The Wellspring Event (TWI ONLY | IC)

[Atnaia]

OOC

"I am the Witness. I have watched all of human history. I have seen the race climb from it's primordial ooze and set down the first roots of civilization. I have watched as gods began to walk among them. This I have seen, and so too these things I have witnessed..."

---

"Good afternoon, Flight 337," the calm tones of the pilot came over the speakers in the plane's cabin. "This is your Captain speaking. We're about to pass over Port Gray on our final approach to Coldwater International Airport. We'll be preparing for final descent fairly soon, but before we do I'd like everyone to look out their windows and give a little wave to a friend of ours who wants to say hello."

Therese opened an eye. That was a strange thing for the pilot to say. Around her, people started mumbling, and then a few seats back a ten-year-old child suddenly shouted in glee.

"Oh wow! It's Yellowsash!"

Therese sat up and flicked open the blocker on her window and looked out. It was a cloudy day below them, billowing cumulus puffs stretching out like sheets of cotton against the blue of the sky above. And there, skimming above the clouds just off the end of the wing, she could make out a humanoid shape. Arms stretched ahead of him like a diver, legs tucked tight, yellow cape stretched taut in the breeze, a man flew alongside the plane, easily keeping pace. His armoured chest gleamed in the bright, noon sun. He turned lazily, setting his arms to his sides and waved at the plane with a cocksure grin plastered on his handsome, square-jawed face. He spun like a rifled bullet, shot upwards and dropped down beneath the plane in a dive, coming up on the far side. People hooted and hollered at the superhero, whose laugh could be seen and not heard, but whose good nature was clear even through the glass. He pulled close to the plane on the far side from Therese, who watched on with the same wide grin as everyone else as he tapped on a window to catch the attention of a toddler. As the child watched on, Yellowsash breathed on the outside of the glass, fogging it and drawing on a smiling face with the tip of his finger. The child frowned in confusion, then Yellowsash pulled a face and the child laughed. People cheered again.

Therese couldn't think of a single sane person who wouldn't have loved the impromptu airshow the flying man put on for them. It was intrinsic. Something in any human beings heart inflated at seeing a man fly, and the good-natured casualness of Yellowsash's every movement just underlined that feeling of immensity. It made everyoe on the flight remember, for a moment, that they too were flying. Beyond that, it reminded them that they were protected. That there was someone out there watching out for them, and that he was willing to make faces to get a child to laugh.

Just for a moment, though, because it was at that moment that the unthinkable happened. There was a noise like cracking thunder, a flash like the sun had suddenly exploded, and the next thing everyone on the flight saw was the impossible.

Yellowsash fell from the sky, his cape burning and skin smoking. He bounced off the plane's wing and the whole vessel shuddered for a moment before the pilot righted it. As one, the passenegrs held their breath.

"Oh my god," Therese said. "Oh my god."

A thousand feet below, Port Gray shuddered as a man fell comet-like from the sky, smashed into a skyscraper and tumbled to the city streets below.

The impossible had happened. Yellowsash was dead. And no one knew how.

[Taziristan]

Lukas Pearson sat silently in his desk as he did every day. As always, he typed quickly into his computer as a bit of Beethoven's unfinished work played into his ears. With each click of the mouse or tap of the keyboard, Lukas added yet another line of code to a new program he was soon to add to the flooded markets. But even as he did this, he could see Beethoven's notes as they rang into his ears, dancing into his mind with clarity and fluidity, the short bursts of unfinished chords becoming constructed in his mind. With each note, he extended the work on after its end. Lukas sometimes thought that he could write them down and even finish the works of Beethoven himself. It would be easy enough in this day and age. If he could create a good enough program, he could finish the works in a matter of weeks or days when it might have taken Beethoven himself months to finally hear an orchestra play these notes. But he dared not.

To Lukas, there was nothing more beautiful than the sound of violinists playing in perfect harmony with the rest of the orchestra. The powerful sound of hair against string as passionate artists of sound made every note an unforgettable experience. It would please Lukas nothing more than to see the work finished and to hear such relaxing yet exhilarating works of art. However, it was not the music itself that he wished to hear, but the finished works of emotion brought forward in such a piece. Lukas thought, at least sometimes, that he could see the mind of Beethoven in the notes that lay unwritten in his mind, but he knew that he would never understand the man's true feelings.

As the music ended, Lukas looked at the clock and saved his work. It was noon and Lukas was to get the rest of the day off after finishing this program. But as he sat up, Lukas heard a crack of thunder break across the clear, blue sky. Out of the corner of his eye, saw a man in the unmistakable yellow falling from the sky, then grabbed hold of his cubical wall as the building shook with the impact of the hero's body. Yellowshash's body, blackened and smoldering, fell freely from the side of the tower, almost as if he had jumped to his death. With a loud crack, Yellowshash hit the ground.

Even as the cars below screeched to a halt, Lukas was hurriedly pressing the buttons on the elevator. Luckily it still worked after an impact like that and he was down all 103 floors in just a few minutes, despite picking up others who were hurrying out of the building. Lukas burst from the doors as they opened, and then pushed his way through the revolving doors. As he stepped out of the building, Lukas stopped and stared at the still solid body of Yellowsash laying still in a small crater. People were standing on the edges with hands over their mouths. Some had their phones out, videoing or photographing the body of the last true hero. Lukas, on the other hand, stood still from a short distance, watching as the crowd grew and people began crying. He couldn't understand their grief as Lukas had never truly looked up to the man-god. However, he understood the fear as he watched some look up into the sky with their eyes wide, fear paralyzing them as their world seemingly came undone around them. With a single blow, Yellowsash had defeated enemies no military could have hoped to destroy, no citizen hoped to survive, and no government could have even begun to respond to. Now, with a single blow from some unknown foe, Yellowsash had been plucked from the sky and thrown down to the land of the mortals, his bent and broken body a grim omen of things to come. Lukas looked over the scene one last time, closed his eyes in an attempt to remember every smell, sound, and sight from this experience, then turned on his heel and marched quickly off to the parking garage to fetch his car.

'Maria, my love,' he thought as he walked quickly past frightened faces. 'I am sorry, for I must forget the crimes of the petty once more.'

[Agadar]

"A toast to Joanna!" the fat man said after finishing his brief speech, his slight slur betraying the high levels of alcohol in his system. He raised his wine glass high, and the others at the restaurant table followed suit. Smiles adorned their faces as they looked upon the toast-giver, who pointed his raised glass towards Joanna.

"Hopefully she'll make for a better judge than a public prosecutor!"

Laughter rippled across the table: the sarcastic remark was well-received by Joanna and her tight group of friends and colleagues. They knew eachother well: after all, they dealt with eachother on a daily basis in the courts and the department offices. Most of the people present were public prosecutors, like Joanna had been before she had received the news she would be appointed judge just two days ago. The large jolly man who had given the speech, Harold, was one of the two judges among the people at the table. Joanna and he had already worked together for years, but after today she would leave the bench of the public prosecutors to sit beside him and the other judges of the city.

The judge sat back down in his chair, though it was more of a stumble than a graceful sit-down. He gave Joanna a proud nod, to which Joanna slightly raised her glass, before his attention was demanded by the fellow drunkard sitting beside him.

"It'll be boring with you," Joanna's neighbour said. It was Karen, one of the truest friends in Joanna's life.

"Oh, don't be like that," Joanna replied. "We'll still be seeing eachother every day. We just... won't be standing in the same corner of the room anymore, that's all."

Karen smiled feintly and stared at the plate in front of her. She was having a hard time with Joanna leaving the office: besides Joanna, there had never really been anyone there with whom she could connect the way she could with Joanna.

"Come on Karen, cheer up," Joanna said, trying to make her friend feel better. She grabbed her by the shoulder and raised her glass.

"Tonight's for celebrating, not sulking!"

Karen looked at Joanna, who stared back with a warm smile on her face. Karen couldn't help but smile back.

"Yeah, you're right," Karen replied. "I'm sorry, I was just being..."

Karen halted abruptly mid-sentence. Her eyes fixated on something behind Joanna's shoulder.

"What is it?" Joanna asked. She turned her head to see what had caught Karen's attention so suddenly. Her eyes widened at the strangeness she then witnessed.

What might've been a hundred tiny, floating lights, were spreading around the restaurant, slowly and elegantly, their dim but colorful lights making their presence as eery as it was beautiful. As they approached the tables and the people around them, playful laughter could be heard, originating from the tiny lights and echoing across the restaurant, giving off an entrancing vibe.

When Joanna reached out curiously for one of the lights, it sat itself down on her finger. It was only then that Joanna saw what the light truly was: it was a tiny, winged person. Its minuscule ears were pointy, like the elves from the fantasy movies, and two moth wings rested on its back. It looked at Joanna, and giggled with its hand in front of its mouth, its eyes pressed together with glee.

"Are those... fairies?" Karen asked with complete disbelief.

The tiny, winged humanoid sitting on Joanna's finger ceased its giggling. It now stared straight at her, and its mouth curled into a menacing grin. Its tiny eyes were suddenly filled with malice.

There was no time for Joanna to question or prepare for what was about to come, nor could any of the other people at the restaurant. Suddenly and without warning, the fairy on Joanna's finger launched itself towards her face, and bit down hard on her cheek. The other fairies turned violent as well. Screams erupted all over the restaurant as the tiny humanoids, previously so magical and serene, began to chomp and tear at the flesh of the restaurant-goers. People tried to run away, but were chased down viciously by the tiny devils, their razor-sharp teeth and nails making the much larger humans bleed to death from a thousand wounds. It was a massacre, the floor wet with the blood of more than thirty wounded and dead men and women, innocent bystanders whose only intention for the night was to enjoy a proper dinner. Instead, it seemed, they had become the dinner themselves.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the screams and violence stopped. Joanna found herself alive, though only barely so. She was laying in a pool of blood, next to Karen. Joanna wanted to say something to her friend, to see whether she was still alive, but she couldn't utter a single word anymore. Her throat was filled with blood, and every breath hurt through her entire body.

It was then that the doors to the restaurant opened.

With all of her remaining strength, Joanna turned her head to see who was coming. It was a man, she saw, though he was dressed most curiously. Either she was hallucinating due to the severe loss of blood, or the man was indeed wearing something you would usually see at a Comic Con or something of the sort: an entire set of what seemed to be medieval plate and chainmail armor, inscribed with ancient-looking runic patterns, and giving off otherwordly glows of blue.

The strange man made his way towards Joanna, and halted in front of her. Some of the murderous fairies flew over to him and sat down on his shoulder.

"Joanna Hyde," the man said, his voice monotone and dark. "Do you remember me?"

The man waved his hand, and his magical armor vanished in a glow of blue smoke. Joanna tried to look up, but everything was getting blurrier by the second. She couldn't recognize the man, whoever he was.

"Some call me Fey-Knight, but you should know me as Lawrence Baker, the son of Victor Baker," the man continued. "Do you remember him?"

Joanna tried her best to recall a Victor Baker, and she did. Victor Baker had been the focal point of a major case she had worked on as public prosecutor about ten years back. The man was insane: he had led a cult that kidnapped and sacrificed people for their demented rituals. From what she recalled, the man had tried to find a way to bring back his wife, who had died from cancer. It was Doctor Wyrd, a fameous superhero, who had brought him in and who had presented Joanna with overwhelming evidence. Before the trial had come to a conclusion, however, Victor had killed himself while in holding.

Joanna nodded, though the nod was so weak that if one wasn't paying attention, it would've gone unnoticed. Fey-Knight did not fail to notice it.

"Good," he said menacingly. "Then you know why I did this. This, Joanna Hyde, is justice for my father. And for my mother."

Police sirens sounded in the distance. It was Fey-Knight's cue to leave. He turned around and walked away, leaving Joanna and the dozens of other people to bleed to death.

The last thing Joanna saw before the eternal darkness took hold of her was the silhouette of a man walking away from her, accompanied by dim faerie lights.

The doors to the restaurant closed, and so did Joanna's eyes, never to be reopened again.

[Atnaia]

The press sat shoulder to shoulder. Lisa Lowe twisted to avoid the press of her partner's body next to her. He was a big man, built like a brick house, and had a tendency to take up twice as much space as the next biggest person in the room. In the steel folding chairs, he seemed to swell towards her. She liked the guy, but could never be comfortable sitting next to him.

It had been a long time since the International Freedom Association had called a press conference outside the Hall of Freedom. Lisa was more used to being called up to the Lighthouse for one-on-one interviews with whatever hero was flavour of the week: Chainmail, Warqueen, Guardsman, Mighty Man, the Watcher...Yellowsash. She frowned. For a moment, she had forgotten why the press conference was being called. Thinking of Yellowsash made it all come surging back. She bit her lip. Years ago, in a different time altogether, a seemingly different age, she and Yellowsash had been more than casual acquaintances. They still grabbed dinner once or twice a year, or had. She could still see him, slouching, dressed in a plaid button-up shirt and glasses, somehow hiding the fact that he was the world's strongest man with an affected stutter and deliberate clumsiness. Better times, she thought.

A stage had been erected in the park outside the old Association headquarters, and it was suddenly lit by yellow energy as four human-sized suns glowed for a moment above it. There was a rush of wind, and the shapes coalesced into four figures: Warqueen, resplendent in her battle-armour and sword, standing a head taller than any of the men she shared the stage with; the Watcher, his purple cloak hiding a long-limbed robotic body; Guardsman, his muscles straining against his red uniform and his silver helmet glowing with some internal energy, and, foremost among them, Chainmail, the technological wonder of his knightly armour shining in the low sun. Their faces were serious, at least the faces they could see, and the applause that met them was restrained. Chainmail stepped up to the podium and held up a hand. The applause petered out and, somewhere behind his faceplate he cleared his throat. His voice was strong and deep, but filtered through his mechanical armour and the mic on the podium it sounded distorted and strange.

"Good evening," he said. "I am certain I have no need to explain why the IFA has called you all here today. I know you are all very confused. I know there is a lot of fear and paranoia going around following this mornings...event."

He struggled for a moment. Lisa wondered if there was a teleprompter behind the visor of his helmet. He began speaking again. "Firstly, and I understand as press this will disappoint you, but we will not be answering any questions today. We ask that you forward any requests for interviews through normal channels. As you might expect, the coming days will be a busy time for us."

There was some murmuring in the crowd. Chainmail pushed through. "This morning, we witnessed the unprecedented happen. Yellowsash fell from the sky. We have called this conference to confirm what many have suspected...Yellowsash is dead."

Even through the mechanical distortion, Lisa could hear Chainmail's voice crack at the last words. The crowd began to clamour with questions. Chainmail held up his hand again and slowly the ruckus died down. "At this time, we are unaware of what managed to shoot him from the sky. We don't know who or what did it. What we do know is that he wasn't alone."

A small blue light glowed on the side of his helmet and suddenly, standing next to Chainmail was the holographic image of Yellowsash, heroic and proud. Moments later it flickered to a different image, of a man in orange and black striped tights. Then a woman dressed like a purple cat. A girl in a red hood. In total, twelve images were projected before the loop started over. Chainmail began speaking. "Twelve individuals have been confirmed dead by a similar source to the one that killed Yellowsash. Heroes and villains alike. Whatever committed this attack did not discrimiante...it simply chose powerful individuals and snuffed them from existence. We ask..."

Suddenly, Chainmail stopped. He gripped the edges of the podium. He shook once. Then, he reached up and did something unprecedented. He removed his helmet. The crowd fell into stunned silence as Chainmail lifted the helm from his head and set it on the podium, revealing a tired, middle-aged face with a trim beard and short, salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes looked red and wet. He took a moment to run a hand through his messy hair and sighed.

"I can't do this," he said, his voice no longer distorted. "Not to you, and not to me. It isn't fair. Today, we saw one of our greatest fall, and others may follow. We cannot be sure that this attack wasn't the first of many, and I am supposed to stand here and read a script we prepared while we were all mourning. No. I can't do that."

He sighed. "My name is Dr. Artemis Fincher, and I am Chainmail. I have known Yellowsash for twenty years. We fought alongside each other. We stood shoulder to shoulder on more occasions than I can remember. Yellowsash was my best friend, and the best man I have ever known, and today he died, alongside eleven other people, and we don't know how or why.

"There is going to be a few people who see this as an opportunity. An opportunity to do...horrible things. To abuse a power vacuum. To those people, I implore you...think first. Please. Please. It wasn't just heroes who died today...Cheshire Cat, Bloody Mary, Half-Man...they all fell today too. Whatever did this isn't looking to help you, and for my money, I do not think it is done with us yet. This was a warning strike. If you attack now, if you create chaos in the wake of tragedy, you aren't attacking us. You aren't helping yourselves. You are only helping whatever attacked us. Now is not the time for division and war, it is the time for unity and cooperation. We have had our differences before, we have fought and spilled blood. But something is coming...I think you can all feel that too. And if we are going to beat it...we need to work together. Please."

Chainmail picked up his helmet and placed it back on his head. A barely audible hiss was picked up by the mic as the helmet lock sealed. Chainmail's voice came back, distorted again. "I revealed my identity today as a sign of that cooperation. Please understand that I know peace will not be an easy thing, but it is a necessary thing. Let's honour Yellowsash, at least for now, by seeking a solution...or, at least, by taking a moment of silence."

[Agadar]

"Hey Tom", Lawrence greeted.

Thomas looked up from his newspaper as Lawrence sat down in front of him at the other side of the table. The two had made plans for dinner tonight at The Mellow Boulevard, a small diner slash cafe near where they used to live and play back when they were kids. The interior resembled that of a pub, with large windows besides the tables near the walls allowing guests to gaze into the busy street outside.

"Lance, what's up," Thomas greeted back as he folded the newspaper back up and laid it on the empty seat next to him. "You had me waiting for half an hour, man. What gives?"

Lawrence took one of the menu cards. His eyes fell on the appetizers.

"Sorry," Lawrence apologized without looking up from the menu. "This whole Yellowsash thing had me curious. I was surfing the web and lost track of time."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. He wasn't all that interested in Yellowsash, or superheroes in general.

"I'm more curious about what happened at that fancy restaurant downtown than some superdudes in tight clothing," Thomas said. "The what's-it-called."

Lawrence's eyes shot up. He didn't need to ask to know what Thomas was talking about, but for the sake of keeping up his appearance, he did so nonetheless.

"What happened?" he asked, feigning curiosity.

"Get this," Thomas began. "This all happened yesterday evening, right? Entire restaurant is filled to the brim with people, all enjoying their fancy expensive dinners, and next thing you know, cops are called because everyone's dead. Just like that."

Lawrence sighed. "What are you saying?" he asked. "Did they all just spontaneously drop dead?"

"Nah," Thomas rebuked. "My friend at the department said it was a total bloodbath. The entire floor was a giant pool of blood. And the victims all had tiny bite-marks and scratch-marks on them, as if they had been attacked by an army of rabid squirrels or something."

"Well, maybe they were," Lawrence jested. "'Wouldn't surprise me if we've got a super running around the city that can control squirrels or something."

"Maybe," Thomas chuckled. He looked up at the television above the bar. It seemed like something interesting was going on.

"Hey Luke," Thomas proclaimed, drawing the attention of Luke the barman. "Could you turn that up?"

Luke grabbed the remote and increased the television's volume. He was just in time, as the superhero Chainmail was about to start his speech...

The press sat shoulder to shoulder. Lisa Lowe twisted to avoid the press of her partner's body next to her. He was a big man, built like a brick house, and had a tendency to take up twice as much space as the next biggest person in the room. In the steel folding chairs, he seemed to swell towards her. She liked the guy, but could never be comfortable sitting next to him.

It had been a long time since the International Freedom Association had called a press conference outside the Hall of Freedom. Lisa was more used to being called up to the Lighthouse for one-on-one interviews with whatever hero was flavour of the week: Chainmail, Warqueen, Guardsman, Mighty Man, the Watcher...Yellowsash. She frowned. For a moment, she had forgotten why the press conference was being called. Thinking of Yellowsash made it all come surging back. She bit her lip. Years ago, in a different time altogether, a seemingly different age, she and Yellowsash had been more than casual acquaintances. They still grabbed dinner once or twice a year, or had. She could still see him, slouching, dressed in a plaid button-up shirt and glasses, somehow hiding the fact that he was the world's strongest man with an affected stutter and deliberate clumsiness. Better times, she thought.

A stage had been erected in the park outside the old Association headquarters, and it was suddenly lit by yellow energy as four human-sized suns glowed for a moment above it. There was a rush of wind, and the shapes coalesced into four figures: Warqueen, resplendent in her battle-armour and sword, standing a head taller than any of the men she shared the stage with; the Watcher, his purple cloak hiding a long-limbed robotic body; Guardsman, his muscles straining against his red uniform and his silver helmet glowing with some internal energy, and, foremost among them, Chainmail, the technological wonder of his knightly armour shining in the low sun. Their faces were serious, at least the faces they could see, and the applause that met them was restrained. Chainmail stepped up to the podium and held up a hand. The applause petered out and, somewhere behind his faceplate he cleared his throat. His voice was strong and deep, but filtered through his mechanical armour and the mic on the podium it sounded distorted and strange.

"Good evening," he said. "I am certain I have no need to explain why the IFA has called you all here today. I know you are all very confused. I know there is a lot of fear and paranoia going around following this mornings...event."

He struggled for a moment. Lisa wondered if there was a teleprompter behind the visor of his helmet. He began speaking again. "Firstly, and I understand as press this will disappoint you, but we will not be answering any questions today. We ask that you forward any requests for interviews through normal channels. As you might expect, the coming days will be a busy time for us."

There was some murmuring in the crowd. Chainmail pushed through. "This morning, we witnessed the unprecedented happen. Yellowsash fell from the sky. We have called this conference to confirm what many have suspected...Yellowsash is dead."

Even through the mechanical distortion, Lisa could hear Chainmail's voice crack at the last words. The crowd began to clamour with questions. Chainmail held up his hand again and slowly the ruckus died down. "At this time, we are unaware of what managed to shoot him from the sky. We don't know who or what did it. What we do know is that he wasn't alone."

A small blue light glowed on the side of his helmet and suddenly, standing next to Chainmail was the holographic image of Yellowsash, heroic and proud. Moments later it flickered to a different image, of a man in orange and black striped tights. Then a woman dressed like a purple cat. A girl in a red hood. In total, twelve images were projected before the loop started over. Chainmail began speaking. "Twelve individuals have been confirmed dead by a similar source to the one that killed Yellowsash. Heroes and villains alike. Whatever committed this attack did not discrimiante...it simply chose powerful individuals and snuffed them from existence. We ask..."

Suddenly, Chainmail stopped. He gripped the edges of the podium. He shook once. Then, he reached up and did something unprecedented. He removed his helmet. The crowd fell into stunned silence as Chainmail lifted the helm from his head and set it on the podium, revealing a tired, middle-aged face with a trim beard and short, salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes looked red and wet. He took a moment to run a hand through his messy hair and sighed.

"I can't do this," he said, his voice no longer distorted. "Not to you, and not to me. It isn't fair. Today, we saw one of our greatest fall, and others may follow. We cannot be sure that this attack wasn't the first of many, and I am supposed to stand here and read a script we prepared while we were all mourning. No. I can't do that."

He sighed. "My name is Dr. Artemis Fincher, and I am Chainmail. I have known Yellowsash for twenty years. We fought alongside each other. We stood shoulder to shoulder on more occasions than I can remember. Yellowsash was my best friend, and the best man I have ever known, and today he died, alongside eleven other people, and we don't know how or why.

"There is going to be a few people who see this as an opportunity. An opportunity to do...horrible things. To abuse a power vacuum. To those people, I implore you...think first. Please. Please. It wasn't just heroes who died today...Cheshire Cat, Bloody Mary, Half-Man...they all fell today too. Whatever did this isn't looking to help you, and for my money, I do not think it is done with us yet. This was a warning strike. If you attack now, if you create chaos in the wake of tragedy, you aren't attacking us. You aren't helping yourselves. You are only helping whatever attacked us. Now is not the time for division and war, it is the time for unity and cooperation. We have had our differences before, we have fought and spilled blood. But something is coming...I think you can all feel that too. And if we are going to beat it...we need to work together. Please."

Chainmail picked up his helmet and placed it back on his head. A barely audible hiss was picked up by the mic as the helmet lock sealed. Chainmail's voice came back, distorted again. "I revealed my identity today as a sign of that cooperation. Please understand that I know peace will not be an easy thing, but it is a necessary thing. Let's honour Yellowsash, at least for now, by seeking a solution...or, at least, by taking a moment of silence."

After Chainmail had finished his speech and the news continued covering the next item, Thomas turned back to his friend.

"That's quite something," Thomas said, not entirely certain of how to respond to what they had just heard. "He must be really desperate to reveal his identity like that."

"Yeah," Lawrence agreed. His eyes were still fixated on the screen. Thoughts were racing through his mind. Oppertunities.

He broke from his trance. "Give me a sec, I gotta make a call," he said as he stood up.

"Alright," Thomas replied with a sleightly annoyed tone. "But I'm gonna order. I'm starving."

Lawrence nodded and walked through the diner to the street outside. He took a left turn, going straight for a payphone. Juggling some change into the coin slit, he then pressed a few numbers and waited patiently as the phone dialled.

"You've connected to the International Freedom Association," a female voice on the other side of the line said. "My name is Catherine. How may I help you?"

"Hello Catherine," Lawrence replied. "I need to talk to Artemis Fincher, AKA Chainmail."

"Who can I tell is calling?" Catherine asked.

A subtle smile appeared on Lawrence's face.

"Fey-Knight is calling, and he wants to meet."

[Atnaia]

The Hall of Freedom's front atrium was, if nothing else, impressive. The floors were tiled in alternating plates of shining steel, white marble and some strange, otherworldly red material that might have been quarried on another planet. The high, glass dome of the ceiling let in an impressive amount of light, which filtered down through the dozens of museum-like display cases containing trophies of the the Association's victories. A metal T-rex skeleton. A collection of expertly counterfeited American bills, flawed only in that Abraham Lincoln was wearing a turtleneck sweater. The cape of the notorious Ne'er-do-well.

All of the display circled around the centerpiece of the room: a massive marble statue of the founding members of the Association. The first Hermes in his winged helmet stretched upwards with a mischievous grin on his face. Next to him, Warqueen stood tall and regal with her hand lingering on the hilt of her sword. The first Doctor Wyrd, dressed like a stage magician, doffed his hat, strange tentacles swimming around it's brim. And, in the center, Yellowsash stood proud, hands on his hips and cape flowing in the wind.

Normally, the place would have been bustling. The Hall of Freedom was a museum, a memorial and a landmark. People from around the world came to visit and see the Ice Queen's enchanted scepter or Gorilla-Man's Simianizing Ray. But today, it was empty and quiet, cleared of visitors. It was eerie, like being alone in a funeral home.

On the far side of the room from the entrance, a semi-circular reception desk sat beneath a wall of flat-screens rotating through photos of the Association in action. Seated behind the desk was a cute woman in clothes that toed the border between twee and anachronistic. She would have looked at home in a poodle skirt, drinking shakes down at Pop's Soda Shop. Out of place as the room's only occupant, but it was better never to underestimate anyone or anything that worked for the Association.

She looked up and smiled sincerely as the individual that the hall had been cleared for approached. It was a disconcerting action by itself. He was used to more...fear...

"Hello, Mr. Fey-Knight," she spoke cheerily. "I am Catherine. Master Chainmail is waiting for you."

She held out a palm, there was a glow, and a square, holographic interface appeared above her hand, a handprint reflected in strange magnification above it. "Could you please place your hand on here for security verification, please and thank you?"

[Agadar]

A few minutes earlier, Fey-Knight had halted in front of the Hall of Freedom. He briefly stood there, taking in the familiar image. He hated this place. In his mind, the Hall of Freedom stood symbol for the arrogance and presumptuousness of the International Freedom Association and other similar organisations. They believed themselves to be greater than the common man, greater than the laws that kept society together. They were hardly if at all being kept in check by proper, democratically appointed institutions. Free reign was what they enjoyed, and who was going to stop them? Certainly not the government, too afraid of losing their voters, the naive populace who willingly blinded themselves to the dangers these so-called superheroes posed.

Fey-Knight knew all too well this danger. It had been one of these praised murderers that had driven his father to suicide. The second Doctor Wyrd had been the bane of his existence ever since. Through the glass wall of the Hall's atrium, Fey-Knight could see the giant statue depicting the founding members of the Association, among them the first Doctor Wyrd. Fey-Knight's hands folded briefly into fists as a flash of hatred washed over him. He was going to kill her some day, he had vowed. But before that, he would make her suffer like she had made him suffer.

Fey-Knight had donned a dark red robe with a bronze satyr mask, both conjured by his fey magics, obscuring his face and the natural build of his body. He was not going to disclose his identity to the Association. He spread out his gloved hands, aiming his palms towards the ground. What seemed to be a small round portal to a strange other world was conjured in front of him, no larger than a few inches wide, through which soon a few tiny faeries emerged. He then closed the portal again.

"Investigate the building," Fey-Knight ordered the faeries in a language that was not human. "Do not be seen, and inform me of anything suspicious."

The faeries grinned and chuckled childishly before flying off, obscuring themselves from sight as they wormed themselves through the nooks and crannies of the Hall's exterior.

Fey-Knight then moved towards the Hall himself, entering through the front atrium. He approached the desk, disgusted at the trophies of war that were proudly displayed all throughout the atrium.

"Hello, Mr. Fey-Knight," Catherine spoke cheerily. "I am Catherine. Master Chainmail is waiting for you."

She held out a palm, there was a glow, and a square, holographic interface appeared above her hand, a handprint reflected in strange magnification above it. "Could you please place your hand on here for security verification, please and thank you?"

Fey-Knight glanced at the interface.

"I will do no such thing," he replied. "I see no need to compromise my identity in such manner."

[The Grand Force]

Downtown Virgo

Ranger sat in the old, dusty room of the abandoned hotel looking through his scope he could see multiple types of people, the thugs walking around looking for a fight, the commoners just trying to make it to work in time and finally he saw his target or as he liked to call them dead men walking. He had been waiting in the moss filled room for a day and a half just waiting for his target, a notorious gangster who after being offered a pardon by the government had decided to rat on half the crime in Virgo naturally this made him a high value target and Ranger's perfect target.

He had the T.V. on as background noise when the breaking news came on, the freedom association or whatever they called themselves was having a press conference. Not looking from the scope he heard it all, Yellowsash's death and the other eleven that followed.

''So Yellowsash is dead, huh didn't even know you could kill him and those other guys think I had an outstanding contract on one but Cheshire, and Half-man? They weren't heroes.'' Ranger said to no one but himself,

Then he saw what he was looking for. The man was easily distinguishable from the rest of the crowd, he was wearing a black business suit and was surrounded by five heavily armed police, an easy kill... too easy. He quickly looked around the buildings for a counter sniper and found one, a cop with something cop's should not have a .50 caliber sniper rifle ,that was their game the cops didn't care about the gangster they wanted Ranger dead, he was also looking around but hadn't seen Ranger yet. Ranger lined the cross hair up with the man's forehead and squeezed the trigger the shot fired from the rifle was barely able to be heard with the silencer Ranger had on, the bullet sailed through the air and embedded itself in the man's head the wall behind him stained red with bits of pink.

Ranger then moved on to the target one man was gripping a radio in his hand looked to his left... just in time to see the man in the suit get his head taken off. His head snapped back a hole where his eye had once been, he wasn't getting back up again the cops started scrambling trying to find where the bullets came from but Ranger was already gone running down the creaking stairs of the old hotel and out the back where he parked his black sports car.

He took off his black helmet revealing the clean shaven, brown buzz cut hair and scarred face underneath each one of those scars was a mistake, a stupid one. He had made one was from when he rushed a machine gun nest and took a bullet across his face, it passed through his right cheek and he spit it back out hitting a man in the face leaving him distracted enough for Ranger to plunge a knife into his throat. Another was from when he had his first contract and underestimated a notorious general, and finally a third from when he was forced to watch as his family was burned alive in front of him and could do nothing about it.

He entered the car and turned on the engine '' Now to find out what happened to those goody two shoes and ruthless bastards.'' and he drove off.

[Athara Magarat]

Dr. Green Academy for Gifted Children

Prabin Ghale's Room

"Yes?" Prabin Ghale asked Emma Norris aka Sight who had been standing by the door.

"Ï came here five minutes ago."

"I noticed that." Prabin said without taking his eyes away from the book he was reading. The Athara Magarati ethnic Gurung boy with pale white skin and dyed red hair was poring over the books scattered around his desk with his almond eyes as usual.

"Did you hear or watch Chainmail's speech?" Sight asked him.

"No," came the reply.

"Prabin, Yellowsash died. 12 other individuals with superpowers died as well, including Batraz. Batraz Dzhioyev." These words finally made Prabin close the book he had been reading. Prabin now eagerly listened as Sight continued the story. Yellowsash, the greatest superhero out there was now dead. His rival and friend Batraz Dzhioyev, the Rjanekä boy who had been termed the Number 1 superhero from Athara Magarat was now dead as well. Sight continued, "You see they went for the powerful ones. Yellosash, Batraz, Cheshire Cat, Bloody Mary, Half-Man and many other powerful individuals with superpowers."

"Who killed them?" asked Prabin.

"Nobody knows for now. Everyone is clueless. Everyone is scared, terrified. If the greatest hero ever could die, if your friend Batraz the Number 1 of Athara Magarat could die then how many others? And it seems tomorrow the Academy will hold a funeral for Batraz. They will send his body to-"

"-Aläršhe (Alar-zhe)." Prabin spelled it out for her.

"The hometown of Rjanekä people. The first time you met him, he had nearly destroyed Aläršhe, right?"

"Yes." replied Prabin.

"I am sorry about Batraz." Sight tried to sympathize with Prabin.

"Thank you, Si- ... Thanks a lot, Emma."

The room was filled with a long silence after that. Prabin tried to open the book he had been reading earlier but again closed it. "Maybe I should talk to Dr Green and Chainmail."

"So that you can die out there?" Emma asked with a frown. "You don't even know who killed them. You don't even know who killed him."

"Out of my way, Emma," Prabin ordered in a low voice as Sight fell on her knees and her upper body slumped on the carpet. She realized that the boy with dyed red hair had used his gravity powers on her. She could not even lift a finger until he had gone out of the room.

"Good luck with Dr Green and Dr Fincher, Prabin." Sight spoke to the air as she stood up and started looking at the photos of Prabin and Batraz and other students and the faculty at the Academy.

[Atnaia]

"I will do no such thing," he replied. "I see no need to compromise my identity in such manner."

Catherine cocked her head and frowned as if very confused, the space between her eyebrows becoming an X of consternation.

"But the IFA's private information storage system is the most advanced security network in this galactic sector," she said. Her eyebrows twitched like she had heard something that hadn't been said and she straightened. "Oh, I see. Well, the Hall's security network is second only to the Lighthouse's itself, and it wouldn't recognize you as a friend, so you will have to be accompanied by someone...if you would follow me."

She then immediately, and paradoxically, sat down and began typing. After a beat, she looked back up, smiled, and gestured to a hall to her left.

Standing there, identical in every respect to the person seated at the desk, was another Catherine, standing with hands clasped before her. "Just this way, please, Mr. Knight--" she began, and, without a beat being missed, the one at the desk said "--I'll be sure to take good care of you."

It was a disconcerting moment, hearing the same voice and a continued statement come from two locations without a pause, as though a ventriloquist had decided to throw his voice halfway through a sentence.

[Agadar]

The strange behaviors of the 'Catherins' did not escape Fey-Knight's notice. The way they were synchronized meant that they were either mentally linked together through some form of magic or superpower, or were of a robotic nature, so he concluded. A frown appeared on his face, hidden from sight by his satyr mask. His fey magics, which relied for a great part on illusions and trickery, were at a disadvantage against robotic opponents which by virtue of being robotic were immune to most forms of mind-altering sorceries. Should these Catherins attempt to subdue him, he thought to himself, then he would be forced to dig deep into the wild and chaotic side of the fey instead, which would no doubt bring much unwanted attention to his presence here at the Hall.

"Lead the way," Fey-Knight said sternly. His eyes glanced briefly at where a large column met the ceiling, on which one of his summoned faeries was observing its surroundings, its tiny body obscured from sight by its innate illusionary abilities. Fey-Knight then followed the second Catherine to where-ever she -or it- was taking him, making sure to stay just over an arm's length behind her.

[Atnaia]

Catherine led Fey-Knight down the hallway. Her skirt swished side to side as she stepped gracefully across the tiled floor. As if leading a tour group, she spoke as she moved, her cadence clear and precise.

"The Hall of Freedom served as the Association's original headquarters until the construction of the Lighthouse. It still serves as a secondary, Earth-bound base of operations for certain Association functions, including various Association charities, such as the Metahuman Awareness Fund and post-battle reconstruction relief. It operates one of the most advanced security systems in the world, designed through a meeting of greatest technological minds of the Association and maintained through the constant vigilance of the Watcher."

She glanced over at Fey-Knight. "Of course, we still don't leave any really dangerous trophies in the Hall. Seems that its attacked every few months or so. We have construction crews on stand-by in case of battles inside the Hall. This way please."

They turned down a side hallway that seemed to contain offices or meeting rooms, although each door was an impressive metal block, with glowing holographic palm scanners that lit up as they passed close. They stopped halfway down the hallway and Catehrine placed her hand on a scanner. The door slid open with a woosh, and another Catherine stood just within, hands clasped before her and a beatific smile on her face. The first (second?) Cathetrine gestured in, a motion that was mirrored by the one inside.

The room within was a sort of pleasant meeting room: a pair of couches surrounded a simple table in the middle of the room. A fire crackled in a modern-looking hearth on one wall, although it gave off no heat (another hologram, maybe), and a screen glowed above it, muted but showing an ANN news feed. Seated on one of the couches was a middle-aged man in a tweed jacket and a turtleneck, looking rather professorly. Anyone with a TV or internet access would ahve recognized his face by now: Dr. Artemis Fincher, world-renowned roboticist, medieval history expert and, of course, the superhero known as Chainmail.

"Good afternoon," he said, standing as Fey-Knight entered. He gestured at the opposing couch. "Please, take a seat."

[Athara Magarat]

Dr. Green Academy for Gifted Children

"No, I am not allowing this." Dr Malcolm Green, the headmaster and founder of Dr. Green Academy for Gifted Children, sounded angry upon hearing Prabin say that he wanted to join Chainmail in finding the culprit(s) behind the deaths of some of the some of the strongest individuals with superpowers.

"We lost Batraz, not to mention Yellowsash and all other people out there." Prabin tried to give his reasoning.

Dr Green had scales in his 'skin', a large mane of fur and several other animalistic characteristics due to the unfortunate side-effects of the vaccine 'for curing all diseases' which he himself had developed. It was usually difficult to read the expressions shown by Dr Green because of his nonhuman-looking face. But as someone who had spent time with the professor, Prabin knew very well that the Professor was getting more and more angry as he tried to reason.

"We do not want to lose you as well." Dr Green dismissed Prabin. "I don't want to hear this again."

"You will surely not hear it again sir." Prabin muttered in a soft voice as he bowed down to the professor and took his leave from the office.

---

"So how did it go?"

Prabin entered into his room without answering to Sight's question. She was quick to note. "I take your behavior as a no."

"Since when have I been a nice guy?" snorted the red-haired boy.

"Says the model student who is always carrying a book."

"That still does not mean I am a nice guy," Prabin started searching his table for something. "And if I remember, I am not in the top ten list of students in the Academy, be it superpowers or studies or physical activities. I don't know how I even managed to become Number 2 of Athara Magarat."

"That's cause you are a jerkass even to the only non-Athara Magarati student in the Academy who has ever tried to ta-"

"Got it!" Prabin held up his MI-CRO Gold smartphone after searching through his large pile of books.

"A new Gurung language pop song? Is it from an AM-anime?" Sight seemed interested. She had always been a music maniac and had loved listening to Gurung language pop songs from Prabin's smartphone. "Oh! Your Gurung language is officially called Tamu Kyi-"

"Stop blabbering about Tamu Kyi for now and just dial Chainmail for me." Prabin handed his MI-CRO Gold to Sight.

"I will get you the IFA."

"And tell them," thought Prabin. "Emma, please tell them that Prabin Ghale wants to help Chainmail in hunting down whoever killed them. If not, I will search for whoever did that myself. Tell them that it's not some random kid but Number 2 ... no, I guess I am Number 1 now that Batraz is gone ... the strongest from Athara Magarat."

[Agadar]

The Hall of Freedom

Fey-Knight glanced over his shoulder. The door behind him had shut again, the new Catherine standing just next to it. A single faerie had made it into the room as well, he saw, having squeezed just past through the door as it was closing. The enchanted creature continued to keep itself hidden from sight, quietly landing on a side-table near the wall.

Fey-Knight turned back to Chainmail. The surprisingly plainly-looking man gestured for him to take a seat, but Fey-Knight did not oblige. Instead, he remained where he stood, his eyes taking in the chamber.

"If creepy is what you were going for with those 'Catherines'," Fey-Knight said, "then you have succeeded wonderfully."

His eyes met Chainmail's.

"You appear far less... 'heroic' without your suit on," Fey-Knight added. "Boring, almost."

He paused briefly. He stretched his hands.

"Without the protection of your suit, do you not fear what I could do to you?"

[Atnaia]

Fincher smiled. "Boring is what I was going for," he said calmly, crossing his hands on his lap. "Who would suspect the bookish professor of dressing in high-tech, medieval-themed armour and fighting a wizard out of fantasy novels above the skyscrapers?"

He leaned forward and the kindly smile falling from his face. "I would, however, like to see you try to attack me. I've been fighting supervillains for the greater part of three decades. If I was not prepared to face one without the greater portion of my suit, would I have come here without it?"

He waved a hand around the room. "The Hall of Freedom is more than a building. It is a fortress. And in any Association fortress, you are never alone. Tazuul?"

The Catherine in the corner suddenly shifted posture, and somehow, without a single visible thing about her changing, was immediately and apparently someone else. Perhaps it was a the way her shoulders rolled back, or the turn of her mouth. But the thing behind her eyes was no longer her.

"Hello, professor," said Catherine, and while it was Catherine's voice, the cadence was off. It was calm, cold, authoritative.

"Would you explain to our guest the defenses we have in place?"

"Is that wise, professor?"

"I leave that to your judgement, old friend."

The Catherine cocked her head. "The Hall of Freedom is equipped with a network of security predicated upon layers of protection. I will not bore you with the details, but I will say this: at the top of the pyramid is me. I am the Watcher. Where there are machines, so too am I. Any attempt to attack the professor would be...ill-advised. In this place, I am akin to what humans might call a god."

To illustrate the point, a side wall of the room seemed to fold into itself in a wave of fractals, and standing behind it were a dozen more identical Catherines, with identical looks on their face to the one in the corner. In a chorus they spoke.

"I would not underestimate the professor's defenses..."

[Agadar]

Fey-Knight glanced at the Catherines emerging from the wall.

"There it is," the sorcerer said. "The arrogance of the self-proclaimed hero. The proud display of power and superiority. I had some doubts about whether you were the real Chainmail or merely an actor, but this... this is unmistakably you."

His eyes turned to the Catherine through which the Watcher had addressed him.

"Call off your dog, Chainmail," Fey-Knight said. "I came seeking conversation, not conflict."

[Athara Magarat]

Somewhere in Port Gray

"Say thanks to Device from me." Prabin requested Emma Norris (Sight) on the phone. Aiko Ito aka Device, the preteen girl with hyper-intelligence had made a device capable of locating a certain supervillain in a metallic armor suit.

"I am surprised that she even agreed to help you." Sight spoke from the other line.

"Why not? After all, I am the only student except for Chimpboy and a few others who can understand what she speaks. Long story short, she wanted to know about Athara Magarati computers and I was the only Athara Magarati student who could explain it to her and helped her in some scientific works."

"I bet Chimpboy will be pissed off with you."

"Cut that crap. He is a very helpful nice guy. I have given little assistance that I can provide to him and Device on their projects."

"Listen Prabin, I know that a lot of the students want to join you. You can't do this alone. You need a team," Sight sounded serious all of a sudden. "Maybe you can convince the IFA that there are many in the Academy who- "

"Yeah, I will think about that." He cut off the conversation and turned off the smartphone. He continued walking down the street until he would find his target. Convince the IFA? thought Prabin. Sight, this is the only way I can convince. Even though we made that phone call to IFA, they are not going to listen to this kid unless he shows what he can do.

---

Ahmed Al-Vir sipped his glass of local Atnaian wine at the bar. He had been thinking of what he could do. He and Dr Artemis Fincher had been friends before that incident which made him the supervillain Ra that he is today. The two scientists in their respective power suits: Fincher as Chainmail and Ahmed as Ra had clashed with each other for uncountable number of times.

"Nice suitcase you have there."

Ahmed looked to find a red-haired boy at the stool next to him. Judging by the boy's looks he was no older than 16 or 17. He saw that the boy had pale yellow skin and slanted eyes which meant the hair was dyed red.

"It has my personal belongings nothing else. And a kid like you shouldn't be here."

"Are you the bartender or what? I am an Athara Magarati citizenship card holder which means I can drink and drive." The boy was somewhat rude in his speech, unlike most other Athara Magarati adults and children who were generally overtly polite to even statues. He was showing his citizenship card to everyone in the bar, especially to the bartender and Ahmed. He then stood up and looked around the small bar. He carried the stool and walked several steps away from Ahmed. "However I am not here for the drink."

The stool the boy had been carrying was suddenly floating in the air half a meter above the floor. Most of the people present in the bar thought if it was an affect of their drinks or some magician hired by the bartender.

Suddenly the stool came flying forward toward Ahmed. The suitcase automatically jumped towards its owner. In a second, the suitcase and the man were gone and in the exact place stood a hulking metallic figure. The power suit was yellow in color with blue markings. While humanoid in shape, the suit had certain avian characteristics to make it look more like a humanoid falcon or to be exact, just like the Egyptian sun god and Divine Pharaoh Ra. The stool just bounced off upon hitting the armor.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ra." The boy spoke in his calm voice. Whereas the other residents of the bar were screaming and fleeing, with some looking at what was happening. The bartender was nowhere to be seen. "I am Prabin Gurung of Athara Magarat currently in Dr Green's Academy for Gifted Children."

"How did you find me, you little shit?!" Ra was boiling with anger.

"I will be the one asking questions." Prabin spoke as several stools and bottles came flying towards Ra. The man in the power suit fired focused beams of energy blasts at the incoming projectiles. Just like the god Ra had control over sun and light.

Ra was quick to fire an energy beam at his attacker, who was also quick enough to bring forth a table to block it. The energy blast managed to only break apart the floating table, not the boy using it for his defense. Prabin then sent two consecutive tables at Ra by first attracting them towards himself and then sending them at his target at high speed. The supervillain thought of flying out of harm's way and attacking the boy by the sides but to his surprise, he found that he was not able to use flight, one of the most basic functions of his suit. The suit's computer explained to Ahmed that a high level of concentrated gravitational force was preventing him from flying or even moving.

As he was being surprised by the fact that he could not fly or move, Ra failed to notice the tables flying towards him and was hit by them one after another. Although they could not harm him or the suit, Ahmed was losing more and more focus of what was happening around him. He suddenly found himself being thrown against the wall, almost as if by a giant invisible force. His invulnerable suit made it easy to break the wall and be thrown into the busy street outside.

Passers-by and vehicles stopped as the red-haired boy came out from newly-made large hole. He was floating in the air at Lotus position while the armored supervillain thrown to the road was unable to move.

Prabin paid no attention to the onlookers and instead started questioning Ra. "Who killed them? Who killed Yellowsash and my friend Batraz Dzhioyev and other people who died in that incidents?"

"I don't know." Ra replied smugly, still unable to do anything.

"Say that again." As soon as Prabin said that, Ra felt his armor contracting rapidly. There were dents and damages in many parts of his suit. The very thing he had made for his protection was being used against him. It felt as if muscles all over his body were going to be teared apart and it was very painful. Ra roared and screamed as the pain began to become too much to bear.

"I-I...I don't know anything!"

"Do you know why you are still alive?" Prabin asked, still levitating at Lotus position.

"Cause you are a 'superhero' from that school for freaks. You see unlike you freaks, I am a perfectly normal hu-"

"You are still alive cause I am a Buddhist and Buddha told us not to kill anyone."

Sirens began to wail at the distance. The police, huh. Prabin wondered if they. as in the IFA, woud arrive at the scene as well. After all, people had been already filming the event with their smartphones or taking pictures.

[Atnaia]

"Call off your dog, Chainmail," Fey-Knight said. "I came seeking conversation, not conflict."

"The Watcher is hardly anyone's dog," Chainmail leaned back. "I don't know if I could tell him what to do if I tried."

"No need to worry," the voice of the Catherines spoke. "I know of the human proclivity for privacy, even if I do not understand it."

The wall fractalled back in on itself and the Catherines disappeared. Naturally, the relative emptiness of the room was illusory. As long as they were in the Hall of Freedom, the Watcher was also there, omnipresent and omnipotent within the walls of his personal realm.

Chainmail smiled paternally. "Look, I understand you didn't come here to fight. Neither did I. I'm pretty sure the fact that I'm not suited up proves that. We are not at war, we're in mourning, and I am not about to besmirch the name of Yellowsash by having a drag-out through the Hall of Freedom. So, tell me why you wanted to meet and we will go from there."

Sirens began to wail at the distance. The police, huh. Prabin wondered if they. as in the IFA, woud arrive at the scene as well. After all, people had been already filming the event with their smartphones or taking pictures.

Chainmail's phone suddenly chirped in his pocket, and he reached into his jacket pocket, frowned at the screen, tapped a few buttons and then put it on silent and tossed it on the table in front of him.

"I apologize," he said to Fey-Knight. "I have alerts set up for if any of my villains get up to anything. I've dispatched Hermes. We won't be interrupted again."

[Agadar]

Fey-Knight watched quietly as the Catherines disappeared again in the walls. Whatever expression he had on his face was hidden beneath his satyr mask. His face turned back briefly to Chainmail, before his attention turned to the holographic fire in the hearth.

"No warmth is coming from that fire," he said. "It is fake. A facade."

He walked over to the hearth and placed a hand into the holographic fire, as if to grab its flames.

"You and your 'Freedom Association' are much like this fire," he continued. "You too are pretenders. Pretending to be better than those of us who use their gifts for personal matters and gains, instead of using them for winning the approval and adoration of the masses. I don't blame you. To be loved by the people must be one of the greatest feelings in the world. But love is fragile."

His masked face turned to Chainmail.

"There will come a day when you and your peers will no longer be able to pretend to be any different from the rest of us. A day when you and your beloved Freedom Association will lose the love of the people. And on that day, I will march down these halls, and with my magics I will cleanse the world from your hypocrisy."

Only now did Fey-Knight noticed he had subconsciously raised up a fist. He slowly put his hand back down.

"But today is not that day," he said with what might've been a disappointed tone. "Today, we are instead facing something that transcends any feuds between your people and mine. I speak, of course, of the mysterious force that has already struck down so many of our peers. The force that was powerful enough to strike down even the invincible Yellowsash."

He paused briefly.

"Your speech was... impressive," he added. "It is why I'm here."

[Atnaia]

Sirens began to wail at the distance. The police, huh. Prabin wondered if they. as in the IFA, woud arrive at the scene as well. After all, people had been already filming the event with their smartphones or taking pictures.

Hermes feet barely touched the ground as he swept through the streets, little more than a momentary blur of blue as he skimmed between cars that seemed to be parked in comparison to his speed. Even at a light jog, he could outpace any of the taxis, trucks and buses with a fair margin. Hell, he'd once raced himself for fun, catching up to his own after-image just to see if he could. All but the fastest other speedsters in the world were left in his wake. He had to be fast, after all. He was the Messenger of the Gods, and had to be able to catch up to some really flighty individuals. Or, he had been. Or whatever gave him his powers was. It was a little confusing, having the Spirit of a God inside him. He sometimes forgot where Hermes ended and he began. His uncle, who had had the Spirit of Hermes before him, had always said that it was just easier to keep the two sides separate: you're Hermes when you start to run, and you're you everywhere else. William Quick was still getting the hang of that.

In front of him, he saw police cars, practically still next to his pace, the sound of their sirens visible as waves in the air. People always thought running as fast as he did must have been noisy. They were the opposite of right. It was perfectly silent. He outpaced the noise. Some scientists ad once tried to figure out why he didn't leave a wave of shattered windows and bent steel behind him from the supersonic boom he should have generated with every step, and the best they could do was shrug and say "Eh, magic?" In a world where magic had been empirical fact for at least fifty years, scientists spent a lot of their time in the pits of nihilistic despair.

He knew he was on the right track, and a few seconds later, he saw the kid floating in the air over the disabled villain. Hermes had to sigh. The kid had yet to learn the value of good PR, and the way he looked right now made him look like the villain, curb-stomping a villain and crushing him under his own bodyweight. You wanted to look like you were helping, not hurting. Look like a man, not a god. And that was saying something, coming from someone who was literally the living embodiment of a deity.

Hermes blurred to a stop and the world suddenly caught up to his perception with a snap. "Yo, kiddo," Hermes called. "Miiiiight want to tone it down with the compensation displays before you hurt somebody..."

[Atnaia]

"Your speech was... impressive," he added. "It is why I'm here."

Chainmail chuckled. "I always wondered if villains monologued in their day-to-day life," he said. "Do you not know who stands before you, Cashier Woman? It is I, the Mighty Fistpuncher! I have come to gather sustenance and groceries, and you will bow before me as you bag my eggs! And I shall pay by cheque! Guess I have my answer.

"Anyways, my speech was never meant to be impressive, it was meant to be thought-provoking. Something is out there, and it won't be long before we see it again. When has an invisible, seemingly omnipotent force not wanted to show off? This isn't a one time event. I'm savvy enough to see that, and I'm just hoping you and your villainous compatriots can see that too. At least enough for some self-defense."

[Agadar]

Fey-Knight's satyr mask turned towards Chainmail.

"You fancy this a moment for jests?" he asked rhetorically. "Gifted men and women are dead, including your beloved Yellowsash. Get it together, metal man."

Fey-Knight sat down in the seat in front of Chainmail's. He leaned back into it, like a king sitting on a throne.

"I presume you're working on gathering people that can help discover what is going on. I want in on that. My expertise in the field of magic trumps that of any sorcerers aligned with your Freedom Association. If this mysterious power is rooted in magic, then you will have need of me."

[Athara Magarat]

Hermes blurred to a stop and the world suddenly caught up to his perception with a snap. "Yo, kiddo," Hermes called. "Miiiiight want to tone it down with the compensation displays before you hurt somebody..."

Prabin was on his feet again as he looked at the famous superhero from the International Freedom Association who had just arrived at the scene. The red-haired boy quickly bowed down, "Greetings, Mr Hermes!" He looked at Ra who was still pinned down. "I suppose the Atnaian government authorities will take care of him now."

"I am Prabin Ghale from Athara Magarat currently a student at Dr Green Academy for Gifted Children," the gravity manipulator introduced himself. "I had also contacted the IFA through...one of my lady friends. I just happened to meet Mr Ra here and a fight broke out. Device, one of the best students at the DGA, has made a device capable of locating supervillains on the databases. I just want to say that I want to help the IFA in finding the culprit behind the recent incidents."

Prabin began speaking in a much softer tone. "My friend Batraz Dzhioyev, the Number 1 from Athara Magarat, is among those who met the same fate as Yellowsash. But believe me, this is not some mad hunting for revenge. I am Buddhist and all I care is about finding the culprits. And I am not alone in this matter. Lots of students from the DGA want to join the fight as well."

[Atnaia]

"I presume you're working on gathering people that can help discover what is going on. I want in on that. My expertise in the field of magic trumps that of any sorcerers aligned with your Freedom Association. If this mysterious power is rooted in magic, then you will have need of me."

Chainmail cocked an eyebrow and chuckled. "It's always a time for jests. Laughter is a good medicine, particularly when the illness is grief."

He shifted and glanced at the fire. "As for your other claim, we're buddies with Dr. Wyrd, Annie Warlock, The Reverend Nicolai Ant, a half dozen other magical supers. And, for all our enmity, I know that Merlyn isn't so short-sighted as to want the wholesale destruction of the world. He wants to conquer and make a second Camelot, not watch the world tear itself apart. We know a whole bunch of spellcasters, magicians, sorcerers, occultists, psychics, wizards, warlocks and assorted other masters of the arcane. You'd be wise to temper your claims of mastery beyond our kenning," Chainmail leaned forward and smiled conspiratorially. "That isn't to say that we don't appreciate or accept the offer of aid, but I live by a simple mantra: there is always something bigger, badder and better than you out there. The thing that separates a hero from a villain is the acceptance that you probably aren't the best."

[Atnaia]

Prabin began speaking in a much softer tone. "My friend Batraz Dzhioyev, the Number 1 from Athara Magarat, is among those who met the same fate as Yellowsash. But believe me, this is not some mad hunting for revenge. I am Buddhist and all I care is about finding the culprits. And I am not alone in this matter. Lots of students from the DGA want to join the fight as well."

Hermes laid two fingers on his throat and took his pulse. 900 beats a minute, nice and low. As he did, he spoke. "Look," he said. "I know your heart's in the right place here. I'm not that much older than you, I get the excitement of rushing off to face the unknown. But that doesn't mean you are allowed to go around doing stuff like...this."

He waved a hand at Ra, who still struggled under his own bodyweight. He strolled over, patted the villain on the shoulder. "You doin' alright there, buddy? No internal damage?"

The villain grimaced. "This....child..."

"Yeah yeah," Hermes waved off the monologue before it could happen. He looked over at Prabin again. "Kid, the reason the school exists is to teach you all a bit of responsibility. How to fight is secondary. You have to trust that the IFA is able to look into this, and if we need child soldiers we'll know who to call."

He locked his fingers together and stretched upwards, his joints popping. He took off his winged helmet and ran a hand through his blonde hair. "Still, good work with this guy. Ra is no slouch, most of the time."

"He...caught...me...unawares..." the villain groaned.

Hermes sighed, reached up under the man's armor and ripped out a handful of wires. There was a downward hum and the suit powered down. Hermes waved over a couple of police.

"Grab a forklift and lift this guy into a paddywagon, please," he said to them, and then glanced at Ra. "Regular cell in the Rock?"

"Damn...you..."