RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block New MBL #3: "Third time's the charm"

THE NEW MBL

Role call:

Quinn Stevens (young leader with silver power beams)
Hero (superstrong, superfast metahuman)
Doug (pliable shapeshifter)
Captain Midnight (rich and dumb man of mystery)
Doctor Marvelo (British gentleman of action)

MIA:
Charles (X-Stream) Jenkins (cross-dimensional rider)

What went before:

• In issue 1, young hero Quinn Stevens, last depositary of the memories of the MBL, fabled interdimensional superteam, gathers a small number of metahumans to fight a giant reptilian monster menacing the twin cities of Thunder and Promethean. Victorious after a fierce battle, the group decides to stay together to fight the hidden menaces of the metropolis.

• In issue 2, a series of deaths of people close to MBL member Doug are find to be connected to the ancient cult of the Thugs, but the assault to an east-indian temple in Promethean is revealed to be a trap, created to bring a mysterious extradimensional entity into our continuum. The monster is seemingly defeated, at the cost of X-Stream being separated apprently forever several dimensions apart from our own. But the extradimensional entity Viper has find a way into our world, while the villains looking for Doug are still at large.


The Thunder Museum roof, around midnight…

Two men were standing over the tiled roof, looking at the millions of light of the two cities across the river. Even in the middle of the night the metropolis was pulsating with life. It was a beautiful sight, yet the two men, Quinn and Hero of the MBL, knew under the bright facade were hiding many horrible secrets. Secrets ready to be unveiled to create terror in the cities.

Quinn Stevens handled a small package to Hero. “A little present… an actual MBL communicator…”

The masked man took it, and putting it on his wrist, said: “Cool gizmo. How did you do it?”

“A friend of mine did. One for everyone of us.” The face of Quinn was crossed by a shadow. “I guess there will remain a spare …” he said, in a sad tone.

“I still I can’t figure what happened there in the temple, Quinn. We must find what went there. And there is just a person that could give us some answer…”

“Forrest” said Stevens, nodding. “Just we can’t go there to knock at the door of the Army Headquarter looking for him.”

“No, obviously not. He would just give us some shit, while the real reasons will remain hidden…” whispered Hero.

“Hidden like your face…” noted Quinn, a hint of reprehension in his tone.

Hero turned his masked face to Stevens. “I told you before. I have relatives to protect. I can’t risk revealing you my face, my name. For my own safety… and your own, too.

“I just want to make sure that I know that I can trust you. That one day someone in your costume will not stab a knife into my back in the middle of battle.”

“I’m sorry.” Hero thought to himself for a moment, “42.”

“What?” Quinn asked perplexed at Hero’s random statement of numbers.

“If you’re ever uncertain that I am me or you are you. Ask me my lucky number. I’ll say 42.”

Quinn nods and puts his mask on.

“I guess that could work. For now at least. One day you’ll have to trust us.”

“Someday.”

Quinn steps forward towards the ledge.

“Quiet night.”

As if on cue, the museum alarm gets triggered and the screeching sound fills the air around them.

“Nice choice of meeting place!” Hero says with a laugh.

“Looks like a job for…”

“THE MBL!” shouted Quinn Stevens, jumping over his hospital bed.

A nurse, who was reading some paper, caught out of surprise, screamed harder, and then ran out of the room.

Stevens looked around, unable to recognize the place. Last he remembers, he was on the roof of the Museum, and an alarm had kicked in.

The nurse returned, a doctor following her.

“Mr. Stevens, please go back to bed. You are in no condition to stand” said the doctor, raising her stethoscope.

“I am fine” yelled Stevens, pushing away the medical prop. “What happened? Why I am here?”

The doctor, a young oriental looking woman, was evidently astonished at seeing the man so in good shape. “You… you have been in a coma… for three months!”

“Three… months?”

The doctor nodded.

“And Hero… what happened to him?”

The nurse went to a closed curtain, and opened it, with a sudden movement. Behind, there was another bed, and hero was laying there, an oxygen mask covering his face.


An hour later, Quinn was standing near Hero’s bed, talking with Kent Danner, the three-and-a-half feet tall moustached Chief of Police.

“We found you on the roof of the museum… actually it was Edmund Sweeter, the Museum keeper, to found both of you. But Hero was one story below, in the Mesoamerican exhibition. Both senseless. You have been in bed since then” was saying the dwarf.

“And… what was stolen?”

“That’s the strange. Nothing was.”

“Security footage?”

“Nada. All turned into noise; we read a great amount of radiation the morning, and it took days to dissipate. It destroyed not just the footage, but also all the records in the hard disk of the computers”.

Quinn looked out of the window, to the distant gleaming city of Thunder, raising above the nearby slums of Promethean city. “And nothing strange, since then?”

Danner coughed, and shook his head. “Nothing… except someone… or something… is kidnapping kids five years old…”

Quinn’s Apartment

”We’ve kept your identities as secret as we could. Some medical records were needed to properly treat you. We didn’t think it was our place to bring in your families. I know what it’s like having a big secret, Mr. Stevens, yours is safe with us.”

Kent Danner’s words rang through Quinn’s head, repeating over and over. The Chief of Police knew who he was under his mask. He also knew Hero, who tired so hard to keep his identity secret. Quinn respected Hero too much to ask Kent his name.

“What happened?” Why am I here?”

“You… you have been in a coma… for three months!”

Time is a tricky thing. Once it’s gone, you can never get it back. Three months? No man can disappear for three months and not have consequences. Quinn stands outside the door of his apartment in hospital scrubs, his costume concealed in a plastic bag at his side. His key doesn’t fit in the lock any more. He scratches at his newly redeveloped beard and pushes his even longer hair back. With a deep breath, he knocks at the door.

”Debbie, will you marry me?”

“I can’t believe you waited so long to ask! Of course I will my love!”

The door slowly creeps open to reveal a young woman with long black hair.

“Quinn?”

“Emily? Wha-”

Emily doesn’t say a word, but hugs Quinn with all of her strength. After a moment, Quinn hugs back. Emily holds back tears as she pulls back, seeing Quinn with her own eyes, positive that he’s alive.

“What’s going on Em, where is Debbie?”

Quinn looks past Emily and notices that everything in the apartment has been boxed.

“Debbie!”

Quinn rushes past Emily and franticly searches his apartment. Emily tries to stop him, but pulls away, letting him go. Quinn visits room after room, finding the same empty walled, cleaned and boxed up results each time. Upon entering the bedroom he is stopped cold by the site of Debbie’s engagement ring. Stepping closer towards it, Quinn notices that the inner band of the ring is stained with blood. He turns facing Emily, who has tears in her eyes.

“She was found shot in an alleyway. We all though you had been killed too.”

“No.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No!”

Quinn yells at the top of his lungs as a mist of silver appears around his body. Without thinking, Quinn flys upward and smashes through the ceiling of his apartment and soars up, crashing through each level of the apartment building and into the night’s sky. Emily runs to the hold and looks up through the damage and at Quinn with is floating above the building, looking over the city.

Tears stream down her face.

Quinn passes out from the strain and free falls back down through level after level and slams to the ground just in front of Emily. Emily kneels down behind Quinn and holds him close to her body.

“Thank God you’re alive. Thank God.”

“Come on, Quinn! You are the smart one in the team. If you don’t apply yourself to the case, we can close the business as well!” joked Doug, the pliable shape-shifter, looking down from the roof of the Thunder Dome Bank Building.

That night, for the first MBL meeting in over three months, the four remaining members of the team, Doug, Midnight, Marvelo and Quinn Stevens had chosen to regroup in Thunder, instead of the usual meeting spot on one of the roofs overhanging the darker alleys of Promethean City. The need of better moments, of a brighter hope, made them to opt for the shining and futuristic skyline of the twin city.

The black and silver garbed hero shook his head. “How can I even think of going into action… when I was not able to save the life of my girlfriend…”

“You weren’t there, my sad friend…” remarked Marvelo.

“Yes. I wasn’t there. When she needed me most” answered Quinn, a grimace of inner pain distorting his face.

“I know how you feel, I’ve lost friends and relatives thanks to those Thugs we fought months ago. Crying don’t help at all, I assure you. Fight, Quinn, fight!” said Doug.

Quinn shrugged. Easy to say that, he tough. Debbie was the only thing that kept me from getting crazy fighting monsters and supercriminals. It was my anchor to reality and now… she’s gone…

Midnight turned toward the young man. “Come on, Quinn. Blow your nose and take a good breath. There is something kidnapping children out there, and we must find what is it.”

Quinn raised his face to look at the man. Maybe he was right.

He wiped his face with an arm, and looked straight across the street, dozen of levels below, to an old brownstone building adorned by marble statues.

“Ok, guys. First stop, the Thunder Museum. We must find what really happened there, three moths ago.”

Thunder Museum

Quinn lands softly on the roof of the museum, followed by Captain Midnight who is in a silver energy ball created by the black and silver clad hero. Doug swoops in behind them in the shape of a huge eagle shifting his form in midair flipping down to the roof top in his natural form and landing in a rubbery grace with his body conforming to his landing and preventing his body from harm. A moment later, the gentleman known only as Doctor Marvelo dances over the side of the building with grace and joins his partners.

Quinn: This is where it happened. Stay alert, just incase history repeats itself.

Something catches Captain Midnight’s eye and he kneels.

Midnight: Fellas. It would appear that we would have a clue. A small device with the initials of… MBL! Our initials. (turns to the others) I think we’re suspects!

Quinn hurries over to his slightly slower partner.

Quinn: I can’t believe they are still here.

Doug: What are they mate?

Quinn: Just before Hero and I were put into our comas, I had a device made so we could each communicate with each other directly. Fast and hassle free.

Marvelo: Comm. Links my good man? We used to have those in the Service.

Quinn takes three from Midnight, hands one to Doug, another to Marvelo, and attaches the third to his buckle.

Quinn: I noticed Hero has his at the hospital, but I original had another one made, for X-Stream, before, well, before what ever the hell happened to him.

Doug: It’s gone?

Marvelo: Well, it would appear that the plot has thickened?

Midnight: It has!

Quinn: Well, let’s see who has it than?

Quinn turns a little knob on the side of the Comm. Link to the sixth notch and presses the huge button down. It glows lightly in the nights sky.

Quinn: Hello?

A long moment passes and nothing happens.

Marvelo: Not so easy-

Before the Britain born hero can finish his sentence, the Museum blows up in a fireball of destruction. At the last moment, Quinn places a force-field over his friends and they are all engulfed in the flames and are sucked into the collapsing historical structure.

As the cloud of smoke and debris dissipates around the force field bubble protecting the MBL heroes, on the street facing the now destroyed Thunder Museum there are dozens of Police cars and SWAT vans, with hundreds of policemen and intelligence agents aiming their guns at them.

From a loudspeaker the recognizable voice of General Forrest orders: “MBL, you are under arrest for terrorist attack over Thunder City”.

Quinn sighs: “Guys, we have been ambushed…”

Quinn watches the police gathering outside with wide eyes.

Doug: I think we have more pressing matters, mate!

From above the four heroes, a huge steel beam breaks away from it’s supports and free falls towards them. Quinn strengthens his force field to protect them, but when it hits, it over powers the weakened hero and the field disappears. Doug morphs in a gruella and deflects the steel that had been slowed by Quinn.

The silver clad hero falls to one knee, his nose bleeding from the overuse of his powers.

Midnight: I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IS GOING ON!

Marvelo: Well said, my captian.

Quinn: Me either guys, but something tells me that someone has it in for the MBL.

Doug: And something tells me that we should be getting the hell out of here!

Quinn grinds his teeth and uses his powers to blast a hole under them. The sudden surge of power caves in the floor to the museum’s sub level basement.

Quinn: I’m too weak to fly us over them, but maybe we can go under them.

On the surface…

Kent Danner, chief of Thunder City Police Department, went near General Forrest, with a worried look. Looking down to the man, Forrest open his hands: “Look, Danner, I like those guys as much as you, but I can’t do otherwise. The source said the MBL would have done a terrorist attack over the Museum, and it proved right!”

Danner shook his head. “I am sure it is a misunderstanding. Someone was waiting for them to go investigate where they were attacked three months ago. But besides it, don’t ever dare to try to arrest them! It’s Police duty, not your.”


Below ground level, much below…

“Quinn, what is this?” said Doug, looking around.

“It seems like a abandoned branch of the subway…” replied the young Hero. “Something survived from the catastrophe of a few years ago.”

Marvelo went near the wall of the underground railroad with his torch, to illuminate a portion of it. The yellowish light revealed a huge, colourful picture, with strange figures and signs. “Is this typical urban design in Thunder?” asked ironically the British hero.

Quinn, amazed, was able, even if still tired from the last minute save, to make a silver gleam to shed light all over the section of the underground tunnel… all of the walls was covered with a fresco of stylized humanoid figures, some dressed with jaguar skins and green, long tailed birds feather. One figure seemed to stand from the others, a tall feline man coming out of a sort of shining portal. And, in the blue painted sky, circular shapes were drawn like flying in formation.

“Mayan facture, without doubt” said Midnight, passing his gloved hand over the picture.


General Forrest’a apartment, later…

In the windowless bathroom, the only light that illuminates the face of the general seems to come from inside the mirror.

“…That’s all, master. They disappeared in the wreckage, and we have not found any sign of them…”

A voice, seemingly coming from behind the mirror, responded: “Inefficient as ussual, Forrest. Well, I hope whatever is down there will be handled better by the MBL than from your men. On the other hand, have you obtained the blood sample of Hero?”

“…n..no… he’s… he’s invulnerable… you know… there’s no way to take anything from his body…” stuttered Forrest.

"Bad. Very bad. You need castigation, Forrest, to learn how things must be done. Prepare yourself, puny man…"

Quinn leaned against the wall and thought to himself for a moment.

Quinn: We could reenforce these walls. I could get Doc to make us some high tech locks (steps towards the middle of the huge room) maybe some monitors with satelite feeds.

Doug looks at Marvelo.

Doug: Is our fearless leader saying what I think he's saying?

Marvelo: (turns toward Quinn) Quinn?

Quinn: This place is secluted. No one knows about it or it would have already been destroyed. All the old blue prints were burned. We'd be safe here.

Marvelo: I have a home alread-

Quinn: Yeah, but if we go out there. If we stop the bad guys time after time, we will gain enemies. You think we'll be able to have a normal address? Hell, we're on the run fromt he cops, the army, how do we even know if our apartments and homes will still be there when we get home?

Captain Midnight jumps between the two heroes.

Midnight: My friends, welcome to the Hero Headquaters!

“Wait a moment, sirs!” comes a voice from the darkness. "This is MY place."

Quinn turns to his back, sending a beam of silver light toward the spot from which the voice was coming. As the beam illuminates a human figure, lights go on and the whole place is illuminated by many bright lamps.

The owner of the voice is a tall, young man on his twenty, completely naked if not for deep red shorts.

The MBLers step further, puzzled by the sudden appearence.

Quinn hovers slightly above the surface, his strenght quickly returning, and goes right in front of the young man, who, nothing at all scared, stand fiercely with his arm crossed.

“Who are you, and what kind of place is this?” asks Quinn Stevens.

The young man smiles. “This, man...” the young man says, and then he takes a pause, waving his right arm around the place, “...is the secret that Promethean City holds”.

“And me... my names is Jason, Jason Thomas.”

The man makes one step further.

And emitting a low yell, the man’s skin turns a scaly green and hardens.His body now matches his eyes, which are red and green, very spooky.

“But you... you can call me... THE REPTILE!”

Quinn lands gently on the ground in front of Jason “The Reptile” Thomas, his silver glow slightly dimming.

Quinn: Jason, we mean no harm.

Jason (angry): You’ve come to steal my home!

Jason takes a battle stance with his arms spread out wide to his side, and his claws showing. Captain Midnight removes his bow staff and steps towards the young reptilian man, but is stopped by Quinn.

Quinn: We did not come here to steal your home. We are only looking for shelter. My fiancé’ was murdered, my best friend is in a coma and we are being hunted for an act of terrorism we had nothing to do with.

Jason’s facial expression softens and he lets his guard down. His appearance slighting regains some of his more human qualities.

Jason: My mother and father, they were killed and… I was blamed…

Quinn: Because you are different?

Jason: I couldn’t control my look as well back than. Some of the people in town were afraid of me. They thought we’d be safe in the country, but they were killed, and I was blamed.

Quinn: So you fled to the city? Stumbled upon this underground…

Jason: Sanctuary. The only place I can show my true form.

Doctor Marvelo steps up to Jason and puts his hand on his shoulder.

Marvelo: Son, I’m sorry for your loss and what you have been through. We can help you though.

Quinn: Right now, this place isn’t secure, or safe. It needs some work and some cleaning. If you let us stay, we can make it livable. We would never force you to leave.

Jason nods, nervous, but longing for a human connection.

Thunder City Robert Kemp Memorial Hospital

The hallways of the hospital are empty asides from a man in a long trenchcoat whose face is hidden by a fedora. He passes room after room, finally stopping at one that looks normal, but holds a special “guest.”. The man enters the room and stands over the comatose body of Hero. He removes his fedora, revealing himself to be General Forrest.

Forrest: You have given me much grief, Earther. This vessel I still thank you for, but I have let you live for too long. This is good bye.

Forrest removes a chemical from his coat pocket.

Forrest: Just because you can’t be broken on the outside, doesn’t mean you can’t be killed from the inside.

Forrest removes Hero’s mask and opens his mouth.

Forrest: Oh, how I was hopping to battle you fist to fist as I did your father. Not all wishes can come true.

Forrest moves to pour the chemical down Hero’s throat, when suddenly a bright light forms in midair and the shape of a man appears in a spiral of colors and light. A fist erupts from the heavenly mix of colors and shapes first, followed by the rest of Charles “X-Stream” Jenkins and without a word or even look, he punches Forrest square in the chest, sending the man flying across the room and into the wall, caving in his chest and killing him from the impact of 10 dimensions through a single punch from the cross dimensional rider. And as fast as he was there, Charles Jenkins is ripped back into the dimensional vortex and pulled back through time and space in his unending agony. He didn’t even have a moment to throw a smile towards his friend and teammate after saving his life.

But the important thing is that Charles Jenkins could still be there, just as he was needed to save his friend’s life.

The explosion of ripping realities awakes Hero from the coma. The first thing he sees is the dead, devastated body of Forrest, then his full-face mask over the bed.

He put it on, stand up, and hobbling goes to the bathroom. For an instant, he sees in the mirror the face of an old man in white lab coat, but the next instant there is only his full-face mask reflection. Perplexed, Hero lean to drink some cold water, then returns in the bed room, open the windows, takes the body of Forrest over his right shoulder and jumps to the sky.

..................................................................................................

In the cave, Marvelo is comforting the young reptilian powered young man. “How ‘ve been you down here, mate? Things have changed above ground, y’now? After the war, metas are accepted...”

Midnight snorts. “Yeah, like we are not hiding here too...”

Doug: “And while we hide maybe someone is still killing my relatives above...”

Quinn is sitting, his face hiding in his hands. “Better be here underground, than causing deaths using our powers...”

The others look at him. “What do you mean...” wonders Doug.

Quinn stands up, his fists glowing in silver energy. “If not for this, my girl would still be alive...”

“You can’t blame yourself like this, son...” starts Marvelo, but a distant rumble silences the words in his mouth...

“NO!” Quinn shouts at the top of his lungs and violently hits Marvelo’s hand off his shoulder.

Marvelo steps back taken off guard, he turns to Doug, “Did you hear that noise in the distance?”

Doug’s fist has formed into a hammer and he hits himself in the head with a force strong enough to knock him off his own feet. Once on the ground, Doug cries out “Uncle Mark was shot in the chest. Aunt Martha was shot three times!” Doug’s body melts in a very overdramatic manner, “Three times!!!”

Marvelo turns back towards Quinn who is on his knees, with tears rushing down his cheeks under his mask. He pounds the ground with a force powerful enough to crack the pavement.

“I need to hide! I’m ugly! I need to hide!” Captain Midnight screams before running past Marvelo and jumping under a stack of boxes.

“Have you all gone mad?” Marvelo askes, keeping his usual cool. He pushes his hat back on his head and looks around curious. “Something – or someone – is playing you all for fools.”

From his coat sleeve a short wound-like cane appears and Marvelo takes steps in a semi-circle and shakes the cane at a huge stack of crates and boxes, separating them and revealing two as of yet unseen figures. The first is a sexy woman in all black leather with long blond hair and a tattoo of an elephant-like man wrapped around the back of her neck to the front of her chest, and the second is a huge bald man in a black vest with his massive arms featuring dozens of tattoos from an eastern Indian style with matching tattoos in the middle of each arm featuring a six armed woman.

“Why hello dear sir and lady. I did not hear you knock. Oh wait, you didn’t. And that is just rude.”

Marvelo sends the boxes he just scattered directly at the two strangers. The brute steps forward and the boxes and crates smash over his body, busting to pieces but not ever causing him to flinch. The large man cracks his knuckles and turns toward the female, “I guess you need me after all.”

He charges at Marvelo, who side steps him and smacks him in the back of the next with his cane, not hurting him, but annoying the brute who turns back and can’t find Marvelo. The female turns and is face to face with Marvelo, “I always hate hitting a woman” he says just before knocking her out with a single swipe of his cane across the side of her head.

Quinn’s tears stop and he becomes furious. “Who can I hit?”

Marvelo points towards the brute, “He would be a good place to start.”

Back on the surface, over the top a building facing the now destroyed Thunder Museum, Hero looks at the scene. So much time has passed from the night they were there, investigating over the kidnapping...

There was a police line around the ruins of the museums... and normal dressed peoples that Hero guessed being intelligence agents... Forrest’s people...

But Forrest was now dead, as he had just thrown his corpse into the Edge River...

Time to pay a visit to the Chief of Police... for a little resume of what happened in the last months...

As the superhero fled to the sky, a black Humvee stopped next the police line. The dark window lowered, and a man in a US Army General uniform called on a man not far.

“Smith, there are any news from the scene?”

“No sir. No sign of activity...”

General Forrest frowned, and without a word, drove away.

.............................................................

Meanwhile, in the underground of the city, Quinn charges in a big burst of silver energy at the tall mysterious man. The man resisted for an instant at the gleaming wall of power, then he was swept up by it.

Marvelo smiled, and waving the umbrella, cheered the young Quinn.

Stevens looked back at the Englishman, no sign of joy in his face.

But the moment was enough for the tall tattooed man to stand back on his feet. Placing an hand over the wall of the gallery, the big man’s face lineaments changed under an excruciating effort... his whole body sweated madly... as the whole tunnel began to shake... and to crumble...

Quinn’s eyes widened. “Quick... here’s gonna fall down everything... Midnight... Doug... I am drained... I can't build a force field...”

The young reptile-man stepped over: “Follow me... I will bring you to safety...”

“NO!” came a hollowing yell from Captain Midnight, “If this is to be our castle, we shall protect it!”

Captain Midnight charges past Jason and removes a small device that looks a lot like a Star Trek blaster and presses a red button on it’s top. An instant later, a small goo flies from the weapon and hits the brute between the eyes, multiplying and covering the front of his face. Midnight follows up by pulling a small dense cord from his belt and whipping it around the brute’s legs and pulling them out from under him, sending the massive man to the ground.

Captain Midnight turns and is greeted by shocked looks on his teammates faces.

“Anyone else going to help?”

Chief Danner's Office.

"They disappeared into the ruins of the Thunder Museum, son. I think it was an ambush... there was full of Forrest's men, all around the block. I don't know what happened of them... there is a rescue team on the site still digging, but it seem there is only rubbles there..." the short man was telling to the superhero.

“I can’t believe they are just gone, like this...!” sobbed Hero.

The old man put his right hand over the shoulder of the MBLeaguer. “I am very sorry, son... I would like to say you we have still hope, but...”

Hero shakes his head. “At least, we must assure they didn’t die in vain. I will keep the MBL alive. What about the missing kids?”

“We got nothing. Another one disappeared yesterday evening. Taken from his home, the parents didn’t hear anything...”

“Can I have a list of the kids, Chief?”

“Sure... but why? We had checked everything, and didn’t find any connection...”

“I have my own means to do researches.”

A moment after Captain Midnight's demand for help, Doug shook himself out of the strange trance that the leatherclad woman had put him and the others into. He had been made to relive all the pain he'd gone through when many of his friends and adopted family had been murdered over recent years. Now he was pissed off. The woman was unconscious, but the powerful tattooed man still needed to be taken down.

“I'll help ya!” Doug yelled, instantly shaking off his stupor as he reshaped his hands, one into a huge hammer, and the other into a large anvil.

As the tattooed man got back up to his feet, Doug swung his now-heavy fists at each side of the man, crushing him between his hammer fist and his anvil fist. But it was too much for the damaged underground chamber to take.

“Doug!” Quinn shouted, his nearly spent silver energy barely glowing at all now. “The chamber's going to collapse on us! You've got to do something!”

“Already on it, chief!” Doug yelled, his fists shrinking back into humanoid hands even as his back expanded rapidly, and he grew taller, becoming a web of support columns to keep the chamber from imploding.

Doctor Marvelo knelt down to the unconscious woman dressed in leather. “We'd best keep this little minx sedated, eh wot?” At that, he pulled a small vial of chloroform from a pocket, took a handkerchief out of another, and—dousing the handkerchief with chloroform—placed it over the woman's nose and mouth. She stirred for a moment before falling under the effects of the anesthesia.

“Do you always keep a bottle of chloroform in your pocket, Marvelo?” asked Quinn, who bent over with his hands on his knees, completely exhausted.

Marvelo grinned slightly and rose his right eyebrow. “It's important for a gentleman to be prepared for any eventuality, is it not?”

Captain Midnight, who had knelt down to inspect the unconscious tattooed man, remarked, “Call me crazy, but I think these two were sent after us.”

“I guess, but...” Quinn paused in reflection. “Wait, that doesn't make much sense. They had to have been hiding from us before we even got here.” He turned to the Reptile. “Jason—do you know anything about these two?”

Jason Thomas said nothing for a moment, his face slowly becoming more lizardlike as he furrowed his brow. “What are you trying to say? You think I had something to do with this?”

“No, I just—”

“Fuck you!” he yelled, erupting in rage once more. “This is MY place! This is MY home! You think I'd want a bunch of... a bunch of FREAKS like you coming in here and destroying it?”

“Hey, pal,” Doug said, still in the shape of support columns, “we ain't yer enemies, here. We just wanna know what's goin' on.”

“We're friends, Jason,” said Quinn.

“I'm the Reptile!” Jason shouted. “That's what they all called me back home! That's what I am now. Don't call me Jason!” The young man completed changing into his full reptilian form and stood shaking with rage for another few moments. Finally, however, he fell to his knees and broke into a weeping fit. It was as if he was at last able to let go of all the resentment, anger, and betrayal he had kept bottled up inside him for the last five years.

“It's OK,” Quinn said. “We're with you now. You've got a new family with us, if you choose that.”

Jason continued to weep uncontrollably.

***

An hour later, the MBLers had finished checking the underground chamber carefully.

“Jolly good!” Doctor Marvelo said suddenly, breaking the tense silence. “It seems to have sustained no major structural damage. We stopped the tattooed brute before he could cause any permanent damage.”

“What are we going to do about these two?” asked Captain Midnight.

“Just keep the woman sedated,” Quinn said. “We can't allow her to awake just yet.”

“And the big lug?” asked Doug, who stood over the tattooed man.

Quinn shrugged. “If he begins to stir, just knock him out again.”

Jason Thomas had calmed himself down by this time. He was in his human form again and looked embarrassed at his earlier emotional outbreak. “I'm... I'm sorry about earlier. It was just—”

“No need to explain, dude,” said Quinn. “We've all experienced pain recently.” The MBL leader closed his eyes for a moment as he remembered the pain he had felt when he learned that Deborah had been senselessly killed while he was in a coma, and that he could do absolutely nothing about it now.

“Still,” began Jason sheepishly. “Well, I—I'm still a bit wary of you guys, but... I want to trust you.”

“That's all we're asking, friend.”

Jason looked down for a moment, furrowing his brow as before, this time in thought. He looked back up at Quinn, who waited silently for him to say something. “Hey, do you guys want to see something?”

Some minutes later, Jason had led Quinn Stevens and Doctor Marvelo—Captain Midnight and Doug had stayed behind to watch over their still-unconscious attackers—down a long tunnel that they had entered through a construction shaft. Nearing the end of the tunnel, Jason held his finger up to his lips to indicate them to remain silent, and motioned for them to douse the flames from their makeshift torches.

The tunnel went dark for a moment, but as the MBLers' eyes readjusted to the dim light levels, they realized that it was not completely pitch black as they had expected. There was something glowing at the end of the tunnel.

“Follow me, but be careful,” Jason whispered. He turned and ducked through a hole on the left of the tunnel's end, from which the dim light emanated. Both of the MBLers followed him through the hole.

Quinn involuntarily gasped in shock as he peered over the edge of a huge chasm, and golden light shone over his face.

“My word,” Doctor Marvelo remarked. “Well, that's quite interesting, isn't it?”

The MBLers had discovered the secret that lay beneath Promethean City. It was another, much older city, and it was populated by strange-looking humans wearing a variation of ancient Mayan dress.

Hero left Chief Danner’s office jumping straight out of the window. Many jumps later, he landed on the roof of a small building near the Edge riverside. Two story down the stairs, the MBLeaguer got into the apartment on the right side of the landing.

The place was very dark, as nearly no light was coming in from the closed blinds of the windows. But for the enhanced sense of the superhero it was not a problem. And in fact it would have not been a problem for anyone, as he just went straight across the room, opened the door on the opposite side and disappeared behind it.

It took 13 seconds for Hero to reappear on the other side of the door. The next room was very different, brightly lit by neon lamps scattered across the ceiling. On the walls there were many technological devices, flexible tubes, glass tanks filled with green liquids and an open closet with many hanging grey and silver costumes replica of Hero’s own. A single, big glass window was opening over a balck, star filled sky.

In a corner, there was an ample console with a big grey translucent cylinder sprouting out of the horizontal desk.

Over the desk there was also a small Dell laptop.

Hero went to the computer, opened it and put the DVD in the tray. Typing phreneticly on the keyboard, he activated a bluetooth link. And suddenly, the grey cylinder lit up and the names of the missing kids appeared in it, like three dimensional objects fluctuating and rotating in a light yellow glow.

Hero closed the Dell, and began to wave his hands around the surface of the cylinder. Other words appeared, written in a foreign lettering, and slowly a web of thin threads began to build up between the mysterious word and the names of the kid.

After a few minutes, the construct inside the cylinder stopped, and then a single word, in the unknown language, replaced it.

With a single gesture, Hero put off the device.

And whispered the word.

“Metahumans”.

Captain Midnight paced nervously as he and Doug waited for Quinn Stevens, Doctor Marvelo, and the Reptile to return from their sightseeing trip. He seemed to be debating out loud important points going through his mind. To Doug it sounded as if the Captain was speaking as two different people altogether as he muttered to himself questions and answers, and Doug had tuned him out long ago.

“What Paris outfit gave designer Yves St. Laurent his start?—Dior.

“What color are the Ghostbusters’ overalls in the 1984 movie?—Green.

“What World War II word was German for ‘lightning war’?—Blitzkrieg.

“How many inches of rain were recorded in Chile’s Atacama desert from 1570 to 1971?—Zero.

“What two-word title describes the person who dreams up Dungeons & Dragons adventures for others?—Dungeon Master.

“What was 300 cubits long, according to Genesis 6:15?—Noah’s Ark.”

Doug dissolved his ears into flat bulges on the side of his head so he could no longer hear Midnight’s nervous ramblings. He checked to see if the tall tattooed man who had attacked him with the leatherclad woman was still unconscious. He was, and the woman seemed to be out as well. Nevertheless, he applied a dose of Doctor Marvelo’s chloroform to the woman once more. He hoped his fellow MBLers would return soon. What had they been thinking, traipsing off like they had while they had still not learned anything about their attackers? This team was disorganized, thought Doug.

No, they were good men, all of them—even the insane Captain Midnight and the eccentric Doctor Marvelo. They were his newest companions in the life of adventure he had led for over a hundred years. He had never been part of a team before, at least in the traditional sense of the word. He had always had travelling companions and fellow adventurers, but all of his adventures had just happened. Sometimes during them he was able to help people who needed help, but mostly the adventures were undertaken for their own sake—something needed exploring, or something needed to be stopped, or there was treasure to be found. Doug had never thought of himself as a hero.

He became troubled by his thoughts now, and he closed his eyes. If he wasn’t a hero and existed only for the sake of having adventures, what was his purpose? Did he have one? Where had he come from, and what was he? He was certainly not human, only mimicking humans. Doug had gone by many names over the past century, and some writers chose to write him into their stories, making him the hero in some and the sidekick meant for cheap laughs in others. But Doug just existed without knowing why.

Now all his fellow adventurers from the past century were in peril, and they were dying, one by one. It was all his fault. Something was after him, and that something was trying to get at him through his friends and adopted family. Why had he involved this New MBL, still more potential victims of his unknown enemy? He wished he could simply roll up and die, or just vanish without a trace. With his powers he could do that. With his powers, he could revert his brain to a primitive state that did not use higher cognitive thought at all. The only problem with this was the fear that he would never be able to bring himself back from that state again. But if he just sacrificed himself, maybe the deaths would stop. Maybe the pain would stop.

Doug realized what was happening to him again and opened his eyes. Captain Midnight, who long ago had ceased talking to himself, was sprawled out on the ground, comatose. Their two prisoners were nowhere to be found as he looked around frantically with ten newly-grown eyes, but Doug could tell they were nearby. The leatherclad woman was causing him with her emotion manipulation powers to sink into deep despair, and he felt powerless against her.

He cried out in unintelligible moans as he shifted his shape spasmodically, trying somehow to escape the pain of emotion he felt. He wanted it to go away, but nothing could make it go away. In fact, it was becoming stronger with every second.

He was helpless against the threat of a direct attack on his mind, his unseen attacker making it impossible to retaliate. Doug couldn’t do anything.

No. He could do something. Without giving it another moment’s thought, Doug’s form reverted to a shapeless blob, slowly resting its heavy mass upon the ground like freshly kneaded bread dough set upon a countertop. His mind, which had developed in his early formative years to that of an intelligent human being, reverted to an amoeba-like state that could process neither higher thought nor the most primitive emotion. Doug was gone.

“The metamorph has been subdued,” said the leatherclad woman after a few moments, her skin now glistening with sweat from the strain of her power. She had feigned unconsciousness the last time Doug had applied chloroform to her, and with the tattooed man she had easily attacked and subdued Captain Midnight before he could realize what had happened. “Surge, find something to place it on. Let’s leave before the others return.”

The tattooed man growled, “Why must I do all the work, Psyche?” Surge pointed at the fallen form of Midnight. “Make this simpleton your slave and have him do it.”

“First of all, he’ll be unconscious for awhile, so we can’t take the risk of waiting any longer,” said Psyche. “Second, it’s not me who’s in trouble with the Master. You’d best follow my command if you want to survive your probation. He’s slain his most faithful followers for less. Third, it was I—not you—who executed the attack on the museum and lured the MBL down here to obtain the metamorph for the Master. I’ve done my fair share, brother—now it’s your turn.”

Surge muttered a few words under his breath at his sister but ultimately did as he was told. He brought a wheelbarrow from a nearby tool shed and was able to slowly pull the mass of the metamorph formerly known as Doug into it. Leaving the unconscious Captain Midnight behind, they disappeared through a tunnel leading to an unknown destination.

As Captain Midnight lay comatose upon the cold ground in the underground chamber, his mind drifted back to the day when the New MBL was formed.

***

The team had defeated a gigantic reptile-like monster that resembled a mutated Tyrannosaurus Rex, and they had just rid themselves of one General Prescott Gerald Forrest by announcing the formation of the MBL—the New MBL. They decided to celebrate by going to the upscale Gascon Club in downtown Thunder City, all expenses paid by the wealthy and eccentric Captain Midnight.

X-Stream, comatose and injured, had been taken to the hospital, while Doug, scared of the publicity, had just fled from their company and disappeared. They would later learn that he merely disguised himself in other forms and trailed them to the restaurant, where he met up with them again disguised as their tablecloth.

And so the four heroes—Hero, Quinn Stevens, Doctor Marvelo, and Captain Midnight—traveled together to the restaurant. Quinn Stevens flew under his own power, and Hero leaped his way there, while Doctor Marvelo used his amazing umbrella to somehow glide through the air behind them, and Captain Midnight swung through the air on a line held in Quinn Stevens’ hand. They had no chance to talk while in transit, but upon landing on the rooftop of the Gascon Club the heroes decided to wait a few moments before entering the restaurant.

“Well, here we are,” said Quinn. “Shall we?” he added, motioning the team toward the single door on the rooftop that led into the kitchen below.

“Let’s wait a few moments first,” Hero said. “I think we need to properly introduce ourselves to each other before we make our first public appearance as a team.” He addressed all three, saying, “My name’s Hero. Officially, of course, I am Hero II. You may have heard of the original. I wear a mask not for any nefarious reason, but because I have secrets to protect. Since two of you also wear masks—” He nodded to Quinn and Midnight. “—I trust you will understand the importance of a secret identity, and why I cannot reveal to any of you my own—at least not yet.”

Hero looked at Quinn Stevens, who stared back at him with a frown, thinking for a moment that Hero was trying to communicate something important to him. After a moment, Hero said, “I know you tried to introduce yourself earlier, friend, but none of us could hear what you said.” Quinn frowned, confused.

“That’s right,” Doctor Marvelo said, leaning casually on his purple umbrella as if on a cane, while twirling his mustache with his other gloved hand, “I believe a sudden gust of wind drowned out your words as you introduced yourself, good sir.” Quinn looked at Marvelo and saw that the refined English gentleman with the silver bowler hat was telling the truth.

“I heard your name,” declared Captain Midnight.

“You did?” said Quinn Stevens, involuntarily gulping.

“But I figured, what business is it of mine if you want to call yourself ‘Green Sheep-Strings’?” Midnight said, shrugging. “Not the most accurate or descriptive name, but what the hey.”

Quinn laughed, grinning widely. He suddenly understood what had happened. Hero had somehow caused a loud gust of wind to obscure Quinn’s voice when he had impulsively blurted out his name. This was a man who could be counted upon, and possibly also trusted with his identity in the future. His father had always warned him to keep his name and identity a secret from everyone, but that eventually he should find a few trusted men in whom he could confide. It was too soon, far too soon to know whether he could trust this new team, but he hoped that eventually one or two of them would become close and trustworthy allies.

He said, after a moment’s thought, “Well, I hadn’t really thought of a code name yet, but it definitely isn’t Green Sheep-Strings.” He laughed again. “I suppose I’m going to have to have a heroic name, or the media’s going to come up with one for me. Any suggestions?”

“Your power suggests an energy-based name, and the silver ‘G’ on your shoulder suggests it should start with that letter,” said Hero. “What about Generator?”

Marvelo winced. “Rather dull, don’t you think?”

“The Great Generator?” Midnight suggested.

“It’s... not bad,” said Quinn, looking at the ‘G’ again, a letter that represented his father to him. “Any other ideas?”

Midnight grinned and said, “How about the Great Energizer?”

“Ugh, no thanks,” said Quinn. “That name sounds like I should wear a bunny costume and carry a drum with me at all times.”

“Hmm,” said Hero, “he may be on to something, though. If you want something simple, descriptive, and implements the letter G, what about something like... Ener-G?”

“Energy?” clarified Quinn.

“No,” said Hero. “Ener dash G. Ener-G.”

“Sounds a bit complicated to explain,” said Quinn, “but I like it a bit better than Generator.”

“Call yourself the Son of God,” said Midnight. “It worked for the big J.”

“Blasphemer!” said Marvelo, chortling with laughter. “We wouldn’t want to incur the wrath of the religious right, now would we? Anyway, as I’m sure you all heard me say earlier, I am called Doctor Marvelo, master of the arcane, the mysterious, and the downright peculiar, and although I don’t wear a mask, I have secrets of my own. All that you need to know about me at this time is that I can be found whenever my help is needed.”

“I suppose you can all call me Ener-G, or maybe just G,” said Quinn, “at least until I can figure out a better name.”

“Sure thing, G,” said Midnight. “And all of you must recognize me as the amazing Captain Midnight, doer of deeds, righter of wrongs, helper of... uhh... helpers. I wear my mask, costume, and these snazzy goggles not only to hide my true identity but also to make a fashion statement.” He indicated his costume. “Wine-red leather says as much about me as you need to know for now.”

A rock dove, which had been circling the rooftop for a few moments, landed and perched itself on the edge of the rooftop. It stayed there silently, as if listening to the discussion.

“What impelled you to give us the name MBL?” Hero asked Quinn. “After that New York business with those terrorists, it’s not exactly a popular acronym.”

Quinn said darkly, “There have always been those who try to soil the good name and reputation of the MBL. It’s up to us to reclaim those initials for what they had always been—the mark of the greatest team of heroes this world, or any world, had ever seen.”

“I must admit, young sir, that I barely know of them,” said Doctor Marvelo.

Quinn said, “They were not from this world, but their exploits in other, parallel timelines, inspired for a time a small team of heroes for hire in this timeline.”

“And the initials?” asked Hero. “Did they always stand for the Metahuman Brotherhood of Lib—?”

“No!” Quinn exclaimed. “They never stood for that. My father’s told me many stories of the MBL, not least of which was the meaning behind the initials. The full name of the team was rarely used after it was first formed, because it made little sense after that first formation. Ever since, many have tried to use the acronym MBL to create new names, but none of them stuck. Only the initials had any lasting power.”

“So what was the MBL originally called?” asked Midnight.

“The MBL was originally called the Message Board League,” Quinn said, smiling.

The others waited for a moment, before Hero finally said, “Are you serious?”

“Deadly serious,” said Quinn. “I know, I know. The name sounds meaningless and silly to us now, but it originally meant something. As I said, the full name was abandoned very early on, and only the initials MBL remained, maybe because of the impact the original team made upon the world scene. I suppose they figured that it was better to keep the initials and abandon the full name than try to start over with an all-new, all-different team name.

“In a nutshell, here’s how it happened as my father told it to me so many times:

“There were many superheroes and supervillains on the world where the MBL was formed, and such heroes had existed at least since the late 1930s, beginning with the great Meta-Man. He had inspired the wave of metahumans—called such after him—to follow his heroic example. The beginning of World War II galvanized the growing number of metahumans, or mysterymen as they were called then, to fight the evils of the Axis powers and home-grown crime wearing tight costumes and, in many cases, capes. While they originally fought a slew of gangsters and criminal scientists, a few super-powered villains began to arise, dividing the metahuman community between those who chose to fight for good and those who chose to use their powers only for personal gain at others’ expense. An exclusive team of the greatest mysterymen of those early days was formed in 1940, calling themselves the Mysterymen Brotherhood Society, which now admittedly sounds like a very sexist name. They lasted into the early 1950s before finally breaking up. When America entered World War II, a larger team called the All-Adventurers Squadron was formed under the direction of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt himself, and this team encompassed nearly all of America's superheroes at the time.

“By the late 1990s, decades later, the world had seen many such superheroes and supervillains come and go, including several super-teams, but no team had the stature that the MBS once had. The superheroes on that world were extremely disorganized, and when crises came along, such as an alien invasion or a cosmic menace, the numbers of competing heroes were often more a hindrance than a help to each other, rarely showing good teamwork together. Few teams existed at the time, except for the LLB, and the Seven Soldiers of Virtual Reality—a team comprised of seven teenagers with reality-altering powers—had just recently broken up. Many were asking what would happen if the world then saw a new, extremely powerful menace arise, one worse than any previously seen? There was no MBS around any longer to rally the superhero troops.

“An incredibly wealthy metahuman called by many names—including Mad 67—who had once been a superhero, decided to rectify that situation, knowing that soon such a menace would arise. Some months earlier he had taken advantage of the internet’s rising popularity to set up a private superhero message board where superheroes from all over the world could exchange information and discuss their adventures with each other. It was originally used for little more than an online social gathering place, but this man decided to use it for something new. Mad 67 began a thread, a discussion on that message board, that called for his fellow heroes to make nominations for a new superhero team, one that would be a modern day version of the MBS. Without giving it much thought, he called this new team the Message Board League for the simple fact that he was organizing it over an internet message board.”

“Not very creative,” said Hero.

“I know,” Quinn said, laughing, “but I really don’t think he had intended it to be the name that the team would actually be called. He probably wrote down the first thing that came to his mind, something that would remind people of the MBS without using its sexist name. He had probably planned on eventually asking for suggestions for a team name, but circumstances didn’t make that possible.

“After several prominent heroes of the time made their nominations for this new team, all those nominated (as well as a few interested observers who had not been nominated) were invited to the Watchtower, a new Moon-based headquarters for the proposed team that Mad 67 had spent months adapting from the ruins of an extraterrestrial starship he had recently acquired. All the nominated superheroes were then put into a series of contests in order to choose the seven heroes most worthy among them to become the new team.”

“Why seven?” asked Midnight. “Why not fourteen, or simply include everyone?”

“Many of them were asking the same questions,” Quinn explained with a shrug, “but Mad 67 insisted that the number seven was the number of perfection, and that such a number was ideal to build a spirit of teamwork between the team’s members. He had no intention of creating a modern-day version of the sprawling All-Adventurers Squadron, which had over 70 members at its peak, and which was notoriously difficult to manage. Anyway, while the trials began for all of those nominated, the world’s media caught wind of the new team and its unfortunate name. Although the superhero message board was supposed to have been private and used only by the world’s heroes, it was difficult to keep anything secret with so many users. In the eyes of the world, the Message Board League—even then usually reduced to the acronym MBL—was born.

“Meanwhile, on the Watchtower, the nominated heroes continued to be pushed through numerous exercises designed to eliminate the less worthy. They were all quite surprised to learn that the team they were proposing to form had already been formed, according to the world, and under the name MBL. Their moment of surprise was short-lived, however, as they were soon faced with the menace of a rival team of evil metahumans called the Injustice Board Gang that had arisen as a direct challenge to the MBL.”

“Injustice Board Gang?” asked Hero. “What kind of a name is that? Why would any grown man call his team that?”

“Well, the IBG was led by a megalomaniacal, prankster-like leader named Albino Chameleon who was only a teenager himself, so that might explain it partly,” said Quinn. “But they quickly dropped the full name in favor of the acronym as well. Albino Chameleon had been a prominent superhero, a shape-shifting member of the Seven Soldiers of Virtual Reality until that team broke up some months earlier due to internal bickering, largely caused by Albino himself, as the reality-altering powers he had were inherently corrupting. Anyway, the assembled superheroes on the Moon were forced to confront the Gang when it began attacking the Earth. Still disorganized, and even moreso because their founder had disappeared off into space for some twelve days, the superhero team dubbed the MBL fought against the IBG poorly despite their overwhelming power and numbers. Various MBL members were led into traps and wild goose-chases, and this combined with a spirit of distrust divided their team, allowing the IBG to largely conquer them.

“The IBG’s leader had made hints that one of the MBL members was secretly a traitor working for the IBG, which further divided the team. Finally, one MBL member who was also a former member of the Seven Soldiers—again, their reality-altering powers seemed to have an inherently corrupting influence—was revealed to have been tempted by the IBG’s sex goddess Rai to the dark side, falling under the power of an evil spirit. Under the dark spirit’s influence, this one-time hero—called ‘Gooz’ by his friends, a nickname more than anything—was made to steal the powers of several of his fellow defeated teammates and a cosmic being called Prometheus X to become the greatest menace that the world had ever seen, bringing the multiverse and reality itself under his control. The MBL seemed doomed forever.

“Dark Gooz, as he was called then, managed to bring another of his former teammates under his snare, and he seemed almost invincible. See what I mean about the inherent corrupting nature of reality-altering powers? Rai knew that only other beings with reality-altering powers were a threat to Dark Gooz’s power, so those who could be corrupted were corrupted, while those who were incorruptible were kept too busy to use their powers to stop Dark Gooz. In fact, Rai herself kept another ex-member of the Seven Soldiers of Virtual Reality—whose name wasn’t really Steve even though everyone called him that—out of the way by trapping him during the most critical phase in a virtual reality room where Steve’s power was wasted on phantom enemies.

“Still another ex-member of the Seven Soldiers named Marston came to confront Dark Gooz and his acolytes just when it seemed that he was unstoppable. Marston used his own reality-altering powers not to battle them but only to make a connection with their original selves, the still-uncorrupted parts of them that were heroes, even as he appealed to them to turn back from the precipice before it was too late. He then left, and although it seemed that nothing had changed, Marston’s actions were the tipping point that allowed Dark Gooz to be defeated.

“Dark Gooz and his acolytes finally met their match when Prometheus X, the cosmic being whose power he had supposedly stolen, returned to meet him in battle with power equal to his own. Prometheus X defeated Dark Gooz and removed the evil spirit that had possessed him. Gooz, now largely depowered, was a traitor no longer, but ever since then he would live with shame over the deeds he had done while possessed, and his career as a hero after that time would always be marked by a sense of repentance.

“It later turned out that Mad 67 had returned after twelve days in space to find the MBL in the midst of battle with the IBG and Dark Gooz. Originally planning on confronting them himself, Mad 67 soon discovered a critically wounded and powerless Prometheus X. Knowing that, if even that powerful cosmic being could be defeated, he stood no chance alone, he realized that he could only do one thing to help stop the new menace. You see, Mad 67’s superpowers were based upon a powerful, cosmic artifact embedded in the comet Kohoutek, which made its appearance in our solar system in 1973, and every six or seven years this hero had to replenish his powers with it before they faded completely, requiring a round trip into space that took twelve days. He had just returned with replenished powers, but like a true hero he now chose to sacrifice those powers completely by jump-starting the godly powers of Prometheus X.

“Mad 67 could not accomplish this task alone, so he recruited Marston, the ex-Seven Soldier whose reality-altering powers he guessed were a threat to Dark Gooz. With the help of Marston, Mad 67 began transferring his power into Prometheus X to rekindle that cosmic being’s own power. Such a sacrifice took time, so he sent Marston to confront and distract Dark Gooz for a time, hoping that Marston was one of the few with reality-changing powers who couldn’t be corrupted. Marston was able to cause a long enough distraction for Prometheus X to be restored to his full power and battle Dark Gooz before it was too late. And so the crisis was ended, and the multiverse was saved. Mad 67, however, had seen how ineffectual his MBL had been and was disgusted. They had managed to save the multiverse and reality itself, but only just barely. He decided to disband the Message Board League, since it was too unwieldy and disorganized to be effective.

“And that would have been the end of the MBL, had it not been for an individual called Rypta. One of the superheroes who were nominated for the MBL, he was an Australian rhyme god who was still youthful even though he had been active since the 1940s, when he was a member of the MBS and the All-Adventurers Squadron, and he had probably been around for quite a while by then. Rypta decided to reform the MBL under his strong leadership with a small core number of heroes, including the repentant Gooz. Rypta, believing in the need for a modern-day version of the MBS, retained the acronym MBL but mostly abandoned the original name of the Message Board League. As I said, many tried to create new names to fill the acronym MBL, but none have stuck. Under this new leadership, the MBL flourished and grew to become the greatest superhero team of the multiverse, its membership changing many times but still retaining the heroic standards it set for itself.”

“Wow,” said Midnight, “that’s confusing, but still kind of cool.”

“I’d heard the name MBL before,” said Hero, “but I had never known until now where it came from. Thank you for your explanation. I hope that we, the New MBL, can live up to the standards of the original.”

“We will,” said Quinn. “I know we will.” He glanced at the silver G on his shoulder and thought, Thanks, dad.

A long moment of silence impelled Doctor Marvelo to finally say, “Well, now that we’ve made introductions, shall we dine?”

The others agreed, and the four heroes entered the restaurant through the rooftop entrance, making their way into the restaurant itself to meet the public. None of them noticed that the pigeon that had landed on the rooftop earlier now changed into the form of a small mouse, which followed them quietly into the restaurant, and which eventually turned into a tablecloth, covering a table moments before the New MBL members were seated there. Doug had been glad to learn a bit more about his newfound allies. The history lesson had inspired him to remain with the team after all.

***

In the present, Captain Midnight began to stir. He looked angry, muttering to himself, “Where’s the dead man who slugged me?” He pushed himself up on his elbows. “And where the fuck am I?” He looked at his gloved hands. “And why the hell am I wearin’ this gay-ass suit?”

He stood up and winced as the blood rushed to his head. He then took off his utility belt, black shorts, red leather suit, goggles, and gloves, and kept only his stained, sleeveless white wife-beater shirt and his boots. Rummaging around a few boxes, he found a stash of clothes left behind by the Reptile, and he found a pair of dirty jeans. He had second thoughts about the goggles and utility belt after all and put his goggles around his neck and the belt around his waist. Still smarting from the pain of the blow to his head, he scratched his unkempt red hair, revealing an old long-healed scar along the top of his skull, as if a bullet had grazed him. Had any of his former allies been around to see him, they would have noticed the vastly different way he now carried himself, as if he were an entirely different person altogether. Even his voice was different, now suddenly speaking with an almost exaggerated New York-based accent, like one heard in the movies.

The man known to the New MBL only as Captain Midnight took stock of his surroundings and began searching for an escape route, finally finding a corridor that could take him to the surface. As he left, he growled, “The day some bastard attacked Jack Nasty is the day that poor, unlucky bastard signed his death warrant.”

It’s night over Thunder City.

Hero is hiding among the foliage of a tall maple overhanging a strange shaped villa. In the mid of a vast park, there is a cylindrical tower made of stones. Small windows appears here and there on the curved facade, lit by the waving, warm light of actual torches.

In the hot evening, one window is kept open: a child appears, playing a small flute, showing an incredible talent for his own age. If it wouldn’t be impossible, Hero would say that many glow-worms are dancing at the rhythm; on the other hand, the kid is a meta, so why not?

Edward Sweeter.

Where has he heard the name before? Anyway, at the moment, if the ship’s database is correct, he is the only five years old meta left in the Thunder-Promethean City area. And it is of age only since a week, when he had is fifth holyday.

A bird crows from the sky. The kid stops playing, and suddenly disappears.

Hero frowns, gazing at the house across all of the spectrum, from ultraviolet to infrareds, when something hits the branch he is on.

He falls, hitting the ground with his bottom. There is a tall man in front of him, his face in complete shade. He has a black arrow in a hand, and nocks it into the bowstring of a equally black longbow.

“I don’t think that thing would be harmful on my skin, sir” says Hero.

The man does a step further. “I was not expecting you. Why a MBLeaguer spies on my son?” said the man, his face coming into light.

“Ed... Edmond Sweeter!” whispers Hero. That was why the name sounded familiar. The father of the kid is the keeper of the Thunder Museum who helped the MBL in the previous case.

“Yes, it’s me. And I believe I need an explanation for your presence.”

“Sorry, professor...but I believe your kid is in danger of being kidnapped" says Hero, standing up.

The tall bald man lean down to take a big axe, the object that previously cut the branch under Hero.

“It’s seven days that they try to take my son. They crawl here at night, like scorpions out of crevices, armed only with war-club, dressed in jaguar skins. It’s like they sprout out of the ground, and when they are beaten, retreat into it.”

“You beat them every night last week?” asks Hero, astonished.

“Yes, barely. They keep to come in force, but for now I have been able to defeat them.”

A meta, like his son, without doubt, though Hero. And a powerful one, too. “Why don’t you call Danner?”

“Calling on the police is not what we did back then, son. I need to capture one, and find my way wherever they keep all those kids.”

Right then, a dull rumble, like a distant thunder, was heard. And then, a dozen of olive skinned men, wearing maculated coat and waving hard-wood clubs, appeared out of the ground, screaming in rage.

“The Jaguar Men!” shouted Edmond Sweeter as a horde of them attacked. “Quick, before they get my son!” Sweeter tossed the axe in his hand at one of the olive-skinned men dressed in spotted fur coats, splitting that jaguar man’s head open. His aim was perfect. Even before the axe had hit its mark, Sweeter had grabbed another obsidian black arrow out of the quiver he had strapped upon his back. He shot arrow after arrow at the jaguar men, each with perfect aim. Hero was more sure now than ever that this man had a metagene, as did his son.

One of them attacked Hero from behind with a huge hard wood club, which broke from the force against Hero’s impervious skin. Still, the force behind the swing was strong enough to cause him pain. Hero jumped back as his now-unarmed attacker attempted to strike him with his bare fist, then grabbed the man’s fist and used it to swing the man into several other Jaguar Men.

“Don’t mess about with them,” said Sweeter, who stood back-to-back with Hero as the Jaguar Men surrounded them. “Just kill as many as you can—we only need to keep one alive!”

“That’s not the way I operate, sir,” said Hero, striking two Jaguar Men at once with a blow that would have hospitalized a normal human. They each fell back and seemed stunned, but ultimately they rose to fight again. Who and what were these Jaguar Men? They seemed stronger than normal men, but none of them displayed any special metahuman powers other than brute strength, agility, and skin that was strong enough to take powerful blows from his fists but were unable to stop axes or arrows.

“They’re not human!” Sweeter cried. “I understand your reticence against killing people in general, and I share it, but these Jaguar Men are different. They’re not human, I tell you. Don’t hold back!”

The onslaught continued, as Sweeter killed a couple more, while Hero was finally able to knock out a few. Then, as one, the Jaguar Men all stopped their attack and fell back, the strong ones grabbing the unconscious and the dead as they left.

“They’re... they’re leaving?” Hero said.

“Yes,” said Sweeter, “they’re intelligent enough to know when they’ve been beaten. Still, that was the largest number of them yet. If you hadn’t been here, I would’ve been overwhelmed.”

“Edmond!” a woman’s voice cried out from inside. “Edmond!”

Sweeter ran swiftly back into his house. “Penelope! What is it?”

“Ed—Edward!” the nanny screamed. “They’ve taken him!”

“God, no!” cried Sweeter. “How?”

Penelope was shaking, completely unconsolable. “Wh-while you were outside... fighting them... they came inside. I tried to fight them, Edmond. I tried, but they were too strong. They overpowered me, threw me down to the ground. They grabbed Edward and jumped out the window on the other side of the house!”

“Damn!” shouted Sweeter.

“A distraction,” said Hero, “the ones we fought were just... a distraction.”

“Exactly,” said Sweeter. “And now they have my son!”

***

On a TV screen, Judy Kang, reporter for the Promethean City Broadcasting System (PCBS), spoke. Below her were the words, “New MBL—heroes or terrorists?”

“Thunder City, the City of Hope. That’s what our fair city to the north has been called since the Hope Foundation helped to rebuild Thunder City five years ago, transforming it from an average American city into the futuristic wonderland it is today. Thunder City is unique in its progressive outlook and its open arms policy toward metahumans, particularly the team of heroes known as the New MBL.

“Today, however, the city is divided between those who still support the New MBL and those who distrust that team and want it shut down. Here’s the word on the street.”

On the screen flashed in quick succession several passers-by, each with his or her opinion.

“The New MBL? Better than the old one, I guess.”

“I don’t know much about them, but I’m willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.”

“They’re a bunch of terrorists! Look at what they did to the Thunder Museum!”

“The army says they’re terrorists? Ah, they’re full of bleep.”

“No, I don’t believe they’re behind the attack on the museum—it wouldn’t be the first time the government’s lied to us about metahumans.”

“They saved my family from Godzilla. They’ll always be my heroes.”

“All of ’em should be arrested. Every one of ’em.”

The screen flashed back to Judy Kang.

“And there you have it. Opinion remains divided on the New MBL. Despite their heroic actions, they can’t seem to shake the label of terrorism, especially after the explosion that destroyed the Thunder Museum was blamed on them. We will keep you informed of current events. This is Judy Kang for PCBS News.”

The screen flashed off.

“Well, PCBS seems to have a more enlightened view of metas than our own TCBC does,” said Adam Hope, President of the charitable Hope Foundation. “Rachel, I’d like you to speak with Buzz Randall. He needs to back off from the New MBL a bit.”

“As you wish, my love,” Rachel Hope replied, smiling. She was beautiful and blonde, with a wide smile, and she dressed conservatively in a dark gray tailored suit.

He stood up from the leather couch in his office, located on the penthouse suite of the Hope Building, the tallest skyscraper in Thunder City. Adam Hope was a tall, slender man with broad shoulders around 40 years of age, who had dark hair, slightly graying around his temples. He was very handsome, with a youthful face that looked slightly older only because of his glasses. Although he was the wealthiest man in Thunder City, he dressed casually in blue jeans and wore an off-white button-down shirt left untucked.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” said Adam, embracing Rachel, pulling her close to him. He then withdrew somewhat and kissed her fully on the lips. “You give me the strength to carry on. I love you.”

Rachel kept smiling. “I love you, too.” She gazed up into his eyes for a moment, then broke away. “Oh, and I almost forgot. The Hope Foundation Children’s Hospital wants to hold a banquet in your honor, as the founder and the primary contributor.” She paused for a moment. “Adam, I’m so proud of you.”

“Be proud of yourself, Rachel. You were there every step of the way. If I’d had to do it all alone, I... well, I don’t know what I would have done.” Adam embraced his wife once more.

“Don't stay up too long, baby,” said Rachel. “I'll wait for you in the bedroom.” At that, she left.

Adam returned to his desk, pulling up his files on the New MBL. This team had intrigued him since they first arrived on the scene more than three months ago. Already General Forrest, with all his clout in the U.S. Army and his friends in the White House, was on the offensive. If Adam kept out of it, Forrest could very well bring the New MBL up on charges. They needed assistance. They needed a sponsor. They needed hope. And Adam Hope was the only one who could give it to them.

***

Elsewhere in Thunder City, in a room above Madame Rossetti Florists, a girl stared unblinking at the television screen, her vivid green eyes reflecting the glow of Judy Kang on PCBS News. She fondled a small potted fern in her hands and whispered quietly to herself, “Heroes.”

The girl wore a pair of white shorts and a pink tanktop with a pale blue one layered underneath, having been given some clothes by her new friends. She looked like almost any other blonde girl around 13 years old, except for the fact that her skin was completely green.

She had stopped listening to the television by this point, completely enraptured at the thought of meeting others who could do special things. It had taken her months to realize that no one else around her could do the things she could do. But the heroes on the TV, the New MBL, could also do special things that no one else could do.

Audrey decided to meet them, fleeing out into the night.

“Infrared tracks. I can follow them, like a rattlesnake follows hits prey after biting it.”

Edmond Sweeter looked at Hero with an eyebrow raised. “Never heard of such power among metas. You actually see in the infrared wavelenght?”

“Not really see. It’s in my nose, but it’s not a smell.”

Now it was the other eyebrow of the Thunder Museum curator to rise, joining the other in an expression of stupor. “We got to talk sometimes, kid. That’s not how I ever heard the metagene to work...”

“Never said it is metagenetic. But I am sorry, I can’t explain it to you. Now, I have to save your son, Mr. Sweeter, so...”

“I am going with you, Hero. I’m not new to the game myself...” he said, putting his longbow across the chest, and adjusting the quiver tied to his belt, on the side. “Let’s go”.

Hero moved on, toward some tall trees behind a perennial bed on the north side of the lawn. In the dark shadow under the trees, Hero stopped. “They came from here”.

“Here? There is nothing, here.”

Hero stepped further, and he disappeared. After a moment, he reappeared, his body emerging half from the dead leaves covered ground. “Come in. There is a tunnel going down.”

Sweeter kneeled down, trying to touch the ground around Hero’s torso. His hand was disappearing and reappearing as he moved it up and down. “This is not Earth tech, Hero” he said, gravely.

“I know” replied the MBL member.

Jack Nasty had long ago given up trying to see anything in the darkness of the tunnel. He had taken the only route he could find that had fresh tracks, but along the way his only source of light had ended, and he was forced to fumble his way along one particularly dark tunnel as if utterly blind. Despite his expert tracking skills, there was no way now to find out who had made those tracks. And he had since come across one tunnel branch that was much smoother than the other one, except for the odd ridge every couple of feet.

“Fucking shit cocksucker!” Jack shouted as he stubbed his left toe in a ridge for the third time in fifteen minutes, despite his best efforts to keep from doing just that. “Who the hell put ridges in this fucking tunnel?”

His anger cooled just as suddenly as it had arisen when a blue light began distantly illuminating the tunnel just as a slight whirring hum began, getting louder and louder.

Jack Nasty was only able to mutter, “What the--?!” before instinctively throwing himself against the wall of the tunnel, just as a glowing blue cylindrical object shaped like a pill flashed past him, disappearing as suddenly as it had come into view. Jack had only seen it for a brief moment, but he could have sworn he saw silhouetted figures within it.

He looked back behind him in the tunnel where the object had disappeared to for several moments. Finally, he shrugged and kept walking in the direction in which he had been going before it had appeared.

After awhile, he noted with some trepidation that the angle of the tunnel seemed to be steadily moving upward, and as he kept going it became more and more difficult to keep going. The angle was almost 45 degrees by now, and it was only the ridges that had earlier irritated him that now enabled him to keep from sliding several feet back down the tunnel.

Jack's muscles, stronger than a normal man's thanks to a top secret project that had transformed him, kept him moving further and further up the tunnel even as it became more and more steep. After what seemed like an eternity, he was finally able to see a dim light that he hoped came from the surface. He grinned broadly, proud of himself.

He stopped suddenly as he heard voices.

“—not Earth tech, Hero.”

“I know.”

The voices then became too difficult to make out, as if they became more distant, finally disappearing altogether. After several moments, he resumed his climb.

It was then that a bright LED flashlight cut through the darkness, and Jack stopped once more as he listened for voices.

“—brought a flashlight. It's very dark, even with our enhanced vision.”

He heard a few other muffled sounds that he couldn't make out. Finally, there was one sound he now heard that was unmistakable. Sliding.

Jack opened his mouth to shout, but instead received a nasty kick to his face, sending him backwards down the tunnel, two large men atop him. The fall—which was more like a roll down a very long, very steep hill—seemed like an eternity before it finally ended. It was a miracle that Jack had not broken his neck, despite his tougher-than-normal skin.

He was now very pissed off.

She had seen the heroes on TV. The uniformed men called them terrorists, and some people believed that, but most people still called them heroes. They were said to be beneath the wreckage at the Thunder Museum, which was partially destroyed. She had once seen the Museum from the back of the flower shop's delivery truck. Even though she had supposed to have kept herself hidden from view, even having to wear long clothes, a hat, and a scarf around her face—Madame Rossetti explained to everyone that she had a “skin disease”—she had managed to sneak a peek at the once-magnificent museum, with its tall steps and its tall columns. Flor said that it was meant to look Romanesque, whatever that meant.

So Audrey knew where to find the heroes, and she went directly to the Thunder City Museum, travelling via thick but long vines that carried her like a royal princess along the rooftops downtown. There was not much visible flora to be seen in the city, but weeds and fungus were everywhere. She used what she could find to make her way to her destination. The vines would remain for less than an hour before disintegrating once more.

At the Thunder Museum, she saw many policemen with shiny lights atop their cars circling the area to keep bypassers out. Within that circle were many uniformed men who were not police, crawling over the wreckage and checking it with handheld objects that lit with blue and green. Even if she grew a very long vine, she would not be able to get into the museum without being seen. She needed to try something else.

There was a manhole a couple of blocks away, beyond the police perimeter at the museum. Audrey was easily able to open it up by expanding the lichen at its edges, popping it off. She crawled inside and found herself in the sewer. She had seen human-like fighting turtles do the same on a cartoon a week ago.

Walking through the sewer toward the direction of the museum, she noted that the part of the sewer underneath the museum had collapsed. It was not difficult for her to grow vines that pushed open a stable entrance for her. Once she was within the wreckage of the museum, she found a particularly large hole beneath the wreckage that had been covered over, and she dropped down into it upon her vines. She hoped that she would meet the heroes there, in the underground, very soon.

“You fucking bloody motherfucker get that light outta my face!” shouted the man with Captain Midnight’s features and new, unpleasant behaviour. Sweeter’s Maglite light cone painted the MBleaguer’s face yellow, and drew harsh shadow behind him. There was something scary to the once comical look of the hero.

Hero turned to Sweeter, raising an eyebrow. “Brainwashing? Replication?”

The museum curator shook his head. “Don’t think always sci-fi. Brain disorder, I’d said.”

“Why?”

“I’ve met the man in the past, although the word out was that he died. Nasty, get your ass up and tell us what happened.”

Midnight’s eyes widened. “You? You big pile of shit...”

“Nice to see you too. Tell me what there is down there, Jack.”

“Some big fat ghost shoot me”. As he was saying that, Midnight turned 180 degrees, and began to walk back down the tunnel. “I will kill the cocksucker with my bare fists...

“Wait. Where are you going?” exclaimed Hero.

“Going back down, if you didn’t crossed him, this is the wrong way...”

Hero and Sweeter began walking behind him. “What are you talking about? What happened to you guys when I was at the hospital?” asked the young MBLeaguer.

“Are you drunk, kid? I never met you before. If you two want to come with me, fine, but keep quiet. I have a fucking bastard to find. And to kill.”