It was 48 hours before the biggest payday of their lives. 18 months of planning, weeks of tryouts for "getaway driver" and "utilities", combined with the constant nagging feeling of getting caught by security. That's all it would take; one red beam trip or camera detection to bring the entire heist down. Comic book Conventions are like job fairs for the more invested, young individual. You go in with your costume game in peak condition, pay lump sums to selfie with other cosplayers, and buy as much merchandise you can throughout the 72 hour event.

"It's who you know and who you can stomach." Sylvester once told James. Their golden ticket split into seven suits that were worn by the Bat Family in the DC Universe. Making contacts over the cons he went to, Sylvester also established with one person who knows another person with connections to other persons, leading towards the Black Market trade. He kept that part from James, knowing he was the "seeing before believing" type. The bat suits were kept in their individual, bullet proof glass cases at a GenCon event in Illinois; biggest event of 2014.

They had it all figured out plus two other candidates tagging along for the ride, Paul and Dino. These two were Comic Con aficionados with a thrill for taking on something much grander than themselves. Sylvester was on the fence with them at first, knowing the things they've bought at past Cons outweighed the stuff they took without looking. The latter contained priceless items like the 70's Wonder Woman attire, Deadshot's wrist gun, variants of Kryptonite rocks, things that can make a man cave look cool, but not for the long haul. Dino played the role of "utilities guy", bringing tools to dismantle security alarms and quiet on his feet. Paul on the other hand took on handling the truck.

Some members of the group hoped 48 hours would fly by while James used the time he had to reflect. It was a rainy day in the neighborhood with the aroma of Domino's Pizza and cheap beer. All four guys hung out in Sly's man cave, laughing and owning each other in Injustice: Gods Among Us on the good ol' Playstation 4. Almost two hours squatting in a nerd's utopia, James took his beer and walked up the raggedy steps onto Sly's back deck, sitting under an umbrella overhead and listened to the rain drops hitting the ground. Reflecting one's life and where it has gotten them can be a healthy thing to do once in a while.

Going to Cons and lifting a nice trinket or five was one thing. The heist however… the Batman Lore gained a nervous amount of traction as of late. The Arkham video games were a success, people dressing up as the Joker himself as well as the abundance of animated films surrounding the caped crusader. This was no small lift, he felt. Fans, regardless if they were pro DC or Marvel, would sport a green Robin Hood uniform and chop their arm off just to take a picture of the bat suits. No mistake or quarter given to the other side must ever come to light. Drinking his beer, Sly followed up on his fellow neighbor to see what was up.

"Hey, hey, you're missin' all the fun!" Sly pointed out.

"I think after the tenth round of Martian Manhunter vs. Lex Luthor Mech, one has to say "fuck it, I'm out." James chuckled.

"You doing okay, been awfully silent the past three weeks. Shit man, he sat next to him, I never thought 48 hours can move so slowly."

"It's better that way if you ask me. Rushing into this job is the last thing any of us want."

"Except for Dino, dude's been behind bars before. If he gets caught, he'll use his cut as bail money. However, that's if he doesn't spill where it originated from." Sly said feeling concerned for James. "There's gotta be something else bothering you, Jimbo. I can feel it."

"… I got a phone call." He replied.

"One of your siblings came down with the flu again?"

James hesitated a bit. If only it was as simple as head congestion and cold sweats. He then told him, "I got a job, a legitimate retail job in Manalapan."

"Jesus Christ…" Sly scratched his head.

"Dude, before you start…" James said before getting cut off.

"With the background you have, the number of lifts you made without paying for 'em, what the hell were you thinking?"

"Do you honestly think the stuff I took were the real thing? Sly, I know how you feel about retail work, but please, think! How long does the thrill last until one slip up ends it all? I just… I just want some legit cash in my bank account without looking over my shoulder."

"We've always been careful, James. God forbid we don't map out a convention hall before making a move!"

"How many close calls have we had though?"

Professional or green, a con man was only as good as his strategy. Upon reflecting his life choices, thinking back to past conventions in New York, California, Seattle, even out of the country for anime merchandise which James had never done before, the number of close calls were heart pounding. As the two argued on the simple ethics of having legal income, James brought up a past con they went to back in 2012; Emerald City Comicon. At the time, it was a nice break from the usual hit spots where they loot up and sell through anonymous channels. Ebay was the obvious choice, one that Sly wanted to think outside the box when it came to selling.

Seattle's very own convention featured props and replica swords from J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. From elven bows to the One Ring, James especially wanted to add some diversity to his own man cave, but there was one complication. Every item available for purchase had an encoded security chip which can only be removed by the seller. Being a huge fan of fantasy in his own right, Sly salivated at the sight of an Istari made staff owned by the White Wizard, Saruman. An exit point was mapped out by James that led to an abandoned part of an underground parking garage.

Here was where the close call came in. Being completely against taking the staff, the crowded con goers made the situation for a Plan B futile. Sly went in disguise as Gandalf the Grey, squeezed through a bunch of Trekkies to reach the staff. By the time they made it to a door leading to the garage, two harsh taps on their shoulders made their hearts drop to their stomachs. Both turned around and saw three security guards confronting them. According to the staff, it was won in a trivia contest six weeks prior to the convention, and it was won by a veteran who did two tours in Afghanistan.

Both he and his daughter Livia was huge Lord of the Rings fans and couldn't wait to get their prize. James didn't know what to say. The only thing he accomplished that day was losing three pounds of sweat he got from his costume. Sly removed his beard and said over the crowd, "I called out to you guys before! I overheard from a couple of teenage elves they were plannin' on taking this thing. We were hoping you could keep a closer eye on the staff 'till the winner shows up. It's Blake Weinstein, right?"

It was one of the lamest excuses he ever pulled off on security personnel. Coincidental circumstances arose when the actual winner showed up with his daughter after eight and a half minutes of smooth talking. Sly was neither the sentimental nor entertaining type, but as soon as he slid Gandalf's beard back on and put on his best Ian McKellan impression, it was like James slipped into another dimension. He had no words to back up their case, just stood like a statue as Livia's eyes lit up as the staff went over to her. It became one of the biggest close calls they ever had, and since then over the three years they went to conventions, the other close calls didn't come close.

However, it gave James a stroke of conscience that led him on the path of job applications and phone interviews, all leading to the Blue Bulls-Eye store in Manalapan, New Jersey. The argument came down to a simmer when Sly did some reflecting of his own. Coming from a strict business background with no wiggle room to be your own man, it made him somewhat cold to James.

"Look here, I have made a crap ton of mistakes in my 33 years livin' on this Earth. You know my old man and his old man? They strove to become these big headed brokers in NYC. My father said, "You're 19 now, Sylvester. Now is the time to carry on the Sozzamenu tradition in being a giant in the business world. Finance, trading, Real Estate, it's your choice, son. Just say the word and I'll pull the strings to get you started…"

He made a lot of contacts with a few assholes thrown in the bunch. The point I'm makin' J, is that we don't choose how we make our mark in this life. There is only one, and you make the best with what you got. I can't stop you from backing out of this heist. If retail is your path, I'll ah… learn to accept it."

James smiled and patted his back, "Thanks, brother. You're a good guy when you're not debating Nygma riddles with someone."

"Shaddup, he chuckled along with him, alright, too much sentiment between neighbors. Let's get you hammered at least. My god, you barely touched your beer."

"I just wanted to get that off my chest. I wish you luck out there."

One can never truly know where they end up. They can either be living life to the fullest on their feet, or be a fleeting memory in the ground. A day of horror was orchestrated and spread through every corner of Henderson territory. The boarding house was a crippling shadow of what it once was, and continued crippling still. One rotted board after another, it secretly gave Corkscrew a comforting feeling that one nightmare out of many was dying.

Jed Henderson put on a brave face on the teenage stage when he made his debut, but unlike his son, the house before him left a hole in his chest. He couldn't let the events that transpired here go unpunished, not with much on the line for the long haul. The comfortable, warm air gave way to intense heat as 500 Soul Leapers chanted with astonishment with each meat crushing sound being made. Seeing a scenario like this in a horror movie… who were we kidding, Matt thought, feeling depleted and scared at the same time? A spark inside him wanted him on his feet, tackle the sledge hammering maniac, and fight their way out of Staten Island.

Orange eyes were everywhere; most of the gas converts that were seen barely looked human anymore. The only ones that still had some humanity etched on their faces were Corkscrew, Jed and his "fortune telling" associate, Quinn. Everyone else let off a sadistic laugh as James's shattered skull glitter the hollow ground with his blood. Cold sweat rained down their faces. They wanted to run, but between them and half an army towards the exit was a lose/lose situation.

Nick's face went numb as blood spattered on the right side of his clothes. As for Cayla, her brave face submitted to the horror that was to come next. When Jed was done dishing out his evolution lesson, he lifted his sledgehammer from the blood soaked dirt and presented it to the others. "The amount of effort spent here, Jed told them, is what I expect from my converts. Our evolution event, or better yet, our retribution day is coming. James, although loyal to you three, knew people in least likely places that can expose what I'm trying to accomplish. I can easily turn 'em into one of our own, but at this point my family has wasted enough resources."

"And what of my brother Terry, Corkscrew asked, you know who's responsible for his condition."

"Terrence…" He spoke solemnly, looking at the house.

Unnatural sounds dwelled within the boarding house. It grew louder and louder like it was fighting for a way out. Nick especially looked behind to see where it was coming from; he already danced with the pale devil once. One loud shift in the foundation caused Nick to scream, "GET DOOOOOWN!" As soon as all three plopped on the ground, a nightmare emerged as an orange eyed ghoul leaping over and stood before everyone else. Corkscrew was taken aback by the abhorrent image whilst Jed and his men stood firm, as if he waited for this moment to become a reality.

Dropping his hammer, he took a step forward as the Soul Leapers stood their ground. Jed looked upon him with a twisted love in his eyes, "So… my first born went to these kinds of lengths to prove his salt to me. Terrence… you are now the tip of the spear for what my plan holds for Saigon. Take a knee, son." He suggested as the ghoul gritted his teeth and kneeled. "It is time to purify our gene pool. Find Bentley, your bastard brother, and tear his body asunder."

"… The plant didn't work." Nick softly spoke to the others. "So this is what they look like…"

"Terry" raised his mutated hand, quickly halting the others to cease what they were about to do. Landing on his right shoulder, he looked his father square in the eye and discerned three words, "Henderson… is dead." An air piercing scream scorched the cloudy sky above, sending half the Soul Leapers on their backs in agony. Terry slashed his father's face and sent him flying towards his gassed horde. The other half on Mo's side stood firm as they readied themselves to take down a pale abomination. Mo couldn't believe Bentley did this to their younger brother.

After all the trouble Aunt Kenzie went through to create a cure to the family curse, Jed's influence outweighed what his sister intended in the end. Corkscrew made the first move by trying to subdue his brother, but to the unaltered eyes it was like seeing a hunter fighting a bear without protection. Matt trying to keep his focus intact, struggled his way towards Nick and Cayla as all three scrambled for a way to cut their binders. What came out of the big hole in the house was more than just Terry seeking revenge; bones were littered all over the ground. Much to her surprise, Cayla recognized their shape when they were piled up with its' owner in ghost form.

No one could have saved Jackson in life, but in death he lent more than a sobering voice to help them break free. They grabbed the sharpest bones they could find and went to work on cutting the binders. Then, without sensing where he came from, the mind reader Quinn rushed up to Matt in his leaper form, placing the others in a panic.

"You three are in Henderson Camp, now." He spoke in a demonic tone. Sternly viewing Matt, all Quinn saw in his future was a fading corpse. "Except this one…"

"Leave him alone! You deal with me, now!" Nick demanded as Quinn turned around. "Yo, dipshit, I'm talkin' to you!"

"These cold hearted bastards…" Cayla said to herself.

The horde in front of them went to war with one another, trying to tear down the pale ghoul while tending to Jed's wound. Quinn's body was nowhere to be seen, but for a split second he saw Terry leaping over the horde and feasting on his corpse soon after. He then dropped Matt and clenched his fists, foresaw what was to happen next. It was a jump cut of moving images of what was to become of the three, and when he finally came to… it suddenly made sense. Quinn turned his attention to Nick and Cayla, "Take your dead weight." He said tossing Matt in front of them. "This moment is merely a taste for what's to come. Keep your loved ones close."

It only took thirty seconds for Nick and Cayla to get on their feet and hightail it out of Staten in the confusion. In a perfect world, it would have been a "scrape by" to escape 500 phantoms trying to kill you. However, there were worse things than death. Quinn somersaulted in the air and fused himself into Nick's body, leaving her screaming his name, begging him to fight it. Nightmares were a dime a dozen for her; seeing him twist in ways like he was being exorcised caused her heart to still.

At that point, she was as limp as he was when the gas took hold. Matt got up and got themselves running towards a large piece of the house's debris. Chaos of the horror variety swirled all around. There were no words to what was going through their minds. Matt being the only one awake at the time, consoled her by saying, "We need to get the hell outta here…" The hopelessness in her eyes stared back at him with no urgency to stand up.

He got in front of her and begged, "Look, I don't know how yet, but there has to be a way to stop these fuckers and save Nick. Did you guys find any clues when you were investigating? Alright, I see the sledgehammer Jed dropped. If I can get to it, we'll have a fighting chance." He told her as she remained motionless. "Cayla, we can't just sit here. Jed or Corkscrew might come for us next."

"… Do what you need to do." She spoke. "If a Soul Leaper gets me…"

"I don't wanna hear it." He fired back. "You stay close to me, you understand; like glue. I'll lead us out."

It was a thick and foggy path between where they were and the exit ahead. Matt helped themselves up with a somewhat clear view of the abandoned hammer lying on the dirt. He looked back with her giving an uncertain nod she was ready to run, and before long Matt held her hand tight and rushed into the demon's smoke. Such things like sound and fear were stowed away. The sledgehammer's handle flew into his hand, swinging it at whoever came at them.

Within the thick of the ghoul skirmish, Cayla caught a glimpse of "Nick" staring back at her with the same empty look S.K. gave her. The leapers began surrounding them, but something snapped inside her as she felt the warm steel of the knife in her pocket. Four Soul Leapers came at her left. Not thinking twice, she drove the knife into one of their skulls; it became a free-for-all trying to escape. By the time they were halfway towards the exit, blinding lights engulfed the scenery. Aerial and ground lights turned the Leapers skittish; both didn't stick around to get in police crosshairs or whatever intervened.

Any direction at this point was a right one, Matt thought. Cayla blacked out from the trail of battle left in their wake; whatever came before was a distant memory. Neither knew how long they were out, running for their lives with nothing but fumes to keep them going. Strange thing was the one thing that kept Cayla from tipping over the precipice was none other than Jackson's voice. "I didn't do much to be great in this life. He spoke in her head. "And yet… I'm still here, making a difference. I have eyes on Terry now. Don't worry, your friend Nick won't be harmed by the Hendersons. Rest now; there is a way back from all of this. I'll guide you…"

A slight shine of the sun's rays crept over a faded window. By the time she opened her eyes, she was on a train with Matt. How they got there at all was a miracle, but it would have been a greater miracle if her head wasn't pounding and feverish.

"M-matt…? Hey, you awake?"

"Ugh, he groaned in his sleep, god I smell like shit."

"That makes two of us." She replied, slowly sitting up. "How did we get here, Matt?"

"Josh… I know Nick spoke to him before you came to Staten Island. He wanted me to make sure you guys didn't get killed. And James…" He said, feeling taken aback.

"We were in way over our heads back there. I saw the devil in plain sight and for a short span of time… I wasn't mortified. I should've been that one girl who survives the whole ordeal, only to be screwed over at the end."

"But you weren't." He told her. "You're braver than you realize. Those Hendersons will pay for this. Mark my words. Somehow, someway we will make it right."

"I don't have anything in me, Matt. I don't even wanna think about today, just want Nick by my side."

"… Get some rest, Cayla. We're going home."

There is a different coping mechanism for all kinds of people. Some drink down their woes, some exercise their frustrations at the gym, and others cut themselves off from the rest of the world. No common logic or factual explanation could justify the events that came undone in Staten Island. Jed Henderson was at large according to the news reports finally putting their ears to the very ground they treaded on. It was the same spun tale as it has been for four decades: orange gas appears, takes whoever gets caught in it, and disappears just as quickly.

The 500 Soul Leapers that waged war on their own turf were caught in a stream of infrared lights, and shot to hell thanks to New York's extra finest, SWAT. The parties involved said their hit number was approximately 126; an act of retribution for the number of cops dead in the pursuit of the Hendersons. New York was wide awake when the gas was brought it to its knees; it only took a burning boarding house for the rest of the world to see. For too long, Staten Island was the center of gas conversion, but with the Hellspawns looking to protect neighborhoods and an influential donor to NY orphanages, the city only just began rebuilding itself, making preparations in case Jed took his personal vendetta wide scale. Two days after the attack, Darrien put out a kill order on Corkscrew.

He wanted to remind his inhabitants that a good Henderson is a dead one, no matter what truce that was brokered beforehand. Traitors can be dealt with in the right light, but nothing comes close to the things he's seen with the gas. Unlike the local gangs in the Barrios, Soho, and the Bronx, the Hellspawns kept their own ears to the local channels on the orphanage donor; Esmeralda Saladin. Not a single resource was left unused in the three weeks after the attack. Born of Northern Indian descent, Esmeralda was a sole survivor of a terrorist threat in the year 1977.

With the execution of her mother and father refusing to join the Kabul Death Squads, she spent most of her child life hiding behind dumpsters and collecting loose grenade pins. It wasn't until she was fourteen she was able to hitch a ride on a boat to the U.S.A., and from there started making a name for herself. New York welcomed her as a philanthropist, living in the Leake and Watts Orphan House until she did her American Dream dance into her mid-twenties. What transpired after that made her into the powerhouse she was in the present. 2015 was shaping up to be a time of forging alliances in times of unnatural crises.

Terry's "condition" shook the very foundation of Jed's organization. Saigon was up the in the air at that point, but as far as anyone connected to them knew, it was still the endgame Jed put in place. And as for Manalapan, it was in a state of constant security. The employees at Blue Bulls-Eye were starting to rebel against Corporate's wishes, saying they were going too far and forcing them to quit. Business was dropping fast and most people didn't much care anymore, not even for employees like Jim, Lauren, and Marianne.

The corporate guards, Thaddeus and Connor tried keeping the peace with the new regulations passed down to them: constantly monitor team members throughout their shift, even when they go to the bathroom. They were taking "invasion of privacy" to a whole other level, forcing Marianne especially to take an extended leave of absence. She had a total of four visits to Cayla since coming back from New York, consisting on sitting by her bedside with a few choice words exchanged. It drove Marianne crazy, feeling so helpless making things better, but with James dead and Nick vanishing it drove a wedge between the sister bond they had. There was only one card left to play she thought; her boyfriend Damian.

Apart from her father and younger sister, Damian was the only other man in her life to keep her on task whenever things fell apart. It was towards the end of July when he decided to pay her a surprise visit. He was good like that, even at the Bulls-Eye keeping everybody on their toes with his goofball streak. Gotten a vivid picture of what happened with Mickey and after, somehow he knew the store was going to descend into something horrible; nothing on this scale though.

On a Saturday afternoon, both met up at the Panera Bread restaurant in Freehold with news that was going to set them up for the rest of their lives. You can take the Jersey out of the person, but you can't take the person out of Jersey; Illinois and what was cooking over there was the exception. Damian laid out printed copies of a job application that was labeled KaiWay Corporation. Interning there for a year, he negotiated with his higher-ups to get Marianne a job as well. KaiWay was an under the radar conglomerate that emerged in a big way in both the states and Japan. She herself wasn't too heavy on the anime side of the company. It only took a goofball to sway her mind.

"Holy shit, she spoke in amazement, you've actually broken through to them."

"I wasn't alone either." He told her. "Wesley Bordock, the CEO, practically strong armed the other board members to get you an internship. This is real, Mare."

"I thought you said Wesley invested a huge stake in the company? He always was a "Jack of all trades" kinda guy."

Damian noticed a few patrons in business attire walking around the restaurant, and felt nervous all of a sudden. As she was looking through the documents, he leaned forward and whispered, "There was… a bacta tank incident that happened a few months back. I'm under NDA so I shouldn't even be telling you this. Wesley built KaiWay with a mission in mind."

"I know. I saw the news article online." She replied. "Some California lookin' girl with an unknown blood type caused an "accident" in one of the bacta chambers. Didn't she work as a Banker at one point?"

"Kari, I believe. Wes has been very secretive about her condition. He fought tirelessly to keep KaiWay from getting shut down. I saw it. I saw the things he can do, what we can do to make a difference. This is your chance, babe; time to move out of this poison cesspool and onto greater things. It's all uphill from here." He expressed with enthusiasm, suddenly realizing her concern. "But you can't leave yet."

Marianne gave a heavy sigh and said, "It's Cayla. With Nick missing and James dead, she's been distant from everybody."

"Can ya blame her? Last time I was in New York was a contract job to support my ailing mother. I still can't believe orange gas can stir that big a shit storm with no one stepping up to them. And then you told me she spoke to some kind of ghost in that boarding house…?"

"Yeah, someone named "Jack" or something. Three weeks later… at least the scars on her face healed from that grenade blast. I'm gonna see her later today to see how she's doing."

"Want me to try and get her job with us? Wes is the kind of person who sees the working man as a worthy being. The benefits are good and the pay can help the both of us find a place…"

"… Unfortunately, I don't think that'll work. You know Cayla. Once her mind is set on something… she's like me sometimes; stubborn." She said drinking her iced green tea.

"Well, you let me know if she's interested." He assured her, taking out a metal cane. "I'll be in town for the whole week."

Looking at a man reaching 30 carrying a cane, she raised her left eyebrow and asked, "Seriously…?"

"What; I twisted my knee. I told you."

"How the hell did you twist your fricking knee?"

"Ha ha, I was making a sub and forgot the mustard. It was in that cabinet above the fridge? You know which one."

"Oh, the one I told you to use a ladder but never do 'cause you're in "denial"; short people problems?"

"Dude, I've been to the gym. So I missed a Leg Day or two, but my joints have gotten better!"

"You're 27 and using a cane."

"Most of the time, I feel 72. Next thing you know, I'll be needing sponge baths." He laughed with awkward filling the air between them. "And what about you; you like to think of yourself as a mermaid."

"Maybe I was a mermaid in the past life, dumb-dumb." She spoke sarcastically, bopping him on his forehead.

One of the waitresses came by collecting dishes and told them, "Oh, for god's sake get a room!"

"He's reaching 30 and using a freaking cane!"

"This is 'Merica, damn it!" Damian said standing up. "If she wants to be a mermaid and me walkin' with a cane, we can. We are free to do so!"

"Don't strain your back now." She said before telling the waitress, "I apologize for his behavior. He's in a mid-life crisis at the moment, but that's none of my business." She said while sipping the rest of her tea.

Relationships don't get any more adorable than these two. Everything has changed, and in a society where haunted houses and deranged families try to kill you, you start to second guess between what is real and what isn't. Matt cut himself off from much of Blue Bulls-Eye as well as his personal life. It couldn't have been any more than a whiff, but why wasn't he possessed like Nick or even dead was beyond his understanding. Like the majority that weren't already fired, Matt took a leave of absence to get his mind together, carrying the grief of what came before. He had it all planned, he thought: the sniper rifle, tracking the motorcade to a gang beef under a train, having Corkscrew in his sights… it all plummeted within a matter of minutes.

He didn't know what was doing sparring against one Soul Leaper and getting kidnapped by the biggest beast of them all. What happened between then and feeling like a failure was hunkered down by whatever beer he consumed. After the first week, the nightmares were getting stronger. The meat smashing sounds etched in his brain as Jed struck down one swing after another. Matt was no stranger to a beating or two he got as a child, but sounds such as a sledgehammer kept him from sleeping a wink.

The second week, he put aside the drink and took a case of Blue Frost Gatorade as he drove to a gym in Manahawkin. It was a lengthy drive from Manalapan; Matt didn't mind. Like Mickey, the road helped him think of his next move. He reached a roadblock in his mind, not having the faintest idea on how or when to take the fight to every single Henderson still alive. The only comfort was the gym he went to on Saturday nights. It was private; knowing a buddy who owned the gym still had its privileges.

For the next two weeks, he took his repressed anger on the weights, burning off stress on the treadmill and punching away on a boxing bag. It was a rinse and repeat regiment he kept to until one thought crept in. Frederick Mayhew from the surplus store in Staten Island had a stack of missing person fliers near the cash register. He remembered seeing the name "Jackson Mayhew" on the top, detailing what he looked like and that his last known location was a local bike shop. As Matt's ID was being checked for the rifle purchase, Frederick mentioned him doing search parties for his grandson.

It was a ten person search around the five boroughs… then it was just him. Frederick refused to believe Jackson was kidnapped, or worse. Matt assumed the latter given all that was going on at the time. It was only a matter of time until questions would come a knocking, or in this case appearing in the gym without so much as a creak in the floor. Sweaty and a need to keep going, Matt turned around to find a worn out Josh standing before him. He had definitely seen better days.

"How the hell did you get in?" Matt asked him.

"You don't answer your phone." He replied as Matt confronted him again. "Front door was locked so I tried the back door."

"There is always a back door, wish that was the case for everything."

"Korin is worried about you, said you've closed yourself off without talking to anyone. It's been three whole weeks."

Matt suddenly stopped for a breather before saying, "She understands. Korin and I… I've just been so shaken up that the moment I say somethin' to another person, 'fraid I'll collapse again. We spoke two nights ago. I told her I was alright, said she didn't believe me. To be honest ah, her voice is the only thing that calms me down. I'm not ready to talk about it, Josh."

"You'll have to at some point." Josh made clear. "The store could shut down any day now."

"Like we haven't heard that before…"

"There was another gas canister over where the toddlers clothing is."

"You're shitting me…" Matt spoke in disbelief.

"Alyse and Kyle came across it a few nights ago. A huge frenzy broke out with all the corporate security guards rushing towards soft lines. You should've seen it. It was like a herd stampeding towards a cliff. It turned out to be a dud of some kind thank god, but… some local kid revealed himself and thought it was funny. Alyse didn't."

"What'd they do with the kid?"

"Voices were raised. I've never seen that much anger coming out of Alyse before. I wanted to intervene but the guards broke them up, and I was forced to make a hasty decision. However, she made the choice of firing herself."

"My god, he rubbed his head, you're telling me she left?"

"She said her piece and stormed out. On top of that and what happened at the corporate office, she couldn't take it anymore. I, personally, don't blame her. That orange gas turned a lot of our people ugly that night."

"Don't have to tell me." He said. "Compared to Staten, S.K. is small potatoes. Josh, I'm trying to get mentally prepared for the Hendersons' next move. They're out there. I gotta get back to it." Matt said, punching the bag again.

"… I know you do. I just need to know if Nick, James, and Cayla are alright. I'm not proud the way I sent you to watch over them. You know I'm here for you, right? You can always talk to me."

It was no secret to Matt that the meeting both Josh and Lisa had up at Corporate wasn't a pleasant one. He may not have been there, which thinking about it would have been a better scene to sit through than looking death in the face, but the truth was in the eyes. Josh couldn't bring himself to give details on what happened, just that the store was in more disarray than ever before. Josh stuck around the gym for another hour, not saying a word, just observing how a coping mechanism was being used. He usually kept an open mind on all the employees he worked with, even the seasonal ones.

Matt was different. Getting to know him, working with him, developing a mutual friendship over the six years he'd worked as Store Security, Josh came to respect the fact he wasn't like his own family. They were nothing compared to Mickey's upbringing, but Italian blood ran hot like Mt. Vesuvius on both sides. It could have been an easier life if his parents were culinary or trapeze artists. Things got quiet after an hour. Matt knew he would have to tell the truth to someone. After nearly pushing his body past its limits, he gulped a full Gatorade bottle and came out with it.

"Jed Henderson, the so-called maestro behind the gas… he taunted us, words only a bully would say but with his kind all around us they carried weight. And I mean 500 Soul Leapers boxing us outside the boarding house. I fought one, or evaded for a good stretch before it merged with another Leaper."

"Okay, he felt uncertain, when you say "merge"…"

"Their two souls collided and exploded orange goo over a fraction of Jed's kind. The shit I saw… you don't see that in the real world. Then, he paused as his hands started shaking, Jed took a sledgehammer to James. "You all exposed yourselves to us." He said. "The time to evolve is now." James is dead. Nick was… possessed-goddamn how do you make sense of this shit?!"

Matt jolted up from the bench. Josh called out, "I wasn't there with you guys when it happened."

"Josh, don't tell me I did all I could." He fired back. "Things are different now. I'm different. I will find those bastards who took Nick and give 'em a fate worse than Soul Leaping. God, what was I thinking? He was in my sight. I could've… I could've taken the shot." He spoke with regret, sitting back on the bench. "To be honest, I dunno what to do. Shit, Mickey Henderson came from a fucked up gene pool."

"Listen to me, he said placing his hand on his shoulder, like I said I'm here for you. Those Hendersons will pay for what they did to James, but we'll do it together."

"… It's not much, but it's enough." He replied before looking up at him. "Thank you."

"No, I should be apologizing for sending you there. None of us ever wanted to be in their lifelong vendetta, but it's the hand we've been dealt. You're like a son to me, Matt. You, Cayla, Marianne, Kyle, even S.K., you're all like my family. Whatever you need, don't hesitate."

Matt in his security days had to pull himself together after some long, rough shifts at the store. Josh was one of the few people he could turn to for fatherly advice. Something had to be done to answer for the huge blows taken to the people in Manalapan. Whether the act was going to the police or handling the matter internally was most likely leaning towards the latter. That was when it clicked in his head on the allies he didn't even know he had: Lieutenant Adamo, Elliott Turner; people who have either heard a great deal about the gas or have seen it firsthand. He got out his phone to get things moving.

The only other object that moved at a nervous level was the heart of a Con Man. Sylvester had been getting surprise visits from different people concerning James. He had some notion to what was going on, but kept most of the facts to himself so he could give James's mother false assurance he was still up and about. As for other visitors, the frequent knocks on his front door and the hollow threats from two "wise guy" looking jerkoffs, an entitled mentality kicked in along with a loaded .22 Magnum. However when the door closed from the outside, his anxiety continued to play games with him.

Hadn't seen neither hide nor curly hair from Jimbo himself, it led him to believe whatever took place in New York didn't let him leave. Sitting in his man cave, he feared the next call or knock would be the FBI coming to dismantle his livelihood. For the 34th time Sylvester got out his cell to see if he would pick up this time. "You've reached James. I can't reach the phone right now, but you know what to do… (beep)."

"Christ, man, this is like the 35th time I called you, like some frickin' ex-girlfriend stalking you. James, you need to get your ass back to Jersey. I've been getting strangers, plus your mom coming to my house asking questions. You know how I get anxiety attacks? Look, if you're getting your beak wet up there, fuckin' A!" He said before taking a deep breath. "I'm worried, Jimbo. Three weeks without a word from you? We also need to talk about our "long-term investment", how we're gonna handle it. Just get home, man."

The longest time they haven't spoken to one another was before they met at the Menlo Park Mall, having dirt on each other unless they formed a partnership in getting the bat suit displays. After putting the phone down on his TV stand, five knocks were heard at his front door. They sounded different than his usual third degree heathens. Then again, anything can happen in 2015. He took another deep breath and went upstairs to confront who it was, only to be taken aback by the presence of a paler than snow girl with a look in her eyes only soldiers get coming home from a tour.

"Can I help you?" He asked suspiciously.

"Are you Sylvester?" Cayla asked.

"That depends on the nature of this visit. Who sent you?"

"I'm-I'm Cayla, I was a friend of James up until three weeks ago."

Raising his eyes, he recognized the name. "Cayla, that's right! James told me about you and someone named Nick, said you three was going to New York for some rookie investigating."

"If only…" She spoke with regret. "We need to talk."