lost his grip on Victor. He threw out his right arm and wrapped it around Victor's throat, choking the life from his opponent.

"Stop it, damn it!" Phil said, swivelling around his seat and leaving Icarus with the controls. With a blast of telekinesis, Victor and Grimm were torn apart and sent to the floor in the aisle of the plane.

"Shit!" Icarus exclaimed as he struggled to compensate for the violent shift in the plane's weight balance.

"Damn it, Smith..." Grimm said, rubbing his head where he'd hit it against a seat.

"You!" Victor said, standing and pointing an accusatory finger at Phil Smith. "Don't use that fucking telekinesis against me again."

As Victor lunged at him, Phil pushed his attacker towards the back of the plane with all the force his mind could muster.

Victor tumbled backwards, over Grimm, and came to a violent stop against the back wall of the plane.

The plane shifted again, and Icarus tried hard to compensate.

"Fuck!" Victor yelled, standing up and running forward.

Phil just shook his head, and stepped down the aisle to face Victor.

As Victor passed him, Grimm shot out a hand and grabbed his wrist, jerking him to a sudden stop. Victor turned around and raised a fist, as Phil came within arm's reach of them both.

"ENOUGH!" Lykopis yelled, standing up from her seat. She pulled a knife from her belt and pressed it against Phil's chest, as she simultaneously unsheathed her sword and pressed it against Victor's throat.

She made eye contact with each of them in succession.

"Enough," She said again, through gritted teeth.

"Gaovulte's Bones!" Grimm cursed under his breath. Then, a litttle louder he said, "I thought you Vanguards were supposed to be professionals! And here I find myself cramped in a tiny plane with a group of whiny children!"

Lykopis' steely gaze never wavered from Reilly as she responded to Grimm. "Is that why you're here? To whip us into shape like some demented drill sergeant? Is that why Prometheus sent you to us? Because I'll damn sure tell you right now I'm more than a little sick of your mouth."

"Prometheus? Prometheus?!" Grimm asked, before bursting into a fit of laughter. "You assume much, Princess. I never said Prometheus sent me here."

"But Ozzy said. . ." She replied, turning away a bit as Reilly moved a hand towards Lykopis' knife.

"I wouldn't." Phil warned him. Raising an eyebrow for effect (which was completely lost on Reilly since he was blind).

"What did Baxter say to you, Princess? I'm curious. What did he say about me?"

It was at this moment that a large shadow passed over the small Cessna, darkening the entire plane.

"I think we have a bigger problem." Icarus called from the cockpit.

************************************

Simultaneously

"Raptor Corps, attennnnshunnn!!!!!!!" The older man in the blue military type garb sounded as the corpsmen did as he ordered.

"You all know the drill. Grissom Montag is paying us quite a bit to ensure that these criminals do not make it out of Europe alive. Kavanaugh. You're in charge here. Don't screw up, boy."

"I won't, sir." Kavanaugh answered, his lip wavering just slightly. He hoped the officer didn't notice.

"Raptors, dismissed!" The officer called as the squad ran towards the loading bay. Each man pressed a small bird shaped fetish on the left breast of his uniform and was instantly covered in light weight plastisteel armor as silvery wings sprouted from their arms.

The loading bay of the ship opened as the Raptors launched themselves into the air, taking flight and circling the small plane carrying the Vanguard members.

Pulling their weapons from their holsters, the Raptors began firing upon the craft from all directions as Icarus struggled to keep the plane in control.

"Phil, a little help up here?" Icarus asked as Smith made his way back up front and slid in next to the Russian.

"Their craft is massive." Lykopis looked upwards out of one window.

"What suggestions do we have for dealing with this?" Reilly sat now with his arms folded.

"Well, I could open the door and throw you at them. . ." Grimm offered.

"Your humorous quips are less than effective." Reilly shot back.

"Who said I was joking? C'mon, killer. Let's go take a trip." Grimm smiled a bit. "First one to the ground alive wins."

"Down!" Lykopis shoved the two to the ground as bullets ripped through the body of the craft before it soared upward and reversed, heading for the larger craft's open bay area.

"What are you doing, you maniac?" Phil asked as Icarus released his seatbelt and formed his hands into guns again.

"Just keep us on course, Phil. We're can't outrun them in this crate. I'm gonna step outside for a bit."

"You're insane, Sidewinder!"

"Like the rest of us aren't!" Sidewinder jumped out the door, aiming for the nearest Raptor as Phil piloted the small Cessna into the larger crafts open area, looking for a safe place to land.

Several Raptors followed the craft in, firing upon it the whole time.

Phil Smith slid into the pilot seat beside Icarus, latching his safety belt and running his hands over several controls, aiding in the plane's new bombardment.

Beside him in the cockpit, Icarus Sidewinder's mind was reeling.

Flying enemies, he mused to himself. Damn, what I wouldn't give for a--

Suddenly, the pilot's train of thought screeched to a halt. Slowly, he held his hands up in front of his widened eyes.

'I'd give my right arm for a gun,' he thought. Even as the thought ran through his head, his right arm began to morph and change before his eyes. The pain was still present and the pilot gritted his teeth, grunting slightly as the change neared completion.

"Well, I could open the door and throw you at them," Grimm mused from somewhere behind him.

Then, the pilot got a wild idea. An insane idea. But, then, he thought to himself, everything about this world is insane already... so really, this is just going with the flow...

He reached his left hand down, throwing off his seatbelt. As he did so, the Cessna rocked slightly, bombarded by the Raptor's fire. He reached his right arm out, wrapping it around the back of Phil's chair to keep from falling over.

The telekinetic looked up at Sidewinder warily. "What are you doing, you maniac?"

Icarus grunted, nostrils flaring, as he willed his left arm to form into something resembling a minature Howitzer. "Just keep us on course, Phil," he said, looking over at the man. "We can't outrun them in this crate. I'm gonna step outside for a bit."

He walked out of the cockpit and over to the plane doors, changing his first cannon into a hand just long enough to open the door before changing it back again.

"Y-you're insane, Sidewinder!" Phil called back, over the hissing of the air.

Icarus looked back, a gleam in his eye. A cocky smirk, the one he'd been known - and hated - for, spread across his face. "Like the rest of us aren't!" he almost laughed.

And, with that, he threw himself from the plane, hurtling himself toward the ground below.

"Icarus!" Lykopis yelled, rushing for the door. "No!"

"Don't worry about it, Your Highness!" Grimm hollered, attempting to be heard over the roaring winds. "He can fly... right?"

"No, you imbecile!" she turned to him. "He can't fly with this new technology! He's... he's not able!"

"Two hundred says he makes it," Grimm said with a smile.

Lykopis glared at him coldly, turning toward the cockpit to see if she could gain a fresh perspective on their situation from there.

"Betcha Ozzy would've taken that action," the mammoth biker grunted, leaning against the inside of the plane.

_________________________________________

"OH, SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"

Icarus Sidewinder was in a freefall. He had, however, managed to pull some of the Raptors away from the plane, as a number of them followed him downward.

Rolling his body upward slightly, he took out quite a few with the guns protruding from his arms... but, sadly, it was like shooting a Hydra - everytime one fell, two more seemed to take his place.

Okay, Icarus thought, clamping his eyes shut, still firing wildly in as many directions as he could. Let's see if we can get this to work... Rockets: deploy!

Icarus opened his eyes. The ground was coming toward him with a building velocity.

"Shit!" he said aloud. Okay, think. Wings!

Nothing.

Jets!

Nada.

Uh... Rockets! No, wait, I did that one already!

The ground seemed to loom before him now, filling the pilot's field of vision. Straightening himself into a clean dive, he gained even more velocity, as though to drive himself straight into the ground, feet first.

"C'mon, you motherfucking techno-bitch!" the pilot screamed at himself at the top of his lungs. "JUST FLY ALREADY!"

Had the pilot not been screaming uncontrollably from the adrenaline and the pain, he might have noticed that something was happening. Behind his back, what sounded like pistons began whirrings and firing. The hoarde of rapidly-approaching Raptors began to slow as they noticed what appeared to be two large cylinders sliding out of the falling man's shoulder-blades. From what looked like a collar around his neck, metal plating began sliding up above his neck and then down in front of his face, forming a helmut of sorts.

Then, as if by sheer force of will alone, flames began to streak from out of the bottom of the young pilot's cylinders, helping him to gain velocity at an alarming rate.

Noticing the flying leap of speed, Icarus opened his eyes to see himself flying right into a cluster of Raptors. Raising his guns, both defiantly and victoriously, above his head, he began firing point blank through his flying attackers.

Yelling with pure exhiliration, he rocketed upward in the sky, spreading his arms wide. The grin on his face, though masked by his helmut, was the biggest smile Icarus had ever displayed.

He had gotten the sky back.

Though attacked on all sides, finally, he was home.

A bullet ricocheted off the side of his helmut, bringing him back to reality.

"Alright, you wannabe sons of bitches," Icarus said as the Raptors began closing in, "you're in my house now!"

Icarus aimed his cannon at the nearest Raptor. The sights were dead-center on the man's chest, but Sidewinder recalled the conversation with Victor from a few minutes ago. Plus, the rediscovery of his wings made Icarus a little more generous than usual. He aimed a little to the left and shot off the Raptor's right wing. The Raptor spiraled down towards the countryside below, slowing down once his pulled on his parachute.

"One down, way to many to go." Icarus barreled and rolled, the pack still following him. "Time to taste some Sidewinder Pie, boys!" He aimed the cannon again.

Back in the plane, Grimm looked at Lykopis and grinned. "He hasn't gone 'splat' yet, Highness."

It was hard to tell if Lykopis was getting tired of her new nickname, or if she was slowly starting to like it. She took another glace through the cockpit window. The Raptor's carrier was still in front of them. "Phil, can you take the plane over the carrier?"

"What did you have in mind?"

Lykopis grinned. "Just a war tactic I saw when one of Sun Tzu's generals was defending the western border." The cockpit was dead silent. Lykopis rolled her eyes. "It's like that scene in The Empire Strikes Back with the big robots on the snow planet."

"Oh," said everyone at the same time. Lykopis made her way to the door.

"I'm coming with you," said Grimm.

Lykopis looked him up and down, as if judging how capable he would be in a fight. "I suppse. Drop down there first."

"Of course, you Majesty." Grimm leaped from the plane and landed on the Raptor's ship. He dented the hull as he hit the thich metal. Lykopis waited until he was steady before jumping. She misjudged the wind, and nearly fell off the plane head-first. Snippets of her life began to play as she contemplated her death, when she felt pressure on her thin ankle. Grimm was dragging her from the edge. "You're quite light, Princess." He had to shout this, because the roar of the engines and the wind was deafening.

"Thanks," Lykopis shouted in reply. She tapped the hull with her nails. "This is where you're brute strength might come in handy."

Grimm didn't say anything, but slammed his fist into the metal. He had struck it right where two pieces of metal were joined, and as a result, both pieces flew off the ship and into the sky. "Now what?"

Lykopis was silent, but she began bending her hips and legs in an unusual mannor. Grimm was confused by the show, but then realized Lykopis was trying to shimmy her way into the ship. "The hole's not big enough. Let me punch it again."

Lykopis was already half way through. "Don't worry, I've snuck into smaller places than this."

"So what's with the freaky body movement? Some sort of extinct form of yoga you learned from a Ninja ghost?"

"Hardly. A gyspy circus girl taught me this. I can use it to get into any --" Lykopis was almost through the hole, but her bust wouldn't fit through. "I suppose I was a little thinner last time I did this." It was too much for Grimm. He began laughing at the silly sight. All his needed now was a beer. "Stop laughing! All I have to do is breath --" Whatever Lykopis did worked, for she fell into the ship with a faint pop.

Grimm stuck his head through the hole. "Are you in the cargo bay?"

"No, there's some panelling between the interior and the exterior. But there are wires everywhere." Lykopis grinned. "So, which wires should I pull?"

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon..." Phil grunted under his breath through gritted teeth. "Anywhere... just... anywhere!"

"Problems, Sparky?" came the eerie voice of Reilly behind him.

"Not at all," Phil piped up, notably perturbed. "Just - y'know - trying to find a place to land to keep you alive!"

"It's a big piece of land," Reilly said, feeling around and sliding into the co-pilot's seat. "How hard can it be?"

Phil's eyes narrowed as his hands tightened on the steering column. "It's not exactly the easiest thing to do. There are a lot of factors. Finding a piece of ground that is level enough. A that is long enough so that we won't hit anything on the way down. Then, there's our current velocity, wind conditions..."

A loud THUMP! broke Phil's concentration, a slight yelp escaping his lips, as a member of the Raptor Corps bounced off the windshield of the jet. Icarus Sidewinder soared by, gun-arms firing almost wildly, though miraculously hitting their intended targets. He grinned wildly as he caught Phil's eye, letting out a loud, "WOOOO!"

Reilly merely grunted, heading toward the back of the plane, amazingly able to keep his balance.

Richard Merrick, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Clinging to a bulkhead, his eyes were clamped shut and his jaws clenched. Still, his lips moved as though in silent prayer. Smirking slightly, Reilly slid beside the relative stranger.

"I'm pretty sure there is no God, y'know..." he said coolly.

His eyes suddenly opening, Merrick turned to the assassin. "Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying," Reilly said, "praying won't do you much good..."

"I'm not praying," Merrick said, curling his lip in contempt. After a harsh stare at Reilly, his eyes clamped shut again. "I'm trying to summon them... but it's so damn hard..."

"Summon...?"

Merrick's eyes snapped open. Turning toward his window, they widened. "Them..." he said, pointing.

"Uh... you're gonna have to help me out here," Reilly said numbly.

"Oh," Merrick said, noticing Reilly's bandage as though for the first time. "Right. Sorry."

From the cockpit, Phil cried out, "What the hell...?"

"The Ghost Dogs," Merrick said in hushed awe. "I... I can sometimes summon them, though, admittedly, I'm not so good at it."

Outside, the spectral canines appeared as though from the ether. They began to scatter, tearing apart the members of the Raptor Corps.

Suddenly finding himself face to face with a snarling canine, Icarus Sidewinder, having just bested another member of the Corps in a head-on game of chicken, faltered... and found himself suddenly falling once again, a pack of rabid apparitions in hot pursuit.

"Merrick," Phil called from the cockpit, "something you'd like to tell us?"

Merrick's eyes, however, were locked on the falling form of Icarus. "They're going after the pilot... what was his name?"

"Icarus," Reilly said.

"The Ghost Dogs," Merrick said again. "They are going to kill him."

"So stop them," the assassin shrugged.

"I can't," Merrick said, rising unsteadily. "But I know someone who can."

"Oh?" Phil yelled back. "And who might that be?"

"...the god of the Wilde!"

No sooner had the words left his lips than Merrick began to transform. Where feet had once been, hooves now stood. Claws emerged slowly from where his fingernails were, blood dripping from them as though from nowhere. As he grew in stature, his own antlered helmet appeared on his head. Once there was Merrick. Now, only the Wild Huntsman stood.

If Victor Reilly could have seen it, he might have even been impressed... though he would assuredly would have told you otherwise.

"M-merrick?" Phil called, looking over his shoulder.

Without saying a word, the Huntsman leapt from the plane, a Ghost Dog appearing beneath him as his steed.

"That man is insane," Phil said, turning his attention back to his piloting.

"Then you're gonna hate me," Reilly said, a quick chop forcefully landing directly atop one of Phil's major nerve cluster, effectively knocking him out. Pulling Phil out of the pilot's chair, Reilly assumed command of the small plane.

Switching to infra-red, Reilly now beheld a bevy of activity. Red blobs flew in and out of his field of vision as Icarus and the Huntsman continued battling the Raptor Corps.

Then... he saw it.

A large red spot. What he'd been looking for.

The Raptor Corps' airbourne base of operations.

"If you want something done," Reilly said, pulling up on the controls as the red spot grew larger in his field of vision (such as it was), "you've got to do it yourself..."

Two of the Raptor Corps sat at their stations with mugs of coffee in hand. "So there I was," the first Raptor was explaining, "right out of college and no place to go. I just wasn't cut out for the pros like I thought I was. I could have joined the military, but I really just don't like those uniforms. They look gay. Not like these. These are kick ass uniforms."

"Definetly," the second Raptor agreed before taking another long sip of his hot coffee.

"So, that's when one of Montag's executives came up and recruited me. She promised me travel all over the world, great pay, and full dental."

"That's important," the other Raptor interjected.

"Ummmm-hmmmmmm," the first agree with a mouth full of coffee. "Exactly. Probably the most important thing to a group of hired mercenaries is a comprehensive health plan. Teeth can get knocked out, limbs shot off, eyes burnt out with a hot poker, you know. It's a crap shoot out here."

"Yeah, did you hear about Paul?"

"No, what happened?"

"Columbian drug lords fed his balls to piranhas."

"Ouch!"

"Yeah!"

"See, that's what I'm talking about. Show me an insurance company that has a box like that for you check off for coverage. And all these drug lords and African warlords always feel like they have to be clever and sadistic, like they get RACK points for it or something."

"What points?"

"RA.... Nevermind. It's an inside thing. Where was I?"

"You'd just been recruited."

"Ah, yeah. So, like I said, five years ago she comes up to me and offers me all this money and..... Did I forget to mention it was Yvette who recruited me?"

"The redhead with the big...?"

"Yeah! That's the one!"

An electronic buzz broke the conversation as a red light flashed.

"Contact at three o'clock!" the second Raptor called out as he looked at the screen before him.

"Got it," the first replied as the small jet came into his sights. The barrels of twin machine guns blazed alive with fire. White streaks of tracer rounds cut through the sky and sliced the left wing of the aircraft into pieces. The jet dropped from view. "So, how did you wind up in the Raptor Corps?"

The second Raptor turned away from his screen. "I.... um...... I was drafted."

"You..... you were what?"

Victor's head pounded in pain as the strain of his infra-red vision faded away. He could feel his body falling in a crazy spiral. He lamented aloud, "Maybe I shouldn't have knocked out the telekinetic."

Grimm looked up. The ship had taken an odd turn and was heading right for the Raptor's airborne base. At least, it was on a ramming course with the larger ship until the Raptors pelted the hull with bulletholes. "Great."

Grimm surveyed his surroundings. The Huntsman and Icarus were attacking the stray Raptors, but now the guns were done with shooting the ship down and were aiming at the men.

"That means Victor and Phil are still on board. Ly, you might want to hurry it up."

"I haven't done this in seventy years. And this isn't at all like a German Focke-Wulf."

"Lykopis, Victor and Phil can't make it on their own!"

"This connects to the cockpit." Grimm could hear the muffled sound of a hatch opening, followed by a gasp from the Amazon. "AHHHHHHHHHH!"

He couldn't see much from the hole he created, so he leaned forward. Lykopis was lying down on the floor of the ship. Two Raptors had Uzis aimed at her head. A third had a taser in his hand and gave Grimm and lopsided grin. Call off your two freaks or the lady gets it.

***

Everyone was too busy to notice the ship crash into the sea. Victor grabbed Phil by the collar. His infa-red was no good here. "Get up...get up...or we'll both be dead."

There was a slooshing sound at his feet, and then Victor felt something cold creep into his shoes. Water. Still carrying the unconsious Phil, he grabbed the wall, hoping to find the opening.

The plane shifted, and the entire cabin filled with icy-cold water. Victor let out a gasp before he was submerged. The water pulled him away from the wall. Where was the open door? It had been on his left, but now there was only cold steel. He was disoriented. Where was the door?

Things were going downhill.

Victor grabbed Phil and held him close, still holding his breath. He tried to raise his hand and slap Phil across the face, in an attempt to wake him up. The water slowed his arm, and Phil remained as unconscious as ever.

Victor held his thumb and forefinger close together, and pinched the flesh of Phil's neck. Still nothing.

Gritting his teeth, Victor pulled a knife from his belt, and stabbed Phil in the thigh.

In the sky, Icarus had one of the Raptors on his tail. He was having trouble shaking him, and wondered whether he'd be better off just turning around and facing him directly.

He turned in mid air, raised his gun arm at his opponent and firing.

The bullets struck the Raptor's wing, sending him spiralling downwards.

"Ha!" Icarus yelled, before another Raptor slammed into him from the side.

"Shit..." Icarus muttered to himself, trying to free himself from the soldier's bear-like grip.

Below him, the surface of the water swelled and ruptured, as two men broke the surface.

"You goddamn psycho!" Phil yelled, as he threw his arms over a floating piece of the plane's wing and climbed up onto it, straddling it like a surfboard.

Victor just flailed in the water, not being able to see the wing where Phil had found refuge.

Phil elected not to help him.

"I'll deal with you later. Icarus is in trouble," Phil said, looking upwards. Looking around, he noticed a piece of the plane's engine floating nearby. It was about two feet long and cylindrical in shape.

Phil tore it from the water with his mind and send it hurtling upwwards into the sky.

Icarus was surprised to find that the soldier who had been holding him was suddenly struck in the head by a flying piece of metal.

Phil watched as the the soldier fell, trying desperately to exert some control over him. Levitating an entire person in heavy body armour, especially when they were travelling with such momentum, was hard. But Phil could at least try to guide his fall.

As the falling Raptor neared the ocean floor, Phil slowed his fall and brought him to a sudden stop on his floating wing. Phil tore the wings and the armour off the man, and left them in a heap on the huge metal surface upon which they sat.

"Who the fuck are you people working for?" Phil yelled at his captive. He was finding that someone who's recently been struck in the head by a missile can be frustratingly non-responsive.

Victor swam towards the sound of Phil's voice, and eventually found the wing and clambered onto it.

"Who?!" Phil yelled, slapping the man across the face.

"W... wha'...?" The man said in response.

"Damn it!"

While Phil spoke, Victor was fiddling with pieces of the armour. Running his hands across them, he started to get a rough idea of what shapes they were in. He found the wings to be especially intriguing.

"Not... saying anything..." The Raptor in Phil's arms said.

"The hell you're not," Phil replied, before punching the man in the stomach.

A noise from behind him caught Phil's attention. He turned around to find Victor with the wings and the torso piece of the armour strapped to himself. He was attaching what he'd guessed from the weight and smell to be a small engine to the bottom of the wings. He ran his fingers across the row of buttons on his chest.

"What the hell are you doing?" Phil asked.

Victor just slammed his palm against his chest, and took off into the sky.

"Great. Now the blind psycho has a jetpack," Phil muttered under his breath.

In the cockpit of the Raptor Corps ship, Grimm was stepping out of the hatch with his hands raised. A glance over his shoulder revealed a fourth man was standing behind him, pistol raised. The man was just in front of the hatch that led to the outside world.

"Just... just leave her be, guys," Grimm said, as he stepped slowly forwards.

"You know what? No," One of the men said, and zapped Lykopis with the taser. He pushed her forwards, and she collapsed into Grimm. They both fell backwards.

The man behind Grimm opened the hatch door and they both fell outside, as the door slammed shut behind them.

Victor tried shifting his weight to the left, and found himself banking much more sharply than he had intended.

"Shit!" He said, as bullets whizzed past his head. He looked up to see Icarus carving an arc through the air above him. Victor attempted to follow, swerving wildly to the right and nearly losing control as he tried.

Grimm assessed his options, which currently consisted of:

A ) Fall and die.

B ) Something else.

He elected go with B, hoping he could fill in the details as he went.

"HELP!" He screamed.

Victor heard the scream, and looked towards its source. Straining his infra red vision, he noticed two shapes pressed together, falling rapidly. One of them sounded like Grimm. He guessed the other was Lykopis.

Icarus heard it too, and headed straight for them.

Grimm was debating whether or not to pray, when he felt a hand grab him under the right shoulder. He looked up to find himself face to face with Icarus.

Icarus shot out his other hand for Lykopis, just missing her.

"DAMN IT!" He yelled.

Lykopis came to and found herself falling. Her thought process was much the same as Grimm's was upon finding himself in the same situation.

She was shocked to find Victor Reilly swoop in and grab her by the shoulders.

"It's cool, I think I'm getting the hang of this..." Victor said.

Beneath them, Phil was threatening to telekinetically stop a man's heart.

"Unless..." Phil added. "...you tell me who sent you."

"WHO SENT YOU?!"

Phil's words crackled with an exhausted frustration, even apparent over the finely tuned speakers. His face contorted to the point of breaking, his flushed cheeks bled dry by the varying distortion of the satellite uplink.

And Grissom Montag peered at the screen, looking through the eyes of Smith's captive.

"It's a very clear reception, given where they are..." Tegan commented, standing over him.

He nodded slightly, forefinger still propped against his upper lip in thought.

"Sir?"

Montag glanced up briefly, and then back at the screen again.

"...later, Tegan. Thank you." he dismissed. She said nothing, simply collecting the forms back into her hands, and leaving the quiet office.

"I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO KILL YOU! TELL ME!!"

"No." Grissom mumbled, tapping a command into his keyboard. "No, you are not in control here, Mr. Smith. Not today."

Ten miles out in the Mediterranean Sea, Phil's face froze with momentary confusion. His captive was beginning to convulse, eyes rolling back. Veins began popping out all over his neck, and face. And to Phil, it seemed like he was about to......

"....fuck...." he spat, suddenly throwing his prisoner forward, immediately falling backwards into the water.

A plume of water suddenly erupted with enough force to toss Phil's telekinetic bubble in a brutal flotsam of fleshy-red foam. The shockwave slammed into him at over a hundred-miles-an-hour, punching the wind from his lungs, and clouding his mind in darkness.........his body slowing sinking into the cold sea.

"Raptor Corp....this is Uncle." Montag's voice spoke over every Raptor comm in the area. "Phase One observation is over. Execute Phase Two."

The Corp air carrier began a banking turn to make another final pass over the engagement area, all airborne agents turning as well in a unified formation.

"Bring them home."

"Drop me!" Grimm shouted at Icarus, their eyes locked on the sudden explosion that had engulfed Phil. Icarus released the mammoth form he had been straining to keep aloft, spinning back to take on more of the Raptors.

"WE NEED TO GET TO LAND!" Lykopis shouted over the natural air turbulence. "HEAD WE---"

Her words ended sharply, as two Raptors physically rammed them at over seventy-miles-an-hour. Victor instantly lost his hold on her, and Lykopis found herself falling again.

Grimm plummeted straight towards the water, eyes locked on where Phil had submerged. Hitting the water feet-first, he twisted and turned, scanning feverishly for any sight of the man.

A metal tether fired out, latching onto Lyly's ankles, binding them together in mid-air. A second fired, and latched her wrists together tight. A flick of a switch, and the two coils magnetized, jerking her into a hog-tied, submissive position. She began to struggle. But, a high voltage surge down the coils quickly ended that.

"{Subject Beta secure.}", one of them said, the two hauling their prisoner towards the carrier.

Grimm burst back up to the surface to grab another breath of air, when he suddenly found himself being rained upon by small, golf-ball-sized metallic spheres. He quickly dove back down, as two Raptors made a fly-by of his position.

He had gotten no more than a couple of feet down, when they activated the spheres. And, immediately, his course was halted, as the water thickened, and went stark white around him. Grimm strained to go back up, his body finally succumbing the sub-zero temp that quickly cocooned him.

Above the surface, the two Raptors fired tethers at the same time, grappling hooks locking into the now-floating chunk of frozen sea water. With a bit of strain on their jet packs, the blob of ice slowly rose up and out of the water. Clearly visible inside, Grimm sat locked in a swimming motion, caught like a fly in amber.

"{Won't he suffocate?}", the one Corp soldier asked over their commlink.

"{Negative. The Temp Spheres are feeding the O₂ from the water directly to him, while keeping the ice solid during transit.}"

"{The boss thinks of everything...}", the first one replied. "{Subject Alpha secure.}"

The God of the Wilde quickly faded away, succumbing to four missles that had honed onto his position with ease. Dropping like a stone towards the sea, one of the Raptor's paused.

"{What about him?}"

"{Negative. He's not on the list.}", another replied.

Both turned, and flew back off, letting Merrick drop to his probable death.

Icarus dropped two more Corp soldiers with professional shots, turning to see his crew being captured, one by one. Before he could respond, though, he saw Grimm's frozen form, and immediately panicked.

"Phil." he grunted. And with a grit of teeth, and a roar of thrusters, he shot straight down towards the sea...

"AAGGHH!!" Victor screamed, struggling against the anti-grav field that held him aloft, his body spinning around with no point of hold or reference. Multiple electrical charges surged and fired through his body. After about seven of these, he finally succumbed. Trickles of blood from his eyes and nose, his breath went shallow as he faded into unconsciousness.

"{Be sure and keep him in that thing, too...}", one of his captors added to the other holding the field tight. "{...this one's a mad dog.}"

"{Subject Epsilon secure.}"

Okay, okay....water mask...goggles...fins...scuba gear....ANYthing!, Icarus thought, his mind racing frantically, as he roared past two Raptors in pursuit. The churning sea frothed below, racing to meet him. Aaannnnnnddd.....NOW would be a good time!

The two Raptors veered off, as Icarus' form vanished into the sea below. They looked at each other, a bit confused as to what to do.

"{Uhhh...Command One...this is Raptor-847....Subject Foxtrot just took a splashdown below the hard deck. Please advise.}"

{847, Command One....Uncle is recalling Raptor Corp. Will advise subjects Foxtrot and Charlie unobtainable. Sterilize area, and fallback to carrier for extraction. Over...}

"{Roger that, Command One. Sterilization commencing...}"

The two Raptors nodded at each other, and, immediately began firing off marble spheres into the sea around them. After deploying a few hundred, they both jetted upwards in unison, waiting for certain height before hitting a switch on their wrists.

The sea below instantly erupted in a foaming ball of flame, as an explosion in the equivalent nature of eighty-pounds of TNT thundered under the waves.

All of the Raptors swarmed back to the carrier in formation. Once loaded, the massive craft veered up into a cloud bank. Ten minutes later, a refueling plane met them. Ten minutes after that, they extended four seperate sets of turbines, and went supersonic.

Headed for North America.

One hour after that, on the coastline of Bremerhaven, Icarus Sidewinder emerged, hauling the limp form of Phil Smith. Icky's left hand was locked over Phil mouth and nose, a strange suctioncup-like device extending from his palm. A pop of pressured air, and he removed the hand, lying Phil onto the rocky shoreline with care. All of his special extensions folded back into his body, wearily collapsing next to the man with a sharp exhaustion that sucked his consciousness away...

Laughter.

Amid the darkness that embraced him, Phil Smith heard laughter. It was an odd sound. Almost foreign. One that he had not heard in many days.

Or over a year, depending on how you liked to look at it.

Phil had been displaced, moved forward one year in time... into a world he did not know.

Something had happened. A godling known only as Mxy - a teammate of Phil's from what seemed like another life - had sneezed... and as a result, had recreated everything.

His best friend, Grissom Montag, was no longer the man he knew. He was now power hungry, independently wealthy, and a complete and total bastard.

Not only that, but he'd changed himself. White hair, a proclivity to white suits... and no telepathy. That was odd. To suddenly hear nothing but... silence. He felt like his mind was totally empty - void of everything that had once filled it.

The voices. He longed to hear them again.

But, for now, he would settle for the laughter.

...he only needed to wake up.

Bolting upright, Phil Smith's brow was covered in cold sweat. The laughter he had heard in his sleep had grown louder. Looking around, Phil was able to soak in his surroundings.

He appeared to be in a quaint bedroom. Posters adorned the wall, a pot of flowers - daisies - sat in the window sill, and clothes lay scattered about the floor. Looking back, Phil noticed a discarded brassiere hanging from the headboard of the bed he had been in.

"I'm in a girl's room..." he muttered to himself.

The laughter sounded again... a sweet, angellic laugh that, unbeknownst to him, brought a slight smile to his face. Rising from the bed, Phil took one step before he realized that he was only wearing his boxers.

Looking around, he saw no male clothes in sight. Reaching into the closet, he pulled out a bathrobe. Wrapping it tightly around his body, he exited the bedroom and headed to the direction of the laughter.

As he walked through the hallways, he noted that the walls were covered in shelves and each of those shelves were covered in books, leather-bound and exquisite. Running his hand across one of the shelves, he realized that the books were not old... but new. Pulling one from the shelf, he opened it. Inside, the pages were blank. They were textured to the touch.

Homemade, Phil thought. Nice.

Closing the tome, he noticed a foil stamp of the fleur-de-lis on the back. This volume had been handmade. This was something special.

The laughter came again... only this time, it was joined by another. Phil recognized the second laugh, though not as well he might have. The telekinetic made his way toward the kitchen.

"--so there I am, right beside this guy, and, he runs right into the Hoover Dam!"

Icarus Sidewinder stood, his hands illustrating his story as well as two hands flailing about could.

Icarus had been changed in this strange new world as well. Somehow, machinery had been grafted to his skin. His brain ahd been connected to the Information Superhighway. He could get information. The machines on his skin enabled him to fly and create guns on his hands... among other things. Phil had a feeling Sidewinder's potential had yet to be actualized.

The pilot's rapt audience laughed again, that singular melodious laugh that had brought Phil from his coma-like state.

She was... gorgeous. Her hair was vibrant red and her eyes a brilliant green. He smile was infectious, contagious, and completely alluring.

Turning her eyes momentarily from Sidewinder, she notes Phil as he stood numbly in the doorway. Her full, red lips spread into a smile.

"Well, hey, stranger," she said, a German accent clinging to her words. "Welcome to the land of the living."

Icarus turned slowly, looking Phil over.

"Hey, Mindjob," he said, a wide smirk spreading over his face. "Nice PJs."

Phil suddenly became aware of the robe he had pulled out of the closet in the bedroom. It was pink. And fuzzy. With lace trim. His face reddened as he looked back at the two.

"Don't worry," the woman said, rising from the table. "I've had your suit cleaned and pressed. I'll run and get it."

As she exited, Icarus began to laugh.

"Seriously, man," the pilot chuckled. "Nice wardrobe! I think you should make that your signature color!"

"Shut it, Sidewinder," Phil said, looking around the room. "How long have I been out?"

"About five days," Sidewinder said. "We washed up on the shore of Bremerhaven... it's in Germany, by the way."

"...I know where Bremerhaven is, Icarus..."

"Oh, well, I didn't, so I thought I'd share," Sidewinder said, sliding around the wooden kitchen table, motioning for Phil to do the same. "But, yeah, Elisabeth found us on the shore during one of her morning beachside walks... and dragged us here, to safety. I figured we'd remain in hiding until you came to and we got some information on the others... whichever came second."

"The others?" Phil said, looking around. "Are they...?"

"I don't know," Icarus said, shaking his head, suddenly a bit stoic. "I've been searching the regular channels since I came to a few days ago. I've got nothing. Heck, I haven't even been able to find any info about that group that highjacked our plane... other than stuff on your typical conspiracy theory sites."

"So, that leaves us...?" Phil asked.

"At square one, Brainfreeze," Icarus said. "Unless you've had any sort of revelatory breakthroughs in your sleep?"

Phil rolled his eyes as Elisabeth walked back into the room. Smiling, she slid a garment bag onto the tabletop.

"I've never understood men in white suits," she said. "Stain magnets."

"Well, not all stains, know what I mean, Else?"

Elisabeth laughed, that angel laugh of hers. Phil found himself momentarily resenting that it was Icarus' crude humor causing such a harmonious sound. Phil cleared his throat and the woman stopped laughing.

"I don't think we've been formally introduced. Though Icarus has told me a bit about you, I very much doubt he's had time to do the same for me," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Elisabeth Weiss. My father is Gerhardt Weiss, the bookmaker."

"So, all those books I saw out in the hall...?"

"Handmade," Elisabeth smiled. "My father has quite a gift, I must say."

"Impressive," Phil nodded.

"Hey, Else," Icarus spoke up, "I need to have a few words alone with Philsy here..."

"Say no more," she said, holding up a hand and sashaying to the doorway. "If you gentlemen need anything, I'll be in my father's workshop, checking on the new paperstock. Bon chance."

"Thanks, Else," Icarus smiled, shooting her a wink. And with that, she was gone.

"Now," Icarus said, making sure the female had cleared the doorway, "any ideas on finding out what they've done with our friends?"

Victor was the first to wake up. He snorted some of the dried blood from his nose. There was no point in looking around at his surroundings. He wasn't spinning around in the anti-gravity field anymore, but he sort of jiggled in it, like fruit in jello. If he begun to start moving to much, he was worried that the spinning might begin again.

"Grimm? Phil? Lykopis? Anyone?"

They had transfered Lady Lykopis to a straightjacket. Hearing Victor say her name began to wake her up. "Victor?"

"I'm too tired to use my infared. Who else is here?"

"I can't turn my head very well...they went and put something around my neck...but Grimm's here." She could barely see him in his icy cage. "He's not going anywhere anytime soon." Her neck was aching and stiff. "I can see out one of the windows. We must have been unconcious for over six hours. It looks like it's dawn."

"What direction are we going?"

Lykopis squinted. "I can't tell...west, maybe?"

"Then we're headed for the Atlantic coast."

Lykopis began laughing. "If it's even still there. This world is upside-down. I hate it."

"You hate lots of things." Victor thought about escape routes. If only Grimm was conscious. If only Lykopis could move. If only he could escape this damn bubble...

His ears began popping, and Victor realized the plane was landing. After several minutes on the runway, the main hatch opened. Several guards armed to the teeth were lined up before them. The sargent look around and point two fingers to each of the Vanguard members. Two guards ran up to each one and began dragging them off the plane.

Victor turned his head to the sargent. This was a rather morbid sight, as Victor was unable to truly stare at him. "Mind telling us where the hell you're taking us?"

"Grissom Montag has an interest in seeing you."

...and then the world exploded!

"MICHAEL HARRISON!" Shirley yelled.

"What?" Mick, sitting in his favorite couch, wiped the barbacue sauce from his pear as he adressed his wife. He tried looking away from the midget wrestling in TV as he talked to Shirley, but he just couldn't resist glancing at the petite warriors every couple of seconds.

Shirley simply gave him the 'you know what I'm yelling about' look. It's exactly like the 'you didn't flush' look, except with slightly less arched eyebrows.

"Oh, come on, hon!" Mick protested. "We've been married for, like... I don't know, a year... I think we've reached a level of confidence that allows us to fart in front of each other, you know?"

Shirley sighed. "First of all, I've never farted in front of you, and I never will..."

"Well, there goes that fantasy..."

"SECONDLY," Shirley raised her voice, "farting has nothing to do with confidence. It has to do with you being a pig. And with those nachos, I suppose."

"It's just bodily gas! What's the big deal? I'm sure you fart too, when I'm not looking..."

Shirley blushed. "I don't!"

"You never fart?"

"NO!"

"Actually, I think that's imp--"

"I NEVER FART!" Shirley interrupted, visibly upset. "Don't change the subject! This is about you, not me! YES, it is a big deal when you fart in front of me, because it makes me feel like we're living in a pig sty. It denigrates our home!"

"Denigrates our...? You know, Larry was a much better roommate than you."

"Oh yeah?! Then why didn't you marry him?!"

"His ass is so flat..."

Shirley crossed her arms and did her best to look hurt. "To think that implying my ass isn't flat is as romantic as you get..."

"Aww, honey!" Mick sat closer to her and carefully placed his hand over her leg. "I can be romantic... look, from now on, I'll only let out ninja farts, ok? Silent... but deadly. That way the sound won't bother you."

"Oh, how considerate of you! The smell is a problem of its own, you know? In fact... move away a little, could you? BESIDES, remember what happened that time you sneezed? The consequences were felt all over the universe! What if something like that happened when you farted just now?"

Mxy chuckled. "Bab--" Shirley elbowed him in the ribs. "I mean... Shirley, I think I have enough control of my powers by now to avoid that sort of thing... Not to brag or anything, but I'm getting pretty good at it. I haven't turned anyone into a cow in a month! A couple of apes, sure, but at least they're bipeds..."

Shirley stood up and walked to the window, just to make sure the world was still out there. "Honey, you might wanna take a look at this..."

Grunting, Mick left the couch with the difficulty of a 70 year old and walked towards Shirley. "What?"

"Look out."

There was nothing outside. Not a white void, no infinite blackness. Nothing.

"Oh. Whoops."

*sigh*

Mick and Shirley whirled around with an abrupt start, the sound of the rather too-calm sigh reminding them that...suddenly...they weren't alone.

"What is it with you, anyway?" Prometheus asked, slouching sideways in the loveseat he had just appeared in.

He lit a cigarette.

"Excuse me!" Shirley sneered. "We don't allow smoking in this house."

"And I don't allow universal destruction in mine..." Pro shrugged. "....but, I think we're beyond manners at this point."

He paused, wrinkling his nose.

"...did someone fart?"

"You." Mick stated.

"Wasn't me..." Prometheus shrugged.

Shirley continued to stare at the man with a stern gaze of disapproval. Pro glanced at her a few times. Her stare was making him uncomfortable, with its faultless, unblinking intensity.

"You're Prometheus."

"And you are the guy who just erased a small portion of existence..." the bald visitor replied, taking another drag.

He looked at Shirley again. She folded her arms, and cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh for fucks sake..." he rolled his eyes, dousing the cigarette against the nothingness it had come from...

"So, you're saying that..." Mick realized the person he was talking to had disappeared. "...hello?"

"Where did the bald guy go?" Shirley asked.

Mick rubbed his sauce stained chin. "Hm, I think he's not allowed to appear in anyone else's posts. That's gonna make moving the story forward very difficult..."

Shirley stared at him in confusion. "You have no idea how much it arouses me when you talk like that."

Shirley grabbed Mick's arm and pulled him towards the bedroom.

"Oooh," he said as he let himself be dragged, "the fourth wall ain't the only one getting screwed tonight..."

"...I'm still here, you know..."

"GAH!!" Mick spittled everywhere.

Just not in the way Shirley enjoyed.

"Don't do that!" he exclaimed, not able to come up with a more profound way of expressing himself.

"Listen, nothing personal..." Pro shrugged. "...but, I just find that when I let someone else perceive me outside of my own grasp of the universe, they usually end up having me sound like I was written by Warren Ellis, or something..."

"You mean like you end every story understating how cool you are, and how you could take on God and kick his ass?"

"More or less, yeah..." Prometheus said, lighting another smoke. "...I'm just waiting for the day I'm said to have kicked a frozen nosferatu's nads off..."

"No smoking!" Shirley yelled.

"My god, Mick...could you write her less...you know....nitpicky?"

Pro sat in the house's porch, absently looking at the nothingness in front of him. Mick walked out with a bag of ice.

"Here," Mick said offering Pro the ice.

"Thanks." Pro put the bag over his black eye. "Ow! Why can't you wife simply slap people, you know, like normal women?"

"No idea, man..." Mick adjusted his jaw with his hand, remembering something. "I gotta keep ice in the fridge 24/7, just in case I say something wrong."

"Is she still...?"

Mick looked into the house through the window. "Yep."

"Can I...?"

"Yeah, go ahead..." Mick sat next to Pro.

"Oh, thank God." Pro took another smoke and lit it in record time. He let out a sigh of relief.

"...unless she walks out, that is."

"If she walks out, I'll eat it."

"Heh. So... " Mick looked at the lack of reality beyond his house. "About that..."

"Yeah," Pro sat up and adjusted his composition, appearing more serious. "We should probably start working on rebuilding."

"But there's like, nothing left, you know...? What can we do?"

"Oh, Mick," Pro grinned. "I thought you of all people would realize that the question is... What can't we do?"

"Hmmm..." Mick pondered outloud....as opposed to internally thinking, which would not convey well in a narrative sense. "...well, you with hair, for one..."

Prometheus cocked an eyebrow at him, taking a slow drag.

"I mean...a full-fledged godling...and you can't give yourself some hair? What's that all about?"

"What are you trying to say?" Pro asked very calmly.

"Nothing, nothing..." Mick dismissed. "...soooo....the universe..."

"And lack thereof, I would say..."

"Yeah..." Mick nodded. "....where should we start?"

"I, for one, always start with what I know."

Mick nodded, pondering....silently, this time.

"So...John Constantine and Doctor Who ripoffs?"

"...homages, thankyouverymuch..."

"Right. Homage." Mick rolled his eyes.

"And what have you got, eh?" Pro asked.

"Ummm....pithy godlike characters with an everyman slant?"

"Check."

"....hmmm....fourth-wall-crushing diatribes and fully-functional secondary support characters?"

"Beautiful."

A small fart squeaked out, mini-universes appearing and collapsing in the nothingness.

"....cosmic gas...."

"...and how..." Pro sighed, taking a drag.

The door suddenly opened, Pro immediately swallowing the lit cig.

"What was that?!" Shirley exclaimed, looking out to where the universe had appeared and vanished in the blinding few seconds.

The two men stared up at her, smiling innocently with the exact same fearful expression.

"Nothing, dear...nothing...go back inside..." Mick assured her.

Shirley stared at Pro for a moment, who's face was becoming slightly redder now.

She finally stepped back in, closing the door.

Pro immediately opened his mouth, a veritable cloud of smoke billowing forth.

"You okay?" Mick asked.

".....yep...." his hoarse voice choked.

"Was that smoke still lit?"

"......yep....."

"Hurts doesn't it?"

".......yep......"

"So, how do you recreate a universe from the ground up?" Mick asked. "I've never done anything that big."

"I find that hard to believe," Pro said, cocking an eyebrow like only THE Prometheus can cock and eyebrow.

"For real. I made an amusement park in the back yard once. That's about the biggest thing I've created out of nothing."

"Well, let's see..." Pro stood on top of his seat to get a better look at the empty canvas in front of him. "It usually begins with a bang..."

"Yeah, I'm not farting again. I get the feeling the next one may come with a little icky surprise..."

"Your ability to convey disturbing mental images remains unparalleled..."

"Why thank you!"

"...Thankfully, a gas release of the other kind should suffice."

"Oh, I'm great at those!" Mick stood up, swallowed, and inflated his chest. "Ok," he began, mantaining his akward posture, "what do you want me to say...?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Just tell me something to say... Trust me, you'll love this trick..."

"Um..." Pro scratched his baldness.

" Hurry up... I can't hold it for long..." Mick began shaking, as Pro shrugged. Mick opened his mouth, and let out a deep, gutural sound. It was a burp, yet at the same time it seemed to say 'HELLO, PRO!'.

Suddenly, a sea of changing colors and undefined shapes filled their surroundings. Raw reality, fresh from the oven, ready to be molded. Faces, objects, places and landscapes constantly took form and disappeared in an instant.

In front of this impressive view, Pro turned to Mick. "That's a good start, but... 'Hello, pro'?"

"Yeah, it's no 'let there be light'... Gimme a break, I only had a couple of seconds to come up with something."

"Fair enough..." Pro shrugged again. He lit a new smoke, staring into the celestial smorgasbord. "Okay...we need to start with the outline."

"Outline?" Mick frowned. "Of what?"

"The universe." Prometheus replied, never looking away from the rainbow mish-mash of idea-blood that pooled in random swirls.

"Ummm......okay." Mick said with a sigh. "Outline the universe. Sure. No sweat. No problem. No big deal, and all that..."

They stood there in silence for a moment...

"...you're wondering what the outline of a universe--"

"--looks like, pretty much, yeah..." Mick nodded.

"Well, it's up to you Michael."

"Me?"

"You destroyed the last three universes,,,I suspect you might as well decide what this one will look like..."

"Three?!" Mick turned with a startled expression. "But...but...wait. I count only two...the sneeze...and the fart..."

"You're forgetting the one with TOMB..." Pro added.

"...what?! I did that? When?!"

"How old are you?"

"Well, since you're writing this post, I'm about twenty-five.....why?"

"Then, it was seven years ago, roughly..."

"...I was...eighteen?"

"Yes..."

"Okay, roll this dialogue along for me a bit.....how did I destroy the TOMB universe at eighteen?"

"Remember when you lost your virginity..."

"Sure...I---..............................oh. Wow. Yikes. Okay." Mick's face went blank with realization. "So...whoa...you mean....the first time I--"

"Yep."

"--with a girl--"

"Right."

"....it destroyed the--"

"Uh-huh."

Mick stood there for a moment, choosing to ponder this for a moment. His mind ended up drifting to thoughts of crusty towels and bottles of lotion.

"Wait....what about when I was.....back in the teens...you know....taking everything out for a spin---"

"Why you didn't destroy the universe through cosmically terminal masturbation?"

"...d-u-u-u-d-e..." Mick spun around making sure no one had heard that. Even though there was no one left in the universe who could hear it. It was a male instinct he wouldn't fight.

"Let's just say that you hadn't quite evolved to your prime yet..." Prometheus grinned. ".......of course...it did juggle a few timelines..."

"Okay..." Mick sighed, trying to accept how detrimental his bodily functions were to existence. "Wait!"

Pro gave him a sideways glance.

"How did we get on the subject of my meat-slapping ability?" Mick asked. "Weren't you going to explain how to outline the universe for me?"

"Well, you may notice that when I write dialogue, unless I have a specific point to make, I generally just let it flow naturally...real-time rambling as it comes to me..."

"Hm. Yeah, I probably noticed. But, I can't confirm one way or another until I'm the one writing the post."

"Understandable."

"So....back to the point...how do I outline the universe?"

"As I've said, it's your choice. You can make this universe any shape, size, and context you wish..."

"What about...you know...all the rest?" Mick frowned.

"Like what?"

"You know....the details. How many galaxies? How many timelines? How many planets, and who lives on them, and all that?"

"Ah, yes...well....those are finite points that can be made as we go..."

"I see."

"Do you?"

"Not at all."

"Yeah..." Pro sighed rather mournfully. "....I get that alot from my posts..."

He and Mick stood there in silence for a moment.

"So?" Pro asked.

"Yes?"

"Are you going to do something?"

"I don't know....I might have a bit more dialogue to add when I'm the one writing the next post. Let's just wait and see if I have anything to say, first, before we go re-working the cosmos..."

"Fair enough..."

"What do you two think you're doing?" A voice asked from behind the pair.

"GAHHHH!!!!!!!!" they screamed in unison, surprised at the interruption.

"Skittish, huh?" Grimm plopped down beside the pair and popped open a Guinness, offering a can to the others.

"I hate it when he does that. . ." Mick said, attempting to slow down his heart rate.

"He knows, that's why he does it. . ." Pro rolled his eyes and lit another smoke. "How ya doing, Certain Doom? What's with the dramatic appearance?"

"Yeah, how did you get here? I thought everything was gone but us?"

Grimm took a swig of his beer and swallowed, letting out a long sigh. "You two haven't just been creating. You've been destroying as well."

Grimm looked at Mick, who tried to avoid looking him in the eye and failed. "Oh. . .right. . ."

"Someone's gotta clean up the messes you've been making." Grimm took another drink, draining the can. He crunched it in his fist and tossed it over his shoulder before opening another.

"Cosmic janitor. Heh." Pro expelled a cloud of smoke.

"That's one way of seeing it." Grimm took another drink as Mick pursed his lips together before belching out a "Grimmmmmmmmm". . . making all three laugh.

"Yeah, it's more fun making the messes. . ." Grimm tossed away the second empty can before reaching into the box for a third. . .

Elsewhen. . .

A pair of gloved fists continued to hammer away at a crystalline prison as cracks splintered and grew. Harder and harder the fists struck until the crystalline wall finally gave way under their assault.

The wall shattered and exploded outward as the occupants burst forth into freedom and unfamiliar surroundings. The leader dropped to his feet, holding his shredded hands up in supplication as his teammates prevented him dropping to the floor.

Chewy Walrus had just punched their way to freedom from the confinement. "TOMB. . ." he managed to stammer out. . ."Let's get funky!"

"How's it going?" a man asked as he flew up on his surf board from the cosmic void.

"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Mick yelled out again.

"Don't tell me he scared you too," Grimm said almost as if his face changed to a look of disbelief and pity. But it didn't. Because it's just a skull.

"No," Mick responded once he caught his breath. "I just thought about the time that Shirley wanted me to watch Beaches with Bette Midler, and I frightened myself." The group just stared at him for a moment.

"It does kinda give me chills," Prometheus finally admitted.

"Me too," Grimm whispered just a little too loudly.

"Riiight," the stranger on top of the flying carpet said. "I was just passing by and wondered what you guys were doing over here."

"We're recreating the universe," Pro proudly stated as a cigarrette hung from the corner of his mouth.

"Really?"

"Yep," Mxy answered with a big smile on his face, "but I'm the one doing most of the work."

"Are you sure that's what you're doing?"

"Of course it is!" Grimm bellowed out in anger. "What the hell else would we be doing sitting on the front porch of a house in the middle of the limitless void of nothingness?"

"Well, it kinda looked like you were just standing here."

"Just standing here?" Pro erupted. "We're in the process of orchestrating a cosmic symphony of neutron stars, a bouquet of nebulae, a.... a..... a...."

"Panorama?" the stranger asked as he sat cross legged on top of his hovering banana.

"PANORAMA!" Pro screamed out as if he has discovered the word himself. A panoramam of quasars and black holes."

"And it's all coming out of my blackhole," Mick smiled as as fart squeeked out from between his cheeks. A wobbly scene of stars coalescing into an unstable galaxy.

"We're callin' that the Ass End of the universe!" Grimm pointed and cheerfully proclaimed as though he had a big, goofy smile on his face. But he didn't, of course.

The stranger repositioned himself on the flying sofa to lay across it. "I'm just saying that you guys have been just standing there for a really long time."

"Non-sense. We've been restoring existence. You apparently are unable to understand our delicate and complex plans by simply 'just passing by'. Now can you?" Prometheus snuffed his cigarrette out on the hand rail, reached into his coat pocket, and fished out a fresh smoke.

"But I've passed by at least 20 times. And you're always in the exact same place each and every time. You've been out here for a while."

"I bet dinner's cold by now," Mick mumbled to himself.

Pro waived for him to be quiet. "Well..... constantly destorying and creating universes takes a lot out of you."

"Especially me" Mick added. He tried for a burp/fart combo, but could produce neither. "Oh," he weeped as he hung his head in disappointment.

"I'm just here to smash stuff," Grimm shrugged as he popped the top off another beer. "What about you? Are you here to create the universe too?"

"Me?" the stranger asked as he bobbed around a little bit trying to maintain his balance on his skies. "No. I'm just bored. I was just passing by and wanted to see what you guys were doing out here. That's all."

"Hey?" Mick's head popped back up. "Weren't you just riding a sofa?"

"Yeah! And a banana before that," Pro chimed in.

"I remember that banana," Grimm added. "Because I was hungry. And looking at it just made me hungrier."

"I couldn't decide which was funnier!" the stranger yelled as he paddled his canoe away from the house and back into the void.

"Have you guys lost your minds?" a familiar voice echoes in the nothingness.

Mick turned around, “Who the heck are you?”

“I’m that guy, sorta.” he mentioned, pointing towards Prometheus. “Long story, only about 3 of us remember it.”

“Okay…” Mick replied, getting an even bigger headache.

“Gooz? I thought you were destroyed 2 universes ago?”

Gooz approached Prometheus and shook his hand.

“I was, than recreated a couple of times, now I think my son is leading a team in another mixed universe that might be on hold within this one or could even be a universe that Mick has yet to create or might even create after this one. I’m not sure really, but I think we’re all pretty confused about this.”

“I’ve missed you trying to piece things together, Gooz.”

Gooz shrugs and turns toward Grimm, “Hey dude.”

Grimm turns away from the black and silver clad hero.

“Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re still giving me the silent treatment.” Gooz turns to Mick, “Dude, when creating the new universe-“

“Gooz, wait a second, we can’t tell him what to create.” Prometheus cut in.

“No, I’m not. Just giving him a friendly suggestion.”

“Isn’t that the same thing.” Gooz turns toward Grimm, “Back me up here G.”

Grimm simply looks at his big hammer and ignores Gooz.

“If Rypta was here, I’d have some back up.” Gooz muttered to himself.

Prometheus hit himself on the head, “Is anyone else going to show up?”

“Diner is READY!” yelled a voice with a thick Italian accent from inside the house.

“No! Not him! If is him, I am giving up” muttered Grimm, with an angry look on his face, because all skull looks angry.

“Euro!” shouted Gooz, leaving the porch to come inside Mick’s home. On the couch Shirley was reading Cosmopolitan, happy that the Italian had come from out of nowhere to relieve her from cooking duty. Unless he was going to leave the kitchen all messed without cleaning up... the though gave her chills down her spine.

“Euro, what are you doing here?” asked Gooz with a smile.

“Cooking, it seems. I guess the Writer wants me to be here, without imposing his view over the recreation of the Universe... And you?”

“Well, I am really just an older... or was it younger... sometimes I confuse even myself... version of the bald one, the one that doesn’t want to be in other one’s posts, so I can say I am here to facilitate the writing... actually, I wanted to give a suggestion on the recreation of the Universe, but it seems the three amigos out there wants to do it on their own...”

Euro shrugged. “Just when we are going all 52, Infinite Crisis and One year later in the other thread, I wonder why a new Universe is needed, but who cares, I go where the writing is... it is just so weird that there is actually writing in this forum.”

“Well, Euro, to say the truth, I stated somewhere that breaking the fourth wall is so out of fashion, I am not really comfortable to continue this conversation...” said Gooz.

“Ok, Ritchie, no problem, I can revert to character mode easily. How’s Quinn?”

“Well, I think he’s finding his way...” replied Gooz, nodding. “And Eddie?”

“Fine, thanks” said Euro, nodding himself. The two continued to nod for a few seconds.

“Well” broke the silence Euro, “it looks the meal is ready. Call the others, Ritchie!”

"Fuck off!" Captain Sammitch called from the next room. "I have leftover pizza! The Ohio State game's coming on!"

"Aren't you going to tell us what happened to your characters?" Ritchie asked absently.

"Can't be arsed," Captain Sammitch replied. "I'm still working on your avatars for Hollywood: The Game. Besides, were I to actually use my characters in the main story again, Pro would just Byrne them down to fit his story better, or retcon 'em outta existence, or retcon the FUCK outta the universe or something."

And then Sammitch's pizza started talking.

"HEY! What the fuck is goin' on here, EH? Can't a guy get some fuckin' peace? JESUS Christ, you'd think being such a obscure fuckin' character they'd leave me outta shit like this!"

The pizza jumped off the table and walked away, muttering insults to his wife.

ONE HOUR LATER...

As the dance inducing rythms thumped from the speakers, the fifty people who slowly but surely appeared in Mick and Shirley's house kicked their legs out as the conga line snaked through the kitchen, back out through the hallway, and began to ascend the stairs to the second floor.

"I could have sworn that everyone was destroyed," Prometheus said, rubbing the top of his bald head with a deeply perplexed look on his face. "Vanished. Dissolved in the acid flood of nothingness."

"This must come as quite a shock," Grimm said as he fished another glass of punch out of the punch bowl. A party hat adorned his head while streamers wrapped around his neck.

"I'll say," Mick added. "Since when did this house have a second floor?"

"We need to be serious here for a moment," Pro said.

"I am! I've been here a while and never once do I remember seeing a second floor."

"It's where our bedroom is!" Shirley yelled from the kitchen as she attempted to keep the rowdy conga line from knocking over her fine china cabinet.

Mick gave a sidelong glance to Pro. "That proves nothing."

Captain Sammitch walked into the kitchen and slapped his head. His already red skin just below his hair line showed that he'd been doing this same motion for the past hour.

"What distresses you?" asked Euro.

"My pizza got up, talked and walked away," Sammitch began, "And is married."

"We've faced much weirder things, haven't we?"

"That's not it. I had already taken a bite of the pizza."

"Oh?" asked the Italian cook, hero, sometimes drug-addict, once family of characters.

"From how he was walking, I bite between his legs..." Sammitch disclosed further, "Does that make me gay?"

Elsewhere

Ritchie sat on a stoop infront of the house that floated in nothingness, a white vast nothingness. Next to him was his alter, but not really, sometimes, personality, the bald (by choice!) god-like being Prometheus.

"We really fucked up Devin, (shakes his own head) I mean Pro." Ritchie started.

Prometheus looked at him.

"Whatever."

"Whatever? You usually have something very deep and inspiring, life altering even to say."

"Maybe something will come to me."

"Yeah, maybe."

Both men continued to sit, looking into the vast nothingness. Yet strangly, it was a relief. A clean slate.

Six years.

It had been, roughly, six years since the writer had sat down one night, the spirits of vineyards and cannabis driving his mind forth. Six years since the desire to create and explore had blossomed on the screen in front of him. Six years since he created an avatar, of a sorts. An accidental personality that, little did he know, would mold and craft his digital persona into a dream all its own.

Time has passed. And, here he sits again...wondering. Writing. Wondering about writing. Wondering if he still has that itch. Wondering if the block that binds his fingers is merely a self-imposed sentence, born of life's responsibility and erratic schedules. Wondering if he could do it again. If he could find that freedom of flow and glee, allowing the old familiar sear of burning neurons to dance as gracefully as they so effortlessly did....six years ago.

Or, could the deadness in his imagination be true? Had he said all he could possibly say? Was there nothing left to explore? Was the regime of centered and focused writing too much of a hassle now? Was it too much trouble? And...even worse...could it be that what he once was...what he could once do without pause...was it all just too easy? Was actual truth in writing and sincerity to the craft much more of a struggle...much harder work, than he had ever realized?

Is this what it's really like to be a writer? Is it actual....effort? Work?

But, then, as he would type these words, a spark of realization jumps into his mind between breaths. What if he had plenty more to say? What if he had infant ideas that could be nurtured into something proud and strong? What if he had characters and stories just waiting ever-so-patiently, in the back of his mind? Waiting to burst the dam of denial and flood the streams of his veins with excitement and a nervous energy?

What if he had new foundations to build.... but, was using the wrong tools?

Old tools. Old toys. Old men, with old ideas. Bald heads and cigarettes, and immortal words spoken through mortal lips. You can only go back to the well so many times. And, try as he might, the writer never could resist swinging the old bat. Hitting the old tunes. Saying familiar things.

You can never go home again. How true.

So. What if this writer...six years into the game...decided he needed to put the old toys down, and play with new ones? New characters. New ideas. New tools.

Forever my favorite, and always my temptation. But, if I respect you, and honor what I loved about you to begin with, then I have to let you go. You name will live on. But, your character will not.

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

"Gooz..." Pro began, pausing to take a deep drag from his smoke. ".....time to move on."

Gooz cocked his eye at this familiar man sitting next to him.

"Time to let go." the neo-godling said, coming to a stand. "I've done all I can with who I am. I've said all I can say. I've created and destroyed all I ever could. And, more still."

"What are you saying?" Gooz asked, somewhat perplexed at this sudden change. "You're leaving us?"

"I am, yes." Pro nodded. "Not the writer. Not Devin. But, me...Prometheus...yeah. It's time."

Gooz did not speak, for to do so would be presumptious of the writer. If he had any thoughts or feelings on the matter, it would be his own to express.

Prometheus slid his old familiar coat off. He stared at it for a minute or so, as if trying to see every memory he had ever made wearing it. Lifting the worn material to his face, he took a long, deep inhale...savoring this final moment with an old friend.

"You old thing..." he smiled. "...I think I'll miss you most..."

After another moment, he finally turned and dropped it into Gooz's lap.

"Do with it as you will." he said. "You, above all others, deserve it."

As Gooz studied the coat with a wary expression, Pro looked down at the pack of cigs and silver-embossed lighter in his palm.

"But...I won't miss YOU at all!" he suddenly hissed, raring back and throwing the items as hard as he could. They insignificant character props floated off into the nothingness from whence they came.

Pro watched them fade. Finally, satified they were gone, he took a deep breath, exhaling loudly.

"Yep." he nodded, hands on his hips. "That about does it."

He turned to Gooz, who stood to face him.

"Before I go...let me do you a favor..." Pro stated. He suddenly snapped his fingers.

Nothing happened.

"There. Done. Our shared history was always fun...but confusing." he explained. "I've just relieved you of that burden. You are now, and forever more, your own character with your own history."

"Well..." Gooz opened his mouth finally. "...what if I liked the shared history?"

"Hey, if you like it, you like it. Keep it. Fine. Whatever." Pro shrugged. "I'm just saying...if you...we...are going to create a new universe to play in, you may want to start with a clean slate. That's all. Less mess to deal with. But, it's your call. I'm just saying this is an 'out' for you."

"Okay.....thank you.....I guess." Gooz nodded.

Prometheus smiled.

"No, Gooz....thank you." he stated very firmly. "You are the very first friend I ever made on the internet....well, that my writer ever made. Of anyone, you actually helped me with this character in more ways than you know. I've always enjoyed bouncing ideas off of you and playing with this dual-character idea. It was a hell of a lot of fun."

"You....you are still going to write with us, right?" Gooz asked, eyes narrow. "There's an awful finality to the way you're talking..."

"New characters. New ideas. But, hell, what do you expect?" Pro asked, furrowing his brow. "I've poured my heart and soul into this character. I am sincerely going to miss him. Not writing him, mind you. Just going to miss him."

Gooz nodded. They both stared at each other in silence for a moment. It was almost like a great joke about them kissing should be written at this moment. But, in all fairness, Pro gave the man a well-deserved hug, and, turned towards the edge of the patio.

"You know, the funny thing is...for the last six years...I've actually had hair in real life. I've just recently shaved my head bald..."

Palamedius Lokai Xalivaryn smiled rather broadly, and, simply stepped off into...


....nothing....

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Good-bye Prometheus.

"He'll be back. They always come back." Grimm muttered between throwing down cups of punch. "Needs more vodka." Grimm began pouring more alcohol into the punch bowl as Mick frowned, his hands in his pockets.

"Now who's gonna guide me in recreating the universe?" He muttered to himself.

"Recreate the universe? Screw that, let's party!" Grimm grabbed an attractive, buxom, redheaded girl and the two fell into the conga line as Shirley franticly tried to redirect it away from the upstairs of the house.

"I knew this was a bad idea." Chewy Walrus said to no one in particular. "Hey, punch! Don't mind if I do!"

Mick stood in the now empty living room, staring off into space and gripping a small object tightly in his right hand. Shirley walked into the room, attempting to clear away some of the confetti and streamers laying around.

"Mick? Where is everyone? Where did they go? And where did they all come from?" Shirley walked up to her husbands's side. "What's that you're holding?"

"They're gone, Shirley. They were never here. None of them were. None of us are really here at all." Mick looked around the empty room as his voice echoed slightly from the walls. He looked down into his hands at the tiny snowglobe showing a small tropical island with the inscription: Welcome to sunny La Perdita!

"Doctor, has there been any change?" Shirley asked, walking up to Mick's door in the sanatarium. "No, Mrs. Harrison, I'm afraid not. See for yourself."

Shirley looked through the small hole in the door to see Mick leaning back against the wall. He was mumbling something to himself over and over again.

"Mxy. . .Mxy. . .Mxy. . ."

Finis