A/N: For revisiting readers who might be wondering, I have decided to finally split my issues after consistent feedback on the length of the uncut chapters. So what we are going with on this story (as with all my stories from now on forth) is that each issue will be divided into three Chapters (or Acts) and each of these chapters will be posted separately. This is meant purely for your reading pleasure and comfort. I would appreciate it very much if, upon finishing the three chapters of an issue, you consider them to be part of a singular product and see the connective tissue between them that brings out the thematic elements that I intended for my audience. The succeeding three chapters will be distinctly separate from the previous three chapters, while still furthering the plot and all other pertinent elements, and then the next three chapters will be different from these, and so on and so forth.


Issue 1: Deconstruction of a Lesser Mind


Chapter 1: Crossing the Rubicon


The Centurion paused, reining in his steed as they approached the reddish waters. He felt like a Hebrew pilgrim, standing at the gates of the Holy Land. As a military man, he couldn't help but appreciate the significance of this narrow stream: it just had so much history. But it was only known for that one infamous event, now. It had been that way for the last couple of hundred years.

He stepped off, leading his horse by the reins. But to his chagrin, the horse declined, neighing loudly and twisting and turning away from the coast. After a while, it gave way and lowered itself to the ground, refusing to move another inch. Its jet-black eyes glistened as it stared at the puzzled Centurion, its chestnut coat glimmering softly in the noon sun.

And the Centurion understood, for he saw a heavy tiredness in those black orbs and a sense of inevitability that accompanied this bottomless exhaustion. His steed was an old companion of many journeys and many battles, and finally, it was time for them to part.

He reached for its muzzle and fondled it affectionately. In reply, It nuzzled against his waist gently, a final gesture of goodwill towards the good master.

Without much ado, the Centurion quitely drew his sword from its sheath and slid it past the jugular. A small whimpering neigh followed; and the Centurion winced, for he wished it to be as brief as possible. The head fell to the muddy ground, its luxurious mane now matted with thick blood. The Centurion turned away, drawing his attention away from the unsightly deed and towards his path.

A great mist lingered on the opposite shore. Strange, he thought; had it been there but a moment ago? He approached the waters slowly, a great drum beating loudly against his chest as he did so. The end-point of his journey was just beyond this crossing. An anxiety was rising inside his mind, building up to a crescendo of uncertainty.

He knelt by the river-bed and scooped up a handful of water. He looked at it at length and eventually decided against tasting it. It was far too muddy. With a grunt, he splashed it away. He brought his hands together and closed his eyes, as though in a prayer.

Images flashed unbidden across his mind.

Two great and mighty armies, arrayed across both sides of the river. One was very much real; the other but a spectre, a shadow of the real threat, sitting hundreds of miles away in Rome. Two armies, led by two consuls: but Pompeii was absent, represented instead by champions of the Optimates. Five ghostly figures passed through, their features obscured by the morning fog. A Praetor, with a gleaming shield; a War Maiden, possessed of a flowing mane of gold; a Marksman, whose aim was without flaw; a Barbarian, armed with a terrible hammer whose very name brought forth terror and fury into the minds of his enemies; and an Iron Smith, garbed in imposing armor from head to toe.

Caesar, of course, was not impressed.

The great General was steely-eyed, possessed of grit and youthful energy that belied his old age- but his posture was grave and erect, as he reflected on the impending decision. The appearance of the apparitions bore unmistakeable meaning. In the end, there was but one course to take. He turned to his immediate suboordinate and said the immortal words, Alea Iacta Est.The die had been cast.

The Centurion's eyes shot open, and he gasped audibly. The vision now seemed alien, inconcievable: as a dream seems once it has passed. He was shaken, more than he had thought possible. This journey was obviously more important to him than he previously thought.

But why was he there? What awaited him beyond the mist? The answers eluded him for the moment. He had to find out on his own.

With renewed resolve, he ventured out into the unknown. He stepped into the shallow waters, which merely rose up to his knees. He started to wade through, steadily getting closer to the other shore.

It was when he was midway through that something inexplicable happened. The ground beneath this feet gave way, and he felt an unseen force exert an inescapable pull on his body. He flailed his arms around desperately in an effort to stay afloat, but it was all for naught: soon, he was pulled below, drawn faster and faster towards an unknown point of origin as everything started to fade away from view. Light rapidly gave way to darkness.

The water flooded in through his mouth and into his lungs. He would have screamed, but it would only let in the water faster.

He was going to drown in the middle of nowhere. What was worse, he didn't even know why.

#####

23rd November 2005

The Bar With No Name, Greenwich Village

Carol prodded the man in front of her gently in the shoulders, as delicately as she could. But she was getting impatient after all.

"Raine...this is sort of embarrassing," she whispered into his ears. And she wasn't lying: she had known men who couldn't hold their liquor over the years, but none who promptly fell asleep after downing a few shots of vodka coke.

"Look, you go off on whatever business you have, lady," the bartender advised. He had a wry look on his roughly-cut, square-jawed face; but he knew well enough to keep his business to himself and not to press matters where he didn't need to. "I will take care of the fella here and get him sorted out and on his feet."

"Really?" Carol asked, almost not believing her luck.

"Yeah, sure." the bartender flashed a friendly smile. It was a quiet night, and he didn't really have that much to do at the moment.

"Thanks, Frank. You are a life-saver." she pecked him lightly on the cheek. "Give him these when he wakes, will you?" she handed him her car keys before taking off for the door. The door ornament jingled serenely as she swung it shut.

Frank then proceeded to go about his business, as usual: cleaning out some used glasses and rounding up the litter thrown about the tables around the cramped little room. This went on for the entirety of five minutes; after which the man asleep on his barstand suddenly shot up, wide awake, waving his arms around and coughing like a madman.

"Not exactly a beauty sleep, was it?" Frank said as he waited for the man to catch his wind.

"Weird dream..." Raine blurted out between gasps for air.

Frank nodded in understanding. He had seen far stranger things in the relatively small time since he had taken on the bar. "Wait a little bit. This tonic will straighten you out," Frank said, as he proceeded to pour said liquor into a glass.

"Thanks," Raine said, as he rubbed his temple, looking around his back at the otherwise vacant bar. "Say, where is everyone?"

"They had to leave. Some emergency business...said you would understand," Raine 'Ahh'ed quietly in apparent understanding. "Your lady waited on you for a while before taking off, though."

"Oh?" Raine asked, straightening out his leather jacket. He looked rather dishevelled for a youth of his age, Frank noted.

"Yeah. Not mighty gentlemanly of you to fall asleep on her. And just after two shots, too..." Raine shrugged in resignation. Clearly, drinking didn't agree with him. "Well, she left you these," he handed Raine the car keys.

"Well, fancy that," Raine said, a rather stupid grin on his face.

"Here." Frank handed him the drink. Raine sipped it testily, then shuddered a bit after gulping it down. "This is some strong stuff."

At that exact moment, the door ornament jingled to announce the arrival of a new customer. A lean man of dark complexion walked in, his attire mostly obscured by a black trenchcoat; his unique hairstyle- bleached bond cornrows spiked backwards- made him immediately stand out from the crowd (even though there wasn't one to speak of). A large scar ran down his right cheek.

"Hey." Raine waved off a salute towards the new arrival. The man regarded him with a stony stare, before taking a seat by a table at the corner.

"The usual?" Frank asked. The man simply nodded in reply. "Right..." Frank mixed in a martini cocktail and served it to the corner table.

"What's his story?" Raine asked, genuinely curious.

"Been coming in for the last two or three days. Asks for the same blend every time."

"What, shaken not stirred?" Raine hoped he was up on his cultural references.

"Ehh, close, but no dice." Frank left it at that and went back to polishing up his glasses. He was being very careful in choosing his words with the young man. People hanging around Steve Rogers and Carol Danvers weren't exactly the safest bunch to kid around with. He had gotten three concussions the last five times he had gotten into a fight with Captain America, and he didn't even have health insurance during those last two.

You see, Frank the bartender used to be this supervillain called Constrictor (you know, with metal wrist coils and everything!). Over the course of his not-so-decorated career, he had done some things he wasn't proud of. He wasn't exactly living the good life, so two years ago he made a deal to switch over to SHIELD and got his sentence commuted to community service as a result. His cooperation with the authorities didn't exactly make him any friends in his old community, so he decided to relocate to Greenwich Village and live out the rest of his life in peace.

And it was working well too, until half of the Avengers walked in for a drink. But he didn't mind the excitement. Carol had been a steady, if sporadic, patron over the years, and it was nice to see old faces again. As long as he wasn't on the recieving end of a punch, that is.

"So...what's the occasion?" Frank asked at length.

"Well..." there was that stupid grin again. "I am retiring."

Frank chuckled softly. "Kind of young for that, aren't you?"

"Technically, I am kind of between jobs at the moment. Just...waiting for the next assignment."

"And what would that be, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Couldn't really tell you. I mostly operate on a need-to-know basis," Raine answered truthfully. Lately, not a lot of things were coming down the usual channels.

"And how's that working out for ya?"

"Yeah..." Raine drowned the last dregs of the tonic. "Let me get back on that to you, right? So how much do I owe you, mister...?"

"It's on the house." Frank waved away further protestations from the young man. "And it's Frank. Just Frank."

"Frank, you are an alright fellow on my book." Raine rapped the man's shoulders lightly before getting up. He looked up at his wrist watch; it was starting to get late.

And it was going to be a long drive to Brooklyn.

#####

It was when Raine had gotten into the driver's seat of Carol's 68 Mustang that Raine noticed the solitary figure standing still by the entrance door. A closer look later, he realised that it was the same man from the bar. Large, ashen white orbs peered at him, almost straining to burst out of that massive skull.

Raine poked his face out of the window. The Bar With No Name had a reputation for attracting all sorts of shady individuals, Carol had explained earlier. Raine regarded the man with a steady eye; the inspection yielded no further interesting insights.

A mystery. Raine hated mysteries. He was the kind of person who was used to thinking in straight lines. Mysteries more often than not required twisting and turning that turned those straight lines into a bowl of sphagetti. Raine simply didn't have the energy for that sort mental effort. If there were things that simply wanted to be left alone, he figured there must be some good reasons behind it; so he decided to live and let live.

"So...need a lift?" Raine asked loudly, in an effort to break the ice. The silence only intensified: it bordered on being tangible, hanging around the air and weighing down on his shoulders. After a few seconds, Raine shrugged. Suit yourself.

He slotted the key in its place and turned it: the engine roared to life, with the 400 horsepower engine causing a mighty uproar as Raine maneuvered the car around the parking lot. Just before he slid the stick shift off reverse and into the first gear, he turned his head to the sidewalk one last time. The stranger was nowhere to be seen. Figures.

As he pressed his foot to the accelerator pedal and changed gears, his eyes shifted to the car radio-set. Well, why not?

A few seconds of tuning later, the sound of coins dropping into a payphone came pouring through the speakers. A retro-tune followed soon after.

#####

"Turn right to I-95," the cool female voice of the onboard GPS chirped with tepid enthusiasm. Raine complied with due diligence; he was greeted with a steady, almost hypnotic procession of equally interspaced tail-lights for as far as he could see. It was oddly soothing.

Raine let himself get attuned to it, until it became a natural occurrence. There was a curious sense of familiarity to it: even though the notion itself was faintly ridiculous. Still, he couldn't deny that aura of belonging- that odd mixture of static and fluidity. Looking at the endless lines of dimly-lighted vehicles, he couldn't help but feel a connection, however tenuous, to all of them. Individually, they were each on their separate paths, but for now, they were taking part in the same trek.

It was knowing without really knowing.

A year. It had been a year since he had touched down on the Moon. A year since he ended up joining the Avengers. A year.

More than a year, actually.

How did time end up flying by so fast?

These days, now that he really didn't have that much left to do, he had went over everything he did in those earlier days with a fine comb. What did he accomplish? Did he honestly make a difference? Now that he was on the outside looking in, he wasn't so sure.

Joining up with the Avengers. It felt like a lifetime ago. Going back over that first meeting, it seemed so spontaneous. Superheroes. Whatever gave him the bright idea?

It all seemed like a dream, now. Except he wasn't still awake; just self-aware of the absurdity and shifting nature of the dreaming. Maybe that's what he was waiting for now: something to wake him up.

So there he was. Waiting. Picking off loose ends. And now there was only one thread left to severe.

Carol.

What was it that they had? It was difficult to quantify. It would be easy to say it was love, and that was certainly what he believed in the heady days of their relationship, but once the initial glow wore off, he wasn't so sure about that anymore.

One thing had led to another. They were both at places in their life where they found it natural to share space with someone else. And now they were both going places. Her, probably a steady career with the Airforce with an occasional dash of superheroing on the side. Him, who knows where.

So whatever was inevitably coming, it was a natural transition more than anything else. People come together, and then move apart all the time. It was an organic development.

Then why did it cause him so much doubt when he thought about it?

"Turn right to take exit towards Hutchinson Parkway."

He did as advised. He spared a glance at the freeway through his sideway mirror, at the uniform, synchronised movement. The spell was over.

He looked at the odometer. Seventeen miles. Those were the first seventeen miles he had ever driven in his life. Yet it came so easily to him, like it was second nature. Now how did that work out?

It must have been part of basic training, he supposed. It had to be, with the way he could just let his mind drift and let his instincts handle most of the necessary actions. He tried to remember, but as always, gave up after the first few moments. He couldn't remember a lot of things, lately.

He could have asked Support about it, he supposed. If he hadn't got his armor trashed in that one fight. He chided himself for that one once again: he had been so damn cocky! Cocky, and stupid.

No suit, no A.I. That was how things worked. So now he was stuck following the broadest of guidelines. He was biding away his time, waiting for the big boys to take notice. Until then, he had to make do with strictly need-to-know protocol.

Need-to-know. He was liking that term less and less.

"Turn right to enter-"

Raine had already swerved right before the GPS had finished giving out its instructions, only to find himself greeted by a hail of oncoming vehicles on a one-way street.

"-Error. Recalculating route..."

Raine quickly steered aside to avoid the nearest car, the bumper nicking off a good deal of paint from the side of the other car.

He hoped the insurance would cover it. Otherwise, Carol was going to kill him.

"Recalculating..."

Just like a machine to stop working when it's most inconvenient.

The surge of adrenaline pouring through his body gave him a welcome boost of awareness, but even then he couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. Everything felt off by a microsecond.

He shrugged it off for the moment and decided to focus on the present situation. Two cars were coming side by side, with little to no space between them. There was a good fifty feet between them and the Mustang, fortunately. Raine hoped that his instincts would pull through and proceeded to execute a u-turn. It was then, that the wave of sluggishness suddenly became much more apparent, and it seemed to be intensifying at an exponential rate. To his horror, Raine found that his fingers wouldn't budge.

What the hell was happening to him?

He was panicking, going over all sort of ridiculous notions as to what could have happened. He remembered reading about something called the Locked-In Syndrome, where sudden, disruptive trauma caused total paralyis of the limbs. He wondered if that was the case here. But then what was the causative trauma?

He tried to blink. He succeeded, but found that even this was becoming harder than the second.

Horns were blaring all over by this point, but they started to get dimmer and more distant, as though distorted through a barrier. His hearing must be starting to subside as well. He tried to put his foot to the brake pedal and remove the other from the accelerator, but found both to be unresponsive to his commands.

The twin oncoming cars tried to lessen their pace, but it was too little too late. The front bumpers rammed straight into the sides of the Mustang, squeezing it tight like a sandwich. Two of his ribs popped immediately, with his left shoulder being dislocated and right wrist being entirely shattered. His skull was precariously close to being caved in by stray shards of metal.

He was this close to being crushed to death.

The momentum of the hits spun the car in an anti-clockwise direction, disrupting the suspension of the car and causing it to flip it haphazardly in the air. Bleary-eyed, he spotted a young mother with her toddler in tow standing dumbstruck not more than five feet away. Terror gripped his senses when he realised that the car was probably going to land smack dab on her location.

He mustered the last of his strength and tried to flail his limbs about in an effort to shift the momentum of the car to no avail. Finally, an idea sparked inside his fading consciousness; he pushed out his inner energies to the palms of his hands, and sure enough, faint streams of blue shot off through the roof and against the air, counteracting the anti-clockwise momentum and sending the vehicle flying in an arc higher in the air.

Satisfied with the knowledge that he had succeeded in putting the civilians out of harms way, Raine let go of his slipping consciousness. Darkness slipped over his mind just as the car crashed nose first into the roof of a nearby Taco Bell.