Bodies fill the fields I see, hungry heroes end
No one to play soldier now, no one to pretend
Running blind through killing fields, bred to kill them all
Victim of what said should be, a servant til I fall

-Metallica "Disposable Heroes"

Chapter One

Gregory Helms stopped in his tracks. A million thoughts were going through his head at once, and suddenly he wasn't so sure that he was doing the right thing.

Before his super powers had manifested, while wrestling in WCW, Helms had been a pop star. As a member of the boy band trio, 3 Count, he had enjoyed the simple pleasures of caviar, private jets, and screaming girls with big boobs. But that life, however self-satisfying, was ultimately unfulfilling. That was why, when Helms had discovered that he had abilities that set him apart from normal human beings, he had embraced them and had become the superhero known as The Hurricane.

He had always suspected that he was different from everyone else; his impeccable fashion sense was just too hard to ignore. So, while working in the WWE, when he had developed his 'Hurri-sense', power of flight, lightning-quick reflexes and super-strength, he really hadn't been all that surprised. And having looked up to the Green Lantern all his life (he even had the symbol tattooed on his arm) there was never any question that he would use his newfound powers for anything other than good.

And he'd taken the locker room by storm. While standing 6 foot tall, he had a slender frame and tended not to be taken seriously by many of the larger superstars. This changed after a ring encounter, as Helms moved faster than they could follow, dodged their attempted power moves, and finished off opponent after opponent with his patented Eye of the Hurricane and devastating Choke Slam.

That was how he'd caught the eye of the youngest Holly cousin: the blonde-tressed Molly. Tough as nails but innocent as a newborn kitten, Molly was dating Spike Dudley at the time. Needless to say it was a development of which her cousins Hardcore and Crash hadn't been entirely happy, being none too fond of Spike's half-brothers Bubba Ray and D-Von. It was the Hurricane that had helped her come to terms with her budding super powers and she eventually left Spike to join him at his side as Mighty Molly. Her strength grew to be so incredible that she was even able to capture the Hardcore title for a brief period.

But the pressures of being a superhero had proven too much for Molly. She and Hurricane had eventually parted ways and Molly had started down a dark and bitter path, ultimately losing her powers at Wrestlemania XX when she had her now-shorter locks shaven off by Victoria.

Helms frowned at that memory. He'd always felt responsible for what had happened to Molly – that somehow it was his fault for not training her properly. That was why, years later, he had taken it upon himself to train another. And this time he would not fail.

Rosey had been nothing more than a bully – hired muscle along with his cousin Jamal for the power-hungry general manager Eric Bischoff (who Hurricane had come to liken to DC Comics' Ra's Al Ghul; but instead of a beautiful daughter, he had a retarded nephew) – bulldozing through anyone standing in his boss's way.

Hurricane could sense the powers of the 6-foot-4 behemoth, and he had known it was up to him to keep the young man from continuing to use them for evil. Somehow it would be retribution for how he had let Molly down. He'd felt he owed it to her.

And so the Hurricane had stood up to the big man, and Rosey, who knew he had been used by RAW's GM, was all-too willing to listen and had soon seen the error of his ways. Rosey became the Hurricane's Super-Hero-In-Training, but it would be a long road before he would be ready to take on the evil-doers of the world.

There was one incident that stood out in particular involving an overly obnoxious WWE enthusiast. The young man had begun aggressively taunting Rosey during a training session, using his days in Three-Minute-Warning to resurface the shame and guilt Rosey already felt. Keeping with his newfound heroic principles however, the Hurricane's protégé had diplomatically informed the wrestling buff that those days were behind him. But the man was not through and had shoved Rosey when he had turned his back. Unfortunately, that was when the Samoan's primal instincts had kicked in. Needless to say, the S.H.I.T. had hit the fan. Luckily, Hurricane had been present to smooth over the situation.

Rosey had come through in the end however, and as a full-fledged superhero, had become the powerhouse of the now-dynamic duo. Together they had defeated the diabolical team La Resistance and had captured the World Tag Team titles. As Champions of both the WWE and humanity itself, the Hurricane and Rosey had reigned on RAW for nearly five months and had continued to change lives, including that of Stacey Keibler. Donning the mantle of Super Stacey, the long-legged Diva had revealed her true nature when she could no longer deny either her desire to be the hero she was born to be, or her feelings for the Hurricane.

But all that had changed quickly. The higher powers had made the decision to move Stacey to Smackdown!, and therefore away from her teammates. Feeling lonely and vulnerable, she had once again repressed her superhuman abilities in an attempt to fit in. The Hurricane had become undeniably distracted, and he and Rosey had soon lost their Championships to newcomers Lance Cade and Trevor Murdoch – cowboy pawns in a much larger game. With the superheroes dethroned and on their heels, a great atrocity had then been committed. Vince McMahon (and if Bischoff was Ra's Al Ghul then certainly the McMahons were the Luthors) and his family had orchestrated the humiliation and defeat of honourable citizen Jim Ross.

The Hurricane had seen enough. He had confronted McMahon with his actions and questioned his integrity. But Mr. Integrity (Intensity and Intelligence) himself, Kurt Angle had been close at hand, and at Vince's word had struck out against the green-and-black-clad superhero. Angle had attacked with the ferocity of a lion and had ripped into the Hurricane, ultimately leaving his body bruised and bloodied in the middle of the ring.

His spirit had been broken. Kurt Angle stood for America, and the Hurricane had just been physically destroyed by the man who embodied the country he had sworn to protect. It had been a bitter pill to swallow, to realize that, by trying to do the right thing and uphold justice, he had lost everything. And, as he had lain in the centre of the squared circle, watching Angle walk away from his prone body without a backward glance, he had closed his eyes and welcomed the darkness.

Strong hands had gripped him then, and he had again opened his eyes to see Rosey pulling him to his feet. He was checking him over, seeing if he was all right, all the while muttering threats to Kurt Angle and casting vicious looks to where the Olympic gold medalist had disappeared into the backstage area.

Rage had flooded his mind.

Seeing red, Hurricane had shoved Rosey away from him and slapped him across the face. He hadn't wanted to be pulled up. He had given up. He had wanted nothing more than to lay there and allow time to swallow him up. A fallen hero. A martyr. But Rosey had ruined that. He was making him face the world that had now revealed an ugly new truth in that everything he had stood for was a lie. And he hated him for it.

His eyes had glazed with tears of frustrated anger and he had torn off his mask and cast it to the ground as though it were infected with that same lie. Then he had walked from the ring, dejected and defeated, without a backward glance…

The memory was just as painful as the experience, and Helms took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He was the Hurricane no more. He slowly raised his fist and knocked on the door in front of him.

A surprised Evan Karagias answered.

Sitting in a nondescript black van across the street, Christian sneered to himself.

Things were going better than even he could have predicted. The last piece of the puzzle he'd been working on for eight long years had finally fallen into place. All of his careful plotting and decisive action was about to pay off, and no one was the wiser.

He lowered the binoculars he'd been using to spy on Helms through the tinted windows and snorted as his target entered the house. The Hurricane was well and truly out of the picture. Everything was going according to plan.

"So long, Super-Chump," he scoffed and turned to the driver. Tyson Tomko, Christian's hired man, said nothing, but his dark eyes mirrored the mocking sentiments. "Let's go," Christian told him. "We've got a lot to do before we can relax. And get a message out to the others."

As Tomko nodded and started the ignition, Christian sat back in the seat and stretched his legs, resting his feet on the dashboard. "Evil plans totally rule," he chuckled.

It was less than a month later when a hooded figure slowly climbed the steps of the enormous mansion that had been constructed in Toronto's city centre and now served as Christian's headquarters.

His rise to power had been as swift as it had been astonishing. While many were confused as to how it had been accomplished, nobody ever questioned its legitimacy. And when one did become suspicious of the seemingly infallible support shown, he or she would become suddenly overwhelmed with the simple notion that Christian was meant to be powerful and that was all there was to it.

The hooded figure knew how it had all come about, of course. She was one of the privileged few included in Christian's elite, which was what had brought her to the mansion today.

The heavy double doors opened at her touch, their massive bulk swinging slowly inwards until there was just enough space for her to enter, and then thundering shut behind her. Inside, the polished marble floors shone like a green-tinted hockey rink, and the wood-paneled walls were thoroughly decorated with images of Christian.

As she made her way through the mansion she earned the stares of those either idly passing in the halls or keeping busy in one of the many rooms. Some were the approving looks of friends; some were the leers of bitter enemies. She knew them all but acknowledged none – her business was not with them.

When she finally came to another set of double doors, she pulled them open and quietly closed them behind her.

"Hello, Trish. Took you long enough."

Trish Stratus pulled back her hood to release the golden tresses that framed her face and feathered down her back between her shoulder blades. She closed her darkly-shaded eyes for a moment as she took a calming breath, and when she turned to confront the speaker her face registered no emotion.

"Your message didn't specify a time and date, Christian," she replied evenly. "I came when I could."

Christian grinned to himself from where he sat behind a large wooden desk in an enormous and extremely comfortable-looking black leather chair, which he then rotated to regard his guest. His dirty blond hair was neatly trimmed and gelled into a pseudo-fauxhawk and he had just enough stubble on his face to qualify him as ruggedly charming. His dress pants and shoes contrasted his shirt, which was slightly wrinkled and had the top two buttons unfastened. He wore no tie, completing the attire of the wealthy but rebellious scoundrel.

His most prominent feature, however, was his teeth. Scrubbed and flossed to a perfect and dazzling white, they made for a flawless smile. When he spoke, Trish caught a whiff of freshmint.

"It doesn't really matter," he said, rising from his chair. "I knew you'd come eventually, even if the rest of my allies were more punctual."

"Considering I never actually heard from you since I went out on injury and you got drafted to Smackdown!, I wasn't exactly sure we were still allies," Trish shot back immediately.

"Phone works both ways, Babycakes," Christian shrugged casually, straightening the nameplate on his desk to sit exactly parallel with the edge. Trish glanced at it: Capt. Charisma.

"You're right, though."

"Huh?" Trish was startled by the comment, both because it was an out-of-character admission and because she'd momentarily stopped paying attention.

"I kind of left you hanging there," he was leaning against the front of his desk, his full attention on her. "It was stupid, but I wasn't sure if I could still trust you. Word on the street was that you'd turned face."

Trish met his stare. He was watching her for a reaction, and she wondered if there was any sincerity behind his attempt at almost apologizing. There would be a time and place to find out, however. At the moment, she had to play her cards right. She allowed her lips to curl into a cruel smile.

"Rumours spread by the uninformed," she said with a snort. "Had I made my return and played the role of the heel, I'd merely be part of Torrie Wilson's 'Mean Girls' posse. By siding with Ashley and Mickie, I'm leader of my own clique. Much more my style."

Christian laughed in approval. "That's my girl. See, Tyson? I told you there had to be more to it."

Trish faltered for a moment but quickly recovered. She hadn't seen Tomko standing in the shadows.

"Still keeping an eye on me, Tyson?" she asked with mock sweetness. "How touching. I assure you, I can take care of myself. Especially since you tended to cause more problems than you solved. I'm surprised Christian keeps you around."

Tomko snarled but Christian waved him off and grinned at Trish. "God, you're hot when you're nasty. I don't know what I was thinking." He extended his hand and fixed her with the full pouty lower lip and puppy-dog eyes. "Forgive me?"

"I dunno," Trish folded her arms and yawned as though bored with the whole situation. "I am the Women's Champion, after all, and deserve to be treated with respect. Why the hell should I come back to you after you ditched me and had me spied on?"

Christian's eyes twinkled knowingly. "How does making you my second-in-command sound?"

Trish couldn't help but react to that. It was a huge gesture of trust for him to offer a share of the power he'd just recently acquired. And it was impossible to turn down.

After a brief hesitation that was more for show than anything else, Trish reached out and grabbed his hand. Christian's grin widened and he moved to seal the deal as he pulled the blonde bombshell into his arms, roughly yanked her head back and shoved his tongue down her throat.