Project: Heroine

by Trop1c

Someone has kidnapped some of Paragon City's most powerful heroines. It's up to one lone hero to find who is responsible and get our girls back!

PROJECT: HEROINE By Josef Koelbl III

It all started when…

Crimson looked at his watch again and frowned. The hero should have been there by now. "If he even decides to come at all", he thought. He scanned the sky as he paced in front of the statue on Peregrine Island.

The hero knew where to find him, as did most of the super powered folk in Paragon City. Villains as well. And even though Crimson just looked like a man in a dark red suit there was more to him than met the eye. He may have been an agent of the government, CIA or perhaps NSA, but no one knew for certain. And though the line of his Armani suit was impeccable, beneath it he was well prepared for trouble: two .45's in shoulder holsters, a Bowie knife strapped to his back, a stun gun with the appearance and size of a pager attached to his belt that could send a few thousand volts into his assailant and a couple of ankle holsters packed with Walther PPK's just to round out his arsenal. But he still considered himself more of an idea man than a combatant. And that was why he waited for the hero.

Glancing at the time again he sighed and looked to the sky. Suddenly, behind him, he felt a blast of heat as if someone had opened the door on a hot summer day and left the comfort of an air conditioned room. He smiled and turned. "Tropic.", he said, nodding his head in greeting.

Tropic landed gracefully in front of the red-clad man. His eyes leaked yellow fire as he frowned. "I got your message. What do you want?" His tone let the spy know that he would rather be anywhere but here.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk", Crimson shook his head. "Not even an hello, Tropic?"

Tropic snorted. "I don't like you, Crimson. You've lied to me, sent me on missions for one thing which turned out to be for something completely different. Had me steal evidence, plant evidence, take down people for no reason…There's a guy in the Zig right now doing time for something he didn't do because of you."

"He did things much worse than what he's in prison for."

"That's not the point. Its not justice."

Crimson smiled. "Justice is blind, Tropic."

"Yeah…well, Justice sees more than you think, Crimson." Tropic's eyes flared red. "I got your message. What do you want?"

Crimson got straight to the point. "I need your help, Tropic.", he said simply.

Tropic shook his head slightly in disbelief. Rising slowly and hovering above the ground he stared at the red-suited man, said "Goodbye, Crimson", and prepared to fly back towards the city.
Crimson rushed forward, arm outstretched. "WAIT!…5 minutes!…" He dropped his arm. "Please."

The hero turned to Crimson again. It was the 'please' that did it. He didn't think Crimson had ever said that word in his life. Tropic dropped to the earth again. Crossing his arms across his chest he said two words. "Five minutes."

Crimson sighed heavily with relief. "Ok, here it is. About three, maybe four weeks ago, I sent a hero in on a routine mission. Find documents, that sort of thing. She never returned. I checked with her super group, her other contacts, even heroes she had been casually connected with. Nothing, no one had seen her. I sent another hero in to complete the original mission and to find her if possible. She disappeared as well."

Tropic stood silently stroking his goatee. "Go on."

"I sent another hero in, a man this time. He came back and reported that the warehouse was empty. Completely empty. Not even dust. I sent what information I had on the missing heroines to Hero Corps and moved on to other pressing concerns." Crimson paused and cleared his throat. "A week ago or so I sent another girl on a mission. She disappeared. I believe in coincidence as much as the next man but this was too weird. Hero Corps had made no progress so I did a little digging myself."

Crimson opened his jacket and pulled out a white computer printout. "Over the past month fourteen super heroines have gone missing"

"Fourteen?"

"I want you to find them." The statement hung in the air like a cloud laden with rain.

"Me? Isn't this more a job for Hero Corps or even the police?"

"Maybe," Crimson held out the paper to Tropic, "but that warehouse was a Malta Group facility…"

"Malta.", Tropic sneered under his breath.

"…and you know some of these girls."

Tropic took the print out and looked over the names of the missing women. His eyes narrowed then widened in surprise. Fiery Fox, Gogo, Ms. Moxie, AuraGirl, all of these were women he knew well and had worked with in the past. Others on the list he had met once or twice, some he knew by name and reputation only.

He looked up at Crimson. "There are some heavy hitters on this list.", he said handing it back to the spy.

"I know. Whoever is responsible for this may have some power we need to deal with. If its Malta we need to know why and how. If its not, we need to know who."

Tropic stood silently. Finally he began to hover above the ground. "All right. I'm in. But why me? Out of everyone you could have called on, why me?"

Crimson looked up at the hero. "Two reasons. One, I know you'll sink your teeth into this and lock your jaws. You won't let go till you find out what's going on. You're who I can count on to do that."

"And the second?"

"You're you. You can be as mean, ruthless and dirty as I can. You'll break a rule and step over a line if you have to, if it's the right thing to do. And I think we'll need that on this one."

Tropic rose into the air and called back to the spy. "Yeah…right. I'll check back when I know something." He flew higher and Crimson heard his voice on the wind. "And don't think I bought that lock-jaw crap for a second."

Crimson stared after the hero and whispered under his breath, "I actually meant that."

------------------INTERLUDE--------------------

The building was dark, lit only by the sporadic lights in occasional offices and the bright glow of the moon filtering through the windows. Ms. Moxie had chosen the late hour to investigate the place for two simple reasons: it should be empty and, if it wasn't, they would probably be the bad guys.

She crept carefully between floors, stealthy in her step. The dark haired heroine was not there to fight but only to seek information. A CIA operative had gone missing in this area and this office building was on his list of "hot spots" so Ms. Moxie had come looking for any clue that may lead to the man.

Suddenly, she was engulfed in a blazing white force which propelled her forward. She struck her head on the wall and sank to her knees. Ms. Moxie put her hand down and struggled to rise to her feet but it was as if all the strength had left her body. Several hands grabbed her, the rough leather of their gloves scratching her skin. She tried to fight but her arms were like lead and then she smelled it; the thick cloying scent of…eucalyptus?…or maybe…jasmine?

And the sound…a monotonous drone, a deep low voice chanting the same thing over and over. She wanted to fight but her limbs wouldn't respond. She was dazed and looked frantically at her attackers but not registering any of the facts in her spinning world. "Green eyes", she thought, and concluded Circle of Thorns. But then she realized they weren't eyes but…goggles?

"Fight! FIGHT!", she repeated to herself in her head. She tried but could do nothing. "FIGHT!", she screamed to herself again. And then the voice inside her head said only "Sleep" and she dived head first into the gaping maw of unconsciousness.

PART TWO

Tropic decided to start at the beginning. The first heroine to go missing, a woman by the name of Anri, had been on a mission to investigate this warehouse in Skyway City. He dropped to the ground in front of the building and found the door unlocked.

"Strange", he thought as he entered the facility. The place was indeed empty, although there were some signs of recent activity and a considerable amount of graffiti on the walls. He went through the building quickly and found nothing. The hero Crimson had sent earlier was right - there was nothing here, except some empty crates and now some dust that had settled over the preceding month.

But still, something didn't feel right. Tropic went through the place again, looking closer at walls and floors, corners and crannies. Passing by a dead-end corridor in the rear of the warehouse he stopped and looked again. Something was off. He could almost feel it, touch it. He stood staring at the wall and then the floor. Suddenly it hit him.

There were tracks on the floor, tire tracks, made by a pallet jack or perhaps a fork lift. But the odd thing was that they went right up to the wall. There was no accounting for the load that was carried or even a bumper on the forklift. The tracks looked, for all intents and purposes, as if they went straight through. Tropic examined the wall closely. Then the side walls of the corridor.

He frowned. A slight depression was in the wall of the hallway right next to the dead end. Tropic placed his palm against it and pushed. A rumbling started and the back wall rose up revealing an entire new section of the warehouse. He cursed to himself. The other hero had missed this completely. Those missing girls might have been found by now if it weren't for that. Tropic sighed and stepped forward and began to search this new section.

It was much the same as the first part of the warehouse. Empty, dusty and full of crates that revealed nothing. However there was an office in this part of the building and Tropic focused his search there.
The office was a typical small warehouse office, maybe ten by ten feet. There was a desk, two file cabinets, a couple of chairs and a painting on the wall of a fishing village of the 1920's. Tropic began his search at the desk and found exactly what he expected to find: nothing. The two file cabinets yielded nothing but empty hanging file folders. He examined the painting on the wall. He found nothing on it, in it or around it and there was no wall safe hidden behind it.

"Wouldn't get that lucky", he thought to himself. He sighed and looked around the small office once more. Then he saw it, the edge of a piece of paper, it's corner peeking out from under the desk. He bent to pick it up and saw it was the page of a desk calendar dated a week ago. "When the last heroine went missing.", he whispered.

There was nothing on the paper except a name. Al-Salim Kabir Asam. Tropic grinned slightly. Something, not much, but something.

Then he heard a door open and shut and raised voices and cackling laughter. He spun around and willed himself invisible. Tropic smiled. Someone had come into the warehouse. And Someone was going to answer some questions.

Still invisible, Tropic flew towards the entrance of the warehouse. Alighting silently atop a stack of crates he stared downwards at the new arrivals. Five Freakshow gang members had entered the building as if they owned it. A couple of Freak choppers, a Juicer, a Stunner and a Tank Smasher whom Tropic had dealt with before named Nik-Nak. They stalked casually towards the back of the warehouse right past and directly under the hero.

Tropic gathered his energy and, becoming fully visible again, launched a bolt of pure flame directly into Nik-Nak's back. The tank staggered forward and nearly fell. The other Freak's looked back towards their attacker. "It's Tropic!", screamed one of the choppers. The Juicer and Stunner took to the air firing energy bolts at the hero.

Tropic leapt from the crates landing in front of the two choppers. A fire ball engulfed the both of them quickly followed by a blast of fire that put them down. Having dealt with the choppers he quickly fired another blast at the tank adding to the confusion.

The two flying Freaks were hovering overhead still blasting away at him. Tropic jumped up on one of the crates and launched himself towards them. Suddenly a sword of pure flame manifested itself in his hand. He swung in a wide circle and caught both of them in its fiery arc. He landed cat-like as the Juicer and Stunner fell dazed at his feet.

Tropic rolled forward just as the Tank's hammer swung over his head. "Gonna get you, Tropic!", Nik-Nak giggled as he pursued the hero. The hammer, attached where his hand used to be, swung back and forth as the Tank tried desperately to connect. Tropic jumped and rolled, turning back to fire blast and bolt at the Freak boss. He connected a few times but it barely slowed his foe down.

Tropic turned and ran directly at Nik-Nak. At the last moment he leapt up and somersaulted over the top of the Tank. When he landed he gathered his power and shot a powerful blaze into the Freak. Nik-Nak stumbled but still came on. Tropic fired another bolt into him and the boss slowed even more, wavering on his feet. Tropic rushed forward, fired another blast and the sword appeared again, swiping forward and catching the Tank in it's devastating power. Nik-Nak wobbled, said "Dammit" and fell at the hero's feet.

Tropic sighed heavily and fell backward onto a crate, taking a moment to rest. "Well", he said to himself, "that was no fun." Through the course of the chase he had led Nik-Nak back to the other Freaks he had defeated. They lay groggily about him and, before they fully awakened, Tropic encircled each of them in a ring of fire.

The Freaks slowly became aware of their predicament. They stood warily in the center of the fire and looked angrily at the hero.

Tropic smiled a menacing smile and said, "Let's talk."

Nik-Nak sneered back at the hero. "We got nothin to say to you, Gooder."

The other Freaks murmured in agreement, taunting Tropic with threats and curses. Tropic raised his hand and began to close it as if to make a fist. As he did so the fire rings surrounding the thugs grew smaller, starting to lick at the feet of the trapped criminals. They yowled in protest and Tropic relaxed his grip. The rings widened slightly again.

"This is the deal.", Tropic said, looking at each Freak individually before continuing. "I don't care what you're doing here. Don't care what you've done. I need information." He looked at them all again. "You talk, you walk. Don't talk and I hear there's plenty of room in the Zig. Simple as that."

The choppers, Stunner and Juicer looked at each other. Nik-Nak, for his part, took the hard line. "You must be crazy, Cape! We ain't telling you jack!" He looked to his men for approval. His men looked at him with less conviction.

"Fine." Tropic made a show of taking out his communicator. With great flourish he proceeded to call the police.

Before his finger could hit the number pad one of the choppers shouted out, "WAIT!".

"Shut Up!", Nik-Nak yelled.

"No way!", the chopper said angrily. "I'm a three time looser! Next time I get popped its fifteen hard. I ain't gonna do that time!"

"I just got out!", said the Juicer

"Me too!", the Stunner added.

"And I ain't goin back!", said the other chopper.

"OK", Tropic smiled, "Talk and walk. What's been going on here in the last couple of weeks that's been…out of the ordinary?" He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

"You guys just shut up!", Nik-Nak yelled.

Tropic pointed his finger directly at Nik-Nak. It's tip glowed white hot. "You. Quiet"
He turned to the other Freaks and waited expectantly for their story.

One of the choppers cleared his throat and looked around at his friends. His gaze fell upon Nik-Nak, who stood glaring at them. He turned from the Tank, looked towards Tropic and then down at his feet. "It was maybe a week, week and a half ago," he began. "Me and Rakit here", he gestured at the other chopper, "was coming back from something late and we passed by here. It was like two or three in the morning and this place was lit up like Times Square. We decided to see what was goin' on so's we snuck in the back."

Rakit nodded in agreement and took over the telling. "There was this semi trailer, you know, a eighteen-wheeler, and it had all these guys swarming around it. They was all dressed in black and some of 'em had this glowing thing on their backs. There were some cowboys telling' 'em what to do and they were loading these big tubes onto the trailer."

Tropic leaned forward. "What kind of tubes?"

"I dunno, regular tubes." Rakit said. "Big, um…people sized. They was black wit silver stripes on 'em. They just loaded up and drove away. And then a bunch a vans followed the truck." He paused and looked at Tropic. "That's it."

The two choppers nodded and looked at each other. They turned to their friends who had more skeptical looks on their faces.

"Let me see if I have this straight.", Tropic smiled. "Some cowboys were telling a bunch of glowing guys dressed in black to load people sized tubes into an eighteen-wheeler and then got into some vans and drove away."

The silence that hung in the air was deafening. When the story was said out loud like that, it sounded ridiculous. The two choppers nodded vigorously. The Stunner and Juicer looked at each other and then at the choppers with doubting expressions. Nik-Nak smirked at the idiot tale.

"Man, that's kind of thin.", the Juicer said shaking his head.

"Well, the truth usually is.", Tropic nodded.

Nik-Nak's jaw dropped in disbelief. "What? You believe them"
"Yes, I do." Tropic waved his hand and the fire rings disappeared from around the four Freakshow goons. "Walk", he said simply, and then called out to the backs of the fleeing gang members, "And try to be good!".

He turned to the Tank who was still surrounded by the ring of fire. Nik-Nak waited expectantly. "Well, Cape? You gonna let me go or turn me in?", he stood defiantly in the center of the flames.

Tropic smiled. "Nothing I can really turn you in for, is there?"

"What? You said the Zig…"

"I lied. You guys didn't do anything that I saw.", Tropic turned and began to walk away. "And those flames will snuff out in a couple of minutes…or maybe an hour. I can never tell." He left the warehouse serenaded by the curses and threats of the Freakshow leader.

He now knew that the Malta Group was behind the super heroine disappearances. The chopper's description of cowboys and glowing men could only be Gunslingers and Sappers. And the people sized tubes were canisters containing the lost heroines. He touched the calendar page stored in his belt. Time to get the name on it and the rest of this information to Crimson. Tropic jumped into the sky and streaked towards Peregrine Island.

----------------------INTERLUDE-----------------------

She felt her feet sliding across the floor, felt the rough hands gripping her arms and under her shoulders and knew she was being dragged. She had been in something round and close and dark but could do nothing. It was as though the thickest fog in Dark Astoria had crawled into her head and surrounded her body. She heard voices but couldn't understand them and had lost all sense of place and time.

She was dragged for a long time it seemed and was beginning to get some feeling back into her befuddled mind. War Witch started to move her head a bit, her green and blue striped hair flipping from side to side, and was able to finally see some of where she was.

A long corridor with rounded walls and ceilings. It looked like a Portal Corp lab but the men holding her were far from scientists. Dressed in black and all carrying weapons of some type they continued pulling her until they reached a barred doorway.

It looked to her like a prison cell and as the door clanked open they pulled her inside. War Witch started to move her head slightly again and mumble, becoming more difficult as she gained some feeling back in her arms and legs.

"She's starting to wake up.", one of the men said matter-of-factly.

"Don't worry.", another voice answered. "She's still so out of it she ain't gonna be no trouble."

She felt the hands on her clutch at her costume. War Witch heard the rip as it was torn away from her and her athletic body exposed to the leers of her captors. She couldn't fight or even cover herself in her dazed state. She tried to move her arms and shake her head but moving was so hard. She mumbled "No! Stop!" but was barely coherent.

The men laughed and she felt something draped over her. It was some type of shift made of linen, white and resembled a potato sack with holes cut in it for her head and arms.
Then she felt something on her wrists and heard a metallic scraping and knew they were chaining her. War Witch screamed at herself to fight. She felt her coven about her but they were just beyond her fingertips, too far away to help. And then that smell again. And the voice.

And she curled up on the cold metal floor…asleep and bound.

PART THREE

Tropic dropped to the ground directly behind Crimson startling the red-suited man and causing him to jump.

"Jeez, Tropic!", Crimson spat, "give me some warning! I'm not that young anymore!" Tropic just smirked at the man and waited. "All right, all right. Have you found anything out?"

"Some", frowned Tropic, "but it still makes no sense." He recounted his search of the warehouse and his conversation with the Freakshow gang. Crimson listened intently, looking down and scratching his jaw. He shook his head in disbelief from time to time.

"But I did find this." Tropic pulled the calendar page from his belt and handed it to the spy. "It's dated about a week ago and has that single name on it."

"Al-Salim Kabir Asam?", Crimson read.

Tropic nodded. "Yeah. That's it."

Crimson nodded as well. "OK. Let's get cracking. And by cracking I mean skulls. As far as the semi and the canisters, I don't know. But…"

Tropic waited for the red-suited spy to continue.

"There has been a Malta lab in Talos that has seen a lot of activity in the past few days. It's possible that there's some kind of connection. Hell, the girls could even be there. Why don't you go check that out. I'll get to work on this name."

Tropic agreed and began to hover over the man. "Right. Let me know if you find out anything. If I get finished at this lab before I hear from you, well, you'll be seeing me." Tropic grinned.

"All right." Crimson looked up at the hero. "I may need to call Indigo in on this. She'll be able to get the dirt on this Asam guy."

"Good…she does good work. Just tell her to be careful!" With that Tropic sped towards Talos Island, a contrail of flame following him.

Crimson pulled out his communicator, pressed a few buttons and held it up to his ear. "Indigo? Crimson. I've got something for you. Level at Most Urgent." He turned and paced in front of his statue.

Tropic landed in front of the building Crimson had indicated was the Malta lab and frowned. He looked up and down the street and muttered to himself, "My apartment is two blocks from here!". He entered the building and began his search.

From the outside the place looked just like any number of nondescript office buildings. But as soon as one entered, the interior told another story. Metallic walls and floors interspersed with computers and scientific equipment filled the hallway that Tropic found himself in. Also, right down the corridor, were three Malta agents.

Tropic stared and realized what he had to do. Not one of the Malta could be allowed to leave this building. If the missing heroines were here that would be the end of it. But, if they were not, he couldn't allow an escapee to warn his people that he was coming. The girls could disappear forever if that happened and that was not a chance he was willing to take. He steeled himself and tread purposefully into battle.

The three in front of him paced nervously in patrol. A Sapper and two operations engineers, the Sapper being the most worrisome; one strike from his weapon could drain every bit of strength from Tropic's body and Tropic determined the Sapper would be the first to go. He gathered his energy and unleashed a bolt of pure flame at the man. The Sapper dropped like a stone.

The two engineers turned to face their attacker. "Tropic!", one yelled, grasping at a stun grenade on his belt. The other clicked on his walkie-talkie. "We have a MHI! Repeat: MHI in Base Level One!". Then he grabbed his weapon and fired in the direction of the hero.

Tropic leapt forward firing a blast at his enemies. He hit one of the men but the other was able to toss his stun grenade. It landed directly at Tropic's feet and exploded on impact. He was trapped in some type of webbing and was unable to move. Bullets ricocheted off the floor and walls all around him. Tropic willed his body heat upwards and the area around him began to burn. The heat caused the webbing to melt from his body and he struck the men with another bolt of power.

One wavered and he struck him again with a blast which finished the enemy. The other continued to fight but Tropic came on. He hit the Malta soldier with a coating of ash. The engineer was stunned and stopped in his tracks, hacking and coughing. Tropic ran up and on his way past hit the thug with a blaze of fire. He fell to the cold metal floor smoldering and unconscious.

Ahead there was an intersection of corridors. Looking both ways Tropic saw one side was a dead end. The other lead to a bank of elevators. Unfortunately, the way was blocked by more Malta soldiers and a Zeus Titan. Tropic sighed.

Another Sapper was with this group as well. Tropic ran directly towards the Malta soldiers. One of the engineers shouted out a warning and the Sapper spun around to aim his weapon. As the energy draining bolt fired Tropic dropped down and began to slide along the floor as though he were trying to steal second base. The metallic floors of the lab and the slick nature of his costume caused almost no friction and he slid straight at them.

As the bolt passed over his head Tropic created his sword of fire. He slid straight through the enemy group and as the Sapper passed on his right, the sword nearly cut the man in two. Tropic dropped his feet and the soles of his boots gripped the floor immediately, stopping his forward progress abruptly. His momentum carried him up to his feet and he somersaulted forward. Upside down and facing his attackers Tropic loosed a fireball at the two remaining soldiers engulfing them in its powerful flame and taking them out of the fight. All that remained now was the deadly Zeus Titan.

The Titan had been trying to zero in on the hero with its homing rockets to no avail. Tropic had moved too quickly and the robots blasts had missed. Tropic moved to the attack. He hit the huge mechanical beast with another bolt of flame. The robot staggered back but was able to unleash a barrage of rockets at the oncoming superhero.

The floor in front of Tropic erupted as the rockets fell short and he was blasted back by the concussion wave. Tropic struck the wall behind him, stunned. The Titan lumbered forward, a hail of bullets thudding and ricocheting all about the dazed hero. Tropic gathered his senses as best he could and sent a fire blast into the monster. It had little effect except to slow it a little. Tropic pushed himself off the wall and found himself face to face with the Titan.

The robot swung its arm at the hero attempting to knock him away. Tropic ducked and sent a powerful blaze into the Titan. It staggered back and Tropic hit it with a ball of ash and flame. The soot invaded the robots gears and it began to freeze up. "Warning, Warning!", the Titan's mechanical voice echoed hollowly off the metal walls. "System integrity compromised! Internal diagnostic running!".

Tropic stood back and gathered his power into himself. He built it up until it was almost impossible to contain and then fired the pulse of pure white hot energy directly into the Zeus Titan. Arcs of electricity covered the giant robot and it fell over, crashing into the floor. It laid there buzzing and twitching. Finally all movement ceased and the automaton lay still.

Tropic dropped to his knee and rested. "And I'm not even off the first floor.", he whispered to himself. He stood and turned to enter the elevators.

The next two floors were much like the first. Tropic battled through similar groups of Malta agents determined to block his way. His search for the missing heroines yielded nothing of importance. However on the third floor he did find several rooms with sliding bars for doors. He assumed the girls could have been held here but there was absolutely no evidence to prove it.

Tropic progressed rapidly until he got to a Hercules Titan that would just not stay down. He had to practically rip it apart before it ceased it's attack. He peered around the corner and saw why the robot fought with such tenacity.

The room was immense, broken into two stories by a catwalk that ran along two walls. On the upper level was a Gunslinger, obviously the head of the facility. Gunslingers were especially troublesome. Their six-shooters carried what seemed to be an unlimited supply of concussion blasts and bullets. They were deadly shots and were trained to be merciless and unstoppable soldiers. There was no quit in them. On the ground floor were more groupings of Malta soldiers. Tropic determined to eliminate the bottom section of the room before attempting to confront the Gunslinger.

In short order, the floor of the room was littered with the unconscious bodies of Malta thugs. Tropic climbed the catwalk's ramp and looked around the corner. The Gunslinger stood there speaking with an Operations Engineer. The immense room worked in Tropic's favor: the room was so huge the Gunslinger was not even aware of the battle that had taken place almost under his nose. Tropic leaned back and formulated his plan. It was simple and straightforward: Attack the Gunslinger and beat him. Tropic grinned ruefully to himself, "Well, nobody's going to accuse me of being a tactical genius.". He stepped out from around the corner and rushed toward the Malta boss.

The Engineer saw the oncoming hero first and screamed, "MHI! MHI!', and fumbled for his weapon. The Gunslinger turned and was engulfed immediately in a blast of white hot flame. He fired off two shots and staggered backwards. Tropic ran forward and fired another blast at the base leader. The Gunslinger had regained some of his composure and began to fire in earnest. Bullets ricocheted off the floors and walls, filling the room with the strange pinging sound.

Tropic felt a sting in his shoulder and knew he had been shot. "Ignore it.", he told himself and blasted the Gunslinger with a new barrage of flame. The Malta thug stepped backward within the onslaught. Tropic hit him again with a ball of fire followed with a white hot blaze. Still the Gunslinger fought.

The Engineer finally had his weapon at the ready but suddenly he grunted and fell over. Three ricocheting bullets had found their mark in the unlucky man. He lay on the catwalk floor dead, never having fired a shot.

Tropic hit the Malta boss with a hard shot and the Gunslinger was knocked backwards. Tropic leapt forward and landed directly in front of his enemy. The Gunslinger struggled to his feet and was struck by another blast of power. Tropic hit the man with a handful of ash and soot. The soldier coughed and hacked but was still on his feet. Tropic struck him with a powerful blaze and the Boss wavered on his feet. Tropic balled up his fist and hit the Gunslinger with a straight right cross, breaking the man's nose and putting him down, unconscious.

Tropic tried to catch his breath. He encircled the Malta leader within a ring of fire and stepped back. He examined his shoulder where he had been shot. A small white hot tongue of flame burned from the injury. The molten fluid that passed for his blood would melt the bullet and close the wound. Not even a scar would be left. The only evidence would be the hole in his costume where the bullet struck.

He examined the room more closely but found nothing of interest. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw a safe imbedded in the wall. He walked purposefully towards it. Behind him the Gunslinger started to stir.

"Not going to answer any questions, Hero.", the Gunslinger said simply, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand as he stood defiantly in the center of the fire ring.

Tropic turned to the man and realized the truth of that statement. No matter who and what these men were, they were professional soldiers. They had been trained to resist interrogation and he knew it would be useless to try. He turned his attention back to the safe.

The Gunslinger snorted, "Never going to get that open. Code and voice activated lock. And retinal scan. Plus you need a keycard, which I destroyed."

Tropic turned and looked at the man. He held up his hand and after a moment it began to glow white hot. The waves of heat rising off of it were plainly visible. Tropic turned to the safe and literally stuck his fingertips into it. His hand was so intensely hot the safe melted around it. He sunk his hand in to the palm and then simply closed his fist around the melting lock. The door swung silently open. Tropic turned to the Gunslinger and smirked.

The safe contained a few documents mostly having to do with supply issues and a ledger. "This may provide some information." Tropic thought but he wasn't hopeful. He tucked the ledger under his arm, took out his communicator and called Crimson. Tropic couldn't call the police in on this, these men would receive their phone call and he didn't need Malta alerted to his search for the missing heroines. Crimson would send a team of his "people" to square things away. He returned to the entrance, making sure that the Malta agents were either unconscious or secure or both. Outside he rose into the air and sped to Peregrine Island eager to give the ledger to Crimson and report his findings.

The phone rang in a darkened office in Steel Canyon. A craggy hand reached out to pick it up and a low voice said only, "Report."

"Sir,", the voice on the other end sounded tinny and far away, "Tropic has attacked our Talos lab facility."

"The units?"

"Long gone, sir, but…"

"Go on."

"The facility is lost. Men and material. The authorities and their technicians are there now."

There was a long pause on the other end. "Do you believe Tropic knows anything of our plans?"

"No, sir. I believe this was a random attack."

Another pause. Then, finally, "Our plans are too close to fruition and we cannot take the chance. He has been a thorn in our sides for far to long." The silence wore on as the low voice considered his options. Then, "Eliminate him."

"Yes, sir. According to protocols I must request your code and order confirmation."

"Code Zero-Zero-Zero-Omega-Zero. Confirm order: Sanction Tropic confirm."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Code and order confirmed. Sanction Tropic order confirmed."

"I don't have to tell you,", the low voice said, "that this order is to be carried out immediately." It was a statement of fact and no question.

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir.", the tinny voice answered. "Tropic will cease to exist by the end of the day."

The man in the darkened office hung up the phone. He rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers in front of his face. Too much was happening to take the gamble on Tropic finding out their plans. The operation was set for tomorrow night and nothing could be allowed to stand in their way.

If the Malta Group were to survive Tropic must die. The man in the darkened office sat back in his chair, swathed in shadow.

--------------------INTERLUDE--------------------

Fiery Fox awoke inside…something. She only knew that it was dark and close, lit only by the red fiery glow that escaped from her eyes. Her arms and legs banged against it's sides as she struggled to free herself. Even in her befuddled state she still tried to fight her way out of whatever…thing imprisoned her. Fox bounced and jumped inside her tight compartment and realized she was inside…something…that was inside something else.

Suddenly the rough passage ended and a hydraulic hiss greeted her ears. She was pulled crisply from what she now saw was a long black canister and held tightly by two Malta operatives. Her mind was still encased in thick molasses but she continued to struggle weakly. Finally she became aware that her forearms were encased in thick handcuffs, a short chain joining them. She fought a little harder but had no effect on the two guards with her.

She was on a loading dock in the back of a tall building and the men pulled her inside. Fiery Fox noticed now that she was not alone. Several other women and their captors had joined her. She recognized that all were super heroines and that all were in the same predicament: chained with two guards each. And all were dressed identically in a simple white shift that came to the tops of their thighs.

The guards dragged the women into the building and down a long hallway. Many of the women tried to put up some kind of fight, to be a little difficult, but they were all in a daze, their minds unable to grab hold of any thought for longer than a second or two.

At last they reached a large room and the women were pushed into it. Most sank to the floor and lie still trying to gather themselves. Others sat, their backs to the wall. Others continued to try and stand. All had the same expression: dazed indifference.

Fiery Fox was on her feet mumbling and trying to swing her arms at her captors, her red hair flipping wildly as she thrashed about. The men laughed at the struggling heroine. One stepped forward, pushed her roughly and simply walked away as she fell. She fell legs askew, shift riding up and bumped her head on the floor. The men laughed even harder.

Then the room was filled with a booming voice. "What's going on in here!".

The laughing stopped immediately and the men tried to explain themselves. Fiery Fox gathered herself together as best she could and lie still listening to who she assumed was the commander yell at his men. She only caught bits and pieces of his screaming: "Not to be injured.", "Damage.", "Operation only a day away.", but none of it made any sense to her.

Then she heard a soft swishing and a pair of sandaled feet surrounded by a long black…robe?…was among the captured women. And then the room was filled with a familiar odor. And then a monotonous chanting.

And then the bands of sleep reached upwards from a dark pit and wrapped Fiery Fox in their warm embrace.

PART FOUR

Tropic had just handed Crimson the ledger when the red-suited man's phone rang. "Crimson", he said tersely, "…yes…you do?…good…no, no, he's here now…OK…I'll send him along…right…and by the way, good job, Indigo."

Crimson turned to the hero. "That was Indigo. She has some information on our man Asam."

"Already?", Tropic said with a raised eyebrow. "She is good, isn't she?"

Crimson nodded absently as he thumbed through the Malta ledger. "Um Hmm, very good." He looked up eventually at Tropic. "But she didn't want to say anything over the phone. Go meet with her in Founder's Falls and see what she has to say. I'll get to work on this ledger. Meet me back here in…", the spy looked at his watch, Rolex, ("Of course", Tropic thought.")"…it's one p.m. now…say an hour. I should know more by then." He looked back to the hero and saw he was already in the air.

Tropic waved back as he flew over the sky and to meet with Indigo.

Crimson turned back to the ledger and began to see some very interesting things.

Tropic exited the tunnel from Talos Island and flew over the streets and canals of Founder's Falls. The place had a very European feel to it reminding him of his colored past. He thought of the things he had done in all the long years of his life and had to constantly tell himself it wasn't his fault. Being the controlled slave of an evil mystical organization was different than being a willing participant. He had freed himself but still, the guilt he felt over the things he had been forced to do, the lives lost to his power, he knew he could never balance the scales. But he had to try, he knew that at least.

Shaking himself from his reverie, he saw he was just about to Indigo's base of operations. Crimson had his statue, Indigo had her monument in Hutchinson Park. He saw her standing at it's base as usual and dropped down in front of her.

"Troppy!", the dark haired woman exclaimed and hugged him tightly.

Tropic raised his eyebrow. She was always calling him some variation of his name. He returned the hug. "Hey, Indigo. What's the word?". He smiled at her as he broke the embrace.

She looked up at him and smiled. The sun shone through her black hair. She was dressed much the same as the last time he saw her: Tight pink blouse and short black mini shirt, her stiletto heels buckled at the ankle. He knew that, in the past, she had used her looks and body to get whatever vital information was needed. She was much like Crimson in that regard: do whatever is needed to get the job done.

"Got some dirt on your man Asam.", she smiled.

Tropic grinned at her. "You do fast work. Let's hear it."

She pulled out her PDA and reviewed her notes. "Al-Salim Kabir Asam. Born in Saudi Arabia. Attended college blah blah blah.". She looked at Tropic and smiled. "All that routine stuff we really don't care about."

Tropic nodded and waited for the girl to get to the point.

"He lives primarily in Saudi Arabia but also has a place in New York. Upper west side. Owns it. Seven figures."

"What's he do for a living?"

Indigo looked at her PDA again. "He's attached to the Saudi consulate."

Tropic raised his eyebrow in surprise. "He's an ambassador?"

"No, he's an accountant. Specializes in…lets see", the woman touched the screen with her stylus, "…'Agriculture accountancy issues in the Middle East and other third world countries' whatever that means." Indigo concluded.

Tropic stood silently and stroked his goatee. "What would the Malta Group want with an accountant?", he wondered out loud.

"There's more,", Indigo continued, "he is what our gang friends call 'morally unburdened'. His history and past known associates show a definite like of walking on the wild side. As near as I can figure he helps questionable individuals and organizations make money and invest that money so they can make more money." She punched the screen of the PDA again and handed it to the hero. "Here's a listing of some of the people I can confirm an association with."

Tropic looked at the screen and his eyes flared brighter. Red Brigades, Bader Meinhoff, Saddam Hussein, various terrorist groups in the Middle and Far East, Chechnyan rebels, all were listed here as current and former "clients" of the accountant.

"Jeez.", he said simply giving the girl back the pad.

"Yeah."

Tropic's communicator rang at that moment. Answering, he found Crimson on the other end. "Crimson. What's going on?"

"Tropic, this ledger you brought me. If the information in here is accurate…well…get back here right away. You won't believe some of this stuff." Crimson hung up abruptly.

Tropic put the communicator away and turned to Indigo. "It seems I have been summoned.", he said ominously and smiled.

She smiled brightly. "All right, get going. And don't be a stranger!", she called out to him as he flew toward Talos Island.

"I won't!", he called back, "and thanks, Indigo!" He turned and flew over the river to the tunnel.

Suddenly, a hail of bullets zinged past the hero, he could feel the displaced wind as they passed by his ear. "What the…!". He looked down frantically trying to spot his attackers. Then the bullets became the least of his worries as he was engulfed in a beam of intense white light. He felt his strength pour from his body. It was all he could do to keep himself in the air and he knew he had been hit full force by a Sapper.

Tropic tried to will himself to fly, to get away, and he was able to gain some altitude, but the sky had become like pudding and he struggled to keep going. Bullets whizzed past again and he desperately sought his attackers.

Then, looking down, he saw three smoky contrails heading at him. He knew that a Malta Titan had zeroed in on him and the contrails were a barrage of rockets. Tropic had nowhere to go. The energy sapped from his body left him sluggish and barely able to move. The rockets drew closer.

"Oh…crap.:", he said with resignation. Two of the rockets passed on either side of him but the third hit him directly in the chest. The explosion that followed shattered windows for two blocks in all directions. Tropic was engulfed in flame and fell some 600 feet. Witnesses to the event said it appeared as though a meteor was streaking down from the sky. Tropic hit the hard surface of the Red River sending up a plume of water and steam as his superheated body disappeared beneath the surface of the river.

Five Malta agents and a Zeus Titan gathered on the dock near the point of the hero's impact. With weapons at the ready they waited for their enemy to resurface. And they waited. And he didn't.

The groups leader ordered two engineers and the sapper to take one of the vessels docked there and search the impact point and beyond for the fallen superhero. They jumped in the boat and headed out, searching in larger and larger concentric circles. After 20 minutes, the leader waived them back in.

"We found nothing, Boss.", the sapper said as he stepped onto the dock.

The operations engineer in charge of the group stroked his chin. "I know, but I don't like not having a body. You know these capes have nine lives."

He thought a few minutes more then turned to the robot. "Titan, query."

The Zeus Titan turned and faced the engineer. "Continue affirmative.", the metallic voice answered.

"Calculate probability of survival of the target designate."

The robot appeared to stand a little straighter as it's mechanical program sought the answer to the question posed. The air was filled with clicking and typewriter-like chattering. After a few moments the robot responded. "Done."

"Report"

"Target designate: Tropic. Probability of survival: report. Target designate: Tropic probability complete incineration due to Inferno rocket: 85.6. Target designate: Tropic probability death due to rapid descent: 72.4. Combine all factors: Strike by Sapper weapon, Inferno rocket strike and incineration, rapid descent to surface. Conclusion: Target Designate: Tropic survival at 4.7."

The engineer nodded his head. He turned to his men. "Gentlemen, I think we just killed Tropic." He pulled out his communicator and called his superior. Soon word spread throughout Paragon City: Tropic is dead.

Two miles down river, a hand reached up and grabbed hold of the dock. Straining with all his might, Tropic pulled himself up and lay on his side, the wood panels of the dock wet beneath him. He rolled on to his back and stared up into the warm afternoon sky. His chest was a ball of flame as his body fought to heal his injury.

"Get up! Get out of here!", he told himself but he couldn't move. "Ok..", he answered himself,…"rest for just a second.", and he closed his eyes and was in another place and time, far away and thousands of years ago.

It was a bright early morning in Thrace as he and his cousin Danicleus set out. His mother had received the message the night before and was busy preparing the feast. The Persians had been routed and his father was returning finally from the wars to the south and she had sent them out to hunt. Nothing but the largest buck would be acceptable they told each other.

The two men, that was how they referred to themselves now that they had passed their eighteenth summer, crept lightly through the forest searching for the elusive deer. Pushing back a stray band of his blonde hair he looked back to Danicleus. He stood upright a look of concern on his face.

Danicleus looked horrified and grasped for his bow. The blonde haired man spun around and was confronted with three old men, each wearing blood red robes, their long white beards reaching nearly to their waists. But their eyes glowed red with fire and they reached for the blonde man with bony hands.

"You are needed.", one intoned in a voice that seemed to boom through the woodlands.

Danicleus finally had his bow ready and loosed an arrow at one of the old men. It struck home, penetrating the ribs on his left side and sinking deep into his flesh. Danicleus' eyes widened in disbelief as the arrow burst into flame and charred away to nothingness.

The old mage turned to Danicleus and said simply, "You are not." Fire leapt from the man's hand and Danicleus was engulfed in a ball of white hot flame. He screamed for a short second and then, within a moment, all that was left of the blonde man's cousin was a pile of charred bones.

"NOOOOO!", he screamed and struggled in their grasp. The skeletal hands only gripped harder and they dragged him deeper into the forest. He fought against their pull with all his strength but had no effect. He saw that he was being led to a cave and he tried even harder to get away but these old men were supernaturally strong and he was helpless.

"You are the vessel", one of them spoke solemnly. The others took up the chant - "You are the vessel. You are the vessel."- repeated over and over.

Deeper and deeper into the earth he was lead until finally the cave opened up into a large cavern. He was taken and placed upon a large circle scratched with ruins. One of the old men waved his hand over him and he was unable to move. They moved back and suddenly the cavern was filled with more of these mages. All in blood red robes with bright yellow symbols running down the sides. All appeared to be ancient and all chanting in some language the blonde haired man couldn't understand.

"No, please…", he begged, "…you can't…my father's coming home today…please." But the appeals fell on deaf ears.

His arms and legs moved of their own accord and he hung there suspended and spread-eagle in the center of the circle. The chanting had caused it to begin to glow slightly.

One of the old men stepped forward and raised his arms. The cavern full of sorcerers fell silent. "It is time." The chanting began in earnest now. Same tones over and over again. Same rhythm, same words.

The old man looked at him again. "You are the vessel."

"No, no!", his skin began to feel warm. The chanting was getting louder, filling the cavern and creeping deep inside his head.

"You are the vessel"

"NO!", his body began to vibrate slightly in time with the monotonous chanting. He was getting hotter and hotter.

"You are the vessel."

"No, I'm…", his pleas were getting weaker. His skin was turning red from the heat he felt from…inside him?

"You are the vessel."

"No…please."

"You are the vessel."

"I'm not…no.", his eyes began to glow slightly. His will was almost gone.

"You are the vessel. You are the vessel."

"No. I am…"

"You are the vessel. You are the vessel. You are the vessel."

"I am…"

"You are the vessel. You are the vessel. You are the vessel. You are the vessel."

"I am the ves…"

"TROPIC!"

The voice snapped him back to the present. He looked up into the night sky and then finally to the voice which had awakened him. The woman looked down with concern and relief etched on her face, the strand of hair dangling loose as it always did.

"WillowWind?", he asked weakly. He looked past her and saw that she was not alone. The super heroine was with two others whom he knew - Dark Demon, a shadowed hero with a shadowed past, and Demon Crawler, a small heroine with big power. They gathered about him and helped him sit up.

"Thank God.", WillowWind said simply. She kneeled down beside him as he sat on the dock. "Word is out that you're dead."

Tropic smiled crookedly at her. "No. Just feel like it." He got his feet under him and tried to stand. He wobbled slightly and the three heroes each reached forward to steady him.

He smiled his thanks at them and looked at his chest where the rocket had struck him. Not a mark remained but his costume was ruined. He had a bit left about his neck but beyond that the top of his outfit was gone leaving him bare-chested with just his gloves. His normally spiky blonde hair lay flat and reached below his shoulders.

"Well, I must look wonderful.", he said smiling.

The others laughed and WillowWind put her hand on his shoulder. "It is a new look for you.", she grinned.

Suddenly, Tropic became aware of the night sky. It had been daylight when was attacked! "Quick! What time is it?", he asked urgently.

"Around seven o'clock, I think.", Demon Crawler answered.

Tropic cursed to himself. Five hours! He had talked to Crimson around 1:30 that afternoon and was supposed to meet him long ago.

"Look, everyone, I've got to get going.", Tropic gathered himself and began to hover. He still felt a bit woozy but the clear night air was beginning to revive him.

Willow stepped forward. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm good.", he smiled down at her. "Thanks for bringing me back.", he told her and with that zoomed towards the tunnel to Talos Island and beyond that Peregrine Island and his meeting with Crimson.

----------------INTERLUDE------------------

AuraGirl sat quietly, her long tan legs tucked beneath her. In the room with her were the other captured heroines. All were handcuffed with large metal casings that covered most of their forearms with a small chain between them and, she noticed, all were chained to the wall.

And all had the same dazed expression on their faces. Because of her healing powers, AuraGirl seemed to be more aware than her fellows. But it was still a struggle, and she fought to keep her wits about her. She tried to focus on her predicament, remember how she came to be here.

She had been investigating…something…when suddenly she had been enveloped in that draining white-blue light. She had been dragged to a cold metal room and stripped of her costume and given this "short, white potato sack" to wear and then she was taken here where she was joined by these other women. And the smell and the chanting.

It was that odor that had kept her docile and that chanting that had dulled her mind. But she fought still to be free and had come up with a plan. Even if it didn't work at least she would have done something.

"Feeding time, Ladies!", the voice called from outside the room and the heavy reinforced door swung open. Pushing a cart, the hooded man in black entered followed by another carrying a weapon. The cart pusher, as AuraGirl had come to call him, began placing bowls of porridge in front of the captives. The women began to eat automatically and he went down the row of them giving each their portion.

He placed the bowl on the floor in front of AuraGirl and started to move on to the next girl when she stuck out her foot tripping the soldier and causing him to fall.

"What the…!", he yelled out as he hit the ground. As he sat up AuraGirl swung her handcuffed arms and caught the man in the nose, breaking it and knocking him out. Her mind was still in a fog but she knew she had to keep fighting. There was the still other man in the room and she turned to face him.

"Dammit!", the guard exclaimed and moved into the room to get his partner and to secure the prisoner. As he stepped forward another heroine, Crystal Thunder, hooked his leg with her foot and sent him tumbling to the floor. The soldier cursed and tried to get his legs under him again. He fell in front of another of the captives who swung her arms just as AuraGirl had. The heroine Temptations struck the guard on the point of the chin by sheer luck and knocked him out cold.

She rummaged through the man's pockets and found the key to their chains but unfortunately not their handcuffs. Temptations unlocked AuraGirl and Crystal Thunder from the wall. The other super heroines were still too groggy to take part in the prison break. The three women stood unsteadily in the center of the room, wobbling and unsure of their balance. They looked at each other and without a word between them made for the open door and freedom.

They ran out the door and were confronted in the hallway by at least five Sappers and a Hercules Titan. The hall lit up with the distinctive white light and buzz of the sapper weapon and the girls crumpled to the ground, their short lived escape ended before it began.

"Get that damn magician!", one of the Operation Technicians called out as the unconscious women were dumped back into the room and chained again to the wall. The two unlucky Malta thugs that had been knocked out were being helped from the room when the black-robed mage entered.

Then the room was filled with that sweet cloying smell and that droning chant. But AuraGirl and the others were unaware, already cradled in slumbers heavy hand.

PART FIVE

Crimson paced in front of the statue on Peregrine Island. Word had reached him, as it had all through Paragon City, that Tropic was dead. Crimson frowned as he walked. He knew he had sent the hero into something dangerous and he knew he didn't give him all the facts. But he had felt that the fiery hero would have been able to handle whatever was thrown his way.

And now Tropic was dead. The spy shook his head and paced some more.

Then from above him he heard a familiar voice. "You're going to wear a rut in that stone!" Crimson spun around and looked up to the sky.

"Tropic!", he exclaimed as the superhero dropped down next to him. Crimson rushed to meet him. He grabbed him by both shoulders. "You're alive! They said you were dead!".

Tropic raised his eyebrows in surprise. "All right! Still here!", he said disentangling himself from the man's grasp.

Crimson looked him over. Tropic's usually spiky blonde hair lay flat and long, past his shoulders. His costume was ripped and torn, the shirt almost completely gone. Crimson shook his head. "You look terrible.".

Tropic looked at him with a weary expression. "Well, I have been dead you know."

Crimson smiled crookedly. "Well. It took you long enough to get here. I've got some information for you."

"Yes", Tropic nodded, "the ledger. What did you find out?"

"Not here,", Crimson frowned. "Can you get me to that warehouse?". He indicated the two story building across from the ferry.

Tropic nodded, grasped the spy by the arm and flew across the small channel to the building. They entered and walked up the stairs to the second floor.

At a nondescript frosted office door, Crimson inserted a key, first turning it all the way to the right and then to the left. Beside them, on the wall of the hallway, a panel, which Tropic had thought was a light switch, flipped up. Beneath it was a number pad and a small black square. Crimson punched in a code and pressed his thumb onto the square.

A metallic woman's voice came from the number pad. "Code and thumbprint verification complete. Proceed with voice code identification."

"Zero-One-One-Zero-Alpha-Zero-Three Confirm.", Crimson said firmly.

"Thank you. Code and voice identification confirmed." With that there was a hiss and a click. The office door swung open and Crimson entered. Tropic stood outside for a moment then he shook his head and went inside.

Tropic stopped inside the doorway and looked around in amazement. What had appeared from the outside as a small warehouse office in reality took up almost the entire second floor. Straight ahead of him was a large solid wood desk strewn with papers. On its corner was a computer screen of such slim proportions it was almost translucent. In front of the desk were two large thick leather chairs. To the right against the wall was a bank of computers and electronic equipment that would make M.I.T. green with envy. On the left a row of bookshelves and filing cabinets filled a wall that led to another open doorway. Tropic could just see enough inside that it appeared to be some living quarters.

Crimson exited that room and threw Tropic a white t-shirt. "Here, put this on.", he said as he walked behind his desk.

"You live here, Crimson?" Tropic asked as he put on the shirt.

"Sometimes." He waived Tropic to one of the chairs and picked up the ledger in his left hand. "This ledger, Tropic," he began, "it's full of…it's got a…", the spy took a deep breath and started again. "As you know, Malta Group has it's fingers in everything. Office buildings, warehouses, laboratories. It takes an enormous amount of capital to keep their holdings running, from upkeep to equipment, staff, men, materiel, not to mention munitions, ammunition, even the uniforms their operatives wear. All that costs money, lots of it. Recently, due to the efforts of Paragon City's hero population, you in particular and some others, Malta has failed in many of their most current operations. Consequently, their finances have not met their requirements. So, basically, the Malta Group has been operating in the red."

Crimson looked directly at Tropic. "In other words…"

"Malta is broke.", Tropic said quietly.

"Exactly right."

Tropic stroked his goatee. "Well, I can see why they needed an accountant. But why kidnap the women?", he shook his head in thought.

The spy leaned on his desk. "It's all pieces of a puzzle, Tropic."

"Pieces of a puzzle", Tropic repeated and began to think out loud. "Malta's broke, accountant, kidnapped super heroines…this accountant is morally bankrupt so whatever Malta does is OK by him…Malta needs money…kidnap the women…the accountant…".

Tropic jerked upright in his chair. "Oh, no…oh my God…".

"Tropic?", Crimson asked, looking questioningly at the hero.

"I…I think they're going to sell the girls." Tropic looked at Crimson with an expression almost begging the spy to tell him he was crazy.

Instead Crimson walked to a file cabinet and said, "That may explain this.". He pulled out a file folder and returned to his place behind the desk. "In here," he held up the folder, "are some of the individuals on the United States persona non grata listing. Over the past 48 hours all have entered the country, all have evaded Customs and, within the past 12 hours, all are in Paragon City."

Crimson pulled a photograph from the file and tossed it on the desk. Tropic leaned in to look at it. It was of an Oriental man, thin, his long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was dressed in a black suit, white shirt, thin black tie and was smoking a cigarette. "That's Akio Fuanki. Yakuza.", the spy said.

"Japanese mob.", Tropic whispered.

Crimson nodded and pulled out the next photo. It showed a man and woman. The man was bald; his neck was as thick as Tropic's thigh and he looked mean enough to eat a hand grenade. The woman was delicately beautiful with jet black hair and her lifeless eyes were of such a pale blue they looked almost clear. "This is Boris Badromanov - formerly of the Russian special forces - spetsnaz and the woman is Irina Boganskya formerly a top interrogator for the KGB. Both now work for an organization that appreciates their talents."

"Russian syndicate."

The next picture was an olive skinned man, his greasy hair combed straight back. He was dressed all in white - white suit, white shirt, white tie. "Fabritzio Maraldo. The Ice-Cream Man. Formerly of New York City, now lives abroad."

"The Five-Families.", Tropic murmured.

Crimson tossed down another photo. It was obviously taken by a telephoto lens and showed a tanned blonde man in a bathing suit at a beach. "Carlos Bergmann. Does a lot of work in Central America but his last known address was in Argentina."

"South American Cartel."

The last picture Crimson showed him was of an Asian man, dressed in traditional clothing. He was bald except for a long top-knot of hair and there was scar running down the right side of his face and through his marbled right eye. "Liu Sun Kang. Has some ties to the Tsoo but operates mostly within the Golden Triangle."

"Triad.", Tropic said quietly.

There was silence in the room for several moments until Tropic said what was on both their minds. "Well, I think we know who the buyers are." Tropic sat back wearily in his chair and rubbed his forehead.

"Um Hum," Crimson said as he returned the photographs to the folder. "They are spread throughout the city staying with their entourages in some of the finest hotels here." He put the folder back in the file cabinet and returned to his desk. "Take them out and the sale will be stopped. We'll have more time and Malta will have to find another way to generate some funds."

Tropic sat quietly pulling on his goatee. Finally he shook his head. "No.", he said simply.

Crimson raised his eyebrows in confusion. "No?…If we can stop the…"

"No,", Tropic cut him off. "I need to find the accountant.", he said softly. "If I go in and take out the buyers it's going to tell Malta two things. One, I'm alive and two, I know at least something about their plans. If that happens the girls will disappear and I can't risk that." He looked up at Crimson. "No, I have to find the accountant. He may not know all their plans but he is the money man. He's in some of the loop and if he can't tell me exactly where the girls are he'll be able to tell me where the…'auction'…will be held." He paused for a moment. "No, my best bet is the accountant."

Crimson stood behind his desk staring at the hero as though he were arguing with himself. At last he spoke. "All right. But there's something you should know."

Tropic looked at the spy through narrowed eyes.

"Around a year ago,", Crimson began, " a Malta operative was tried and convicted of attempted murder, assault, conspiracy, theft…hell, I think they even got him for jaywalking. Let's just say he was convicted of everything. He was sentenced to life with no possibility of parole. Two months later he escaped from a maximum security prison and the Malta Group got him out of the country. They set him up to oversee some of their European and Far East operations. Four days ago they brought him back to the city. We've tracked him since he returned and he's been in an office building in Steel Canyon this whole time."

Crimson paused and took a deep breath. He looked Tropic directly in the eyes and continued. "His Malta designation is Dreadnaught Zero-One-Three. But you know him as…"

"Gunslinger Sam.", Tropic's voice was barely a whisper as he spit out the name. He had fought him before and he was the worst of the worst.

Gunslinger Sam was a psychopath, sociopath and Tropic was certain the man was a few more -opaths that hadn't been invented yet. Sam was part of a Malta operation that had gone bad and Tropic was in the middle of it.

At that time, the Malta Group was trying to develop a laser weapon that drew its power from industrial diamonds. They sent Sam and his people to the Lohman Brothers Mercantile Group to acquire the stones. It went wrong from the start. An alert secretary hit the alarms and soon the place was surrounded by the police. Hostages were taken and a call went out asking for assistance. Tropic answered and worked his way through the Lohman offices that stretched from the 39th through 42nd floors of the building.

Soon all the hostages but one were freed. Gunslinger Sam was holding a terrified woman with his gun pressed to her temple. Tropic tried to end it peacefully, telling the Malta criminal to let her go, it wasn't worth it, and that there was no where to run. The Gunslinger looked at the hero and later Tropic could almost swear he could feel the thug smile beneath his mask.

The Gunslinger giggled and said, "No where to go but down!", pushed away from the woman, shot her in the stomach and pushed her out the 42nd floor window. Stunned, Tropic leapt out the window after her and caught her finally at the tenth floor. She was in shock but she lived. When he returned for Sam, the villain was long gone.

Two weeks later, Tropic received word that the Malta operative was hiding in the caverns that stretched out beneath the city and along with two other heroes, Vetman and Special-Ops, he went to hunt him down. It was a lucky thing that he had brought the two with him because they had to pull him off of the would-be murderer. That was a year and a half ago.

And now he was back.

Tropic sighed and tugged on his beard once more. "They wouldn't have brought him back unless it was for something important. My guess is he's either guarding the girls or the accountant."

Crimson nodded. "Yes.", he said simply.

Tropic stood and looked out the window past Crimson at the nighttime sky. It was around eight pm and he felt the heroine's time running out. He turned and walked to the door. "OK, I'm going to head over to Steel Can…yon…" Tropic's voice trailed off in mid-sentence. Something Crimson said had begun to sink in. He looked questioningly at the spy still behind his desk. "You said you've been tracking Gunslinger Sam for four days?"

Crimson met Tropic's eyes. "Yes?"

Tropic looked at the floor, his mind spinning, then at Crimson. "And you agree with me that he's either guarding the girls or the accountant."

Crimson said nothing and stared at his desk, one arm folded across his chest, the other stroking his chin.

Tropic continued on, his eyes flaring brighter, as he started to realize the truth. "If you've been tracking him…you know where he's at and…he's guarding some of…you've known…"

Tropic's expression changed from confusion to controlled anger.

"Who is he guarding?'

Crimson turned and looked out the window, staring unseeingly at the docks beyond. "The accountant.", he said quietly over his shoulder.

"You son of a bitch.", Tropic whispered. "You've known all this time where the accountant was and did nothing." Another terrible thought hit him. "You didn't want the accountant at all! You used him to get me involved, to find…what? Not the accountant…not the girls?…the ledger?…", Tropic stopped abruptly. "The ledger! All you wanted was the ledger. You never cared about the missing women at all!".

"That's not true.", Crimson interrupted, still staring out the window. "My superiors deemed the super heroines 'expendable'. I needed to find a way to get the ledger and somehow get someone interested in finding them. Remember at the start of this? I told you I needed someone who would sink their teeth into it and lock their jaws. That's why I picked you. That's why I planted the accountant's name at the warehouse."

"You? You planted Asam's name? And Indigo. Was Indigo in on this too?"

"No,", Crimson shook his head, "I kept her out of the loop. She played it straight with you."

Tropic sighed heavily. "You've known where he was for four days. We could have saved them all that time ago. What they've gone through…if they've been hurt…"

"No, they're too valuable to the Malta. They won't be injured."

Tropic closed his eyes and shook his head. "That's not the point and you can't even see that its not."

He crossed to the door and put his hand on the knob. Turning back to Crimson, his voice barely above a whisper, he said, "I'm going to that office building in Steel Canyon. I'll deal with Sam. I'll find that accountant and make him tell me everything he knows. Then I'm coming back here and whatever the accountant tells me I need to get those women back, you're going to provide. And then, when this is all over and done, don't you ever contact me again."

Tropic opened the door and left, closing it silently behind him.

Crimson didn't move. He just kept staring out the window into the dark.

------------------INTERLUDE---------------------

They were moving the girls again. Gogo followed the other women as they were hoisted up into the back of a large truck. "No canisters this time," she thought to herself as she took her place in the rear, last in line.

The truck was like one of those military vehicles in the old movies. It had benches running along both sides and another shorter one along the cab. But it wasn't covered with canvas. It was completely closed in and the rear was a locked double door with two small windows. The Malta operatives stood in the middle holding their weapons with one hand and a strap attached to the roof with the other.

Gogo saw that she was still handcuffed but the women were not chained together. Even in her dazed state she knew that was a mistake. She shook her head from side to side, her two ponytails slapping her face. All she had wanted to do since her capture was fight but her body was so slow to respond to her commands and her mind seemed like it was wrapped in wet paper. But still she tried.

The truck rumbled and bounced through the streets of Paragon City. It had stopped a few times for maybe a minute or so and Gogo began to plan. She tried to gather her strength and waited for the truck to stop again.

She felt the truck slowing and come to a stop once more. Gogo gathered herself, trying to clear the cobwebs from her mind, willing herself to get ready. The truck rumbled and began to move forward again. Suddenly, while the guards were off-balance due to the movement, she swung her handcuffed arms and caught the guard closest to her right in the stomach.

The air fled from the guard's lungs and he doubled over. Behind him the next Malta guard shouted out and moved to the struggling heroine. Before he could get there Anita Black, another captured superwoman, pushed herself forward into the oncoming man and knocked him into the women on the other side of the truck. He fell into Giddy Yup, who tried her best, in her befuddled state, to tangle up the Malta thug.

Gogo kicked the guard she had struck and he fell backwards, his feet tripping over the guard now fighting to free himself, still struggling with Giddy. Gogo threw herself at the double doors of the truck and they sprung open.

She saw the night sky and the cool evening air began to revive her somewhat. In the distance she saw the headlights of another car. She heard the yells of the Malta guards. Gogo prepared to leap from the truck but before she could it screeched to a halt. The centrifugal force hurled her back into the rear of the truck and into the arms of a Malta operative. The thug stretched his arm out and Gogo was encased in arcs of electricity as the criminals stun gun shocked her into submission.

Gogo stood there for a moment twitching uncontrollably and then, when the electric assault was finished, she simply crumpled to the floor.

The truck's driver appeared at the open rear doors of the vehicle. "What the…What's going on back here?", he exclaimed after seeing the disarray of the cargo. The two guards that had been attacked were on their feet and in control again. Gogo was picked up and unceremoniously dumped back in her seat, her head lolling to the side.

"No problem. Just had a little excitement back here.", one of the guards said.

"Yeah…well,", the driver grinned, "their last big adventure before tomorrow night then they'll be out of our hair and somebody else's problem." He slammed shut the doors and made sure they were locked. Then the truck started and slowly made its way through Paragon City.

In the back, Gogo sat quietly recovering from the effects of the stun gun. She just kept repeating to herself the same word, over and over.

"Almost. Almost. Almost."

PART SIX

Tropic crashed through the office building's tenth floor window and into the midst of the surprised Malta operatives. He cut through them like a hot knife, his anger over Crimson's revelations fueling his assault. The room he burst into was soon left full of the broken, unconscious thugs.

He stalked from the office, heat radiating off him in waves, and where he stepped the floor melted into little puddles of concrete and carpet. Tropic continued from floor to floor eliminating the Malta criminals he came across, searching only for Gunslinger Sam and Asam, the accountant. All the others were a nuisance to him.

After clearing a room of several engineers and sappers, he entered an office with a large window that looked over what appeared to be a lobby-like area. Below there were about five Malta operatives in a group and then he saw his prey. The accountant was seated in a rolling office chair clutching a soft briefcase tightly to his chest trying to cover his round body, his swarthy bearded face covered with sweat.

And to his side was Dreadnaught Zero-One-Three; Gunslinger Sam.

Tropic smashed through the office's window, glass shards raining down on the Malta soldiers. One shouted "Tropic", another screamed "MHI", and all scrambled for their weapons. They were immediately engulfed in a huge ball of flame and all of them dropped like stones, taken out of the fight without having fired a shot.

He spun around to face Gunslinger Sam, teeth gritted together and his eyes leaking red fire. Sam stood there calmly regarding him. The accountant had fallen out of his chair when Tropic crashed through the window, and he had skittered on his backside until his back was pressed tightly against a wall.

"So, Tropic", Sam said calmly, "I heard you were dead! No matter. I was just telling my friend here, Al-Salim, that you were probably too stupid to find me anyway." The Gunslinger held his weapon at his side as he paced around Tropic in a circle. "Guess I lost that bet…although it did take you long enough." He squinted one of his eyes at the hero. "Nothing to say, Mr. Superman?" Sam sighed heavily, the fabric of his bandana moving slightly. Tropic stood facing the thug, slowly clenching his hands into fists. "Well then," Sam continued, "let's finish you off."

Sam raised his gun and fired two shots in one fluid movement but Tropic was no longer standing there. As soon as the Gunslinger moved, Tropic leapt into the air, somersaulted, and landed with both his feet striking Sam in the chest. Sam staggered backwards and Tropic struck again shooting a bolt of fire directly into the man's chest. The Gunslinger shrugged it off and fired again at the hero. Tropic ducked as the bullet whizzed over his head. Sam rushed forward and kicked Tropic with a roundhouse blow, catching him in the ribs. Tropic fell sideways barely maintaining his balance.

Sam rushed forward again and threw a right cross at the hero's head but Tropic moved out of the way and, crouching low, hit the Malta thug with a left hook to the body and then, rising slightly, the same strike to the side of the head. Sam fell dazed to the side but, as he fought to keep his balance, raised his gun and fired.

Tropic felt the impact in his side but still came on. Sam raised his weapon to fire again but Tropic ran toward him, grabbing the Gunslinger's wrist and pushing straight through until Sam's back was rammed into the wall. His gun hand pinned, Sam struck Tropic in the side again and again, hitting the bullet wound and causing Tropic to grunt in agony.

Tropic ignored it and banged Sam's hand against the wall trying to knock the gun from it. Once, twice, three times until, finally, the Malta weapon fell from his hand and slid across the marble floor, clattering as it went. His gun lost, Sam fought harder and drove his knee into Tropic's stomach. The hero loosened his grip slightly and Gunslinger Sam was able to push him away.

Sam attacked with crazed vigor now. Left. Right. He struck Tropic with two blows to the head. Tropic saw the third coming and bobbed out of the way. He hit Sam with another hook to the body and a straight right to the stomach. The air forcefully blew out of Sam's lungs and as the Gunslinger doubled over, Tropic flung his head upwards, striking Sam on the point of the chin. Sam staggered back and Tropic pressed his advantage.

Stepping forward, Tropic threw a powerful right cross at the head of the Malta criminal. But Sam still had enough of his wits about him. He weaved out of the way and caught Tropic's arm. The Gunslinger pulled Tropic toward him and, putting all his weight behind it, spun him around and released the hero. Tropic, completely off balance, spun and crashed heavily into the wall. There was a sickening pop as Tropic's left shoulder hit the wall and, when he turned around to face Sam again, his left arm hung down much lower than his right, obviously dislocated.

Gunslinger Sam grinned beneath his bandana when he saw Tropic's dislocated arm and he leapt toward him. Sam buried his fist into the hero's stomach. The air flew from Tropic's lungs and he bent forward convulsively. Sam hit Tropic's bent head with the point of his knee sending the hero straight up and then, to finish, the Malta Gunslinger struck him with a powerful uppercut. Tropic's head jerked back and struck the wall behind him. Dazed, the fiery hero lost his footing and slid down the wall until he sat on the cold marble floor, the Malta criminal standing above him.

Sam stood there breathing heavily. "Well, that was…fun.", he said as he stepped away from the fallen hero. He looked about for his gun and, when he saw it, walked leisurely to retrieve it. "You put up a good fight, Mr. Man, but I knew the last time we met was just a fluke." Sam calmly picked up his gun. Tropic sat there against the wall watching every move of his enemy. "Knew you really couldn't beat me," Sam continued, "now I proved it, proved it, proved it!"

Sam returned to stand over Tropic. "And now it's all over…for you. Those tramps'll be outta here, my pal Asam'll handle the money, you'll be dead…it's been a good day!" He aimed the gun at arm's length at Tropic's head. "Any last words, Superhero?", he asked with a sneer in his voice.

"Yes", Tropic replied calmly, "you're an idiot."With that statement Tropic unleashed an enormous blast of intense white fire that shot through Sam's head like a stone through wet paper. Sam screamed for less than a second and then his head simply disintegrated, leaving only a smoldering, cauterized stump. Gunslinger Sam's headless body stood for a moment and then dropped to it's knees and finally fell over onto Tropic's legs.

Tropic kicked the smoking body from him and stood, wavering, his left arm dangling. He looked at the body and shook his head. "Moron.", he whispered and then turned to seek out the accountant.

Asam was still sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the wall still clutching his briefcase to his chest as though it were a shield. He stared in horror at the headless body of his protector still engulfed in smoke. And then he saw Tropic staring at him, with a grim smile on his face and fire in his eyes.

"Mr. Asam," Tropic said as he walked towards the accountant, "you are a very difficult man to track down." Tropic then reached over and grasped his left wrist and yanked down hard. The dislocated limb snapped back into place with loud, sickening pop. Tropic's face betrayed nothing, no emotion showed, but, truth to tell, when the arm popped back into it's socket he wanted to scream. Asam, on the other hand, winced enough for the both of them.

"Looking for you I have been chased by a man with a giant hammer where his hand used to be, shot at, shot, twice, grenaded, webbed, hit by rockets, dunked in Red River and have had just a really bad day." Tropic sighed and continued toward the terrified accountant. "I have been from Peregrine Island, to Skyway, back to Peregrine, out to Talos, Founder's Falls, Peregrine again two more times and here to Steel Canyon."

Tropic grabbed a chair laying nearby and spun it around. He sat facing Asam, his arms resting on the back of the chair. "Don't disappoint me, Mr. Asam. You will tell me everything, won't you?"

Asam nodded so vigorously Tropic feared he would knock himself unconscious. "Yes, yes, of course!" Asam practically yelled out. "Whatever you need to know! Yes!"

"The Superwomen, Mr. Asam. Where are they?"

"I don't know," Asam shook his head vigorously, "they were here just a couple of hours ago, but they moved them out. I don't know where they took them."

Tropic looked at a clock mounted on the room's wall. 10:35p.m. "Just missed them.", he swore silently to himself.

"But I know where the sale is going to take place!", Asam continued, eager to provide any information that might cause the hero to leave him alone.

Tropic raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"The Ambassador. That's where they're going to complete their plan."

"The Ambassador?" Tropic narrowed his eyes. The Ambassador was probably the city's finest resort hotel. Located in the heart of Atlas Park it looked over Atlas Plaza from Prometheus Park. Heads of state, kings and queens, film and music stars had all been guests.

Asam nodded. "Yes, yes. Malta owns it! It's secure for them and they have guaranteed it safe for the buyers. They are already here, you know. The auction is supposed to take place tomorrow at 9 p.m." Asam frowned. "But…"

Tropic stared at the round little accountant. "Mr. Asam, I would really advise you to keep talking." Tropic leaned closer. "But what?"

"The sale…it's by invitation only."

Tropic glanced at the briefcase the man still grasped tightly. "I'm sure you have an extra invitation just for me, don't you, Mr. Asam?", Tropic said softly indicating the briefcase.

"Yes, yes, of course, yes I do!", Asam babbled while fumbling with the catch on his case. "But still, there is a buy in. The invitation will do you no good unless you have the buy in!"

"And how much is this 'buy in'?", Tropic asked with a raised eyebrow as he examined the invitation Asam handed him.

"$500,000 U.S. dollars in diamonds or other precious stones." Asam said the amount as if he were embarrassed. "You must have the invitation and the stones before you are even allowed into the event."

Tropic nodded his head and pulled on his goatee. $500,000 in diamonds. The Malta was going to make 2.5 million dollars just from the buyers walking through the door.

The accountant waited for the hero to continue. He knew his fate was completely in Tropic's hands now, one master traded for another.

Finally Tropic looked at the man. "My last question, Mr. Asam. The superwomen…how are they being controlled. I can't believe they haven't been fighting you every step of the way."

Asam frowned and shook his head. "Yes, I can assure you that they have caused some problems but there is this fellow. He used to be one of those Crey people, a scientist. He developed a compound that gives off this odor, a scent that, when smelled by women in particular, they become more…pliant. And then with the compound, he uses this magical chant or…spell, maybe…with both, the women become docile, susceptible to suggestion, easy to control." The accountant stared into Tropic's fire-filled eyes. "He calls himself 'The Techno-Mage'."

Tropic sat silently for a few moments digesting the information. All the Malta's plans were coming to a head tomorrow night at nine. He had some time, at least, and had already begun to formulate the bare bones of a plan. He looked again at the accountant sitting on the floor, still trying to push his back through the wall he leaned against. Tropic sighed and pulled out his communicator. He spoke a few words into it and turned to the accountant once more.

"Mr. Asam, within a few moments some people are going to be here. Government people. They're going to gather up all these Malta agents…and you, too." He saw the swarthy round man's look of fear. "You've answered all my questions and I have no doubt that you're telling me the truth. I've put in a good word for you, but now, you have to help yourself."

"Yes, anything…anything." The accountant was practically in tears.

Tropic rose from his chair and kneeled next to the man. Putting his hand on his shoulder he said simply, "Answer their questions. Tell them what you know and you'll live. Your life won't ever be the same…but you'll live."

Tropic stood and crossed over to a window. He heard the government people already working their way through the floor. He turned back and looked at Al-Salim Kabir Asam still sitting there on the floor, tears beginning to stream down his face. Then he opened the window and flew away.

The red light flashed on Crimson's computer screen and he touched a key on his keyboard. The screen immediately split into four sections, each showing a security camera view of the first floor of the warehouse. Tropic was plainly visible climbing the steps to the office. Crimson pressed a button underneath his desk and the office door clicked and opened.

"He's back.", he said softly.

Indigo rose from her chair and stood near the bookcases in Crimson's office. Her face was grim, still angry with Crimson and worried over Tropic's reaction to her.

Tropic entered the office, looked at Crimson and then turned only his head to Indigo. His eyes narrowed slightly.

Indigo cleared her throat. "Tropic. Um…Crimson was just telling me about what…happened." Tropic just stared at her, emotionless. "I just wanted to tell you…I mean I wasn't…I didn't know what was…" Indigo stopped and stood for a moment. "I'm sorry for what happened. Even though I didn't know everything…I'm sorry for my part in it."

The hero stared at her for a moment more then almost imperceptibly nodded his head in her direction. Then he turned to Crimson. "I found the accountant. I need three things from you."

Indigo's eyes shot daggers at Crimson. She knew now that, although Tropic didn't hold her responsible for Crimson's actions, his trust in her was now, perhaps irretrievably, gone.

"Asam?", Crimson said. "What did he know?"

Tropic sighed and recounted some of Asam's story.

"The Ambassador? Malta owns the Ambassador?" Crimson rubbed his chin. "Well, that explains how Malta gets some of their funds." He looked at the hero once more. "Now, what do you need?"

"Three things.", Tropic began again. "First, I need the plans, blueprints, schematics, everything you have on the inside of the Ambassador."

Crimson nodded. "I can do that right now." He crossed over to the bank of computers against the far wall and sat. Pulling out the keyboard he typed a few instructions and dropped a blank CD into the writer. The machine whirled and clacked until finally it hissed and the writer drawer slid open. The spy put the disk into a jewel case and handed it to the hero. "Here's every building document on the hotel. From start to finish, including every upgrade and revision. I even included a repositioned satellite infrared scan of the building just to ensure they hadn't done any unauthorized construction."

Tropic nodded. "Second, I need you to talk to your people in the CIA…"

"I'm not with the CIA.", Crimson interrupted.

Tropic paused and started again. "I need you to talk to your people in the CIA. I need an antidote to whatever this Techno-Mage is using. Smelling salts, a shot, whatever. I need the girls clearheaded because they're going to be my backup."

Crimson returned to his place behind his desk. He looked at the hero and nodded.

"And third," Tropic said, eyes bright with fire, "I need the buy in…$500,000 dollars in diamonds or precious stones."

Crimson balked. "No, there's no way I can get that. Not a chance."

Suddenly, Tropic was around the desk and in front of the spy. He grabbed the red suited man by the lapel, lifted him from the floor with one hand and drew him close to his face. Across the room, Indigo pressed herself against the bookcase. She could see the heat radiating off the fiery hero in waves and Crimson's face was awash in the light that blazed from Tropic's eyes.

Tropic's voice was cold enough to chill snow. "You will get me what I need…or I will kill you." It was a simple statement of fact.

Tropic released the spy and walked calmly to the door. He turned and said, "I'll see you at seven tomorrow night.", and then he calmly left.

Indigo looked at Crimson. "He is in earnest."

The spy was straightening his lapel. "Yes. In most deadly earnest." Crimson sighed and picked up his phone. He had some calls to make.

Tropic returned home to his apartment in Talos Island. He showered and stood in his living room clad in his robe, staring out the large window on the 35th floor at the statue of Talos. He sipped from a glass of scotch, the ice cubes tinkling together in the amber liquid. He sighed finally and sat at his computer, sliding in the disk Crimson had given him.

The disk contained everything Crimson had promised. All the building plans from the Ambassador's inception to the present day were there. But Tropic had already narrowed down his search. He had an idea of what he was looking for and to that end he could ignore the top floors of the hotel. He believed he would find what he was looking for in the basement and sub-basement levels of the resort.

He knew the Malta would not want to draw any undue attention to the arrival of the girls. He also knew that they would need ease of movement within the hotel. He scanned the plans until at last he noticed two possibilities.

He assumed that the Malta would hold the…auction in one of the hotels luxurious meeting rooms. The plans showed him one room that had a private elevator which lead down into the basement and connected with a larger room. The super heroines could be held in that room and then just taken by elevator to their sale.

The other possibility was another large room in the sub-basement that was connected by a long corridor to a flight of stairs which lead again to another private meeting room. And both the first and second "holding rooms" in the basement were accessed by a private loading dock.

Tropic frowned. Both those options were viable and now his task was to guess which room the women were being held in. But then he smiled grimly and realized that the answer was staring him in the face. Whatever room the auction was in, would lead him to where the girls were. The elevator or the stairs would each lead to a different room and that was where the women were.

He sipped the last of the scotch from the glass and looked at the large clock on the wall. It was after three a.m. and he was tired. He put the empty glass in the kitchen sink, crossed to his room and, taking off his robe, slid into bed. The cool sheets felt good on his bare chest and he lay there with his arms behind his head, thinking. It had been a long day. He had discovered much, some of which he didn't want to know.

He looked out the open window into the night sky. The green and blue light from the force field wall that separated the city zones cast its glow across his bed. Then, finally, he closed his fiery eyes and slept fitfully until the morning sun broke through his window.

-------------INTERLUDE-----------------

War Witch stood against the wall in the room where she and the other women were being held. She smirked to herself. "Not a room," she thought, "a cell." It was a large room with a bench along one side but the doorway was just a wall with sliding metal bars, just like in an old prison movie. She looked around at the other heroines trapped with her. And she absently rubbed her wrists.

Ms. Moxie rubbed her wrists as well. They had removed the handcuffs from all the women but still, that overpowering scent still filled the air. She noticed that they all seemed more aware but were still unable to gather their thoughts enough to make any type of attack on their captors or a bid for their freedom. She looked up and saw a small strip of a window and could see daylight. Ms. Moxie had lost all track of time and had no idea of even what day it was.

The other superwomen all looked at each other, silently planning escape but finding it impossible to act. AuraGirl, Temptations, Gogo, all of them, all dressed alike in their short white "potato sacks", and all helpless. None of them liked the feeling and all had vowed to repay their captors in kind a thousand fold.

Suddenly the metal barred door clanged open and three Malta operatives stepped in. Two Sappers accompanied a Tactical Op, who held several small bags. He walked into the cell and handed each of the women a different sack. When he finished the distribution he returned to the cell door.

"All right, ladies!", he shouted out like a drill instructor. "Open the bags and get dressed!" Then all three of the Malta left and the cell door slid loudly shut.

As if they had no will of their own, the women opened the bags, took off their shifts and began to get dressed. The bags contained their costumes. But, upon closer inspection, the women realized that these were much briefer versions of their original garb. The basic colors and look of the individual outfits were the same but where there was once long spandex pants were now shorts, or bikini bottoms and even a thong or two.

Skirts had been changed to mini-skirts. Spandex and Kevlar tops changed to halters or bandeau tops. War Witch changed into her new costume and looked at herself. The neckpiece was still the same but the rest was a bikini top with boy-leg shorts and thigh high boots with stiletto heels.

She gazed around the room at the other women and saw that they were doing the same. All had sour expressions and grimaces on their faces as they saw what they and the other super heroines were being forced to wear. War Witch shook her head. "We look like a bunch of Superhero Hookers.", she thought to herself.

She sighed heavily and leaned back against the wall. She tilted her head and looked upwards at the small strip of sunlight streaming through the little window. She tried to create her fire sword and generate her ice powers but had no luck with either.

War Witch shook her head and whispered, "Someone's going to come. Someone's got to."

PART SEVEN

Tropic arrived at Crimson's office just before seven. The sky had almost lost all its light and Crimson sat behind the desk, using it, it seemed, almost as a barrier, his face lit only by the small lamp near it's corner. Tropic stood expectantly waiting for the spy to speak. Slowly he placed the package he was carrying on one of the empty chairs. The silence itself was a near physical presence in the large room.

"What's in the package?", Crimson said at last.

Tropic stared at the spy for a moment. "My clever disguise."

Crimson nodded and reached beneath his desk to place a silver steel briefcase in front of him. He snapped the locks back and pulled out a small box. The spy held it for a moment then slid it across the desktop to the hero.

Tropic glanced at the box warily and then at Crimson. The spy simply nodded and Tropic opened it. Inside were two cylinders that looked like cigar tubes. He raised his eyebrows in question.

"The antidote.", Crimson said softly.

Tropic examined the tubes carefully. Each had a screw top and he twisted one of them open. His nostrils were met with a strong, pungent odor. He replaced the cap and asked, "Are you sure?"

Crimson nodded. "Yes, it was derived from the original compound."

"The original compound?", Tropic frowned.

"Yes.", Crimson sighed. "About a year or so ago, this same Crey scientist that the Malta is using shopped it around to various government agencies. We were all very interested. The military applications alone were astounding but…it was not very effective on men and let's face it, most of your front line troops and board room commanders are men. So we passed."

"But you kept the compound."

"We're not stupid."

Tropic snorted. "Um Hum. So how do I…"

"Just get the women to take a good whiff. The results should be immediate."

Tropic nodded and, putting the tubes back in their box placed it with his package on the chair. He glanced at the spy again and saw that he was staring into the open case. Then Crimson reached in and pulled out a small velvet sack.

The spy tossed the black bag lightly on the desk. Tropic scooped it up and looked at Crimson. The red-suited man sat back in his chair rubbing his forehead. Tropic looked at the bag in his hand and gently opened it. Even in the low light, the revealed stones glittered, sparkling with their wealth. He gently stuck his finger into the bag and moved some of the gems around staring intently at the diamonds, rubies and sapphires.

Tropic nodded and said softly as he closed the bag, "You came through."

Crimson laughed ruefully. "I was motivated." The spy watched as Tropic gathered his belongings and moved towards the door. "Hey, try to get those diamonds back to me, all right?"

"Well, I'm not going to let the Malta keep them.", he said with his back to the man. Tropic turned to the spy. "I'm bringing the women back here when I get them out. Be ready."

Crimson nodded in agreement. "I'll have Med-Techs here to check them out, make sure they're OK." He watched as the hero continued to move towards the door.

"Tropic!", Crimson called out again when the hero reached the door. Tropic turned and looked at the red-suited man through narrowed eyes. Crimson folded his hands in front of him and stared at them as he spoke, not daring to meet the hero's eyes. "If I hadn't got you what you needed, would you really have killed me?" Finally Crimson looked directly at man across the room.

Tropic stood for a moment, his hand resting on the doorknob. Then, at last, he said coolly, "Oh, yeah.", opened the door and left.

Crimson sighed and shook his head. Then he spun in his chair and stared out into the night sky. "Good luck.", he whispered to the empty room.

Tropic dropped down onto the roof of the six story building across the parking lot from the Ambassador Hotel. He looked over at the resort as he walked behind the large air and heating unit and placed his package on the waist high duct that attached to it. He opened the package, carefully emptied its contents and began to don his disguise, slipping it over his costume.

Checking himself in a mirror that he had brought with him, he nodded in approval. Where once stood a costumed crime fighter now stood a corporate businessman. Tropic wore a charcoal suit with a black silk shirt and a sapphire tie. Gold cufflinks with onyx inserts adorned his sleeves and his feet were shod with black alligator shoes. He looked at the gold Rolex on his left wrist and saw it was about 7:45. Still plenty of time.

Now, however, the most difficult part of his costume. Tropic's skin was a natural red color, much like sunburn, due to the intense heat his body generated. It had been that way since the day of his creation. And his blonde hair normally stood straight up from his scalp, high and pointed. The hero sighed and looked at himself in the mirror once more. Then, placing the mirror next to the wrapping paper of his now empty package, he closed his eyes and gathered his energy into himself. Slowly, with arms outstretched, he released his great power, sending waves of heat from his body. As the tremendous heat dispersed, his skin became paler and paler until, finally, it was a normal Caucasian coloring, albeit, a Caucasian with no tan whatsoever.

As for his hair, Tropic had washed it earlier that day and had applied a relaxant to it causing it to lay long, falling just below his shoulders. It was the blondness of it that might serve to give him away. Again Tropic concentrated and, gripping his hands into fists, he closed his eyes and shook with effort. More heat generated throughout his system and slowly his hair was leeched of its color turning a silver white. Tropic blew the remaining breath from his lungs and looked at himself in his mirror. "Skin: white; hair and goatee: white.", he thought to himself. "That's it then."

Tropic patted the pockets of his suit jacket, lightly touching the invitation, the vials of antidote and the bag of gems. Smiling grimly, he leapt from the roof and floated gracefully to the earth. Then, with purpose, crossed to the Ambassador.

The hotel was awash with light. With two five star restaurants, bar and meeting rooms the Ambassador was always in a constant state of controlled chaos. Expensive cars and limousines continuously pulled into the resort's drive and the rich and powerful continuously emerged from them.

A long black limo stopped in front of the hotel's doors and three beautiful women exited. Tropic, in his expensive suit, fell in directly behind them appearing, to anyone who was watching, that he had got out of the limo with them. With an expression of bored arrogance on his face, Tropic appeared as though he had been there all along. He quickly climbed the few steps to the front doors and entered the luxury resort.

Inside, he paused to survey his surroundings. The lobby of the place was huge. Straight ahead, the old oak wood of the front desk sat solidly against the back wall. Hotel staff checked in guests and gave directions to their powerful patrons. To the right, entrances to the restaurants and bar rested behind a baby grand piano being played by a young man in a tuxedo. Circular sofas dotted the center section of the hall and to the left, up two steps, was the hallway leading to the meeting rooms.

And people were everywhere. Men were either dressed in tuxedos or wildly expensive suits. Women were adorned with evening gowns or some of the wildest haute couture this side of Paris. Tropic, in his disguise, fit right in, blending with the rich and not so rich, his look of sophistication melding perfectly with the bustle of the extravagant hotel.

Tropic looked towards the meeting room area. He knew that the Malta would have several of their agents stationed inside the Ambassador. He also knew they would all be wearing clothing to hide their true nature, like him. Finally he saw what he was looking for. Standing to the right at the top of the second step, was a man in a black suit. He didn't look out of the ordinary but he looked like he didn't belong. His hair was cut short and his nose was crooked, bent from fighting. And the hero saw the earplug and wire in the man's left ear.

That was his man.

Tropic crossed the lobby and walked purposefully to the Malta operative. The hero stopped on the step below the man and said in a heavy German accent, "Good Evening. I believe I haf an invitation to deese event."

The man smiled and answered politely. "Of course, sir. May I see your invitation?"

Tropic handed the guard the invitation that Asam had given him. He looked about casually as the solider examined it. He didn't think the accountant had set him up but he was still concerned. And he would hate to ruin the old hotel's lobby.

At last the guard returned the invitation to him. "Thank you, Mr…?"

"Von Feuer," Tropic answered. "Kurt von Feuer"

"Mr. von Feuer.", The guard smiled politely at him. "If you would please continue down this hallway. To the right you will see a desk with our people behind it and they will complete your…registration."

Tropic nodded his head once and moved past the Malta soldier. At last he expelled the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Behind him he heard the guard on his mic alerting the next station of his arrival. Tropic straightened himself and murmured, "Here we go."

Tropic walked casually down the wide corridor passing two meeting rooms on either side of him, their heavy oak double doors bearing placards naming them "The Atlas Room" and "The Titan Room". He continued on until, rounding a slight corner, he saw three men ahead of him.

Two sat behind a folding table covered with a black tablecloth. One was skinny and balding, gray hair ringing his scalp. He was certainly not a field operative, appearing to the hero like a loan officer at the local bank. The other was dark haired, fat and had glasses so thick his eyes were magnified to saucers. If there were a picture in the dictionary of a bookworm, this would be it. The third stood behind and to the right of them guarding the door, dressed in Malta fatigues and carrying a Sapper weapon. Tropic approached and smiled at all three.

"Ah, Herr von Feuer," bald, skinny man said, "thank you so much for coming. I will need to see your invitation again." Tropic handed the man his invitation and disinterestedly tugged his sleeves. The Malta man examined the invitation closely and then, from below the table, pulled out a purple scan light and ran it over the invitation. Turning the paper over he did the same to the underside of it as well.

Tropic looked at the Sapper, smiled slightly and then at the skinny man again. "You are being finished, yes?", he asked in a bored tone and checked his watch again.

Finally, the man smiled and placed the invitation to the side. "Yes, sir, everything appears to be in order." He glanced at his bookish partner and then at Tropic. "There is one more item we need. If you would be so kind…" He held out his hand expectantly.

Tropic raised his eyebrow at the fellow and looked as though the man had just offered him a bug. Tropic sighed. "Of course," and then pulled the small bag of gems from his pocket, passing it to the outstretched hand of the enemy.

The skinny man handed the package immediately to the bookworm. The fat man opened the bag and poured some of the jewels onto the black clothed table. He then picked a diamond up and, inserting a jewelers glass in his eye, began to examine the stone. He repeated the process three more times with different gems. At last the fellow nodded to his thin partner, gathered the spilled stones into their bag and placed them in a black metal briefcase of the type Crimson had used earlier.

The skinny Malta agent smiled broadly at Tropic and said, "Thank you, Herr von Feuer.
Please…enter. The event will take place at nine p.m. sharp. Good luck to you, sir."

Tropic bowed slightly to the men and strode past the Sapper guarding the doors. He noted that the sale was taking place in "The Hero Room" and shook his head. Well, no one said the Malta didn't have a sense of humor. He pushed through the oak door and stopped, stunned, just inside it.

There were at least 50 people inside the large meeting room. He saw the five buyers that he and Crimson had identified. The rest were their entourages and bodyguards. All watched each other with darting eyes and forced expressions of nonchalance. And all turned toward him as he entered. He looked casually around the room and then, as if he did this type of thing every day, stepped deeper into the lion's den.

He quickly surveyed the room's interior. Along the wall on the left a wooden bar with a brass foot rail stretched, the red-vested bartender moving efficiently filling orders. On the right Funaki and Kang, the two Oriental gangsters, sat, their heads bent together, deep in conversation. They spared him a glance and went back to their discussion, their bodyguards eyeing each other cautiously.

In the center of the room the remaining three buyers talked in low tones. The Russians, Badromanov and Boganskya, the mobster Maraldo and the Argentinean, Bergmann. Behind them and almost at the rear wall of the building was a raised dais, half it's width covered by a curtain. That was where the women were to be sold. Beyond the curtain would be the door leading to the elevator or the stairs, and beyond that, the heroines. "Now…how do I get there?", Tropic thought.

Suddenly movement in the center of the room caught his eye. From behind and slightly to the left of the Russians, a skeletal figure was coming straight toward him. The man walked purposefully at him with open arms and said, "Ach! Enschuldung, Herr von Feuer, wir haben nicht gewust das Sie gekommen sind!"

Tropic shook his head smiling. "No, even I did not know I would be coming until just a few hours ago. And please, we speak in English, yes? When in Rome and so forth…"

The skeletal man smiled broadly. Tropic had seen and fought the Vahzilok, Circle of Thorns demons and Banished Pantheon zombies but he thought that smile had to be the creepiest thing he had ever seen. "Of course!", the man said. "I am Mr. Albon and I am hosting this affair." Albon frowned slightly. "You say you did not know you would be coming?"

"No," Tropic shook his head, "our agent originally scheduled to be attending suddenly had a severe problem with his fingers."

"His fingers?", Albon asked in confusion.

"Yes. They had become sticky." Tropic smiled grimly.

The skeletal man laughed out loud. "Ok," Tropic thought, "that's even creepier." Albon gazed at the hero with an evil smile. "I hope he received some medical attention for his…problem."

"Oh, yes, a complete cure I am told. It is a miracle…although I think his condition has caused him to…retire."

Albon nodded. "That's probably for the best."

"I haf heard that you as well haf had the problem mit a hero.", Tropic said to Albon.

Albon nodded happily. "Yes, a minor hero ("Minor!", Tropic fumed to himself.) called Tropic. I am happy to say he was dealt with at my personal order." He smiled looking around the room and, checking his watch, turned to the disguised hero again. "Well, the auction will be taking place shortly. Please," he gestured about the room, "enjoy our hospitality. If there is anything at all that you require, do not hesitate to ask myself or any of my people."

Tropic bowed slightly at the waist in acknowledgement and, as Albon moved off across the room, looked at his own wrist. 8:10. Still time enough. He strode over to the bar, all the while looking at the curtained dais, thinking and planning. "Scotch, rocks.", he told the bartender and then, sipping his drink, he began to cross the room, angling himself towards the dais. He felt several pairs of eyes follow him as he walked.

Suddenly, he became aware of a presence behind him. Tropic stopped, casually turned and saw the woman heading towards him. It was the Russian, Irina Boganskya, coming at him with a seductive sway in her hips. She was wearing a form fitting black silk dress with a choker like neck, coming to just above her knee and slit to the thigh on one side. A diamond cutout at the chest showed off her cleavage and her jet black hair was swept up and back into a topknot ponytail. Her pale blue eyes looked him up and down with a lifeless hunger.

"I do not believe I know you.", she said extending her hand.

Tropic kissed her hand lightly and said, "Ach, but I know of you, Madame."

"Really, Mr…?", she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"von Feuer, Miss Boganskya." Tropic noted her wary expression and plunged in full bore in an effort to make her even more uncomfortable. "Irina Boganskya, late of the KGB. One of their finest interrogators and perhaps more…? You left that area of …employment and began your association with a group more suited to your…needs." Tropic smiled as he finished.

The woman smiled at him. "Very correct. But that tells me nothing of you."

"There is nothing much to be saying.", the hero replied in his German accent. "I am here representing some European interests."

"European?"

"Yes. The European Union did not only be uniting those countries but also other organizations, Madame." Tropic bowed slightly.

Irina nodded. "I am surprised to see that you have come alone."

"I am far from helpless, Miss Boganskya," Tropic smiled and let the fire flare from his eyes briefly.

The Russian woman's face went from surprise to pleasure in an instant. "I see power, Herr von Feuer!" She frowned for a moment. "But I thought that…"

Tropic interrupted. "Not all people with…gifts are interested in rescuing the cats from the trees."

The Russian woman laughed lightly, reached out to touch his arm and brushed an imaginary piece of lint away. Tropic raised an eyebrow. "Oh my God, I think she's trying to pick me up!", he thought to himself.

She lowered her voice. "Have you ever thought about exploring other opportunities?"

"I am always interested in conquering new challenges." Tropic replied with hooded eyes.

She took out a card and wrote on it's back. "I have an opening…in my organization…that you may enjoy filling.", she said softly as she handed him the card.

The card bore only her name but on the back she had written the name of her hotel and her room number. Tropic smiled and placed the card in his suit's breast pocket. "I think I would be happy to fill any position you may deem necessary." Irina smiled back at him and Tropic continued, looking at his watch. 8:25. "But I have been traveling for many hours and would like to freshen up before the event so…"

"Of course," she smiled, "I look forward to our meeting, yes?" She turned and went back to her partner. The big man, Badromanov, just glared at Tropic from across the room.

Tropic bowed as she left and continued his path towards the dais. When he arrived he looked back at the room. Some eyes were on him, others were not and he realized he could not get behind the curtain without being seen. He sighed and rapidly gazed about the room looking for something, anything, to create some type of diversion.

The two Oriental mobsters were still huddled in conversation. Tropic frowned. The Triad and Yakuza were perpetually at odds. If these two formed some sort of alliance… Tropic shuddered at the thought. He also noticed that Kang had brought some Tsoo with him as bodyguards. He recognized two Tsoo bosses, Swift Steel and Bright Blade, but the two of them had eyes only for Kang.

He looked to the center of the room and saw that Irina had rejoined her comrade. Badromanov was deep in animated conversation with the New York mobster. Both men spoke with their hands and Tropic smiled briefly at their elaborate gesturing. He looked past them to the bar and saw that the Argentinean, Bergmann, was there with another drink speaking to a Malta officer. His bodyguards scanned the room relentlessly and Tropic began to feel a twinge of desperation. He had to get behind the curtain if he were to have any hope of getting to the kidnapped heroines.

"Wait. The drink!", he thought. He quickly returned his gaze to the Russian and the Italian gangster. Badromanov was still talking and gesturing wildly with his glass in his hand. It was a flute type glass and half full with champagne. A plan quickly took root in Tropic's mind. It would be risky and require timing but it could work. And it was the only chance he could see.

Tropic sipped his Scotch and put his free hand to his mouth, curling it as though he were coughing into it. His eyes were glued to the big Russian's glass. Slowly he began to focus his energy, waiting for the right moment. The air around his hand started to shimmer like Death Valley asphalt in the middle of July.

Suddenly, Badromanov gestured towards the mobster, Maraldo, with the drink in his hand. Tropic snapped his fingers and an imperceptible beam of intense heat struck the Russian's glass. The superheated glass and the ice cold liquid reacted as Tropic hoped and the glass exploded in the man's hand sending it's contents splashing onto the Ice Cream Man's snow white suit.

At the sound of the breaking glass every eye in the room involuntarily shifted to the source of the disturbance. Tropic slipped behind the curtain unseen and, pausing momentarily, listened to the aftermath: the mobster accusing the Russian of splashing him on purpose, Badromanov denying it, shouting and finally Mr. Albon coming between the two and attempting to restore order. Tropic shook his head and smiled slightly. He knew if he could time the breaking of the glass correctly the criminals in the room would behave just as they did. He sighed in relief and, looking at his surroundings, saw the door ahead of him and to the right. He threw his drink to the side and headed straight for it.

Stepping through the door he found himself looking downwards at at least four flights of stairs. No elevator; he knew exactly where he was. These steps would lead down to the sub-basement and a long corridor. Tropic practically flew down the steps to the bottom landing. Peering around the corner he saw the Malta guards standing casually speaking to each other.
Two Sappers, two Tactical Operatives and one Hercules Titan.

Tropic stepped back behind the wall and pressed his back against it. He looked at his watch again. 8:30. Time enough but it was running out at a faster pace than he wished. The guards were halfway down the corridor about 40 yards from his present location. He nodded finally and slid down the wall until he was squatting, forearms resting on his thighs. He gathered his energy into himself and then leaned out, crouching, into the hall and fired an intense white bolt of flame at one of the Sappers. The man dropped like a rock.

The hero stayed exposed for a moment more, making sure the rest of the Malta operatives saw him and then ducked back behind the wall. The two Tac-Ops and the remaining Sapper all rushed down the corridor towards him, the Titan lumbering behind them.

War Witch sat on the cell floor listlessly, her head resting on her knee when she saw the Sapper engulfed in white flame. She sat up straight as the man fell and watched as the other Malta operatives ran down the hallway leaving the prison unguarded. The Witch wanted so badly to get up and moving but, although she and the other women had much more awareness of their surroundings, forming the will to escape, let alone using their powers, was impossible. Suddenly there was a rumbling explosion, the hall was filled with white light and the floor trembled powerfully. Upstairs one of the guests moved to the window to check the night sky having heard the sound of thunder.

Tropic rushed down the hallway and saw the cell on his right before he got there. He had unleashed his Inferno power and had defeated all the guards, but now it would take a few moments to regain his energy. He arrived at the cell and looked through the metal bars and smiled broadly at the sight. He counted quickly. Fourteen missing super heroines, fourteen women in the cell. All were there and all looked well. Tropic sighed in relief and looked at the lock on the sliding metal door. Wrapping his hand around it he focused the heat in his body and the lock simply melted away.

Sliding the door back, he stepped in quickly and crossed to the heroine closest to him. He crouched next to War Witch and pulled one of the antidote vials from his pocket. "War Witch, right?", he asked, looking at her blue and green striped hair. Although he had never met her he had seen her photo in the paper and had seen her once on TV. "Tropic. Good guy. Take a deep breath." He held the vial under her nose and, as she inhaled, he let himself relax. The hue of his skin returned to it's normal red coloring and his hair darkened to its natural blonde.

War Witch started to stir. "Wha? Where?", she asked in confusion.

Tropic grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet.

"Tropic?", she asked. "I've heard of you." Her voice became stronger and the confusion on her face began to slowly turn to anger.

Tropic smiled at her. "You ok?"

The heroine held out her right hand and her fire sword sprang to life. She held out her left and it became encased in ice. She looked Tropic directly in the eyes and said, "Oh…Yeah."

Tropic grinned. "Ok, I need you to get out in the corridor and keep it secure, all right? I need to get the others up if we're going to get out of here."

War Witch nodded once and sprinted out into the hallway.

Tropic scanned the cell and saw Ms. Moxie about ten yards to the left, sitting on the floor, her back resting against the wall. Rushing over to her he held the vial under her nose. "C'mon, Mox. Breathe deep.", he whispered.

The dark haired heroine shook her head as she slowly became more aware of her surroundings. She saw the figure in front of her and, as the haze lifted from her mind she started to recognize him. "Tropic?", she muttered softly. "TROPIC!" She leapt to him hugging him tightly around the neck.

"Ok, ok.", Tropic said as he returned the embrace. Breaking away from her he said, "I need your help." He handed her the second vial of antidote. "Take this. Have the others take a deep breath. I'll take the other side of the room." Ms. Moxie nodded and they both set off on their task.

Soon the cell was filled with the sounds of the captured heroines stretching their muscles and their powers, some for the first time in weeks. All were filled with anger and questions.

"Where are we?"

"What day is it?"

"How long?"

"Who did this?"

Tropic held up his hand and the women quieted down. He began to speak but at that moment he finally noticed the brief, tight, small, sexy, distracting costumes the Malta had given the women to wear.

"Tropic?", Storm Angel said with an odd expression.

"Best…costumes…ever!", Tropic said simply. "You guys really should consider keeping…"

"NO.", at least four of the girls said in unison.

Tropic raised his hands in defeat and began to tell the women what had been happening. "The Malta Group has been having…ARRGH!" Suddenly he was hit from behind by a bolt of black energy. The women scattered, turning towards the source of the bolt. Tropic twisted and landed on his feet facing his attacker and crouched low, teeth gritted and his hands full of fire.

"So, fool, you think to steal my pretties away from me! None may defy me! You shall feel the wrath of the Techno-Mage!"

Tropic looked at his enemy and stood up slightly. The man was dressed in a black robe with red piping. His scraggly black beard came down to his chest and his hair was pulled back into a topknot and two ponytails. The hero noticed that the magicians robes could not conceal the man's protruding belly. And he was wearing sandals.

"This is the Techno-Mage?", Tropic said out of the corner of his mouth to one of the super women.

Shiva shrugged. "I guess…we were all kind of out of it." She looked the pear-shaped villain up and down. She shook her head in confusion. This was the man who had kept them captive?

"Soon the Malta and I shall be wealthy beyond our dreams," the bearded man continued. "And this city is teeming with fodder. Your fate is set and none can change…yeep!" The magician starred in amazement at what appeared to be a flaming sword protruding from his chest. He was not injured; the sword had not solidified, but it served to hold him motionless and in stunned silence.

War Witch stood behind him and had slashed down with her fire sword from his left shoulder to the center of his chest. Her grim expression was in stark contrast to the look of abject terror on the Techno-Mage's face. Slowly, she shook her head. "I can't do it…I just can't do it.", she said. "I can't let him live." With that she continued the path her sword began and the two cauterized halves of the man fell at her feet.

"He was just too evil.", she explained.

Tropic looked at the dead magician on the floor. "O…k….umm…well…anyway…", and he continued telling the women everything that happened and the Malta Group's part in it. Anger darkened the heroine's faces and they looked at each other in silent agreement.

"Let's make those bastards pay.", Temptations said quietly. As one they turned and rushed toward the cell door.

"WAIT!", Tropic called out to them. The girls all stopped and looked back at him. "I have a cunning plan.", he smiled. And as he explained, fourteen sets of lips curled into fourteen very dangerous grins.

Mr. Albon looked impatiently at his watch again, trying to will the time to move just a bit faster. 8:50. In ten more minutes the sale would begin and the Malta Group would reap tremendous benefits. Albon's mind was already looking ahead. With the capture and sale of the super heroines Malta's reputation throughout the world would be enhanced. The funds received would finance operations for months to come. Albon smiled a skeletal grin. That fool, Tropic, was dead, eliminated at his command. He glanced behind him at the black metal briefcase resting on a table. The jewels inside it seeming to cement, in his mind, his new standing within the Malta. "Perhaps I shall be invited to join the Ruling Circle.", he thought. All in all, it had been a very good couple of days.

Then, finally, he realized the room had gone silent. Looking up at his guests, he saw that all conversation had ceased and they staring beyond him at the dais with wide eyes and mouths open in surprise. He turned towards the dais and his jaw dropped.

Standing there on the small stage in front of the open curtain were fourteen super powered women, their bodies aglow with the aura of their strength and their faces dark with anger, one thought present in all their minds: "These people were going to buy us!" One of the women stepped forward and pointed directly at the buyers.

"FOR THE MALTA!", Gogo screamed and leapt into the middle of the room attacking the big Russian, Badromanov.

The other women rushed forward screaming battle cries in support of the Malta Group.

"THE MALTA WILL RULE!", screamed AuraGirl.

"DEATH TO MALTA'S ENEMIES!", yelled Anri.

The room was stunned still until finally the shouts Tropic had hoped for could be heard above the din. "It's a trap!", he heard one of Bergmann's bodyguards shout out.

"Malta has betrayed us!", screamed one of the Tsoo guarding the Triad boss.

Tropic's plan had been simple. Attack only the buyers. Let them believe that the Malta had set them up and then let the criminal organizations fight it out amongst themselves. The girls had been advised not to attack any Malta operatives but the mobsters and their bodyguards were fair game. The Malta operatives were now literally fighting for their lives against the organized crime factions of the world.

The room was filled with the sounds of battle. A dark cloud formed and spit lightning at the Italian's entourage. Storm Angel directed the bolts into the men with grim resolve. Gogo was joined by Ms. Moxie and they both brought the big Russian thug to his knees. Combatants flew wildly through the air as those with gravity powers tossed them aside.

Temptations and Shiva were fighting the Tsoo bosses Bright Blade and Swift Steel. In the middle of the battle the women switched opponents, throwing the rhythm of the two men completely off. Anita Black ran through the room using her healing powers on her captive friends. Controllers that had been among the women used their powers with abandon, stopping the mob goons in their tracks and allowing the others to beat them down.

Albon looked on in horror as all his carefully laid plans turned to dust before his eyes. "NO!", he screamed, "IT'S A MISTAKE!", but he could not be heard over the crazed sounds of the fight. His men were all engaged in battle against the buyers that he had so carefully cultivated. He grabbed the black metal briefcase off the table and, with his two bodyguards, tried to escape through the crowd.

Tropic had stayed back behind the curtain, ensuring that the gangsters present would see only the women attack. It was important they believe that the Malta were responsible for luring them here to betray them and seeing a known superhero among the girls would cause too many questions. Although he did shoot a fire ball at one or two of the mobsters, just to help out, he told himself.

Then out of the corner of his eye he saw a skeletal figure trying to make his way through the battleground. And then he noticed that Albon was carrying the black metal case that the bookworm had put the diamonds in. Tropic leapt forward after the Malta boss. His fire sword cut through those who tried to bar his path. As he passed the Russian woman, Irina, he slapped her on the behind, causing her to yelp in surprise.

Tropic landed in front of Albon and threw his hands forward. Fire blasted forth in concentric circles tossing the man's bodyguards into the wall with a crash.

"Mr. Albon.", Tropic said quietly.

Albon looked up at his attacker. "You?…Tropic?…but you're…you're supposed to be…you're dead…they told me so!" Albon's eyes were wide with fear.

"Mr. Albon," Tropic growled, his eyes filled with red flowing fire, "the next time you kill a 'minor hero'…make sure they stay dead." The hero chopped his hand down hitting Albon on the wrist. The Malta boss dropped the jewel laden briefcase and Tropic scooped it up, leaping away over the battle and landing at the room's entrance.

"LET'S GO!", Tropic shouted. The super women looked up and abandoned the fight. Escape was now their primary objective. Fiery Fox fired one more blast into a Cartel soldier and followed the other women.

The heroines and Tropic fled the room, leaving the Malta thugs and the mobsters to battle it out. The fleeing heroes heard the sound of a lone voice screaming "NOOOOO!" and then they were down the corridor and out into the hotel's lobby. The Ambassador's guests and employees stared in frozen silence as Tropic and fourteen super women bounded through the hotel entrance and out into the cool night air of Atlas Park.

With broad smiles on their faces they followed the hero out of the zone to Peregrine Island and freedom.

Tropic stood on the bottom floor of Crimson's warehouse watching the medical personnel attend to the women. The girls were all draped with blankets and sipping hot coffee, finally able to relax, their ordeal over. They talked amongst themselves, laughing and reliving the battle they had just fought.

The hero saw Crimson approaching him, shaking his head, smiling in disbelief. "I don't know how you did it, Tropic.", the spy said. "Making the other organizations believe the Malta had set them up…genius."

Tropic shrugged. "I had to come up with something. I didn't know what kind of shape the girls would be in so I figured I would need some help. Who better than the bad guys themselves?", he smiled.

"Well, it was brilliant.", Crimson nodded. "It's too bad that all the mob bosses escaped but I suppose we needed them to get the word about the 'Malta Betrayal' back to their people." A tall fellow in a black suit handed the spy a printout and walked off, back to the upstairs office. Crimson grinned as he read the paper. "Wow…you do some work."

Tropic raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"It's only been an hour or so since you set this thing rolling and I've got reports coming in from all over the world." The spy shook his head in amazement. "I've got eleven Malta directors assassinated worldwide. Eight of their bases are under attack as we speak. And I can confirm that at least two of their holdings are now rubble." Crimson grinned again. "It will take them years to recover, maybe decades." The red suited man looked directly at the hero. "Genius.", he said, shaking his head.

Tropic grinned but said nothing. He looked again at the women that were rescued and sighed with relief. There were so many times this whole thing could have gone bad but "Luck favors the foolish", he said to himself. He noticed that Crimson had spoken again. "Hmm?", Tropic said to the spy.

"I said how did you do it? How did you get the women to agree not to attack the Malta?", Crimson asked in confusion.

Tropic smiled and snorted in laughter. "Crimson," he whispered so the super heroines would not hear, "I've been alive for 3500 years or so, give or take a century or two, and I've learned just a couple of things about women." Tropic paused and the spy leaned in, waiting for the hero to continue. "Men go for the kill. Women go for the pain. When they realized the plan would cause the Malta the most grief, they agreed to it wholeheartedly." Tropic grinned and said, "Oh, before I forget…", and he handed the spy the black metal case.

Crimson looked into the briefcase and his eyes widened in shock. The stones sparkled in the florescent lighting sending their multicolored hues dancing over his face. "The buy ins.", he said softly.

"Yeah," Tropic nodded, "I'm not sure if they're all in there but it's more than you gave me to start."

The spy closed the case and looked over at the women and then to Tropic. "So," he sighed, 'that's it then."

"Yes." Tropic said simply.

Crimson looked at the ground. "Listen, Tropic, I'm sorry about how all this went down but…"

"Don't.", the hero interrupted. "You and I are quits, Crimson. This worked out in spite of your…intrigues. But I meant what I said. Don't contact me again."

Crimson nodded as he looked at the hero's feet. "All right. But you did a great job and I think you should go home and get some rest. You're probably going to need it."

Tropic raised his eyebrow. "What? Why?"

Crimson gestured at the super heroines. "I think your going to be getting thanked. A lot." The spy grinned. "And you're going to need your strength."

Tropic looked at the spy and then at the girls. Some were looking at him with broad smiles on their faces. "Oh…OH!…oooohhh!", he said.

Tropic began to hover and called out a farewell to the women. They grinned back, waving, thanking him and then he flew out the open skylight and into the night sky of Paragon City. He started to whistle a tune that his long dead cousin Danicleus used to play on his flute. He smiled at the memory.

And he and his spirit soared over a City of Heroes.

---------EPILOGUE-
Two Days Later

Tropic stood in his robe fresh from the shower, staring out the large picture window in his 35th floor apartment on Talos Island. His wet blonde hair hung low beyond his shoulders and he drank from a steaming cup of coffee. The sound of old standards from the '40's came softly from the stereo.

He sipped his drink and looked out over the statue of Talos. To his right, two heroes flew past, to his left he saw a flash of light and, squinting his eyes, saw a hero battling a Steel Valkyrie. Then another hero bounded by right in front of his window. He sipped the coffee again shaking his head.

"What a great city.", he thought.

He turned away from the window and crossed the living room until he stood in front of a large cabinet. He opened it's doors and placed the coffee mug on one of it's shelves. Inside the cabinet was a collection of souvenirs he had acquired over the course of his adventures. He saw the rage ampoule, the page of a diary, Uni-bands, and several other objects until his gaze fell on his two most prized possessions.

One was a letter from the Chinese and American governments thanking him for stopping a Malta threat and quite possibly preventing World War Three. The other was the faceplate. Statesman's faceplate. The cities greatest hero had sent it to him after Tropic had led a group of heroes to an alternate dimension and rescued the captured Statesman from his evil doppelganger Tyrant.

Tropic sighed and smiled. He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a small black velvet pouch. He opened the bag and the multicolored reflection of light from $500,000 dollars in diamonds and other precious stones played across his face. He shook his head, grinning. "This may be the best souvenir yet", he said out loud.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door of his apartment. Closing the bag and putting it in the cabinet, he grabbed his coffee and padded in bare feet to the front door. He looked through the peep hole and stood back in surprise. Opening the door, he exclaimed "War Witch!"

She stood at his door clad in a short green halter type dress. It plunged low in front and the skirt went to her mid-thigh. She wore a simple black choker around her neck and she ran her hand through her green and blue striped hair. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a frown.

"I mean Clarissa," Tropic corrected himself and was rewarded with a smile. "What are you doing way out here?", he asked grinning.

"I just came by to thank you again for saving me…us…the other day." She smiled brightly.

"Oh, it was my pleasure.", Tropic said as he opened his door wide to let her in.

She crossed into his apartment and before the door closed, if anyone was standing in the hallway, they would have heard her say softly…

"We'll see."

The End