A/N: This is an extremely AU story, just to warn you in advance. It's set about twenty years from the 'Casefile' time line and delves deep into what a war between good (the Network) and evil (the Assassins) would do to the country. Some aspects may seem like a stretch and I am sorry for that, but I am really just being creative here. Everything involving the Benders is completely of my own creation as well. I hope you will read, review, and enjoy the story to come. It is 100 percent complete so I should post chapters regularly.

P.S.- sorry to those Frank-ettes out there but this is a fairly Joe-centric story.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardys or any other characters, only any OC's that pop up and my plot.

Fast Forward

Preface:

Gather 'round. I'm about to tell you a story. It's a good story, though truth be told, the tale is probably wearing a little thin for some of you, but it's important, so I'm gonna tell it again.

Don't roll your eyes at me, one day you'll understand. In the meantime, sit down and shut up.

Once upon a time, there was an evil empire that was hellbent on destroying the world. They simply called themselves the Assassins eventually led by an even more irate group only known as IDA.

Their crime wasn't a crime of hatred...nor of jealousy. Far worse, they raped the earth out of a willful ignorance, and a lack of regard. Perhaps, at first, they did what they did out of a genuine wish to better humanity, but as with all such empires, when the focus became the pursuit of power, and when the question being asked as new technology was developed stopped being should I do it and started being can I do it, they lost their place in the sun.

As with all such empires, there arose a group of people who'd had enough, who decided to fight back. They were a misfit crew, such a group of oddballs as you'd never hope to see, but they had what it took to take down any empire. They soon formed the Network.

But along with these two forces of evil, another blood line prevailed. Heirs known as the Benders who had been hidden in the shadows of the world for centuries. Blood lines dating back to every great mind in history. Forming a society.

But the one thing that fuels our greatest triumphs and aspirations, that keeps our planet moving is hope.

The Empire--IDA--was understandably upset about the existence of a group of people who's purpose was to destroy them, and so it sent all manner of weapons against them. One of these weapons turned on its masters and destroyed them, and then turned it's attention to the planet. Why did it turn on them? Maybe it was a little too evil...maybe it was a little too crazy...or maybe, like its creators, it just didn't care about anything but itself. The end result was that this little group of oddball rebels, who'd lost comrades and suffered terrible trials, became an oddball group of saviors. Ultimately, hope won out over apathy, good triumphed over evil, and the planet was saved.

The lesson to be learned is this... happiness isn't forever, but neither is grief. When you find happiness, you latch onto it, and you spread it around... and that makes it all the more precious.

But not everything ends with 'happily ever after.' For some still survived. Assassins still prevailed and managed to reek havoc underneath the Network's skin. And even after the war between good and evil ended, chaos still invaded the country. The cities, destroyed. Numerous small towns were spared, and this is where Bayport, Massachusetts comes into play. The only East Coast city in decent enough repair to harbor the central communications of the Network.

That's one of the most important things you can learn. That and this; happiness isn't forever, but love can be...and love and hope are just two sides of the same coin.

That's where I'll start my real tale...a story about a hero who's not a hero, a heroine who's not a heroine, and the lesson they learned...

Some might say, quite in spite of themselves...

***

Dust. It all comes back to dust--the traveler thought. His black boots were caked with it, the air seemed full of it, and if he looked inside, deep inside, which he seldom did anymore because the way was guarded by demons, he was at least subconsciously afraid that all he'd find there was dust.

Dust in the shape of a heart.

It was blisteringly hot, summer in full bloom, and an observer might have stared oddly at the traveler. He walked with a steady gait, one that could not be labeled as lazy, his long legs eating up the ground in graceful loping strides, but certainly not in any particular hurry, as though he had no place important to go. He kept his eyes on the road, ignoring the famed coastal country-side as though its natural beauty was painful for him, though it would be foolish to think he was oblivious; the way he carried himself proved this illusion to be false.

His clothing was ill-suited to a trek in the summer countryside, black combat boots, black pants and long-sleeve black shirt, with a tattered cloak thrown over the ensemble almost as an after thought, a cloak that partially hid his face but not his brooding eyes. The eyes of this traveler were quite striking...a most unnatural shade of blue, like sapphires embedded in the paleness of his face.

His only concession to the heat was a red headband to keep the sweat from his eyes, though truth be told, it was more likely to just to keep his hair out of his face should he have to move quickly. His arms he had folded inside the cloak, so that neither was visible, though it was doubtful this was to give them shade. The road to town was not an overly dangerous one, though it certainly couldn't be called safe either, but the traveler's only--apparent--insurance against the perils of the unknown was a long barrel rifle slung across his back, its surface weathered but obsessively well cared for, unlike his travel-stained and well worn clothing. A series of incongruous oddities that all added up to one enigmatic stranger.

Joseph Hardy.

***

One might occasion to wonder what one of the heroes of the Network was doing living as a shiftless wanderer, alone and seemingly known to no one. It was not that he didn't have anywhere to stay, on the contrary, if Joe considered anyone approaching what he would call friends, it was the other members of the Network, and any one of them would most likely have given the contrary gunman a place to rest his head.

Certainly enough of them, Frank and Tony, Biff...even the Grey Man had tentatively offered him a place to stay. He had, in his quiet, elusive way, turned them all down, and if they seemed both a bit saddened and relieved at the same time, he didn't blame them. He understood their trepidation; indeed, he shared it. Joe's life was a tightrope of control...he was, after all, a man with very pushy inner demons, and they didn't always restrain themselves to tormenting only him.

So it was after the final destruction of IDA and most Assassins when the heroes of the Network scattered, some together, most individually, to the four winds, Joe found himself alone again. Understandably, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, if anything, though he'd promised a concerned Frank that he wouldn't return to that dilapidated old house and the cold bedroom. This hadn't been a hard promise to make, Joe had no intention of ever returning to that place. It was too full of memories...of old pain and encroaching madness, screams unheard in the dark, to be a comfortable place to spend eternity.

Perhaps he was being selfish, putting all of his friends and countless innocents in danger by not locking himself away, but the former Joe couldn't face the ghosts the house on Elm street held for him, of enemies and victims. And the price he'd paid, was still paying, for his lack of humanity.

So he became a vagabond, a shadow that passed by for just a moment, haunting the roads and the wilds going no place in particular, and staying there for too fleetingly to make any lasting impressions. He survived on odd jobs...murderers here and there that needed killing, criminals on the run from one authority or another that needed catching...ultimately he fell back on the only thing he'd ever really been good at...hunting and killing. (His brother would argue with him on that fact.)

Though admittedly, this time his targets were monsters and scum. Sometimes you had to fight fire with fire, after all.

Truthfully, he was getting a little tired of sleeping on the cold ground with only his own brooding thoughts for company. That and supplies were starting to run a little low. Not critically, but Joe was nothing if not detail oriented, and he preferred being prepared over lying in a ditch somewhere.

Bayport wasn't his first choice for a stopping point, but it wasn't his last choice either, and it was close. It'd have to do.

***

Approaching the town of Bayport, he was once again struck by the city's character. It had a tidy aesthetic, a martial sort of charm, functional and orderly, but with graceful lines and pleasingly tasteful architecture. It was a city with a history, and it appealed to the need for organization and the sense of solemnity in Joe's tired soul. He liked Bayport, if only because it seemed to move at a slower pace than the outside world.

Something was wrong however, and Joe picked up on this as soon as the city came into view. Guards, fearsome with their submachine guns, patrolled the walls, and there was a line to enter the city. Joe waited patiently for his turn to enter, enduring the oppressive heat, and ignoring the curious stares of those ahead and behind him in line. He drew the wary eyes of both guards when he stepped forward for his turn.

"Name please," one of them asked, the very picture of diligent authority. What was going on here?

"Hardy," Was his short reply. The guard scribbled the name down in his log.

"Reason for visiting?" The guard shifted uncomfortably. The tall stranger before him was pretty well armed...a bounty hunter or a mercenary, neither of which was very welcome in Bayport, especially now.

Joe considered ignoring the guard's question, but it occurred to him that this man was only doing his job, and antagonizing the proper authorities was a good way to draw unwanted attention to one's self.

"Supplies. A place to stay for the night," he muttered quietly.

"We don't want any trouble, Mr. Hardy," the guard cautioned. "You keep that weapon where it's at, you hear?"

Joe nodded curtly and stepped past the guard, into the city itself.

***

The streets were silent, which, while a welcome change to the normal cacophony that greeted his ears when he entered a city, did not ease his state of mind over much.

Bayport was normally very friendly to travelers, as Mayor Bender had done her damnedest to turn the city into a hot tourism spot, with marginal success. After the events of IDA, Bender had been quick to capitalize on her daughter's newfound fame (or infamy, depending on your point of view...while it was hard to stay angry at someone who'd saved the planet, it was also hard to forgive someone who'd been robbing people blind since her preadolescence) and had even, so Joe had heard, included her residence as one stopping point on the tours.

Joe idly wondered how Vanessa had taken this particular arrangement.

Today however, store owners who would normally be trying to out-shout one another for the pleasure of doing business with him were conspicuous in their absence, and the few passersby he encountered eyed him warily, as though they half expected him to begin firing his weapons randomly into buildings. He ignored these suspicious stares but noted them, and crossed the street to slip inside a reasonably priced drinking establishment.

The dimly lit coolness of the taproom was a welcome change to the oppressive heat and atmosphere of the city's exterior. Joe, never overly fond of social gatherings of any type (particularly lynch or torch-carrying mobs, but that's another story) nevertheless found himself almost comfortable in a bar's social setting. Here he was able to settle down to drink at his own pace, and let humanity's dull roar wash over him in an almost soothing murmur.

Joe was a good listener, and he entertained himself by listening to the various stories floating past him. Leaning his gun against the side of the bar within easy reach, he quietly ordering a gin and tonic minus the gin, and ignored the curious stares of the bartender and the various patrons who had watched him enter until they shrugged and returned to their various drinks. Receiving his tonic, he wrapped his hand around the glass and brought it up to his lips, savoring the bitter scent that wafted up from it as he took a sip.

This sort of quiet anonymity was about as close as Joe came to enjoying himself.

As usual, it was cut dismally short.

Conversation stopped dead as a pair of guards entered the establishment and swept their serious gaze over the inside of the bar. Squinting from the sudden change in light level, they were nonetheless able to immediately pick out the solitary figure at the bar quietly sipping a tonic water.

Joe sighed inwardly as the guards made a beeline for him. He hadn't turned around when they entered, and he had hoped they'd simply stopped by for lunch.

It was 3:00 pm, but one could hope, couldn't one?

"Mr. Hardy?" one of the guards asked brusquely, as guards often do, when tasked with a duty they deem onerous.

Joe closed his eyes and breathed in the bitter scent again. "I haven't done anything wrong."

The other guard started to open his mouth, irritation written across his features, but the older, wiser of the two stopped him with a hard look. The older guard sighed deeply and shook his head. "We never said you did. Mayor Bender requests a moment of your time."

"I stopped doing requests a long time ago," Joe muttered quietly.

"My apologies Mr. Hardy, but this is not a request that can be ignored, if you wish to remain a guest in our fair city," the guard returned.

"Ah. One of those requests," he said, in a tone that might have been considered dry, if Joe were a bit more vocally animated.

The younger guard growled and reached for Joe's shoulder. "Enough of this! Mayor Bender wishes t-"

He stopped dead when a skeletal, pale white hand encircled his wrist right before it touched the gunman's shoulder.

"I heard you. Allow me to finish my tonic in peace," Joe said softly, his eyes still closed.

The strength in the grip and the sharpness of the nails tipping the hand were not lost on the young guard, who gulped uneasily. "Er... certainly Mr. Hardy."

Joe released the man's wrist and the guard snatched his hand back as though he'd just put it in a behemoth's mouth.

Joe finished his drink in peace, but the quiet tranquility of the moment had vanished like a soap bubble in the rain.

***

Joe had no sooner set down the empty cup when the guards began herding him towards the door. Quickly paying his bill, he picked up his gun and shouldered it, then allowed himself to be ushered outside and down the stone streets to the large house that was Mayor Bender's place of residence. The trip passed in silence, the guards being sufficiently cowed by this strange individual in their charge, and Joe was not exactly the sort for idle chitchat. Instead, he took note of the abundance of personal servants in various colors passing to and fro like worker bees on the fly.

All of this information was quickly noted, assessed, and filed away by the silent man, who appeared to be doing a detailed study of his boot tops.

Joe was unsure what Mayor Bender wanted with him, but he was reasonably sure he wasn't going to like it. Unlike some of the other members of the Network, Joe hadn't capitalized on his newfound fame, and over time, he'd faded into the background of the legend, which was the way he liked it. He felt uncomfortable being praised for ending a threat to the planet that he had more or less had a hand in creating, at least in his own eyes. While the name Frank Hardy and the Grey Man were almost universally known, Joseph Hardy would raise very few eyebrows, if any.

Still...perhaps it was just a social call. A passing interest in one of her daughter's former comrades-in-arms.

Speaking of which...where was the aforementioned daughter? Not that Joe felt any pressing need to see her, of course. She'd been one of the more annoyingly outspoken members of the group, and she had a nickname for him that irritated him to no end. Still, he admitted to at least a passing interest in how she had weathered the last two years...she would be what now...30? 31?

He was stopped outside the entrance to Andrea's personal meeting chambers by a large guard, who stared at Joe impassively with his large arms folded over his barrel chest.

"You may leave your weapons with me," he rumbled immediately.

Joe eyed the man quietly, and to his credit, the large man did not wince from his oddly tinged gaze.

The man narrowed his eyes. "You will not be permitted to enter Mayor Bender's presence with those items on your person."

Joe continued to stare. "I wasn't the one who requested a meeting," he said finally, when it became obvious the man was not going to budge.

The large man snorted, then cracked his knuckles menacingly. "If I have to take them from you, little man, you are going to regret it."

Joe sighed. He didn't care enough about staying in Bayport to put up with this, supplies and a warm bed or not. He started to turn on his heel, prepared to leave Bayport behind him, when a tired, gruff voice he vaguely recognized came from inside the room.

"Let him in, Brand..."

Brand blinked, then frowned. "But Andrea-"

"I trust this man implicitly Brand, let him through."

Brand growled, but motioned Joe in with a look that said if he so much as sneezed in Andrea's presence, Brand was going to turn him into Joe jelly. He then followed the gunman in and shut the door behind him, walking quickly past Joe to stand at Mayor Bender's side, glaring daggers all the while.

Joe ignored him.

Mayor Andrea Bender was a formidable woman, but the last few years had aged her considerably. The weight of her years--which was not much, but still noticeable--seemed to bow the woman down, giving her a cramped, bent look, and lending a hollowed look to her pale features. Joe, no stranger to the sensation, thought he detected the sharp look of a pain so familiar it had become, if not an old friend, then at least a respected adversary, in the woman's eyes.

He didn't have to say it. He knew at least part of the mystery now.

Andrea Bender was dying.

"Forgive my guard, Mr. Hardy. He is a bit overzealous at times, but regretfully his vigilance is not entirely unwarranted, in these troubled times." The hint of a rasp caught Joe's ear. It was taking everything the woman had to maintain the illusion of health, but she wasn't fooling the observant man.

"Please, have a seat." The Mayor motioned to a chair. Joe didn't particularly feel like lounging in such a tense place, but he was perceptive enough to realize that the woman wouldn't sit unless her "guest" was seated, so he took it reluctantly. Some of his hesitance must have shown, for Andrea sank into her own chair eyeing Joe gratefully.

"Again, forgive my interruption of your enjoyment of our fair city, but I could not risk the chance that you would leave before I had an opportunity to speak with you, Mr. Hardy."

Joe said nothing, but appeared to be listening receptively.

After a short pause, Andrea leaned forward and clasped her hands together before her mouth, eyeing the gunman resolvedly. "I'll cut to the point, Mr. Hardy, as time is not a luxury I can afford. I have heard that you have sometimes taken on the role of a Bounty Hunter of late...I trust my information is accurate?"

Joe nodded curtly, his face a study in blankness.

"I have need of your services. The very future of this city is at stake," she sighed, stifling a cough. Brand looked at her concernedly. "I am of course willing to compensate you for your work."

Joe sighed. "Who do you want me to track down?" he said bluntly.

Brand looked like he was about to have an apoplexy over Joe's lack of concern for the proper honorifics, but at Andrea's slightly raised hand he settled for simply looking like a bomb about to explode.

Andrea caught Joe's gaze with her own and frowned. "My daughter."