Prologue

NOW

The dead filled the streets. They moved more or less as one, an uncoordinated mob of ex-humans. No one called them zombies. Weeks before the world ended, the president had referred to them as "ex-human", and the name stuck. A man, one of the living, stood on top of a building, studying the dead below him. It helped his conscience to try and identify the shambling dead, even if they no longer thought or cared. There was a woman wearing a tank top and short shorts, barefoot. There was a man in a hoodie and sweats, and the man above could tell even with the dust and gore on the man's head, his hair had once been dyed bright red.

He was St. George. Most of the world had known him as The Mighty Dragon, but the name kind of died with the costume. The new name was just his first name, but as a hero, a lot of people got hope from him, thus the 'Saint' title.

St. George focused on a spot between his shoulder blades, and when he found the itch, he could feel gravity obey him, and he lifted off of the ground, slowly drifting down to the horde of ex-humans, the exes. Sensing a living being, the mindless undead clawed and reached for him, grabbing his hair and pulling futilely.

He felt tired. He never felt tired, but this time, his eyes- or maybe just his mind -felt heavy. As his fists came up to slam against the skull of a man who used to be a lawyer, or a bank manager, or something, St. George noticed that the swing was slow. The dead man crumpled like sand in the wind, and the hero brought his fists around in a circle, knocking exes around, throwing them into one another. But the movement felt sluggish, and St. George himself had the thought that something felt wrong. He tried to think of why he might be so tired, but...nothing came to mind. Why was he out here anyways?

He was surrounded by the horde now. That was when he realized that something else was wrong. In the movies, zombies always moaned, but exes were different. They didn't moan, or groan, or shriek, or really make any sort of vocal sound. Instead, their jaws moved soundlessly up and down, and they clicked their teeth together, like the sound of a clicking pen. Click-click-click. It was a sound that was everywhere in the now-dead Los Angeles. But this was different. The exes weren't clicking their teeth, but they weren't silent. Were they moaning? No. They were crying, sobbing, mumbling.

The hero recoiled. He stumbled back, but the crowd pushed him back into the center, suddenly strong enough to budge the superhuman. The exes stopped shambling, and turned towards St. George, their arms hanging at their sides, all staring at him. The thought came to St. George's mind that this was a trick, right? It was Rodney Cesares, Legion, the supervillain, controlling these exes and making them act weird.

"Cut the crap, Rodney! I know it's you, you can stop the crying," St. George said, slamming his fist into the head of another ex.

The horde took a step closer to him. He tried to get away, searched for that pull between his shoulders, and found nothing. Like his wings were clipped. What was going on? As the horde came as close as they could, their arms grasped and their sobs becoming more shallow, and by now, George could make out the things they were saying.

"You failed…" said one.

"Where were you?" said another.

"Why didn't you save us?" echoed a third, and the same things repeated and rippled throughout the crowd. This wasn't Legion. St. George tried hitting them again, crushing the skull of a dead jogger, breaking the neck of an ex he thought might have been a Marine at some point. But no matter how many he took down, the exes were replaced by more and more. He felt like he was suffocating. And the cries. Exes didn't cry, they didn't even have enough liquid in their bodies, but this felt so real, and their sobbing bit into him.

He was crying, too. Emotion swept over him. He had tried, but he couldn't save everyone...He was a man, right? But not really. He was different, he was strong, so they were right. He had failed. He broke down and fell to his knees. He grabbed at his own arms. "I'm...sorry," he mumbled, knowing they were right. He hadn't done enough. For all his fighting, people were always dying.

An ex fell directly on top of him. St. George reached up to throw it off, and looked up at its face. She was freshly dead by a wound in her side, an ex with dark skin, perfect obsidian hair, and piercing blue eyes. Recognition flashed across the hero's face. The ex fell to its knees in front of him, its face emotionless as it grabbed onto his arms, shaking, eyes staring directly into his. St. George could feel his stomach drop like a stone. "Karen," he murmured, as she continued to stare, tears of blood streaming down her face.

"Why, George?"

X X X

St. George woke with such a start, that a huge ball of flame jumped from his throat and smacked across the ceiling. "Oh, shit," a tired St. George said, and he jumped up, finding whatever he could- a handful of old, ratty towels -to whack the fire out, carefully. If he hit too hard, he could put another hole in the ceiling along with the one the fire was starting to burn. When it was finally out, he sighed, falling into the bed, tears still staining his cheeks.

She was awake, of course, sitting on the bed, looking over to him. Perfect dark skin, beautiful black hair, and those goddamn blue eyes. Karen Quilt, better known as Stealth in the Mount, their fortress nestled in dead Los Angeles. Only he really called her Karen.

"Another nightmare," she remarked, more of a statement than a question. Well, definitely a statement. "Your heartbeat is elevated, your breathing is short." She looked up. "And you have involuntarily set our bedroom on fire."

He sighed, and eventually bobbed his head in affirmation. Now that he was awake, reality had finally begun to seep back into his mind. Stealth was fine, he was fine. She put one arm around his waist, and the other on his bare chest. "Tell me what happened," she said. "Speaking about your nightmares is proven to help with psychological recovery."

St. George put aside a chuckle, looking at her. "It was pretty much the same as last time. I flew down into the horde of exes, and they were all crying. I couldn't fly anymore, and they all crowded me, telling me that I had failed them." He choked on this next part. "Uh...there was something different though," he mumbled, hesitant. Stealth stared blankly. "Tell me," she said, no-nonsense as always. He sighed. "You were an ex. It looked like you'd been stabbed, or something. And you were asking me the same things as the others. Why I hadn't saved you, or why I wasn't there, I'm not sure." He shrugged.

The woman held him a little tighter. "You're afraid that I will succumb to death like others have, since I am a normal human as well. Your fears are unjustified, however. I am trained in several combat forms, such as judo, kickboxing, aikido-"

St. George kissed her. "I know, Karen. You're extremely competent. But I care about you. I can't help but be worried, can't help but think that in some really bad situation, I might be the last thing between you and death. And I'm afraid of failing in that really bad situation." The woman shook her head. "I have faith in you, George," she said. "You have beaten impossible odds on numerous occasions. The only conclusion I can come to is that you defy logic in any situation where the lives of others are on the line."

The words hit him softly, like a truck. "...Yeah, I guess you're right." Stealth then silenced him with a kiss of her own. "George, you are The Mighty Dragon, or at the very least, once were. One of the greatest heroes to ever exist. People believe in you, and for good reason- you are strong, nigh invulnerable, and your morality is incorruptible. Every fiber of your being is tangible proof that hope is not lost. Do not forget that."

He sighed. "You're amazing, Karen."

The woman glanced at the window, and a person who had not studied her over the years wouldn't have noticed her imperceptible gestures. "It is approximately fifteen minutes past two o'clock. We should return to sleep." With that, she laid down, but not before pulling him with her. St. George rolled his eyes, and felt himself being pulled into a more peaceful slumber.

X X X

"Mommy, look!" shouted young Kristine Hart, one of the first children to be born inside the Mount. There had been a lot of new arrivals, especially as the Mount had expanded beyond its original position inside what was once Paramount Studios, giving the population lots of room to grow.

The figure little Kristine pointed to soared through the sky like a comet. Like a second sun, the hero known as Zzzap filled the air with an electromagnetic crackle as he passed through a huge studio door, which closed behind him. Inside waited a large device which resembled a three-ringed gyroscope, copper frames encircled with wires and protective material. It was from this thing, which a lot of people ironically referred to as the electric chair, that Zzzap provided the whole of the Mount with ample electricity.

Also waiting for him was a woman. Strawberry blonde, really almost ginger, with gray-green eyes. She wore gray athletic shorts, a pale blue flannel, red converse, and underneath it all, what appeared to be a skintight black suit. Her contact suit. She used to wear it as something of a security blanket, when she wasn't using the Cerberus armor, but now she only wore it around the times the scavengers went out.

If Zzzap could smile in his energy form, he would have been grinning ear to ear.

Zzzap floated a few feet above the ground, and was putting distance between himself and pretty much everything else in the room, since his body gave off so much heat. A strange, kazoo-like electric sound filled the air- it was the way Zzzap talked. Hey, Danielle. Australia was nice, by the way.

The woman smiled back up to him. "Did you see anything there?" she asked, leaning on the wall. The glowing wraith nodded, or at least, the fuzzy outline appeared to bob its head up and down. Yeah. There was another settlement in Sydney. Some people holed up in the Opera House there. Y'know, the building from Finding Nemo.

Danielle laughed at the reference. Zzzap was full of them- when he wasn't Zzzap, he was Barry Burke, a physicist before the world ended, and on top of that, a huge pop-culture buff. That said, she was here to take him to the meeting in the Roddenberry building, and he needed to be Barry for that. "Whatever, Barry. I know what the Sydney Opera House is. Change back so you can get dressed." She looked away for this part. She'd laid down a blanket for him, something thick that would protect him from the hard concrete floors.

Zzzap buzzed in affirmation, and floated to the padded blanket. He got as close as possible without igniting the fabric, and with a small, imperceptible pop, all of the light and heat suddenly dissipated, and a naked man fell down from where Zzzap had been floating. Barry hit the soft blanket with a muffled thud and an "Oof". Danielle walked over, wheeling his wheelchair over, and tossed him some clothes- boxer-briefs, a pair of sweats, a t-shirt. Barry looked up and smiled. "Thanks." He began the process of getting dressed.

When he wasn't Zzzap, he was a thin, black man, and while he was young, he had been aged by being in his energy form so much over the past seven, almost eight years. He also had the misfortune of being unable to use his legs, thus the need for a wheelchair. Once Barry was dressed, he got into his chair with a little help from Danielle. He looked up to her. "The Australians were pretty nice, they didn't shoot at me or anything, like the people on Lemuria." He laughed some, remembering back to about two months before. He and St. George, along with Madelyn Sorensen, had found an artificial island out in the Pacific, only to find the people there were paranoid wrecks, thanks to the lies told to them by their leader. Maleko, or Nautilus, an aquatic superhuman had convinced them that they were the last people on Earth, and that only he could keep them safe. He'd been the superhero of Hawaii. More of an ex-hero now.

But now, they had a stable line of communication with Lemuria, and the people there were doing a lot better. Nautilus was still being kept under lock and key. Hopefully he stayed that way.

X X X

The fountain just outside the gate to what was once Paramount Studios no longer had any water running through it. Fountains were such vanity fixtures, the soldier thought. But it still made him miss those flowing waters.

That said, the fountain served a much different function nowadays. It was a monument, a memorial. Sitting on the edge, surrounded by countless flowers, mementos and gifts laid a pair of large, almost comical goggles. They had been worn by a man the soldier had never met, and yet as of now, Captain John Carter Freedom wore the leather duster and six-pointed silver star that had been worn by the superhero Gorgon. Freedom was still proud to carry on the hero's legacy.

The walkie talkie on the captain's hip buzzed with noise. He lifted it to his ear.

"Sixteen, this is seventeen," said a voice on the other end of the line.

"Seventeen, this is sixteen," said Freedom. "What do you need, Sergeant?"

The other voice responded. "The mayor and the other heroes need you at Roddenberry. They want you to pick up Corpse Girl, too." At that, the walkie clicked and the line went silent. Freedom stared at Gorgon's goggles a moment longer, before turning around and walking back inside the Mount.

Freedom leaped into the air, clearing thirty feet easily, and landed on top of one of the studio buildings. He was the only one of the Unbreakables who could still do it. They had all been modified to be super soldiers, but the others were the previous generation- Freedom was the newest, and his abilities had never slipped away from him like they had for the others. It was a pity. They were good men and women.

His first stop was Madelyn Sorensen's room. People used to be nervous around her, and there were still quite a few who felt strange working with her. In a world filled with the undead, accepting one into their ranks had been hard to do, even though Madelyn wasn't even an ex. Her body didn't even carry the ex-virus, but people couldn't be convinced.

She was asleep. The doctor, Connolly, had told him that it was less sleeping and more of a total shutdown. Madelyn resembled a corpse, but she never seemed more dead than when she was asleep. She didn't breathe, or blink, or do anything normally, but like this, she didn't move at all- completely still, like she belonged in the morgue.

She suddenly woke up, and years of training in the military, and even the experience of living in the zombie apocalypse could never stop him from jumping when she did that. Madelyn sat straight up, confusion flashing across her pale grey eyes, as it did every time. She saw Freedom and at first was going to yell, but then stopped, as if recognizing him. Madelyn had trouble remembering the events of her past, even the events of the day before, but over time, some things did stick, usually the faces and names of the people she was closest to. Freedom happened to be one of them.

"Good morning," a slightly disoriented Madelyn said. Without really getting up, she reached for something on the small table besides her bed. Freedom's eyes tracked the movement, but he already knew what she was reaching for. Madelyn's journals were how she caught up with everything she couldn't remember. Freedom had noticed in the past that this daily catch-up made Madelyn a very fast reader.

"Good morning, Madelyn," Freedom replied, leaning further back into his chair. He would have initiated further conversation, but the dead girl was still catching up with her journals. She had a very sizable stack of notebooks by now, but she usually didn't have to go back too far. Older memories seemed to stick longer.

Soon enough, she was done and put down her book. She looked over to Freedom. "Alright, what's up?" she asked. Freedom shrugged. "Another planning meeting, it looks like," came his reply.

Madelyn grinned. "That's like, the sixth time they've asked me to go to one. I guess I'm finally one of the big kids now, huh?" she asked with a little laugh. Freedom tried to be formal more often than not, but Madelyn's younger sense of humor always seemed to be endearing to the soldier. He nodded, smiling. "I'd say you are, Maddy."

The dead girl smirked, and stood up. Freedom blinked, looking slightly off to the side. "You're not wearing much." Madelyn stared at him, then looked down. She was just in a long t-shirt and her underwear. She looked back to the captain. "C'mon, John, you had me thinking I was naked or something."

Freedom stood up abruptly. "Well, you ought to get ready. I'll wait outside." He quickly walked outside. Madelyn stared after him, wondering what that was all about, before shrugging and moving on with her morning routine.

X X X

Roddenberry stood towards the center of the Mount. It was named after Gene Roddenberry, the man who had created Star Trek- today, it served as the Mount's sort-of city hall. Much of the inside was far more bare than it had been, but was remarkably clean. The entire upper floor had been converted into an office, and at one point, had been Stealth's informal center of command. Since the Mount had begun having elections, the settlement now had a mayor, who had subsequently begun using the space as his office.

When it was Stealth's, the windows were blocked off with curtains, making the room dark; there had been maps strewn all over, especially on the marble altar the mayor, Richard, was currently using as a desk; and there had certainly been no furniture, but there were now chairs surrounding a long conference table, and a chair sat behind the mayor's desk. He'd even added a few potted plants to make it nicer.

The room still felt like her's, though.

Especially at these meetings, when all of the heroes of the Mount were present, as well as the leaders of the various neighborhoods throughout the Mount. Captain Freedom, Corpse Girl, Cerberus, Zzzap as Barry, Cesar, Lady Bee, Stealth, and St. George. Lieutenant Gibbs, Billie Carter, and a few other prominent figures were present as well. They usually came together once a month to plan the next month's scavenging runs, crop rotations, and things of that nature.

The first one to speak was Stealth. "I would like to know the status of Eden." Eden was a garden and small settlement to the north of the Mount. A decent amount of people lived there now, although it was outside of the Big Wall- a huge barrier built with abandoned cars, that protected a fairly huge chunk of land around the Mount from the exes outside. Cesar shrugged. "Nothing much other than what's said over radio. Food stock is doubled since we got there- all the fences're reinforced, so it's looking good."

The report seemed to satisfy Stealth, based on her small, curt nod and a slight shift on the balls of her feet. She glanced to Cerberus- Danielle -and the woman already knew what to say. "Mark Two is fully operational. That includes the Long Shot." Danielle was, of course, referring to the Mark Two Cerberus power armor, as well as its new experimental weapon. The news brought a wave of gracious smiles and sighs of relief in the group of people, especially the neighborhood heads. Cerberus had been out of commission for some time, but hearing that she would be back made everyone a lot happier.

St. George spoke up. "I think that just brings us to scavenging for the next month. There'll be normal patrols out into Macarthur and Pico, but...we've still got to scout out Universal to the north." There were some grumbles.

"It's gotta be done," St. George said.

Cesar nodded. "You guys'll have St. George, Cerberus, and Zzzap, you'll be fine."

The thought reverberated through the crowd, and eventually they calmed down over the prospect of going so far into unclaimed territory. That seemed to be the last issue, so after some talks about what crops to plant next, most of the people dispersed, save for the heroes.

St. George nodded to Madelyn. "I want you going to Universal, too." Freedom looked up at that. "Is that advisable, St. George?" he asked.

Madelyn glared at Freedom. "What do you mean, John?" she asked.

The captain crossed his arms and stared at the conference table. "The last time you left on a mission into unknown territory, you were ripped in half."

The Corpse Girl rolled her eyes. "We went over this. Even if I get blown to bits, I'll come back from it. Being dead is my superpower, remember?" she said. Freedom didn't look happy. "That's been the case so far. Yet there may be wounds you can't recover from."

Madelyn shrugged. "I'll be fine." St. George nodded in confirmation. "She's tough, Captain," he said. He clapped the taller man on the shoulder.

Freedom still didn't look convinced, but he sighed. "I suppose I need to get over that thought." Everyone knew what he was thinking of. When Madelyn had been truly alive, she had been torn apart by exes, and Freedom could do nothing to stop it. He hadn't known she would come back like this- no one did -but he still felt as though he had failed.

There was a click as Barry came closer to the table, putting his third plate of finished food on the table. He needed to eat a lot, since being Zzzap took so much out of him. He burped. "I think going to Universal Studios is gonna be fun. I don't imagine the tour will be, though, with an ex for a guide." A nervous laugh rippled through the band of heroes.

X X X

Madelyn stepped just over the threshold out of Roddenberry, but not before whipping around to face John. She had an irritated look on her face. Freedom stopped abruptly, and when he saw her face, he sighed, and opened his mouth to speak.

Madelyn shushed him. "Enough of that, John. You can't keep being like this."

"Like what? Concerned for you?" He asked.

"You don't need to be! Nothing can happen to me."

John sighed, again. Madelyn hated it. "You just don't get it," he said.

She stared at him. "Don't understand what? Explain it to me if it's so important."

Freedom shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "...I had to see your father's face every day, after you were gone. He was in denial. Sometimes, I would have to remind him. Watch his heart break all over again. How could I not feel like I had failed him? It was my job to keep you alive, and I failed."

Madelyn shook her head. "That doesn't matter anymore, John. I'm back now, and I'm fine."

He looked so frustrated. Like he wanted to say something, but couldn't. Military restraint held him back. "I…" He began. Madelyn stared, waiting for him to say something. "I care for you greatly, Madelyn. To see you get hurt, even if it doesn't last, just...makes me feel so helpless."

"And you're not used to that," Madelyn said, looking at her feet. Freedom nodded. Madelyn sighed, and shrugged. She stepped forward and gave him a hug. "It'll be fine, John. Honestly. If it makes you feel better, you can come along when we go up to Universal." Freedom shook his head. "I'm in charge of law enforcement, remember? Someone has to help Stealth keep this place safe."

Madelyn nodded her head just a little. "That's true," she said, sounding disappointed. John squeezed her a bit tighter before releasing her. "I'm sorry, Madelyn. If you'd like, we could have dinner together tonight."

Madelyn looked up. "That sounds nice, John. Not that I eat." John blinks. "Oh. Right." It was easy to forget she was already dead.

X X X

The Mark Two was remarkably prettier, St. George thought. It had a coal black paint job, and the entire length of each of its arms was painted with the red and white stripes of the United States flag. The back of the hand and the knuckles of both hands had the blue and the stars. The half-dollar eyes were dark now, but when powered up, they shined brightly, like the headlights of some huge living truck.

"It's also way more efficient," Danielle interjected, noticing that St. George was admiring her handiwork. Lieutenant Gibbs walked over, with that slight limp that everyone was used to by now. Had lost his leg in the original Cerberus suit, thanks to Zzzap- Gibbs had been under mind control then, however, and there would have been no stopping him otherwise.

Gibbs gave a curt salute to St. George. "Like Dr. Morris had said. We've increased its lifting capacity, grip strength, sprinting speed…" He then rattled off all of the new suit's specs, but St. George didn't really know enough to follow along. He nodded when he felt appropriate. "Awesome," he said, "it'll get its first real test on tomorrow's run."

Danielle nodded a bit. "Right. It's all charged and ready to go."

St. George nodded in response. He looked at her for a few minutes. He would ask if she was alright to be going out again, but he knew from watching her that she was doing far better now. The clicking teeth of exes used to throw her into a panic attack, but now it was like white noise for her, like it had become for a lot of people.

Something hit the floor behind them and Danielle whipped around. She shouted a short line of curses at the attendant who had dropped the piece of equipment. Danielle began to storm towards him.

"Hey. See you later," St. George said, calling after Danielle. She whipped around. "Oh. Yeah. See you later." She then went on with her little rampage, and St. George chuckled. Danielle never really changed, and that's what he liked about her. He turned and left her workshop, flying up into the air above the Mount.

He loved to fly. Before the end, he could never really truly fly- only glide -but he's since gained the ability of true flight. And he loved having that ability. He could soar as high as he wanted, he could do loops, and twirls, and rolls, and the kids of the Mount loved to watch. It gave him such a sense of freedom that he never had before. It also meant his responsibilities had increased, but it was worth it.

The flying hero looked down to the people below him. Most of them were working or milling about, having conversations, laughing, really living life. Some looked up and waved to him, and he waved back. It made the hero glad to see that life was almost back to normal for these people. Even if the world around them had died.

St. George smiled and rose higher into the air. He stopped when he was relatively high, and looked out across the city itself. The world wasn't really dead, even if so many people were gone. Nature had reclaimed large swaths of the city, where exes weren't trampling everything under their feet, and where the Mount's boundaries didn't extend. It was actually quite pretty to look at.

And suddenly, he wasn't looking at it.

A bright light filled St. George's vision, and at first he believed that it was just Zzzap getting way too close way too fast. And then he realized that it was something completely different, when he was smacked out of the sky like an insect. St. George flew in an uncontrolled spiral , catching himself just a few feet above the ground. He looked to see what had hit him.

It was a tall , whitish-blue beam of light that extended into the clouds, that had struck the ground in an empty lot within the Mount, where St. George had been knocked down into. The light then disappeared, leaving something that St. George had really not expected to see, and the sight left him dazed.

"Woah."