Ch.1 - "WORLD'S FINEST"

CatCo Newsroom…

The elevator door opened with a ping and Kara Danvers with some reporters filed out, entering the bustle of the newsroom.

It was busy to say the least, buzzing with activity and the chiming of answered phones. Rows of cubicles stretched all the way to the wide windows. Reporters tapped away at their computers while working the phones and the internet.

Kara dash along the isle, potato salad in front of her, pushing her way through the staffers. Her mind ticking off the seconds until she reached Cat's office.

Not a single staffer bother to glance in Kara's direction. Not only were they busy at their own jobs, rushing to meet deadlines, but they learned to tune out the office assistant.

All except for one person..

Someone was patting her on the back and mouthing, "Hey there." It irked Kara slightly, but then she whirled about to see a dark haired hunk, twentysomething, who was beaming at her with a smile that could light up an entire room. "You must be Kara."

He was lean, athletically built. His shirt was crisp, pure white, contrasting with dark slacks, sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

A rash of happiness went down Kara Danvers' neck, and a simpleton's grin crossed her face. A little recognition felt good once in a while. "H-Have we met before?"

The square jawed man made his way over to her, with a general air of confidence, extending his hand. "Don't believe so. The name's Rayner…. Kyle Rayner." He said. "I'm a friend of Olsen's."

A penny dropped in memory. "Oh right, the artists." Shook Kyle's hand, then added. "Welcome to CatCo. A voice of reason in a world gone mad." She chuckled, then mentally kicked herself for such an utterly lame follow-up. "So how long are you in National City for?"

Kyle shrugged. "Just a week or two. You know, freelance gig. Gotta keep the lights on somehow."

Their eyes met and locked for several seconds… until there was some pronounced throat clearing behind them.

Startled, Kyle had to tear his eyes away from Kara's thick lenses to a squirrelly looking man standing alongside him. Beady eyes, hair the color of acorns, shirt was rumpled and there were food stains on his tie.

Kara spoke again, jabbing a thumb toward squirrelly man. "Kyle, uh this is Winn, my friend."

"Tell me you've seen this." Winn held up the late edition of the evening tabloid. The Daily Planet carried a story that headlined, THE BAT ATTACKS IN SUICIDE SLUMS. VIGILANTE OR CIVIC HERO?

Hazel eyes lit up as Kara grabbed it out of Winn's hands and skimmed the pages quickly, then paused and read through them more carefully. Her eyes narrowed as she read it to herself:

"Local authorities are baffled over a recent string of bizarre citizen's arrests. Numerous career criminals have been mysteriously delivered to stations throughout the metro-area and in most cases unconscious."

"Suicide Slums," Kyle said, thoughtfully. "That's not too far from here."

"Which begs the question as to how Lois Lane was able to leak this story out before us." Winn asked.

"Cause it's not a story." Olsen said. "It's a gangland myth. Nothing more."

"Kinda like a girl who could leap tall buildings in a single bound?" Kyle weighed in.

"You're comparing Supergirl to a sociopath in a Halloween costume." Olsen said. "A hindrance to the established order of law enforcement."

"Hindrance?" Kyle snorted. "She subdue over a dozen gang members single-handedly. Including the Royal Flush gang. I'm thinking the boys in blue should put her on payroll."

"Have I mention she was a sociopath?" James said.

"I gotta mole down at the precinct, said he would fax me the police report." Kyle told him. "I think it's worth looking into."

"As do I." Cat inviting herself into the conversation.

Kara turned and stared at her with genuine surprise. "Really?"

"I'm inclined to agree with Rayner." Cat said. "This is the intrigue that has been piquing the curiosity of so many of my readership. And it gives me the satisfaction of cramming it down Lois' throat. Have artist concepts done up by the end of the day of this… Batgirl."

"You got it." Kyle said, without hesitation. Olsen not as enthusiastic followed him out.

DEO Base…

The View Screen switched from a multicolored map of the territory to a satellite image, zooming in on a row of single-story buildings, outside of which were parked two late-model sedans. The level of detail was, as always remarkable.

"Casualties?" he inquired.

"Forty-two men and women." Came the response from Agent Alex Danvers, as she rounded the corner to join him, matching his steps. "There's been over a half a dozen attacks like this across the continent."

"Looks like the work of a terrorist cell," Henshaw decided. "Of that much, I am certain."

"Buy why? What's the connection? Why these hits, these places?"

"Your guess is as good as ours." he murmured speculatively. "Agent Danvers, I need you on threat assessment. I want you scouring government channels. See what we're up against."

"On it, sir." Alex said, starting to turn away.

A uniformed man burst through the corridor door, his eyes wild. "Director Henshaw, I'll save you the trouble," the General said. "they're mine."

Both Henshaw and Danvers would know that voice anywhere. It belonged to General Sam Lane of U.S. Army Intelligence. "Former operatives of mine." He corrected himself.

Dead silence enveloped the room as all eyes turned to Army Intelligence Officer General Sam Lane. Dressed in full dress uniform.

Visibly furious, Director Henshaw stalked forward "General," he growled, forcefully as he dared. "would you care to step outside for a second?"

Minutes Later, Outside...

Henshaw kneaded the bridge of his nose, as though he felt a headache coming on. "So you're saying they went Rogue?"

"Way back when," he said. "using intel they stole from me to further their agenda. A success measured by body count."

Henshaw nodded somberly. "How long ago was this?"

"Few years, give or take."

Henshaw fixed his steely eyes on Lane. "You must have very compelling reasons for keeping us in the dark."

"That's how my world is, Henshaw. The bad guys hide. Shine too big a light on them and they'll skitter off into the cracks."

"Then we won't find them again until it's too late. Trust me, I know all the words to that song."

"Hence why I do what I do. Like I said, their success is measured by body count. They have succeeded in moments where others have tried, and failed, for years."

He passed over to Henshaw a printed file, marked: SURVEILLANCE REPORT - CLASSIFIED. Color-coded to indicate the highest level of security. "You're gonna want to look at this."

Inside were a fresh set of glossy surveillance photos that were taken from two hundred fifty miles above Metropolis with camera lenses powerful enough to read the lettering on a pack of cigarettes.

Without a word, Henshaw held up the photos. The Director blinked, squinted at each one. Magnified faces appeared one after another, some decorated in camouflage paint. Some more familiar than others. Packing ordinance that was definitely off the grid.

A pained sigh escapes the General's lips. "They're designated as Intergang," he noted. "Rogue extremists who believe in a new world order."

"Lemme guess," Henshaw said sourly, flipping through each one. "Their new world order, will be one without Supergirl."

The General nodded curtly. "Their tech keeps advancing at a disturbingly rapid pace." He told him. "In essence, Extra-Normal. They must have endless manpower, resources."

"So I've heard," he told him. "Combat experienced veterans with an expertise in urban population control. These guys initiate, they're proactive. Question is, what is it they want? And where do they need to get it?"

General Lane drew a breath and asked "What are you proposing?"

"An agent - someone on the inside—and I for one would prefer it to be someone who's not more powerful than a locomotive."

NEXT CHAPTER: BIRDS OF PREY