These Black Eyes

by P0ST

The ongoing adventures and experiences of the Teen Titans, as witnessed through the eyes of a silent newcomer.

199. The Earth Must Bleed part 14 final

199. The Earth Must Bleed part 14 Final

Beep. Beep. Beep.

CLINK!

Beeeeeep-Ding!

WHURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-CHTUNG!

KLAK-KLAK!

The huge metal doors opened to a four-story tall, hidden chamber built at the very top of Pompeii. A metal interior the size of a condensed hangar had been constructed in the casino's summit. It had 'Triangular' written all over it in red tape. And as I gazed into the dimly lit, gray interior…I knew that it couldn't have been imagined by any crackpot axis of evil other than Triangular.

"You four lucky gentlemen….are now inside the holiest of holies…Heheheh…at least…the holiest thing the likes of you will ever get a chance to grace…."

Jacob Anderson was speaking to us. All the while, he paced before us slowly into the depths of this dark, metal hollowness in the skies of Vegas. Rexxin and twelve guards patrolled the edges of our group with guns, tasers, and even a laser rifle or two. It felt like the galley of some terribly huge, evil space cruiser or something.

Jacob Anderson passed by what looked like trophy exhibits of costumes, weapons, and villainous props encased in glass sheathes. He adjusted his robe while skirting around a stand where the huge wrestling trunks and spandex tank-top of a muscular warrior resided. Through my shades, I could spot a pair of metal arm-bands attached via red rubber hose to the neck piece of what looked like an S&M mask.

"All my life, I have withstood the futile pursuit of 'morality' in this bleeding world of ours…," Anderson dripped with a grin. "…I have outlasted the pressure of a society where perfect freedom is squelched by freakish superheroes and an increasingly hardcore police force."

He ran his finger along a glass case surrounding an explosive Jack-In-The-Box with the letter 'J' emblazoned in purple font all around it.

"And yet, I have kept my profile low. I have indulged so much…given just what I needed…and received a great deal more in return. Heheheheh. Whoever said that the world was a reciprocating balance was lying. I'm living proof that the selfish people, the greedy people, and the hungry people….are the ones who truly triumph."

I walked slowly. Taking long, calm breaths. I had replaced my shades with the goggles of Wyldecarde. And though I wasn't in the garb from my tournament adventures, there was little doubt that the wardrobe change had any effect on those around me. And then I realized: perhaps the fact that I was or once was 'Noir' meant very little to this man.

This man…of unpredictable obsessions.

"I've made friends in the right places. But that still doesn't change the fact that there are those out there with whom my ideas and the ideas of my greatest allies clash….," he brushed past a stand displaying the seized battle armor of an Apokolips Parademon in Metropolis. "…only now in my beautiful, beautiful life can I safely say that I…..I can easily squash those who don't agree with me. And not all 'organisms' that crawl this earth and like to call themselves human can truly afford that."

He spun around. With a twirl of his robe he held his arms out and smiled. "Behold…."

The four of us stopped.

Wildebeest's white eyes narrowed.

Killer Croc's mutated jaw was locked.

Hull was silent.

"…..," Anderson smiled. He held his arms up to his side. "My pride and joy…"

We all looked up.

The others seemed unaffected, but I couldn't help but jump a bit in shock at the utter…wyrdness.

There before us inside the four-story compartment stood an AV-8B Harrier Jet. Complete hulking turbofan engines, one thousand pound bombs, Maverick missiles, cone-shape machine gun mounts, and a closed cockpit for a single pilot. The thing stretched for nearly fifty feet from nose to tail with a thirty foot wingspan.

And it was inside.

How in the heck did he get that thing in here?

"This was a gift…," Anderson walked over and patted the landing gear. "….from Lex Luthor himself."

Wildebeest snorted.

I took a deep breath.

Really……

"It's a slightly refitted model per Luthor's electronics. But it's just as serviceable as any other military craft. I saw some military time myself when I was young—"

I find that hard to believe.

"—so after I was granted a chance to test-flight it, I fell in love. In exchange for my establishments here in Vegas for Luthor's benefit, I was given this. So you see? It helps to be….respectable of those in charge."

Killer Croc grinned.

Hull flexed his silver-tipped fingers and gazed at the floor.

"Rumor is that this wonderful craft was piloted before me by the infamous John Corbin himself," Anderson said.

I looked at him. Curiosity piqued.

"Before he joined with Luthor, that is," the robed man said. He smiled. "He lost his chance to ever pilot it again when he tried to take Luthor's life. Tsk tsk tsk…," he shook his head. "And to think that Luthor gave Corbin the body of Metallo! Oh, but surely you all know this. No able-bodied warriors emerging this far after the tournament could possibly NOT be in the know! Thusly, you should realize that you are all but ants in a giant collective. And tonight…I'll be enlisting a group of soldiers."

"I ain't no bug. I just want into the damned vault!" Killer Croc hissed.

Anderson frowned: "Did I say you could speak out of place, freak?"

Killer Croc clenched his fists.

Anderson grinned.

I watched them. I glanced aside to Wildebeest.

Wildebeest glanced at me.

When none of the guards were looking, I hand-signed: 'It is an act.'

Wildebeest nodded silently. He knew.

Anderson went on. "Metallo isn't the only one of his kind to suffer a fall because of disrespect. As a matter of fact, the entire organization he worked with prior to his sudden and inexplicable arrest at the hands of Superman has been falling down the tubes." Anderson walked away from the Harrier. We all followed. "I am talking about Intergang, gentlemen," said Anderson. "Intergang is foolish. Intergang is pig-headed. Intergang is upstart and immature." A beat. He turned and looked at us. He grinned. "And Intergang is here."

Wildebeest grunted.

"In Vegas?" Hull uttered, blue eyes narrow.

Anderson nodded. "And they are the last of the great….entrepreneurial groups of Vegas to pay respect to Pompeii's power. They're stubborn and they refuse to give tribute to my allies and what all of us stand for. Because of that, they rapidly losing friends and support and—alas—power. Their faculties and bases of operations in Vegas have shrunk to the bare minimum. They are like a life raft in the middle of the Nevada desert. They've considered moving back to Bludhaven, but the fall of the H.I.V.E. Academy there has made support of the transition scant at best. They could go back to the late Bruno Mannheim's base in Metropolis, but then Intergang would be helpless to the vengeful strikes of Luthor's forces in retaliation for their rogue treachery. The long and short of it is….Intergang is a dying beast. But within its belly, Intergang has swallowed many glittering treasures. And most of them explosive and still state of the art. Waiting for Intergang to die is like the stockpile of the former Soviet Union being put up to auction. And I'm sure the truly wisest among us would agree that if the America had only went in and finished the Soviets off proper—heheheheh---we'd have a little less nuclear detritus hovering about the globe."

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Creeeak!

Two, plush double-doors opened up to Jacob Anderson's office.

He led us in while Rexxin and his men watched from the sides and rear. Their weapons were still held at ready.

Anderson paced towards a blank wall of the office. He slipped a metal object out of his grasp. A remote of some sort.

He turned to us.

He spoke again: "Intergang refuses to go down in its own blaze of glory. And being that their last station of operations is here in Vegas, a full-out assault on behalf of my allies' forces would be detrimental to our….hidden image. So we have waited long and hard for a covert opportunity to pop up. And when I say 'covert', I mean explosions limited to a single City Block." He winked. "And now such an occasion is taking place. This very evening. Intergang is making a last ditch effort to preserve its deteriorating empire. A trade is being made. A special device crafted by the technological geniuses still lingering with Intergang is being delivered into the hands of a prospective group of Southern Asian proprietors. It is a small device. Most likely fit for a suitcase; nothing bigger. And yet its importance is worth its own in trillions. What exactly this device is matters little."

Killer Croc hissed: "You want us to get it for you…"

Anderson nodded. "And you will. And you will do so by any force necessary. As long as you seize that suitcase….and bring it back here. To this….very….room….."

"And why should we do that?"

"…..," Anderson turned around. He aimed the remote at the blank wall.

Click.

WHURRRRR-SHLACK!

The wall parted and slid open like a giant, paper screen. Revealed on the other side was what looked like a box of solid, invulnerable titanium. A huge, elephant sized door resided pale like celestial ivory at the end of the 'box'. It felt like a good twenty-five people could be housed inside the thing. An unbreakable time capsule.

My lips parted.

It's……

"The Vault," Hull muttered.

Wildebeest whinnied.

Killer Croc's green, glossy eyes widened. He seemed about ready to drool at any given moment.

Anderson smiled. "The one who brings me the suitcase will be brought a key to the Vault. And any singular treasure that he sees fit inside….will be his…."

Killer Croc grinned wide.

Wildebeest's eyes were firm.

Hull seemed a bit more silent than he already was. And I think I knew why.

It's all rather……too good to be true.

Better watch it……

I glanced suspiciously at Killer Croc as my mind wandered.

Anderson's voice broke me out of it: "This is the mission set before you. And it will not be a matter of the best man winning." His eyes narrowed. "But the most vicious……"

Killer Croc sneered.

Wildebeest's fingers flexed.

Hull leaned his head to the side. He inhaled and spoke: "So….where is the transaction taking place?"

Anderson smiled knowingly. He clicked the remote and closed the covert doors while at the same time uttering: "Caesar's Palace."

T-T-T-T-T-T-

November 20, 2004.

Caesar's Palace, Las Vegas.

7:22 pm.

In the center of the City of lights…

A white limousine pulled up to the front entrance of the casino.

Two more limousines protected it. Black limousines. At the front and at the rear.

In the distance, a pair of black SUVs parked with engines rumbling. Shaded men in the driver's and passenger's seat talked calmly into communicators wired into their ears.

And if that wasn't enough, there were three speed bikes equidistant from each other circling the casino. Each bike had suspicious-looking compartments on the right and left side. Gun-sized.

All eyes of the suspicious circlers were on the entrance as—in perfect coordination—the white limousine parked with the black vehicles in front and to the rear of it. A man stepped out. Heavy-set. With shades. Followed by another bodyguard type. And finally…four lanky gentlemen dressed neatly. The eldest of them—a gray thing with bronze sunglasses—was carrying a briefcase.

A shiny, leather-black briefcase.

"All of Intergang's available forces will be there. They will have armed guards. Armed escorts. At least five getaway vehicles. And two dozen hired hands placed strategically across the City to protect the exchange if anything should go wrong."

Inside Caesar's Palace,

Rows upon rows of slot machines and craps tables were flanked by mimics of ivory Roman architecture.

The ceiling was illuminated with fake blue sky and fake white clouds.

Through a thick crowd of activity, the darkly suited individuals made a moving train.

They slithered through a crowd gathered around roulette games, skirted through a thick group of tourists, and made their way up a slow graduation of steps towards where a dining area resided.

"The group that they are meeting with….they too will be armed. But they are not the point of interests in this operation. At least, not if you four move quickly enough. Their part in this tangled web if an extreme gamble at best. They are too far away from home base and too suspended in a foreign element of danger and risk to try anything desperate, even if it means preserving the device they are anticipating. They'll run at the first sign of chaos. Especially if you deliver that chaos….effectively."

Six Asian men in suits with shades sat at a table. They looked up as the dark group moved towards their dining table in the center of the area. A few of the bigger men in the group shifted and kept their hands to their ides. To their hidden holsters. They eyed the incoming group warily. Cautious…

The head of the group said something and stepped aside. The old man with the briefcase walked up, and showed his luggage.

The gentlemen at the table slowly nodded…and gestured towards open seats.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

SWOOOOSH!

I blurred over the glittering building faces of Vegas.

Hopping from wall to wall.

Rooftop to rooftop.

I slid down an angle of neon lights, leapt up in a blur, crossed the street, clung to the far side of the building, and ran across it with smoke-trailing ankles.

I ran level on a stretch of casinos and looked left.

Heading south along Las Vegas Boulevard—opposite of me—was a leaping, muscular figure that could only be Killer Croc. His reptilian form jumped from building to building. And though he moved slower than me, I could tell that there was very little standing between him and the destination. When obstacles would get in his way and push would come to shove….he would decimate.

I could have sworn I saw a glint of grinning teeth as we ran parallel to one another.

I took a deep breath, stared ahead, and resumed my blurring trek towards Caesar's Palace.

"It is of little concern of mine how each of you choose to perform this swift task. Of course, there are the expected stipulations: you must not reveal the identity of your employer. That's me, if you're too numskull an organism to equate such in your head. You must keep an oath of silence. How you choose to work in the presence of each other is also up to you. Team up. Break down. Maim. Kill. Preserve. Destroy. Do whatever your black hearts tell you. For such obsidian instinct is the greatest strength you can ever take advantage of. This is a world where the surging of blood like the streams of the oceans puts things into timely motion. The rising and setting sun is often red for a reason. Those who are blind to its crimson are those who are suffering the downdraft of our turbulent world. They are the sort of people who never make it through the tournament. Who never make it to grace my charge…."

Jinx flipped over an air conditioning unit atop a building, twirled through the air with flaring coattails, and landed in a nimble crouch on the roof's edge. Still squatting, she stared down with thin cat eyes at the glittering streets below.

She extended a hand.

Her pupils flared pink.

Her lips pursed.

She sent a thin, invisible field of hex. She sensed the shifts and surges of fate in the air. Like a network of karma. And in her cute, fuchsia head she unraveled the string of cause-and-effect trailing the invisible Wildebeest like ripples in a stream. She sensed him running straight down Las Vegas Boulevard.

A girlish breath.

Her cat eyes danced right.

A speeding motorcycle of industrial metal was surging down the road. It veered in and around traffic as its denim-clad passenger gripped hard to the handles. Heading straight towards Caesar's Palace.

Jinx instantly frowned. A pink fire burned in her eyes. Slowly….hideously…a cheshire grin smile snailed across her face.

She stood up, charged up hex in two hands, and flung them down at the blue motorist.

"HAAA!"

FLASH!

"My cousin….a dead man who flaunted his worthless years in Westhaven far East from here…..he was utterly, horribly afraid of death. His last days were spent in and out of prison and asylums, doing his vain best to find some infernal cure to mortality. He beseeched Dagger, Slade, and even the worthless Intergang itself. And in the end, the thing he feared most consumed him. He went into that black night struggling and fighting. And sometimes I wish—a benevolent thought for once—that he knew the truth. I wish that he knew that death is not something to be feared. As a matter of fact, bloodshed….is an ecstasy. Why must the red river that flows from our vessels be anything but a warm, satisfying thing? I have spent my years embracing death. And death has blessed me. Death has blessed me……oh so nicely. If some of you don't return tonight, I won't admonish you. Rather, I'll embrace you. The liquid world outside the mortal coil is like an endless hug. We will not be lonesome out in that blackness. We shall be complete. We shall be……soothed…."

VRMMMMM!

Hull gunned his motorcycle down a stretch of open lanes on Las Vegas Boulevard. Lights glittered on either side of him as tourists lined the night's street.

He was just passing the Mirage on his right when a streak of pink light surged down from above.

He looked at the last second

FLASH!

POW!

The hex struck the middle of his bike. The metal framework shattered.

CLACK!

Hull gritted his teeth and braced himself as

CRKKKK!

The rear of the bike split from the front. The part of the vehicle he was sitting on grinded into the asphalt with sparks before spiraling around, smacking off the side of a minivan, and rolling over onto the sidewalk of an intersection.

CLANK!

Hull fell off, rolled, tumbled, and smacked into a lamppost.

WHUMP!

A momentary beat of silence.

Then

SCREEECH! SCREEEEEE-EEEECH! CRKKK!

Three or four cars skidded to a stop where his bike's wrecked remains were.

Nearby tourists and pedestrians gasped and gathered in a distant halo. Chattering. Uttering. Gasping.

"……..," Hull slowly stood up. Tall and straight. He blinked. He shook his head and dusted the flakes of asphalt and metal shards out of his hair. There wasn't a bead of sweat or bloody scratch on him. He glanced over at his wrecked bike. "…………….hrm."

A rather obese Elvis impersonator ran over, huffing and puffing. He looked at the wreckage, and then at Hull. Panting. "Lordy, fella! You okay?"

WHAM!

Hull bitch-slapped Elvis in the face without looking.

THRUMP!

The man fell hard to the concrete. Out cold.

A random woman shrieked.

Two tourists took photos.

Hull cracked his neck, curled his silver fingers, and marched swiftly towards Caesar's Palace as pedestrians gathered around the downed impersonator behind him.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

"Make it back with the briefcase, and I will reveal to you the Vault. Make it back with the briefcase alive, and I might just think twice about setting you up as a trophy inside the thing. You'll leave Pompeii after all of this a little more immortal than you ever thought you could be. And there will be people in high places most…..assuredly aware of your able-bodied services. Especially my friends in Gotham and Metropolis. There are many lords of the bloody land looking for faithful servants…."

"The security outside of Pompeii says all four have left, sir," Rexxin spoke with one hand cradling a walkie talkie. He gazed across the lush office with shaded eyes beneath his red highlights. "Should we send a recon team?"

"Not necessary, my boy…," Anderson sauntered daintily towards the elevator. He pressed a feather-light finger against the call button. He gazed over his shoulder and thinly smiled. "Why should you send minnows before a barracuda?"

"……," Rexxin blinked.

Anderson cooed: "Your concern is cute. But frivolous."

Rexxin's scarred brow furrowed. "We only trust one of them for sure, sir. And that's as far as that damn green juice can carry him."

"And that's fit for an army."

DING!

The elevator doors opened.

Anderson stepped backwards into the compartment. He hit a button, hung his arms behind his robed figure, and smiled. "I go down to…..relax. Let me know when they're back."

"Will do, sir."

"Just when you do…give me some time to get dressed again."

DING!

The doors closed.

The elevator lowered.

"………..," Rexxin shuddered.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Plant!

I landed nimbly on a lamppost in front of Caesar's Palace.

I took a deep breath, hiding above the halo of light, and stared with black eyes at the bright whiteness of the light-casted front of the casino.

I could see the black limousines and SUVs covering various parts of the building's front entrance.

And—beyond the circulating traffic and surging of pedestrians—I saw a few black motorcyclists parked and squabbling into walkie talkies.

I took a deep breath.

I prepared to cloak—

'Don't look now,' the Messenger crackled into my ear.

I leaned my head to the side.

I blinked under my shades.

'But Wally Gator's got a VIP invite.'

"?"

I looked at the side of the casino.

The distinctly reptilian figure of Killer Croc was pouncing two security guards. He grabbed them both, banged their heads together before they could scream, and tossed them—bloodily—crashing through a side window.

He hopped through the gashed hole and disappeared within.

'Violate. In. Public.'

I sneered.

Dammit!

'Get moving, Marc Anthony. Caesar's in trouble.'

CHIIIING!

Screw cloaking.

FWOOOOSH!

I blurred towards the broken building.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

DING!

Anderson stepped out of the elevator.

He took a warm breath, adjusted the robe around himself, and….slinked down the dark gray hallway of metal.

In the basement.

His feet moved swiftly.

Gently.

Like rippling waters.

A mucousy dance.

A red, velvety door rested at the end of his trek…

"Go and make your destiny. Go and shed blood. Be the criminals you have fought the underworld to prove. Become gods of the darkness. Drinkers of the endless, almighty red. Become….become….become…."

Anderson reached into a pouch in his robe.

He produced a plastic key card.

He marched towards the door.

Faintly aware of an exotically pleasing scent.

Like burning wood chips….

"We are what we live. Death. Blood. It all comes full circle. This beautiful…bleeding earth. Don't feel ashamed….to taste it…."

He slid the card through the reader.

Beeeep!

A touch of warm air vented through the bottom of the velvety door and kissed his ankles.

"Hmmm….hehehe…."

He smiled.

He grabbed the knob.

He twisted it……and pulled

PHWOOOOOOOMB!

Backdraft.

A tongue of flame vomited out from the compressed, dungeon room and billowed towards Anderson's skull.

The man gasped. He fell to the floor.

FLAAAASH!

Sparks and tendrils of flame…

A few embers sizzled at the end of Anderson's half-gray hair. He sat up in a singed robe. Panting.

His eyes stared into the flaming Hell of the once immaculate dungeon. Everything inside was roasting. Everything that could have been alive. As well as the tools. The torture devices. The beautiful blades and the grated floor and the jail cells.

Everything burning.

Melting.

Ruined.

Anderson's eyes widened.

His face exploded in a huge, gaping mouth as angry red arteries built up in his cornea and he screamed at the top of his lungs:

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" the man with the briefcase stumbled out from the table, panting. His chair fell to the casino room floor. The others at the table jumped and looked across the Caesar's Palace interior in a desperate search to find the origin of the elder's outburst.

Killer Croc, shirtless, heaving, teeth glaring….marched towards the gathered group. As he passed by a random waiter, he grabbed the man by the shirt, lifted him up one-handed, and threw him through a dinner table full of gasping patrons.

"Whoah!"

CRACK!

"Hiya, folks," Killer Croc hissed. "It's 'die time'."

The elder hugged the briefcase to his chest and shivered all over as he stepped fearfully backwards. "It was Triangular, wasn't it! Triangular sent you! Why can't they leave us alone!"

"You're too juicy…."

"Roscoe!" the elder stuttered.

A burly henchman stood up, whipped out a shotgun from under his vest, and aimed it at the freak

CRACK!

Killer Crock knocked the weapon out of his hand.

"Nnngh!"

GRIP!

Croc grabbed the man by the neck.

Lifted him.

Licked his lips.

And

"HRESSSSH!"

THUNK!

sunk his teeth into the gunman's neck.

The henchman's dangling body jerked and convulsed as red rivers trickled down his neck and chest.

The other gatherers watched, wide-eyed.

Killer Croc bit a sizeable chunk of the man's neck away, swallowed, and exhaled like after a gulp of soda. "Ahhh…."

THWUMP!

He dropped the man.

Leering, he stared at the shady, Malaysian dealers. Blood dribbled from his mutated jaws as he chuckled. "Heheheheheh….," and growled: "Beat it."

The men chattered earnestly in a foreign tongue and all made a collective, mach five bee-line for the far end of the casino.

Women shrieked in the background.

Tourists called madly for security guards.

Killer Croc bloodily stomped towards the Intergang huddle.

The heavier-set men of the group shakily trained laser-guided pistols at the intruder's forehead.

"Awww…..gonna try and see how many times them bullets can bounce off my skin?" Killer Croc winked a mucous-green eye. "Go on ahead, fellas. I've done it myself a hundred times."

"This deal was our last chance….our last! And you had to come and ruin it!" the elder hugging the briefcase stammered. He managed a frown and spat: "For the last time, we don't need to join you! We don't owe Triangular anything!"

"Nope. Perhaps not," Killer Croc shrugged. Then wide, grinning teeth. "But you do owe me your liver."

The man blinked.

"Hresssh….," Killer Croc licked his jaws, leapt, and dove towards the men.

Tourists shrieked.

The air stung with sweat and adrenaline.

The thugs tried to fire

SWISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSH-TH-TH-THUNK! Three playing cards soared down from the ceiling. Trailing murk, they burned their way through the air and stuck bloodily into Killer Croc's chest.

"OOF!" the scaley-skinned freak was knocked back in mid-dive. He rolled along the ground and gripped the projectiles sticking partially into his skin. Wincing. "Yowcha-momma! That friggin' hurts—"

SWOOOSH! I materialized and landed with a murk splashing boot slamming into his chest. THWUMP!

"SNKKKKT!" he wheezed.

I snarled and kicked his blood-stained jaw.

WHACK!

He tumbled down the steps of the dining area and rolled to a stop against the slot machines below.

I took a breath and flexed my smoking, metal fingers.

When push comes to shove……

I spun around.

The Intergang group looked wide-eyed at me. Lost between confusion and shock.

"…..," I eyed the briefcase.

Now, to begin my thieving days.

CHIIING! I held Myrkblade high and charged at them.

The elder shouted.

The thugs fired.

BLAM! BLAM! BL-BLAM!

I gritted my teeth and teleported.

FWOOOOOSH!

The bullets streaked through me. In the form of obsidian steam, I surged past the bodies of the burly body guards and solidified with an upswing of my sword.

SWIIIISH-CLANK!

The elder gasped. The handcuff chains to his briefcase had been expertly severed.

I spun and lifted my foot—WHAP!—across his torso.

The elder collapsed into a pair of thugs. "Ooof!" All three men collapsed hard to the floor.

Two other thugs still standing fired immediately at me. BANG! BANG!

I dove, grabbed the briefcase, rolled along the floor, blurred up in a vaulting jump and dodged the bulletfire all the while. PING! P-P-PING! P-PING! I twirled in midair from my vault, held the briefcase under my sword arm, and flung a fan of razor-edged-playing cards back at the thugs upon my descent.

SWISSSSSSSH-CL-CLANK!

The guns were knocked from their grasp. They stumbled back, gasping.

In the meantime I landed, spun around, and ran for the entrance of Caesar's Palace casino. Everywhere tourists and gamblers and employees were running every which way amidst the chaos. Playing chips spilled left and right. Champagne glasses and silverware littered the dining area's floor. And just at the white-pillared gate where my exit was

"YOU!"

"FREEZE!"

Two security guards ran up and blocked my way. They raised tasers—sparkling—and trained them on my figure. "WE MEAN IT!"

I skidded to a stop. Panting.

Tasers?

My black eyes blinked under my goggles.

I guess everyone in this City is desperate……

I gripped the briefcase in a metal arm and raised Myrkblade in the other. Ready to strike them unconscious

"RFFFFH!" a deep-throated, mooing sound. STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!

Two meaty hands grabbed each guard by a shoulder and flung them across the casino in opposite directions.

"WAAAH!"

"YAAAK!"

They collapsed through a craps table and a line of slot machines each. CRASH!

I blinked.

"Rghhhh….," Wildebeest snorted and grinded his hooves at the sight of me.

I sweatdropped. Simpering, I signed with half a hand: 'Hi?'

STOMP-STOMP-STOMP-"RGHHH!"-WHAM!

I dropped the briefcase as my ragdoll body flew back and crashed through a dining table. SHATTER!

Wildebeest whinnied through his nostrils, glaring. He marched over, knelt, and picked the briefcase up between two thick fingers.

And then

BANG! B-BANG! BLAM!

The Intergang thugs—recovered—were firing lead volleys at him from the center of the dining area.

Wildebeest swiftly ducked and angled his head so that his silver crown and plated horns could deflect the projectiles. CL-CLANG! PING! He crawled over, picked up a poker table with one hand, and held it before him like a shield. He thusly marched backwards with the wooden plate safely taking the brunt of the bullets and giving him the time and energy to slither out from Caesar's Palace.

The elder shouted at his thugs as they reloaded and fired more and more fixated pistol blasts from their high position.

In the meantime, a certain Killer Croc was stirring on the casino floor. He struggled to his feet, hissed in sharp pain, and pulled the bloody tips of the three playing cards out from his chest. Thwip! Thwip! Chtink!

"Nnnngh……," he exhaled and slumped with a painful shudder to the floor. He balled his pale hand into a fist and punched the carpet. Grumbling. "Mrmmf….somebody gimme a rock…." Slowly, he pulled himself up, looked across the interior landscape, and saw the bovine combatant backing away from the bullet spray. The swamp freak hissed, glanced over, saw a roulette table, and bounded over towards it. He gripped the roulette table, pulled at it, hissed, and broke it free from its support beam. CRACK! Hoisting the heavy wheel overhead, he marched over towards the scene and shouted: "Hey ya Bessie!"

"Mrmmf?" Wildebeest snorted and looked over from behind his table-shield. White specks blinked.

Killer Croc reared the huge wheel back. "Winner take all, loser bite my ass! RGHHH!" He tossed it like a hulking frisbee.

SWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH-SMACK! The roulette wheel caught Wildebeest upside the hairy chin. THWUMP! Wildebeest dropped the table and stumbled back.

"HRESSSSSSSSSHAAAA-AAAAAAA!" Killer Croc ran, jumped, grabbed an ornate chandelier overhead with his gnarled hands, swung, and flew down at Wildebeest sharp-feet-first.

WHAM!

The two meaty competitors tumbled and wrestled and collapsed in each other's flailing arms at the far end of the casino. They fought and struggled and grappled their way through tables, pillars, and glass displays. Debris shattered and rained the floor all over as teeth met horn met claw met fist.

To say the least, they both dropped and ignored the briefcase. The treasured item lay on the floor a dozen feet off on the open ground.

"There it is! Grab it!" the elder Interganger shouted. "There's still hope if we can get it back to home base!"

Of course, I heard this. Groaning, I stood up amidst the splinters of the table I had collapsed through. I looked over with a disheveled face of black strands and saw two thugs dashing towards the abandoned briefcase with the rest of the Intergang group still-alive following.

I picked up Myrkblade, gritted my teeth, and blurred towards them.

The first two thugs reached the briefcase.

The elder spun around, saw me, and gasped. He pointed at the trailing gunman and shouted: "Put a hole in his virgin neck!"

Two bodyguards twirled about and instantly aimed uzzis at my skull.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

I twirled Myrkblade during my charge and deflected the bullets. CL-CL-CLANG!

A ricocheting projectile or two struck a few wine bottles atop a table near one of the gunmen. He gasped at the shattering shards in close proximity to him and fell back.

The second thug squinted one eye and crouched directly behind a circular dining table. He fired potshots with his uzzi. POW! POW! P-POW!

He and his gun stood in the way of me and the briefcase. So I aimed myself at him. I ducked the first few shots, pulsed murk through my lower limbs, and vaulted high towards the ceiling. SWOOOSH!

He looked up.

I came down from my jump.

He raised his gun and fired at my descending figure. RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!

I twirled Myrkblade in mid-air—CL-CL-CLANG!—and landed with two heavy feet impacting the far edge of the table. WHUMP!

His end of the table violently shot up and—WHANG!uppercutted him across the chin. Two teeth flew with bleeding trails, and he was down for the count.

Plant!

I landed.

A breath.

SWOOOSH! I blurred towards the elder and his two guards.

They huddled together with the briefcase, facing me. The elder reached into his coat and whipped out—of all things—a red painted grenade. "Whoever you people are, enjoy a one-way ticket to Hell!" Cl-Clink! He pulled the pin and tossed the explosive. THWOOOSH!

Cl-Cl-Clank! It landed at my feet.

"!"

My boots scraped into the ground as I forced myself to a stop, flickered smoke, and rocketed off towards the other end of the—

PHOOOMB!

Gambling tables flew apart from flying shrapnel as flames spiraled up to the ceiling and singed a hole into the upper floor. Frightened citizens on all parts of the building gasped and ran for cover. Slot machines on the bottom floor tilted and collapsed into one another. The vibration caused a few support pillars to crack and collapse, loosening the ceiling so that it crashed down over Wildebeest and Killer Croc. The two combatants gasped and dove out from the rubble just as the heated dust and soot clouded over them.

THRUMP!

Wildebeest was pinned by a fallen pillar. He struggled and strained with heavy muscles to burrow out from his imprisonment.

Killer Croc leaned against a cracked wall, coughing from the flying dust and debris. With watery, mucous-green eyes he glared towards the exit of the Palace casino. He saw the scampering bodies of three surviving Intergang members running off with the briefcase. He hissed, flexed his gnarled limbs, and ran in heated pursuit.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

"What's wrong? What's wrong!" a shaded thug by the white limousine asked.

The elder hugged the dusty briefcase to his chest as he and his two guards ran out from the chaotic building. "It's a bust!"

"Who—"

"Triangular!"

"Ah shit!"

"We're moving…now…," the elder gestured and all but threw himself into the center compartment of the limousine. "NOW!"

"R-Right away!"

"Let's move it!"

"Go…go…blow this joint!"

The thugs jumped in after the man and slammed the doors shut. The drivers and other gunmen rushed into the white and black limousines and the dark SUVs. With squealing tires and revving engines, the Intergang caravan tore-asphalt by throttled out of the front driveway of Caesar's Palace as fast as their tires could carry them. The gunmen on the black ninja bikes waited behind, keeping cover.

Killer Croc ran out of the collapse entrance of Caesar's Palace. He fumed, drooling, his limbs flexing with heavy breaths. His green eyes turned greener as he hissed and sought with bloodlusting energy the target of his wrath.

He saw the white limousine rolling off in the distance. And—inevitably with it—the sacred briefcase.

"Nnnnnghhhhresssssh….," Killer Croc leaned down, picked up a light fixture—SNAP!—and prepared to throw the heavy metal object like a long-distance discus at the center of the caravan. And there was no doubt that he could accomplish such either. "Let me show you what 'totaled' means, buttcheeks!"

FLASH! Pink light suddenly exploded directly above Killer Croc's head.

The fireak glanced up. "Rghh?"

CRKKKK! A chunk of the building's entrance broke free and collapsed atop of him.

"AAAAA—" SLAM! Killer Croc was buried.

Swiiiiish-Plant! Jinx nimbly landed in a crouch atop the croc pile. She stared out towards Las Vegas Boulevard with thin cat eyes and frowned at the sight of the escaping caravan. A ruffle of her purple coat, and she dashed directly into the front casino area of Caesar's Palace.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Wildebeest was gradually pulling himself free of the rubble.

Nevertheless, Jinx ran up to him and waved her hands in the air with girlish frustration. "What in Hecate's name are you waiting for, you overgrown Care Bare! We're going to lose the entire Herculean Vault open house on behalf of you!"

"Nnnnghhh!" Wildebeest snorted angrily.

"Don't give me none of that nostril! We need you to pull through, Hecate-darn-it!" She gripped him by the horns and tugged and tugged and tugged with pink glowing hands. "Get your….hamburger fanny….outta there"

POW! A patch of rubble exploded just to Jinx's side.

"Ack!" the pink-haired girl flinched.

"……," I gritted my teeth and pulled myself—murking—out from under the dust and debris with Myrkblade. I struggled up to my feet, wiped my goggles clean, and glared over at Wildebeest and Jinx.

They stared back. White eyes and pink eyes blinking.

"…..," bowed. A beat. I turned and blurred out the exit. FWOOOOOSH!

Jinx deflated with a sigh. "Well that's just phweetacular….."

CRACK!

"EEK!" she fell on her rump as Wildebeest suddenly and forcibly ripped himself out.

Snorting like a possessed bull of Zeus, the bovine warrior stomped up to his feet, flexed the debris and dust off him, and ran stormingly out the entrance of Caesar's Palace—shredding bits and pieces of the doorframes apart in the process.

"……..," Jinx sighed. She jumped up to her booted feet and brushed the dust off her short pink hair. "Where the boys aren't…..is where I'd like to be…."

And she ran out with a pink burst.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

As the caravan of black and white limousines and SUVs sped north along The Strip, the three Intergang motorcyclists lingered behind. They squabbled to each other via radios and walkie talkies. All the while, they looked over their shoulders for any sign of trouble or dangerous pursuits.

"Snkkkkt—All clear on the West Side! How does it look over there? Snkkktt!"

"They've all left! Nobody's in pursuit! Not even—snkkkt—a damn squad car!"

"All right, guys! Let's move! Anything can happen on the way back to base!"

One cyclist close to the Caesar's Palace entrance brought the radio to his lips while straddling his black ninja bike. –Beep- "Copy that. Moving out." -Beep-

He stuck a key into the ignition. He cranked the engine.

Vrmmm-VRMMMM!

As the bike roared to live and vibrated between his legs, he took a shuddering breath and looked over his shoulder.

One of his two distant partners could be seen on the other side of the rubble-strewn building front. He saluted the front cyclist from afar.

The man waved back with his radio.

FLASH!

A glint of silver.

The cyclist blinked and looked straight ahead. "Huh?"

Hull was running straight at him, a pistol pointed at his chest.

BLAM! BLAM! BL-BLAM!

The cyclist's body jolted and danced atop the bike from the bulletfire. He quivered, spat blood, and leaned back on the seat.

FLASH! Hull disappeared the gun, ran, and jump-kicked over the front of the bike.

WHAP!

Hull kicked the Interganger's corpse off the motorcycle and straddled the seat in one swift leap. His silver-tipped hands instantly grabbed the handles and throttled the engine forward.

SCREEEEEEECH! The front tire performed a wheelie before slapping back down with the bike burning madly onto Las Vegas Boulevard and streaking north.

VRMMMMMMMMMM!

The other two cyclists still lingering around the Palace saw Hull rocket after the caravan. Squabbling to each other, the men grabbed uzzis from their bikes' side gun compartments and zoomed swiftly after the blue speeder.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

I blurred out of Caesar's Palace and came to a smoking stop alongside Las Vegas Boulevard and looked around. Spinning. Panting.

Frantically trying to find the escaped caravan.

'Hey Noir, are you at a crossroads?'

I swallowed at the sound of his crackling voice in my ear.

YES!

'Try really, frickin' North.'

"!"

I spun and looked up the Strip.

A beat.

I bravely slid my goggles off and squinted my bare black eyes.

Between the stabbing lights of casino fronts on the left and right side of the huge highway, I saw few speeding pinpricks. Car tale lights. The caravan…and a rapidly pursuing cluster of bikes, one far ahead of the other two.

I shuddered from the inside out.

Hull………

'Look, Noir, I don't know how exactly buddy-buddy you are with that sword swinging diehard and stuff, but I do know this. Everyone else in this pathetic City sucks but you. Okay, maybe not Arrowette. She's pretty damn fine. But that can be saved for later. There's another blonde who's REALLY needing your help right now. And it'd probably be safest that you get to that briefcase first. And when I say 'first', I mean before Hull.'

I took a deep breath.

My fingers clenched around Myrkblade as I broke into a sprint.

Heading northward.

Hull told me not to get in his way.

I clenched my teeth.

I summoned murk and turned my sprint into a blur.

Something tells me that—during this whole ugly trip—I've been doing people a lot of favors.

FWOOOOOSH!

I blurred at full, smoking speed along the Strip.

Maybe it's about time I did myself one for once.

'Don't forget to look before crossing the streeeeet!'

Oh shut up.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

VRMMMMM!

Hull veered left and right around taxi cabs, minivans, buses, and finally came to a straightway. He gunned it. The engine of his ninja bike vibrated like mad as he rocketed towards the caravan.

A pair of black SUVs mined the rear, blocking any and all access to the limousines.

Hull's blue eyes narrowed. As he stared icily against the biting wind, he freed a few fingers to summon a weapon

BLAM!

P-PING!

"…..," Hull looked behind him.

The two other cyclists—veering around the last of the thick traffic themselves—came upon the straightway and took the time to fire their uzzis from long range.

BL-BL-BL-BLAM!

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

The projectiles soared through the air and splashed all around Hull.

Hull jerked his motorcycle left and right, avoiding the sparks of bullets-against-blurring-asphalt.

P-P-P-P-PING!

One or two bullets strayed and struck the rear tail-lights of the rearmost SUV. The Intergang thugs inside shook and gasped from the jolt. They glanced back suspiciously.

"Sh-Shit!" One of the motorcyclists cursed. He motioned to his biking partner and shouted: "Move along side the bastard!"

The other nodded.

Together, they accelerated.

VRMMMMMMMM!

The two bikers approached Hull from behind.

"….," Hull glanced straight ahead.

The rearmost SUV—sensing his pursuit—backed off from the rest of the caravan and decelerated so as to get a better view of Hull. Two thugs poked their upper bodies out of the rear side windows and aimed magnums at the speeding Hull.

BLAM! BL-BLAM!

Hull veered left and right as tiny potholes formed in the asphalt of Las Vegas Boulevard beneath him.

The SUV thugs adjusted their aim and fired again.

BL-BL-BLAM!

Hull ducked his head and screeched to the side.

In doing so, he decelerated.

He felt the presence of the two bikers close to his rear. They aimed converging laserpoints on his neck with their uzzis.

He took a deep breath—

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Hull swung hard left. The bullet streaks criss-crossed where his body was.

The thugs on the cycles and the SUV watched him jerk westward suddenly.

VRMMMM! Hull found himself in his desperate dodge to be swerving right into the side of a taxi cab. He gritted his teeth and kicked a denim leg down against the asphalt while expertly balancing.

TWHAP!

He somehow forced his bike to hop off the Strip just enough so that he—CLANK!—struck the side of the taxi, streaked right in the air—SCREEEECH-VRMMMM!—and landed on both wheels in a slide back towards the right.

And as he did so, he rammed straight into the side of the leftmost cyclist.

CRUNCH!

"Nnngh!" the cyclist swerved right, nearly bumped into his partner, and recovered. Gritting his teeth, he jerked left at his handles and shot an elbow towards Hull.

Hull took the brunt of the blow and swerved left and right to keep his bike balanced.

The cycling thug gritted his teeth and kicked his leg out.

THWUMP!

Again, Hull recovered.

"Shoot him! Shoot him!" the rightmost rider shouted above the blurring noise.

"Nnngh—" the left one aimed his uzzi directly left in mid throttle.

And then Hull jerked to the right with a flaring of his teeth.

CLANK!

He jolted the driver. The thug's gun-arm flailed and let loose an unconscious stream of bulletfire. RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT! Bullets ricocheted off the road, splashed at the rear SUV's heels, and forced the rightmost biker almost onto the sidewalk.

"Whoah!"

Hull immediately shot a naked right arm out and grabbed the disoriented biker next to him by the neck. He shoved his head forward and decorated the handlebars with the man's face. THWAP! WHAP! SMACK! He then snarled and struck an elbow into the bruised man's nose. CRACK! The driver winced and convulsed in his seat.

There was a honking sound, and then a screeching of the SUV in front of them.

HONK! HONK!

The rightmost biker—recovering—shouted: "Greg! WATCH IT!"

The man gurgled and looked ahead. His bleeding eyes widened at the mudflaps of a semi truck trailer directly in front of their speeding battle.

Hull mercilessly grabbed the thug by the back of his neck, pushed him and the weight of his bike through him, and forced the Interganger under the rear wheels of the semi-truck as they blurred by.

CRUNCH!

The fuel tank of the crushed ninja bike ignited and swiftly took care of whatever flesh of the thug may have existed the demise.

POW!

The flames erupted, consuming the rear of the semi-truck. The hulking vehicle skidded, lost control, and jackknifed across The Strip—forcing at least three rows of cars behind it to screech to a stop and pile up fender to fender. SCREEECH! CR-CR-CRUNCH!

"NO!" the other biker shouted. In a fit of rage, he burned rubber sideways towards Hull with his uzzi flaring. RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Hull merely stuck a right hand out and absorbed the bullets between twinkling fingers of silver. FL-FL-FL-FLASH! When the gunman swerved into him, he severely backhanded the driver.

THWAP!

"Ugh!" the biker jolted and decelerated dizzily from the blow.

Hull throttled ahead, driving one handed. He held a flickering right hand up as he eyed the SUV still close to him.

Those in the rear continue to eye him, squinting, aiming—BLAM! BL-BLAM!

Hull again swerved left and right to avoid the magnum fire. Once they were reloading, he steadied his bike, aimed his right palm out, squinted a blue eye, and flinched his silver-tipped fingers.

FLASH!

The biker's uzzi fire exploded outward from the blue stranger's touch and found its way into the chest of one of the SUV thugs.

TH-THUNK!

"Snkkktt!" the man bled and fully plummeted out the side rear window of the vehicle. His rag doll body tumbled across the asphalt, forcing Hull to swerve around him.

The blue-eyed swordsman saw the thug in the back of the SUV desperately prepare a grenade.

"…."

Hull glanced back.

The biker was still dizzy. He drove a quarter of a second behind Hull at a lower speed.

Hull took a deep breath. He swerved his bike a little to the left and stretched his arm out. FLASH! SHVVVVVV! His spinning Bluescythe appeared. He held his breath. CLACK! He steadied the blade on its circular hilt, aimed in reverse. With one twisting hand, Hull decelerated his bike and hit the brakes at the same time.

SCREEEECH!

Hull shot back in the chase. Straight towards the biker.

The thug looked up at the last second.

"Huh?"

THUNK!

His body jolted. Bluescythe impaled him through the chest.

Hull released the breaks and reaccelerated his bike.

VRMMMMMMMM!

Impaled on the sword, the biker was lifted off his bike—which crashed and tumbled sparkingly across the asphalt—and was hoisted forward, forward, forward towards the SUV.

Struggling to hold the corpse's weight, Hull looked ahead.

He saw the thug in the rear of the black vehicle whip out two grenades and crawl towards the side window.

Hull gritted his teeth, gunned his bike forward at maximum, and lifted the thug's body at the last second.

SWOOOOOOSH-CRASH!

Hull flung the thug's body into the rear compartment of the SUV, completely pulverizing the granadier inside.

CRUNCH!

The SUV swerved wildly left and right.

Hull took the time to drive up alongside its left flank. He looked right and saw the driver struggling to keep the wheel steady amidst the chaos. The stranger swiftly disappeared his red-stained sword, flicked his wrist, and prepared a shotgun in its place. He aimed straight through the driver's side window and

BLAM!

A wet crimson splash appeared on the inside windshield. The SUV screeched and swerved and veered left.

Hull throttled his bike ahead of it, disappearing the shotgun.

The black vehicle zoomed perpendicularly across Las Vegas Boulevard, ramped over the median full of lit palm trees, and crashed into the gated border of the Treasure Island resort beyond the opposing lanes of traffic. The grenades inside consumed the holocaust in the end.

PHOOOOOOMB!

T-T-T-T-T-T-

I gasped and darted right amidst my blurring.

Bright, fiery plumes from a semi-truck and an SUV stabbed my black eyes through my goggles.

I gritted my teeth and leapt blurringly from palm tree to palm tree along the median, catching up with the murderous swordsman and the body of the caravan.

I think Dante's peak has just reached the crust of Vegas……

T-T-T-T-T-T-

VRMMMM!

Hull caught up with the last SUV. He throttled forward on his bike to pass along the left side of it and reach the limousines.

SCREEECH! The driver of the SUV swung the onyx vehicle left, ramming into Hull's side.

CL-CLANK!

Hull struggled to keep his ninja cycle upright. He skirted left, veered around a minivan, and came back right towards the speeding SUV.

The side windows of the SUV rolled down as two gunmen swiftly aimed shotguns out and fired away—BLAM! BL-BLAM! BLAM!

Hull dodged the first few sprays of lead, swiftly jerked his right arm out, and flicked his silver-tipped wrist. FLASH! Bluescythe appeared. He spun the blade long its hilt while speeding on the bike and sideways deflected the subsequent shotgun sprays.

BLAM! BLAM!

SHVVVVVCL-CLANG! CLANG!

One thug aimed high.

BLAM!

Hull ducked, jerked to the right, and slid in towards the SUV. He positioned the hilt of his sword up close to the wheel-wells of the SUV and accelerated. The spinning blade cut through the aluminum body of the vehicle like a meat slicer.

CRKKKKKKKK!

Sparks flew. Shrapnel scattered over the asphalt. And then…Bluescythe's spinning blade ate its way into the front left tire.

POW!

The SUV swerved and screeched.

The driver panicked.

The vehicle jerked a few times before finally fishtailing and spinning well over three hundred and sixty degrees across the multiple lanes.

VRRRMMMM! Hull veered around it and rocketed towards the rear black limousine.

And the SUV:

SCREEEECH-CA-CLUNK! It rolled over onto its side, slid for over twenty feet, and came to a smoking stop. The Intergangers inside were thoroughly dizzied.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

I hopped up onto a line of rooftops of the Fashion Show Mall. I ran north, blurring over the structures and staring right across the glittering landscape. I could see the tumbling vehicles…the chaos leading a trail up Las Vegas Boulevard as Hull got closest to the briefcase than all of us. It looked like a solid spear of destruction and reckoning was being shoved through the City of Sin's heart.

I panted.

Gripping Myrkblade tightly.

Was this what Anderson had in mind?

I gulped.

Nobody knows what anyone has in mind anymore. Least of all Anderson or Triangular or any other thug or hood in his stupid town.

I jumped onto another rooftop, pulsed murk into my feet, and leapt so that I perched on a tall lamppost.

Counter-Red Aviary……Jinx and Pulsade and Wildebeest and 'J' know a little of what's going on. And apparently Hull does too.

And I……?

Even if I knew anything, it'd make little difference.

This has turned into one gigantic, senseless holocaust.

Destruction……Destruction……

My metal arm shivered.

I gritted my teeth, sweating.

Maybe Red Aviary is a lot closer than even Glover would have had me believe.

I caught my wind and prepared to blur up to the limousines and intercept Hull when—to my undeniable earshot—I heard the grinding noise of a huge truck honking and going far too fast than should be allowed.

"?"

I glanced right.

I groaned mutely.

Ah jeez……

T-T-T-T-T-T-

"C-Can't this damn thing go any faster!" screeched the elder inside the white limousine, hugging the briefcase to his chest. "Intergang will be nothing but someone's bureaucratic bitch if we don't make it out of this City—"

"Sir! Our escorts are gone!" shouted someone from the driving compartment.

The thugs riding with the elder blinked.

The leader with the briefcase gasped. "The limousines?"

"No. The utility vehicles. Half our arsenal's gone!"

"It's up to us now," one of the bodyguards muttered.

Another said: "It's one of them!" He pointed out the rear window. "One of Triangular's! He's catching up fast!"

"No way…."

"Motorcycle! He jacked it from one of our guys!"

"Shit…"

The elder shuddered. "Try to lose them."

"Sir, at this rate we should just give up—"

"Try to LOSE THEM!"

HONNNNK! HONNNNNK!

Everyone shuddered.

The elder's lips parted. With thin, gray eyes he turned and glanced out the rear window. "Now what in the Sam Hell…!"

T-T-T-T-T-T-

The honking noise merely accentuated a loud rumbling sound in the distance.

VRMMMMMMM!

"?" Hull silently slowed the bike's acceleration some and looked behind him.

The glaring lights of a semi truck illuminated his figure as it road up menacingly. It was going unnaturally fast. Sparks billowed outward from its wheel-wells and front gears.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Inside the truck's driving compartment, a panicked, bearded man yakked into his radio's mouthpiece.

"I'm serious! I'm in deep shit here! My truck won't stop accelerating and I'm in the middle of a traffic nightmare on Las Vegas Boulevard! I'm heading north at—gods—eighty miles an hour! Hell, I don't even think I'm controlling this frickin' thing anymore! What in the world is—"

SMASH!

A meaty, bovine hand crashed in through the side window, gripped the man by the neck, and flung him out onto the median between palm trees. "WHOAH!" WH-WHAP!

The truck kept accelerating on its own. Standing atop it like a very hairy street surfer was Wildebeest. He flexed his throwing arm and balanced himself as he rode the engine compartment of the careening truck.

The huge vehicle moved as if on its own north, north, north. It accelerated magically…zeroing in on the three limousines.

Wildebeest's white eyes narrowed. He began to flex his lower muscles.

All the while, a pink aura was glowing brighter and brighter beneath the grill of the truck…joining the unearthly sparks flying from its punished engine.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Jinx ran parallel to the careening truck on the east side of Las Vegas Boulevard.

She hopped from hoteltop to hoteltop and leapt blurringly over glittering casino structures on streaks of pink energy.

As she did so, she tossed hex bolt after hex bolt to her left. Each pink stream of light shot directly into the engine of the semi-truck, and through sheer powers of luck was the vehicle pushed beyond its man-made limits.

"Nnngh….Haaa!" Jinx shot a final, huge pulse of pink.

FLASH!

It practically exploded inside the truck engine, causing it to rocket forward towards the rear bumper of the trailing black limousine.

Jinx Cheshire-smiled while running….panting.

"Have some cow to go, you fuzzheads!"

She leapt off to the side, out of view.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

SCRKKKKKK!

The battered, smoking truck engine zoomed up the lane.

Its headlights all but blinded Hull.

Gritting his teeth, the denim stranger had no choice but to pull fiercely to the side.

SWOOOOOOOOSH!

The huge truck burned past him.

Hull panted, keeping his distance.

In the meantime, the shadow of the truck bore down on the black limousine.

Wildebeest coiled his legs.

The thugs in the limousine let out a helpless scream as

CL-CLACK! The front grill of the truck rammed into the limousine's rear bumper.

"RGHHH!" Wildebeest whinnied, jumped, and descended hulkingly on the hood of the limousine.

CRUNCH!

The vehicle's front literally flattened from the impacting weight of Wildebeest. The last two-thirds of the vehicle's length tilted up in the air as the car resembled a half-snapped, burnt breadstick. Sparks flew. Shrapnel exploded.

And Wildebeest—his feet digging into the black limousine's hood—flexed once more.

WOOOOSH!

And he leapt off the crumpled vehicle towards the white target ahead of him.

A desperate snort. A mid-air moo--

CLANK! Wildebeest's outstretched hands dug into the rear compartment of the white limousine. He hung on. Dragging. Dragging. Wincing from the asphalt he was bumping violently over. Summoning brute strength to hang on.

Whatever was left of the black limousine behind him spun back and was subsequently crushed by the unmanned, careening semi-truck. Both vehicles went collapsing and spilling aluminum strips all across the lanes of The Strip.

Hull found himself headed straight for a wall of burning debris.

He gritted his teeth and veered hard left.

VRMMMMM!

He ramped over the median and faced a thick throng of head-on traffic.

HONK! HONK!

SWOOOOOSH!

Cars swerved. Buses screeched to a stop. Taxis careened and spilled over.

Hull skirted around them, desperately swung right through the crashing chaos, and spilled back onto the north lanes with the dragged bovine way ahead of him.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Inside the white limousine's passenger compartment, even the bodyguards were panicking.

"We've got a cow….," one sweatdropping gunman pointed through the rear window and shouted. "We've got a cow!"

"TRY AND LOSE 'EM!" the elder with the briefcase shouted.

The driver: "HOLD ON!"

He yanked hard right.

VRMMMMMM!

T-T-T-T-T-T-

SCREEEEEECH!

Wildebeest's white eyes widened and he grunted awkwardly with the strain of clinging ahold of the rear bumper as the white limousine made a mad dash-swerve off of Las Vegas Boulevard and onto Convention Center Drive, heading East.

The thick-bodied combatant's legs lifted up in the air during the insane turn. His lower body nearly clipped off the top of a taxi or two screeching to the stop in the intersection, and then he was being dragged again…struggling to keep hold of the vehicle.

SWOOOOOSH!

A conspicuous, black streak of smoking energy soared straight after him.

Hull—in the meantime—slowed his bike to a stop. SCREEECH! He rested in the middle of the street. Straddling the ninja cycle.

"……."

He looked at the speeding limousines.

"……."

He glanced left some.

A beat.

He twisted the handles and turned.

VRMMMMMM!

He burned straight towards some back alleys behind all the glitter and bright faces of urban Vegas.

Taking a shortcut…

T-T-T-T-T-T-

The two limousines zoomed down Convention Center Drive.

The black limousine pulled out and into the left lanes.

The white limousine on the right half of the road was lurching and jerking about. For good reason too.

The heavily-horned Wildebeest clung to the rear of the vehicle and gradually pulled himself up its body. His weight pressed down onto the rear of the targeted car, forcing the wheel wells dangerously close to the blurring asphalt.

Wildebeest still managed to perch himself on the wobbly back of the limousine. He crawled towards the lavish, central compartment. The panicked forms of thugs and the briefcase holder could be seen inside.

Snarling, Wildebeest raised a meaty arm and brought it down—CLANK!—again—CLANK!—and again—CRACK! against the top of the aluminum body.

The limousine dented and cracked and fractured from bovine punishment.

He whinnied through his nostrils, frowned, and crawled over to the side. GRIP! He reached a hand around and grabbed the back left suicide door. He pulled…pulled…pulled at the lid.

In the meantime—SCREEECH! The black limousine decelerated from up front and positioned itself parallel to the left side of the white vehicle. The side windows rolled down and three thugs pointed guns out at the clinging intruder.

BLAM! BL-BLAM! BLAM!

P-P-PING! The bullets bounced off the beast's sliver crown.

Clinging on, Wildebeest flinched from the deflected impacts. "….." He snarled. He glared at the vehicle. He showed his teeth from beneath his snout and

CRKKKKKKKK!

peeled the suicide door out of its frame. Bolts and aluminum shrapnel flew. The Intergangers inside gasped at the inrush of air.

Wildebeest held the hulking door in front of him like a shield.

BL-BL-BLAM! BANG!

He deflected the bullets.

CL-CL-CLANG!

He then flung the shield with a snarl at the black car.

SWOOOSH-CRUNCH! The door smashed through the windows, rattling together the thugs inside. The black car veered off to the side momentarily.

In the meantime, Wildebeest turned back to the car. He gazed in through the naked door frame and prepared to slam his fist into the compartment.

The elder inside shouted above the wind: "The plating! Switch on the plating!"

The driver slammed his finger over a gray button.

Beep!

CHTUNK! CHTUNK! CLANGGGG!

Metal panels closed beneath the doorframes and windows of the limousine, producing a thick plate of shielding separating the interior compartment of the vehicle from the outside world.

Wildebeest blinked.

The vehicle was rigged.

Intergang to the core.

While riding the speeding 'tank', he slammed his fist again and again into the metal shield. Barely dinting it. CLANG! WHANG! THUD! No use.

Wildebeest snorted.

He stood up straight atop the limousine, snarled, and brought his foot up to slam down.

SWOOOOOSH!

Something black materialized in front of him.

"Rghhh?" He glanced up.

THWACK! went my sword up his chin.

"NRRRGH!" he fell on his back—CLANG!—nearly sliding off the back of the limousine.

I winced, but twirled Myrkblade to another ready-to-strike position.

Sorry, but I have no choice but to 'tip' you.

SWOOOOSH! I stabbed at him again.

CLAMP! He grabbed the tip of my smoking blade with a meaty palm. Growling, he lifted his leg and slammed it into my chest.

WHAP!

I flew back with my sword, backflipped, and landed precariously on the front hood of the white limo. I swung my arms and tried to keep balanced.

The whole car wobbled.

The madness of Las Vegas blurred around us.

Wildebeest leaned forward, stumbled up to his feet, and raised his fists.

CHIIIING! I aimed Myrkblade at him.

He glared.

I gritted my teethSWOOOSH! I blurred at him.

He swung a fist. THWOOOSH!

I ducked down. I slid between his legs on murk. I jumped, reverse-kicked the back of his neck, spiraled up, spiraled down, and swung Myrkblade hard across his neck.

WHACK!

He stumbled forward.

I landed on the car behind him. I brought Myrkblade back—held my breath—and stabbed at his backside.

He lifted a foot and reverse kicked me in the chest.

WHUMP!

I bent forward, wheezing.

"NNNGH!" Wildebeest spun with a flying fist.

WHAM!

I was struck hard in the side.

I flew off the limousine towards the broadside of a commercial bus in the neighboring lane.

"!"

I repositioned my ragdoll body in mid-air, landed on the bus' lengthy side with blurring legs, 'ran' along the outer aluminum face and glass, and vaulted back to the limousine across a full lane of honking taxis with a forward flip and a sword-strike.

CLANG!

I struck Wildebeest hard between the horns.

"Mooo!" he clutched his cranium and moaned.

I landed in a panting perch before him. Wincing.

You can hit me for this later.

CLANK! I stabbed Myrkblade into the roof of the car, swung my legs up, and kicked him hard in the gut.

WHUMP!

"!" Wildebeest flew off the back of the limousine and went smashing through the front dining area of an Arby's. CRASH!

I knelt again on the white car, took a breath, and proceeded to try and slice through the metal plating beneath the white aluminum with my sword

CLACK! The black limousine had come back, and it was purposefully ramming the dented rear bumper of the white one.

THWUMP! "!" I exhaled as I was jolted from my position on the car roof. I tumbled down and landed face-forward on the black limousine's hood.

I winced…then gasped.

Its hood?

The black limousine pulled back.

I realized that my upper body was resting on the black vehicle and my lower legs were planted on the white limo. So as the black limousine pulled back, I had a sea of blurring asphalt opening up beneath my chest.

"!" I stabbed hard into the front bumper of the black limousine and clung to the white limousine with murk-clinging feet. For a few agonizing seconds, I formed a human bridge between both parting vehicles. My muscles and skeleton stretched and I began to sweat and pant and realize that all of this was freakin' suicidal and

SCREEEECH! The driver of the black limousine found a solution in slamming on the breaks.

I gave up, but not entirely. I kicked my legs off the white limo's rear. THWUMP! I flew forward, rolled onto the windshield of the black limo, pulsed murk into my legs, and vaulted off the front of the onyx vehicle entirely, and flew towards the off-speeding white car with Myrkblade outstretched.

Arrrrrrgh!

SWOOOOOOSH!-CRACK! I stabbed Myrkblade barely into its loose, rattling bumper.

My feet blurred along the ground as I ran to 'catch up' with the speeding vehicle.

Panting…panting…panting…dashing…

The bumper rattled one last time—CRACK!—and dislodged completely from the dented vehicle.

I jumped the falling slab of metal, yanked Myrkblade out, and collapsed awkwardly onto the white roof of the limo.

Catching my ride.

I panted…panted…swallowed a gulp, and returned again to stabbing into the wild, metal 'steed'.

The limousine screeched and swerved and drove madly beneath me, trying to toss my figure off.

I gritted my teeth and kept ahold like a psychotic rodeo warrior.

Have you ever met my old friend Simon Stone?

CRRRRK! I stabbed into the metal plating. CRKKK! Again. CRKKKK! Again.

SCREEEEECH!

The limousine swerved madly to the left and burned a blurred-asphalt path north through Las Vegas, parallel to the monorail track to our right.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Hull could hear the maddening, vehicular wrestling match blocks away from where he burned rubber with his motorcycle.

He calmly sped around the edges of a Wet N' Wild pavilion and zoomed towards the roads running north and south.

There was a crowded intersection ahead of him. It was blocking his way.

"Hrmm….," He mumbled. He looked to his right. He immediately jerked on the ninja cycle's handles and zoomed towards a small white building with a steeple.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Inside a chapel.

A four foot and a half tall, balding man and a towering Swedish woman stood holding hands with fluttering, happy eyes at the altar. Tourist cameras dangled from their shoulder-to-shoulder bodies.

A colorfully dressed priest with bejeweled glasses and a Bible smiled from behind a 'piano' podium and said: "On behalf of the First Church of Elton John, I pronounce you man and wife. Now you may kiss the—"

SHATTER!

Hull ramped through a tall stain glass window on one side of the sanctuary.

VRMMMMM!

He knocked three pews down and sent nuptial tourists running and screaming as he burned through the interior on his bike and smashed out the other side.

CRASH!

The colorful priest dropped his Bible and clutched his glasses. "Holy mother of f—" The podium tipped over and fell on him. "OOOF!"

The bald man and voluptuous Swede tumbled on the floor, French kissing.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

With a splash of stained glass shards, Hull flew out into the adjacent street and throttled south.

VRMMMMMM!

On an intercept course….

T-T-T-T-T-T-

CLANK!

I took a breath.

I stabbed.

CLANK!

I took a breath.

I stabbed.

CRKKKK!

I was eating away through the metal shell.

I jabbed Myrkblade into it.

I gritted my teeth.

Smoke danced out from under my goggles as I pulsed layers and layers of murk mercilessly into the metal dermis.

The white car kept swerving and veering madly beneath me in an attempt to throw me off.

Finally, it resorted to pressing on the breaks.

SCREEECH!

I couldn't help it. I slipped and tumbled onto the front of the limo.

THWUMP!

My legs slipped under.

"!"

I stabbed into the hood with Myrkblade and hung on the front grill of the white car. Panting. Holding on for dear life.

And then the shadowed driver through the unguarded windshield frowned and slammed on the gas.

VRMMMMMM!

I jolted again, clinging on desperately to the front of the car. My feet dangled beneath the body and it was a struggle in and of itself to keep my lower limbs from grinding into the blurring asphalt below.

"…….," I winced. My muscles shook. I clung hard to the hilt of Myrkblade. The sword started shifting….threatening to crack off a chunk of aluminum and send me collapsing and being squashed by the looming, clunking vehicle of white.

Nnngh!

My metal left hand slipped.

"!"

I half-dangled on the front of the car. Nearly falling back into the heated street. I panted. Sweating around and beneath my goggles. My black hair danced against the asphalt. The world was heated, glittering, burning and loud. And the white car roared against me. The tires rotated and spun and groaned to the left and right side of me.

'As much as I would love you to have a shiny new briefcase, Noir-buddy, it'd kinda sorta suck if you died right now.'

I wheezed in response to the crackling voice in my deafened ear.

'Snkkkt—Looks like you could need a hand. But they deserve a fist even more so.'

I panted. I glanced sideways through my sweat-stained goggles.

I saw my metal hand dangling just above the speeding asphalt of the street inches beneath me.

I looked up.

The driver craned his neck, seeing whether or not I was being finished off as he applied…applied…applied more pressure to the gas.

I frowned.

SWOOOSH! I jabbed my metal hand down into the street. SKKKKKRKKKKKKKK! Sparks flew as my metal fingers dug into the blurring asphalt. My whole body shook and the heat of burning friction traveled up my arm before any shiver could jolt me.

The driver blinked.

I showed my clenched teeth, heaving. Sneering.

SKKKKKRKKRKKKKK!

My metal fingers dug and dug. I snatched pebbles and pebbles of gravel. Pebbles that were glowing hot. Hot red like my metal hand was. And once I got a titanium palm full, I let out a mute scream and flung my prosthetic straight at the windshield.

FWOOOOSH!

CL-CL-CL-CL-CLAK!

The debris pelted the windshield like hot lead spray from a shotgun. A few of the amber-red pebbles actually ate through the glass and kissed the chest of the driver inside. He let loose a burning yelp and jerked at the controls.

The car vibrated less and lurched back.

The gas was released……

I took advantage of the deceleration by clamping onto the hood of the limo with my red-hot metal limb. Applying force to that and Myrkblade's hilt, I shifted my weight and flipped up onto the car's hood. CRKKK! I pulled Myrkblade out, chose the moment when the driver was disoriented, and prepared to stab my way in through the driving compartment's glass—

VRMMMMMM!

"?" I blinked at the sound to our right.

I turned and look.

My black eyes thinned.

Aw Hell.

Hull had caught up. And—driving over the unsuspecting rear of a taxi cab—he was ramping his ninja bike right at me.

I winced.

WHAM!

The missile of a motorcycle struck me hard in the side, and both me and the vehicle went flying off like a rocket over the edge of the road.

Hull—in the meantime—had backflipped off the midair bike and perched on the hood of the white limo in place of me. He gave me a last glance before grunting, trotting over towards the roof of the speeding car, and fingering the spots of metal plating where I had previously been stabbing.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

FWOOOOSH! I soared outward with the bike. The world spun. My body was dizzy and wincing and blinded and—

'Stop flying, Noir……'

I shuddered amidst the weightlessness.

'Only Mary Poppins can fly, Noir. Get ahold of yourself!'

I blinked. Two black eyes twitched under a pair of goggles through which a world spun ballet with a midair motorcycle.

'Prove to me you're not Mary-Freakin-Poppins! GET A GRIP OF YOURSELF!'

I gasped.

Gravity! Freakin' A!

SWOOOSH! With a pulse of murk I uprighted myself towards the earth and cushioned a cocoon of smoke around my person. I expected to plummet and splatter against the concrete or slam bone-brakingly-hard against a brick wall or shatter through a set of neon lights or—

TH-THRUMP!

I collapsed on cold concrete, rolling to a safe stop.

And….

Still.

"….."

I blinked.

I heard the crashing of the black bike far below me.

Crunch!

I shook my head. I bit my lip.

Wait a second.

Far below me?

I glanced down.

I was about two stories up from the street. On a raised track made out of concrete.

Raised track?

I stood up on wobbly legs. Blinking beneath the dark, confusing night.

My lips parted.

The monorail……

HONNK! HONNK!

A glaring, stabbing light.

I looked straight ahead.

A streamline engine was heading towards me like a big, glass bullet. Lights flashed and the operator inside punched his fist against the horn.

HONNK! HONNK!

My jaw dropped.

The monorail!

WOOOOOOOOOSSSSSH!

I took a deep breath, blurred my feet, and vaulted directly upwards.

The sleek cars zoomed beneath me.

I flipped, plummeted back down, straightened my feet, and planted myself on the elevated train.

CLAMP!

I inevitably tripped and collapsed forward.

THWAP!

Ooof!

I winced and hugged the roof of the monorail car. Panting. Sweating.

'Better start skedaddling, Noir! Now's not the time to make love to Epcot transit!'

I stood up on the traveling monorail car, wincing.

How the Hell does he see all of this?

Standing on wobbly feet, I looked out to my left on the road parallel to us. And though it was appearing further and further away, I saw the definite sight of Hull wrestling with the same damn limousine from earlier.

My black eyes narrowed…

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Hull took a deep breath in the whipping winds of the high speed night.

He flexed his silver-tipped fingers.

He leaned down over the aluminum gash in the white car's rooftop.

He spread his hands out and palmed the exposed metal plating below.

He concentrated.

His silver digits flickered white.

Sparkles like pixie sparkles and—

FLASH!

He vanished a roughly circular slab of metal and produced a gaping hole into the central compartment.

The elder and two thugs looked up as the blurring wind rushed in.

"Look!"

"It's another one!"

"Shit almighty."

Hull's blue eyes narrowed.

The elder half-stood in the car. Frowning upwards, he dug a hand into his vest and produced a red grenade. "Leave us…the Hell…ALONE!" The graying man pulled the pin out of his grenade. PING! The bodyguards flinched as he tossed the live and ticking, crimson explosive at Hull's forehead. "NNNGH!"

Hull exhaled. He swiftly—effortlessly stretched his right hand out. FLASH! The live grenade disappeared in his palm with a flicker of silver light.

The elder blinked.

The bodyguards' jaws dropped.

Hull sneered. "Now….give me the briefcase…or I'll make your head disappear next."

The elder hugged the leathery object to himself and whimpered.

But the bodyguards sweatdropped. One pounded on the back of the driver's compartment and shouted: "What are you waiting for! Shake him!"

"Here we go!" And the driver gunned it straight forward.

The elder looked through the front compartment and frowned: "No, you idiot! Are you crazy!"

"!" Hull turned and looked behind him. His teeth grit and he clamped hard to the sides of the car's roof.

CRACK!

The limousine burst through a metal fence.

SCREEEECH!

It drove offroad and onto the open courtyards and lots between buildings of the Sahara Speedworld. Nightly tourists screamed and ran every which way to avoid the dented, smoking, madly careening vehicle. The limo swerved left and right, knocking over trash cans and barely scraping past abandoned hot dog stands. Under the lamplights and glowing signs, Hull struggled to stay clinging on. His lower legs flip-flopped. The chains along his denim pants rattled. He finally lifted a hand free, grunted, and rematerialized the metal slab of armor plating he vanished earlier. With a growl, he slammed it into the glass windshield of the car.

CRAAACK!

The driver gasped and strained from the invading shrapnel. He ducked his head, dodged with his torso, and madly swung at the car wheel.

SCREEE-EEE-EEEECH!

The limo spun a few three-sixties before slamming sideways through a gate on the other side and sliding madly back onto Las Vegas Boulevard.

On this northern section of the stretch of thick lanes, unsuspecting cars and trucks swerved madly to avoid the intruding limo. Vehicles crashed into each other. Sparkling pileups occurred with car horns being stuck on and aluminum bits flying high into the air.

And…Hull was thrown off the white limo.

Th-Th-Thrump! He tumbled to a stop in the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard. He seemed stunned, but there was not a single red cut or bead of sweat on him.

HONK! HONK!

He looked up.

The Intergang black limousine had returned for the rescue. It bore down on Hull from twenty feet off.

Hull took a breath and jumped gruntingly to his feet.

SCREEECH!

Hull looked to his side.

The white limo got away, burning northward along Las Vegas Boulevard.

Frowning, a helpless Hull turned and faced south against the oncoming, black vehicle.

Its headlights flared at him. Thugs leaned out their windows and aimed their guns.

Hull flicked both hands to the side. FLASH! He produced Bluescythe—SHVVVVV-CLACK!—and locked it into place. Ready to slice the charging vehicle in half when

A red glinting.

Hull's blue eyes squinted.

A red, bright dot appeared on the blurring front tire of the limo and—

THRIFFT!

A bullet traced in from out of nowhere and exploded into the Intergang vehicle's tire.

The black limo jolted, shook, tipped, and slid sparkingly with a loud scrape towards a stretch of palm trees in the median. SKRKKKKKK!-CRUNCH!

Hull watched, silently. Holding his sword.

The driver in the car panted, confused. He tried in vain to start up the black limo again when another red light zeroed in. This time, the laser blurred through the front windshield and trained on the center of the thug's forehead. The driver gasped—

THRIFFFT!

The driving compartment of the black limo turned blindingly red.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Pulsade camped out on the cross-hatch skeleton of a radio antenna across Las Vegas Boulevard.

She lowered a smoking sniper rifle from her blue-eyed gaze and took a deep breath.

She mumbled to herself against the high winds kicking at her blonde, wavy strands.

"Bollocks….I hope I don't wake up regretting just doing that later…"

A beat.

She took a deep breath and whipped out a communicator. "Allright, 'J'. Time for you to work some magic of your own, lad."

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Suddenly, inexplicably, the lights to all traffic bordering Las Vegas Boulevard turned red.

The motorists further away from the mayhem thought nothing of it. At least for the first few minutes. Then as the red lights lingered on and they started honking their horns in angry confusion, they all bore witness to a beat-up, white limousine throttling north along the road. Alone. Conspicuous. And practically falling apart in the middle of the naked Strip.

-T-T-T-T-T-

Inside the limousine, the bodyguards and the man with the briefcase shifted nervously.

The elder leaned forward, hugging the leather package to his chest. Panting, the graying Interganger looked out the front driver's compartment and saw all the stopped traffic through the cracked and shattering windshield.

"I don't like this….," a bodyguard said. "What are they all waiting for?"

"We stand out like a sore thumb."

"Triangular must be doing this…," the elder hissed. "Dagger. This is so much like Dagger."

"No way. Triangular may be here in Vegas, but Dagger's working far East, right?" the driver murmured. "Remember all the hell the Titans went through—"

"Hush up!" the elder frowned. He pointed down the road. "What say we make a detour through—"

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

About a hundred feet in front of the lonely, zooming limousine…a manhole cover in the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard started to twist and lift from underneath.

Scrkkk……Scrkkkkkkk-kkkkk!

Two pale, muscular arms pushed up from the huge, metal disk from below.

"Nnnnnghhressshaaa….," Killer Croc clenched his teeth and strained as he pushed up from below in the sewers. CL-CLANG! He knocked the disk aside, grabbed ahold of the asphalt, and hoisted himself up mightily onto the top of the road. "Nnngh!" He looked straight ahead. With mucous green eyes curving, he smiled a mutated smile and chuckled: "Hressh….Hressh…Hressh….all part of the food chain." CLAMP! He slammed his foot down over the edge of the manhole cover. The rusted metal disk flipped up into the air. He caught the spinning thing, aligned his upper limbs just right, and sneered: "'Ey you! Catch!"

SWISSSSSSSSSSSH! The disc went flying straight for the limousine.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

A bodyguard gasped. "Whoah!"

"Look out!"

The two thugs in the back grabbed the elder's shoulder and threw him down to the limousine floor. "Ooof!"

The driver's eyes twitched and focused on a sharpling spinning, heavy disc of metal flying straight towards the windshield….and him.

"AAAAAAAAAA—"CRUNCH! The driver's head was lopped off as the metal disc sailed into the driver's compartment. The corpse's legs weighed onto the gas pedal as the dead hands twisted the wheel and

VRMMMMM!—SCREEECH!

T-T-T-T-T-T-

The limousine slid, spun, flipped on its side, and went careening over the median.

Killer Croc jumped up and down like a giddy schoolboy before hissing in bloodlust, literally crawling on all fours, and scurrying over towards the 'kill'.

The elder climbed out of the smoking wreck. He poured his aching, trembling body out through the gash that Hull had made. Blood was trickling down from his gray head as he stumbled to his knees, got up on wobbly legs, and hugged the briefcase to him.

FWOOOSH!—PLANT!

Killer Croc landed in front of him.

"Boo!"

"Nnngh!" the elder stumbled back. "Keep away!"

"What's the matter?" Killer Croc grinned bloodlustingly and stomped slowly towards the man. out of grenades, Pops!"

"I know what Triangular will do with this thing…," the elder frowned. "I know what Luthor will do with it!"

"And ya know what I'm gonna do to you if don't hand it over?" Killer Croc gestured.

The elder gulped, shivering.

Killer Croc grinned. "I'll give you a hint. It's gonna be a hulluva lot more slow and painful than what I'm going to do to you if you do hand it over."

The elder's lips parted.

"Hresssssssh….," Killer Croc's eyes flickered green as he raised his muscular, sharp arms and pounced. "GIVE IT—"

SWOOOOOSH-WHAM! Wildebeest dove in with a fist.

Killer Croc flew back and slammed broadly into a lamppost. CRACK! Denting it.

Wildebeest snorted.

Killer Croc gritted his razor sharp teeth, frowning. Heaving. Hissing—then roaring.

"RRRRGHAAAAARAAAASHAAAA!" He flailed his limbs, flexed his muscles, and charged straight at the beast like a demon. Stomp!Stomp!Stomp!Stomp! WHACK! He punched Wildebeest across the snout. WHAM! He kicked the bovine warrior in the chest. "HRESSHAA!" He reached forward, grabbed Wildebeest by the horns, and headbutted him in between. WHAM!

Wildebeest stumbled back, dizzily.

A drooling Killer Croc pounced at the beast.

Wildebeest snarled and launched a mighty uppercut.

WHACK!

Killer Croc flew back.

GRIP! Wildebeest caught the swamp freak by his legs and slammed him repeatedly into the abandoned asphalt of Las Vegas Boulevarde. WHAM! SLAM! POW!

In the meantime, a nervous elder sweatdropped and trotted away Inspector Clueso style with his briefcase beneath his arm. As the two warriors duked it out, he looked around desperately for some safe haven bordering The Strip….and eventually his gaze rose towards the heavens.

Taking a deep breath, the graying Interganger ran across abandoned lanes of opposing traffic and headed towards the tall spire that was the Stratosphere.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Meanwhile, back at the second…crashed SUV. A few injured Intergangers rested unconscious besides the overturned vehicle. One thug was still on his feet, pacing desperately around the wreckage and listening into a squabbling radio frequency on his communicator.

"Snkkkt……snkkkt……snkkkt!"

"Come on…..come on!" the thug panted, sweating all over. "Gimme the scoreboard, you morons! How screwed are we!"

The communicator crackled and scratched.

"Snkkkkt—snkkt—The white limo is down! The Triangulars caught it!"

The thug gasped. His shoulders slumped as he listened….

"Just south of Main Street on Las Vegas Boulevard—snkkktnkk—a fight taking place between Triangular agentssnkkktssnkkt—sending reinforcements immediately! Snkkkt! Boss appears to be fine. Last seen running towards the Stratosphere on foot with the Device!"

The thug let out a sigh of mixed relief.

Just then, an Intergang bodyguard walked up.

"Whoah!" the thug jumped back and frowned. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

The bodyguard simpered.

The thug leaned his head to the side. "Where'd you come from! Aren't you supposed to be in one of the limos?"

The bodyguard scratched the back of his neck and shrugged.

"Doesn't matter," the thug sighed. "Look. You and I gotta jack a car and get over to the Stratosphere right away!"

The bodyguard's eyes widened in curiosity.

The thug pointed at his communicator and hissed with emphasis: "The Boss is on his own! On foot! He'll be dead meat by himself at the Stratosphere if we don't get over there now and protect him against Triangular's other agents!"

The bodyguard smiled. He mouthed: 'thank you'.

"……," the thug blinked.

CHIIIIIIIIING! THWACK!

The 'bodyguard' struck the thug clear across the skull with the broadside of a wooden katana.

"Nnnngh" THWUMP! The thug fell down hard…cold.

I took a deep breath. FLASH! The holographic disguise flickered away as I fingered the watch that the Messenger had given me.

I looked at the LCD screen of the thick device.

Half of the crystal-black 'bars' were missing.

Still some juice left.

Heh……gotta hand it to his dimension for whoever made this thing.

I walked over. I picked up the communicator that the thug hat dropped. Taking a deep breath, I pocketed it away and turned to face the northern horizon. Through my black goggles I could see the spire of the Stratosphere stretching high above the glittering gulch of southern Nevada…

T-T-T-T-T-T-

THWUMP!

The elder stumbled in through the doors of the tower's base, startling a few customers.

He looked at them all shiftily and marched towards the central elevator shaft, hobbling a bit from injuries sustained in the white limo crash.

Ding!

The bottom doors of a double-decker elevator opened. A trio of partying tourists hobbled out, laughing drunkenly. They looked at the hobbling, bleeding elder with his briefcase and laughed some more.

He shuddered. He moved past them and jammed his finger over the close button of the elevator. The doors closed, and he was barely aware of a blue form shuffling through the front lobby outside before he was shut safely inside the compartment.

He took a deep breath. He pressed a button to go up.

With a hum and a gentle vibration, the elder was hoisted up to the top of the Stratosphere. Fast.

He let out a huge sigh. He slumped back against a wall of the elevator, hugging the briefcase to his chest. The centripetal force of the quick ascent massaged his body from the inside out. He began to relax…..

Scrkk!

"……."

Scrkkk-kkkk!

The elder blinked.

The sound was coming from the floor of the elevator car.

He looked down.

Scrkkkk!

A beat.

CRACK!

The blue tip of Bluescythe shot up through the floor between his feet.

He let out a shriek and hobbled to the far side of the elevator. Sweating. Gray eyes wide.

CRACK! CRKKKK! The blue blade carved up and up into the compartment. Wind started to escape from the shifting pressure of the inside and outside domain.

"N-No…..leave me alone! Jesus!" the man hobbled back towards the elevator doors

Ding!

He had reached the top of the Tower. The doors open just in time for him to fall back and collapse onto the upper lobby floor.

"Ooof!"

A few tourists and an employee or two looked at him curiously.

He stumbled up to his feet. "H-Help me!"

"……..," they all shifted nervously. Confused.

"Help me!" he ran past them, panting, and made for a flight of metal stairs.

Someone hopped up through a hole in the elevator floor and gripped a sword before marching out…

T-T-T-T-T-T-T-

He panted….panted…panted…

He scrambled up the steps.

He shoved his way past an employee.

He ignored cries of exclamation and anger and burst his way through an off-limits door.

CLANG!

The cold, thin winds of the Nevada Desert air ate at him as he burst out onto the night.

He ran across a clear, gray floor on the summit of the Stratosphere. Around him, the roller coaster and vertical catapult on the spire's top spun and launched and made all kinds of noise, doubly deafening with the endless screams of excited thrill seekers. Tourists. Organisms.

The elder felt horrifically alone on top of the world.

He hobbled across the clear space besides an outside maintenance closet and array of antennae. As he approached the side railing of the top, circular tier…the man spun around and looked at the doorway through which he exited. His breath showed in the November crispness. He shivered all over.

There was no one following him.

He couldn't help but shudder.

"Nnngh….."

He turned around

WHAM! Hull's fist flew in his face.

The man sputtered and stumbled back

GRIP! Hull grabbed him by the shoulders, frowned with hard blue eyes, and tossed him over the railing.

THWUMP!

"AAAAAAUGH!" the elder screamed, tumbled, and slid precariously close to the sloping edge of the Stratosphere top. A shoe fell off of his ankle and he looked down in horror as it dropped, dropped, dropped to the glittering pavement sea incalculably far below. "Ch-Christ….," he shuddered. He scrambled up to his feet, still holding onto the briefcase.

THWUMP!

The glass and metal surface beneath him shook.

He wobbled on old, weak knees and looked up.

CHIIIIIING! Hull stood before him with Bluescythe. Frowning. His lips slowly moving: "End of your life, Mister. Give me the briefcase and I'll make it quick."

The man frowned. He held the briefcase at arm's length towards the edge of the tower and pure, thin air. "Maybe I should just send it on ahead of me! Would that make you sweat, punk!"

"…..," Hull glared. He stretched a free hand out, flickered his fingers, and produced a heavily sparking taser that burned the air with blue beams. ZZzzzztt! "It is not too late for me to hoist your worthless body onto level ground and attach this to your scrotum."

"……………."

"Give me the briefcase. Now."

The man shivered all over. His gray hair kicked in the wind. A shudder….a sigh… he brought the briefcase back around and tossed it at Hull.

Hull disappeared the taser, grabbed the briefcase, and held it under one arm. "That's a good man…"

The elder sneered. "You're going to ruin this world! You and Luthor and Dagger and the folks in Gotham! You're nothing, do you hear me! You'll kill off Intergang and all the other little anthill empires surrounding your feet until al your murderous energies are exhausted and some flippin' Parasite bites you in the back! Do you hear me! Triangular is a ghost! As dead a spirit as H.I.V.E.!"

Hull droned: "Then I suppose we'll all get to know each other sooner than we think."

"…………," the elder fumed.

FLASH! Hull disappeared Bluescythe. He actually seemed about to leave when he stopped, paused, and turned to face the elder once more. "Oh by the way….," FLASH! "—this belongs to you." And he tossed something into the man's chest.

The elder caught it, leaning back. He looked down at his hands and saw a very familiar red grenade. A very familiar….and live grenade. "Ah…Ahh!...Ahhh!" he helplessly juggled the explosive and tumbled back…back…back….over the side of the Tower. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

Hull turned and walked away.

BOOM!

An amber flash and a red splash.

Hull didn't so much as look back.

A few tourists down below were curious as they found the parking lot showered upon with mysterious red ribbons.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Minutes later, Hull marched out of the ground level entrance of the Stratosphere with the briefcase under his arm.

He wandered over to a lonely motorcycle he found resting in a compact parking space.

Straddling the vehicle, he produced a few tools out of silver, thin air and proceeded to hotwire the motorcycle.

Once he got the engine running, he gripped the handles and prepared to throttle back south

CHIIIING!

The tip of Myrkblade rested at his throat.

"…….," he turned and looked at me.

I stood beside him. My smoking-sharp sword kissed the nape of his neck. I frowned with black vapors washing down from my goggles and mouthed: 'Give it'.

He coldly droned without so much as moving from the bike: "I told you not to get in my way, Mr. Noir."

I pressed the blade more firmly to his neck. Glaring…

His blue eyes thinned. "Don't….make me hurt you…."

Don't make me care.

I saw his flingers snake over and press against the briefcase.

Silver fingertips kneaded the beat-up leather.

"In the briefest of instances…," he uttered, "…I can take the precious briefcase farther away than you could ever touch it. No matter how deeply you hack into my shell of a body."

"……..," I glared.

He slowly stood up from the bike.

I kept my sword pressed to his throat, eyeing the briefcase against his fingers.

He stood straight and tall and nonchalantly produced Bluescythe in his opposite hand. FLASH!

We stood, facing off.

"I will not let you defeat me, Noir…," he glared. "Not so much because of all I have done to help you. But because if you were to tear me apart…the entire city of Las Vegas would not benefit at all from the breach of my energy core."

I kept the sword trained on his throat. My shifted my feet some. I started summoning murk for a very, very, very quick teleport…

With his briefcase in sight….

"Let us not come at odds, Mr. Noir. Let us work together. We can enter the Herculean Vault as one." His blue eyes were solid. Dry. "I can have what I seek and you can get to Terra's key like you deserve."

I sneered.

I'm really, freakin' tired of people TELLING ME WHAT TO DO.

SWOOOOOSH!

A shadow encased us both.

"……."

"…….," I blinked under my shades and looked up first.

In the amber lamplight of nearby parking lot bulbs, Wildebeest's unconscious body flew meatedly down at us.

Hull gritted his teeth and dove out of the way.

I gasped and blurred

WHAM!

Wildebeest formed a crater in the concrete earth.

The concussion threw me into a nearby minivan. SHATTER!

Hull rolled and collapsed dead cold against a dumpster. CLANG!

The briefcase slid across the ground.

A pair of scaley feet padded over and stood above it.

Killer Croc panted. Scratched and bruised all over. His muscles shook and flexed from having tossed the bovine warrior onto us. He knelt down, scooped up the briefcase, and stood back up with a cracking of the neck. P-P-Pop! "Hresssha…..nobody gives the Croc the shaft…"

His mucous green eyes glared as he stared at Wildebeest's unconscious body, Hull's, mine

I was gone.

He blinked. "Mrmmphh….." A beat. "Hresh…screw it. Sniff you jerks later." And he swiftly turned around, hugged the briefcase to himself, and ran south along the decimated, Las Vegas Boulevard.

The two warriors rested still and numb under the legs of the Stratosphere Tower.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Inside a Denny's across town, the one waitress again wandered to the table. She thought of the little, blonde boy waiting all by himself and she sighed. This was not the type of shift she enjoyed.

"Mister…we're starting to get a little worried. Even my manager. Do you have parents that are supposed to meet you here? Have you got a phone number we can call them by? You've been really quiet and—" She came to a stop, blinking.

The booth was empty. The table was clean save for a single, empty glass. A lone phone book rested on the seat cushion where the boy previously was.

"………….huh…..," the woman hummed. She shrugged. Walking over to the booth, the waitress collected the glass. She saw a tip. A meager dollar, she thought. But when she looked down at the table, a breath escaped her. A gasp worthy of three Franklins.

And they were.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Pompeii.

10:03 pm.

Killer Croc huffed and puffed as he ran up a long stairwell where the parking garage bordered the actual casino.

He hugged the briefcase to his sweaty, bare chest the entire time.

On a higher floor, he ran towards a door leading into a lush hallway.

WHANG!

He kicked it open with a snarl and ran down the length of the interior. Lines of hotel room doors were on his right. A stretch of immaculate, tinted windows were on his left. The glittering stretch of Las Vegas could be seen out the transparent sheathes. It was made twice as glittering from ambulances, firetrucks, and emergency lights gathering in random spots along The Strip. Lives were lost that evening. There was collateral damage and other chaotic consequences of the night's supposedly 'covert' chase. In the next few days, there would most likely be news stories and special bulletins and frantic press events covering the massacre from head to toe.

Right then and there, Killer Croc cared only to get to Z after all the Hell he went through since A. The green in his eyes flickered as he ran heatedly along the windowed hallway and turned a corner

And nearly plowed Jacob Anderson over.

"HRESSH!" he skidded to a stop. Sweating. Clutching the briefcase to his slick chest. "Nngh….Land 'o Goshin! Don't ya ever scare me like that again!"

Anderson merely smiled. A thinness of his eyes professed a drunken pleasure. He shrugged, adjusted his robe, and pointed a dainty hand towards the treasured object.

Killer Croc fingered the briefcase. "Yeah. I know. I got it! Won't the bosses back East be proud?"

Anderson motioned with his fingers.

Killer Croc frowned: "Now you wait just a damn minute, ya pixie! You said that Rexxin and the other guys were gonna give me more of the good stuff for doing this! Well, here I am having broken my back for you and I want my part of the pay!"

Anderson rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious! Just tell me that you've got it! The good stuff! You've got more of that whoppin' Dragonflare, right? Right?"

Anderson nodded.

"A-And you'll give it to me?"

He nodded again. Chuckling breathily.

Killer Croc's scaley features softened some. "Well, shucks. That's simple now, ain't it?" He handed the briefcase over. "Sorry I ever doubted you, Pops."

Anderson walked over.

Killer Croc grinned.

Anderson grinned back….and slammed Croc in the face with his fist.

WHAM!

Killer Croc dropped the briefcase and flew back impossibly far from the frail punch. But he felt the stinging of the blow and he knew that Anderson had indeed punched him. And yet still, the jab seemed impossibly strong. Like titanium.

Titanium.

"Hressha….wait a second…," Killer Croc stumbled up to his feet in front of the stretch of windows. "You're—"

SWOOOOSH! Robe billowing, Jacob Anderson ran a streak straight at the mutant. He jumped in the air with a sailing kick. And as he flew in with his foot sailing, the drippingly smooth visage of Anderson peeled away with a flicker of light and instead transformed into the smoke-warbling missile of an airborne Wyldecarde.

WHAM! I slammed my boots straight into Killer Croc's chest.

SHATTER!

The reptilian thug went sailing out in a spray of glass towards the cold concrete of Las Vegas far below. "AAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…..!"

CRUNCH!

He crashed through the roof of a pickup truck. A resounding echo wafted up against the surface of Pompeii, and then faded into the ambiance of the glittering, Nevada night.

I took a deep breath, standing against the wind rushing through the gash in the window. My black locks of hair beat in the wind and I fought a shiver flying up my metal wrist.

'Snkkkt—See you later, Alligator.'

I smiled.

Thank you, Messenger.

'I might say, you're pretty damn-ass-quick! Oh, and handsome too.'

Yeah, that's enough. You can stop now.

I heard a beeping sound.

I glanced down at the watch.

All the bars were empty. The power cells were drained.

Guess it has a limited life in this dimension……

I stripped it off and tossed it out the shattered windows after Killer Croc.

It was fun while it lasted.

Taking a deep breath, I spun around, and hobbled over to the briefcase.

I scooped it up, flexed my limbs tight and protective around the item, and made for the elevator.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

THWOMP!

A desk chair flew across the room and tumbled against a book case.

SHATTER!

A wine glass impacted with the wall.

"Nnnngh!"

A seething, red-faced Anderson swept his arm over the desktop inside his office, knocking down the lamps, stationary, and picture frames.

He leaned over the desk, pulling at the skunk spots in his hair, panting….panting….hissing….

A beat.

He swallowed. Sweated. And turned around.

"…..," Rexxin was staring. A walkie-talkie rested in his frozen grip. He stood between two armed guards silently. "S-Sir….are you okay?"

"It's gone….all of it!" Anderson hissed. With each step he heaved and shuddered more. "Burned! Melted! Ruined!" He gripped Rexxin by the collar and practically spat in his face. "After all I've done for Triangular in this City, do you think I deserve this!"

"Erhm….," Rexxin nervously gulped and uttered through the corner of his lips: "We conducted a search to figure out why the basement levels were torched. We can only guess it was Joto. That warrior was too dangerous to keep down there in the first place, sir."

"Nnngh!" Anderson shoved Rexxin back and heaved, pulling at his hair again. "Don't tell me what is or isn't dangerous. What is or isn't deadly! What is or isn't…isn't…b-b-beautiful….." He sauntered over towards a bookcase and leaned against it with his crossed arms. He looked like he was on the brink of sobbing. "I know beauty. I built it all for beauty. I deserve more." He pounded his fist against the bookcase and hissed. "I deserve more!"

The bodyguards shifted uncomfortably.

Rexxin cleared his throat, running a shaking hand through his red-highlighted hair. "The students. The ones from Mexico. Word is that two shuttles full of exchanged students showed up at the downtown police department. It must have been shortly before the fiery explosion that they went off."

"It must have been because and only because I have an incompetent security team….," Anderson slurred, frowning at Rexxin over his shoulder.

Rexxin clenched his jaw. He stood silent and still, but his free knuckles clenched tightly.

"Sir…I am sorry for what you've lost…but there're more important things right now," Rexxin managed to grumble. His voice rose in urgency as he frowned and said: "The four that we sent out have all but torn Las Vegas apart in their 'mission'. Word is in that Intergang's forces are thrown and torn left and right in a path of destruction leading north from Caesar's Palace to the Stratosphere. The police and fire squads are crawling all over The Strip. Triangular may be able to squelch some of the information and hide some of the evidence—but—sooner or later the heat is going to track this debacle here. I suggest we send some men out and try to bring the four back so we can work out something about all this! I mean, this is insane!"

As Rexxin rambled on, an eerie light sparkled back in Anderson's eyes. He lifted his head, stood up straight, and smiled dreamily towards the walls of the room.

"The four….the warriors….of course….heheheh…," he smiled a freakish grin and shook his head. "Of course…of course….of course! It's one of them! It has to be!"

"Sir?"

Anderson adjusted his robe and glared off into the shadows of the room. "Oh, they've done their job already. Somehow, I can feel it. They'll come here and they'll ask to get into the Vault. And I will do my part in granting them what I want."

"Sir, how can we go with the original plan now? If Dagger or Luthor find out about this—"

"We're doing exactly what we've been told to do….," Anderson hissed. He straightened his hair and then adjusted his robe with a grin. "And I will see to it that the task appointed me is complete. Utterly…. Anderson's eyes narrowed. "Down to the last bone…."

"What do you have in mind, sir?"

"What I've always had in mind. Only now….it's personal," Anderson cooed. He giggled. A sideways crack of his neck and a slight twist to his pupils. He blinked back to a grinning stare towards the ground and hugged himself. "The late firestarter has an accomplice. Tonight….he will be mine. From the inside…..outttttt…." And he twisted his fingers with a high-pitched giggle.

Rexxin gulped.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Ding!

I hobbled out—and jerked to a stop.

Black eyes blinking under my goggles.

Hull and Wildebeest stood.

Wildebeest had his arms folded.

Hull held Bluescythe and was glaring.

Both looked at me and the briefcase in my grasp.

How did they……?

"…..," I swiftly jerked into a fighting stance. CHIIIING! TH-TH-THWISH! I held Myrkblade out and pointed at them. Teeth bearing.

Allright. Let's finish this……

Wildebeest snorted indignantly.

I blinked under my goggles. My lips parted.

"Lower the sword, Mr. Noir…," Hull droned. "It's okay."

"…….."

'Snkkkt……hmmm. I think I know where this is going……'

I swallowed.

'Still, be watchful.'

"None of us will be taking the briefcase in alone," Hull muttered. A beat. He glanced at Wildebeest, then at me. "But if we do it together…."

"………," I glared.

"I don't want the girl," he said. He pointed at Wildebeest and then at me. "But you two do. How you work it out is between you two. But at this rate, none of us will make it inside the Vault alive. And I'm sure you know where I stand on all this." He finished with a knowing glint in his eyes.

I exhaled. A slight content curve to my lips.

I looked over at Wildebeest.

He stared back at me, white eyes thin.

I holstered Myrkblade. I swiftly hand-signed: 'Can I trust you not to turn me into cud right away?'

Wildebeest whinnied. His lips curved into a furry grin. A proud snort.

I smirked back at him.

'Snkkkt—Boys will be boy. You can believe that I relate, right?'

I rubbed my skin beneath the ear where the communicator crackled.

Exhaling.

You're not such a loser, Messenger. Keep cool……

I slowly, hesitantly marched forward. Wildebeest and Hull parted ways some. Together, the three of us walked down to the large wooden doors of Anderson's office.

Gladly minus an annoying reptile.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

"………," Anderson sat at his desk. His hands held together. His usually liquid-serene face hard and straight. He stared patiently, quizzically at us.

Rexxin and about twelve body guards stood on the sides of the room. They seemed a little too nervous for their own good. Or our own good. Or anyone and everyone's good.

Wildebeest, Hull, and I stood before the desk. I was in the center. Wildebeest was to my right. Hull was to my left. I glanced at them. I took a deep breath. I lifted the briefcase, placed it on the desktop, and slid it quietly over to Anderson.

"…..," he looked at the briefcase. Then up at us. "You are….?"

"We're bringing it in together," Hull droned.

Anderson's eyes thinned.

Wildebeest snorted and folded his arms…as always.

"All three of us," Hull said, as if needing to clarify. "We want into the Vault."

"……..," Anderson smiled his trademark, eerie span of teeth. "But of course…," he cooed. He dragged the briefcase a few more inches towards him. He whistled and snapped a finger at Rexxin.

Rexxin pointed at a guard.

The thug walked over and produced a spark tool. He handed it to Anderson.

Anderson nimbly twirled it, and flipped the switch. Flash! He guided the flaring object across the locks of the mechanism. Melting and snapping them one by one.

Hull's breath was shallow.

Wildebeest's eyes thinned.

I shifted a bit where I stood. The bruises, scrapes, and sweat from three days of collective mayhem weighed down on my battered self.

Anderson kept meticulously slicing open the leather briefcase.

'Hmmm……making the primary incision……snkkkt'

My lips quivered.

'Steady……dry……palms……don't sneeze……'

I bit my lip. My nostrils flaring.

Dammit. Don't make me snicker at a time like this!

'Hehehehe……'

I swear, does he hear my thoughts or not—?

Flash! Creeeak! The last lock melted away. Anderson swiftly opened the briefcase. He stared inside. A beat. Another beat. He smiled.

The three of us relaxed a bit more.

Rexxin too.

Jacob Anderson looked up. A soft grin on his softer face. "It's here…," he purred. He swiveled the open briefcase around some and showed it to us at double-arm's length. "Property of Intergang. Now property of yours truly." A pretty wink. "Good job."

The three of us looked.

My black eyes narrowed beneath my goggles.

A sea of Styrofoam or some other soft material cradled a crystal-clear cylinder of sorts. It was a flimsy five inches long, and the transparent center of it was pierced with cross-hatches of what looked like computer chips. It seemed like a….key to insert into something.

'Don't get your hopes up. That's not the thing that'll take us to Terra.'

I took a deep breath.

'Kinda interesting looking though, isn't it?'

My black eyes darted around the room under stationary goggles.

Messenger, where in the Hell are you……?

"Make that the last time you ever see it…," Anderson said. He closed the cylinder shut tight inside the briefcase and handed it to one of Rexxin's men. He said to Rexxin: "Make sure it's sent to Metropolis right away. I owe Luthor that, at least."

"Yes, sir."

Anderson turned and faced us, his hands folded together as he grinned. "Gentlemen….you have just seen the richest 'exchange' in Las Vegas in a long, long time. And I owe that to you. That cylinder will fit in a nice, comfortable place thanks to you."

"I'd pay to see that," Hull droned.

Wildebeest snorted. A slight curve to his lips.

"……," Anderson's smile teetered on the brink. He was faking something. I could see it. "I bet you must have a lot of pride to talk to me that way…," he cooed. "Does killing people in a cramped arena make you feel more complete?"

"Does it make you orgasm?" Hull asked.

I flinched.

Anderson let out a flippant laugh.

Hull glared: "I tire of redundant statements."

Anderson stopped laughing. A beat. "Hmmm…."

SLAM!

The guards jolted. Rexxin's hand reached to his holster.

We all looked at Wildebeest, who had his fists resting hard on the edge of the desk. He blew out of his nostrils and glared.

A beat.

"Right…..," Anderson adjusted his robe. He stood up. "….rather impatient now, are we?"

I took a deep breath.

'Wait for it………'

He slowly turned. He shuffled towards the blank wall.

"Very well….," his hand reached into his pocket. He cradled the remote in dainty fingers. "……prepare to be rewarded."

Hull leaned his head to the side. Glaring.

Wildebeest leaned forward, anxious.

Cl-Click!

WHURRRRRR-SCHLACK!

The wood panels of the office's wall parted ways and the pale complexion of the Herculean Vault's huge, hulking door was revealed.

I gulped.

Anderson gazed back at us. A liquid smile. He turned and aimed the remote again.

Click.

Lights blinked all across the front of the structure. Blinking red and black and green and then solid green. A dozen vibrations and clicking noises announced over two hundred security devices being shut off from the inside out.

A second pressing of the remote.

Beep!

TWISH!-HISSSSSSS!-WHURRRRR—CHTUNG!

Steam frothed out as the huge lid of the Vault opened upward. It was a slow, agonizing process. Even more agonizing to watch. I felt like a criminal for the first time there. Waiting for the womb of some undefiled plunder to show itself before me. I was hungry almost for something I couldn't touch or see. It was a disgusting feeling. Like bloodlust. Greed. I had to remind myself…

This is for Terra.

This is for Terra.

I glanced nervously / sideways at Wildebeest.

He stared at the Vault just as hungrily. Just as determined.

I fought back the shivers.

For Terra……

CLANG!

The door locked into place.

Anderson stepped forward once more and pressed his remote a fourth time.

Click!

Lights flickered on.

A kitchen-sized compartment resided in. Made of pure white panels. It was like the inside of a computer-manufacturing cleanroom, in some slightly claustrophobic way.

'This is it. Cross your metal fingers.'

I did.

Anderson smiled at us. "Step on in….," he purred. He looked over our shoulders at the guards and nodded.

Rexxin and the thugs nodded back. They crowded up behind us.

Hull, Wildebeest, and I huddled together some.

Anderson stepped straight into the Vault.

I followed.

Then Hull and Wildebeest.

Then the guards.

We filed in like perfect little school children, leaving the office behind us barren.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

I thought of Raven first.

How happy she was the last time I saw her.

Well, maybe not happy.

But 'content'.

In my head, I envisioned her cuddling in the embrace of Cyborg.

His titanium arms swallowing her up.

And it didn't bother me in the least.

They fit in with each other like yin and yang.

A tiny niche between the friction of the Spectrum.

I thought of Cyborg's dark skin.

How it seemed colder than the metal shell I saw last before leaving for the West.

He couldn't get himself fixed, and he couldn't believe himself.

He was lost, and the more he felt lost the more he hid in Raven's shadow.

And then there was Beast Boy.

His smiles were falling by the wayside like loose grain from a ripped sack.

His voice grew deeper and deeper.

Not with testosterone or with growth.

But a different kind of a maturity.

A "beast" that was losing its "boy".

Huddled alone and cold and contemplative in the dark corner of desert-themed room.

Starfire was holding him.

Starfire was strong.

Starfire was smiling, but it was a different sort of grin.

A smile more akin to stone and mountainside than wind or Sunny breeze.

A lot had died in the City, but Starfire had lived.

She lived for her friends.

She lived for the Earth.

Her beloved little oasis in the chaos of the galaxy.

And Tempest was drifting away.

His dark eyes turning darker and yet unyielding to the demonic violet of his past.

He sobbed and sighed and smiled all at once.

And for a moment, I thought he would explode.

And he had nobody to lean on.

For he had been rejected for the very same thing that liberated him: common sense.

And awkwardly gracious compassion.

And all the Titans—like shadows—settled and slept beneath the feet of her.

Her….with her stone still hair.

Her glazed granite eyes.

A gaping mouth of pain and overwhelming shock.

The tiny life nestled in the crust of her unseen womb.

Terra weighed on us all.

Miles apart or arms enclosed.

I felt the breaths and heard the voices of them all.

Like a waterfall in my head.

Cascading and splashing off everything these black eyes saw.

As I finally stepped into and explored the Vault.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Everything was white. Brightly lit. And blinding. It was a struggle for me to keep my black eyes wide open under the goggles. I finally resorted to closing my lids almost the entire way and just using spatial sense to guide myself in after Anderson.

And yet, when I entered the thick of the Herculean Vault and the footsteps of everyone gathered around me in echoing cadence, I finally gave in.

And I looked.

I looked at the glittering, gold treasures on white shelves.

I looked at the strange, silver guns on glass pedestals.

I looked at the glowing cylinders of metaphysical energy. Priceless paintings. Medieval antiques. Unimaginably expensive looking jewelry. Technological remotes, fiberoptics, boxes, cubes, crystals. What looked like a half-bird, half-dinosaur fossil. A black-and-white photo of the JFK assassination from an angle I had never seen before. A lock of jet black hair besides a plaque with a nazi swastika on it. A velvet, burgundy bag with a Catholic cross embroidered on it with gold and seemingly housing something. Glowing green rocks that absolutely had to be Kryptonite. A shattered, golden angel with wings stretching out and connected to another pair of severed wings. A huge, gray slab of stone with English grass stains on it. A thick sphere of plastic transparency housing a copper-red clump of rusty rock. An elaborate, Egyptian face mask. And even a jar of preserving fluid containing a dismembered hand that….did not look human.

As I gazed about the white room full of stolen treasure, Hull and Wildebeest beside me were likewise gazing around. Wildebeest seemed to be searching for the same thing that I was. Hull—in the meantime—seemed to have found his aim. His eyes locked onto something. And I soon realized it was the velvety purple bag with the Catholic cross from earlier. And that made me curious…

'Snkkt—it's not that far from you, Noir.'

I jolted a bit. I held a hand rather conspicuously over my communicator ear. I didn't think much at the time of how it must have looked.

'The Key. It's there somewhere.'

My black eyes swam around the white shelves, the plastic-clear stands, the white walls, the whiteness….the whiteness….the whiteness…..

'The Key is flat. It is gray. It'll look like a huge, titanium, 'floppy disk' but with grooves and parts that light up along the curved side.'

I looked and looked and looked.

And….

My lips parted.

Over in the corner.

Behind Anderson.

Almost shrouded in the darkness.

Was Terra's Key.

And as I turned and glanced to my right some…

I realized that Wildebeest was scanning the opposite side of the white interior with his thinning eyes.

And he hasn't seen it yet……

I considered quite adamantly teleporting over, grabbing the key, and practically blurring my way bloodily through as many guards and thugs as I could just to get out of that whole damn building with what I sweat and toiled over to touch when

"Behold, the holiest of holies, gentlemen…," Anderson said. He trotted across the room with an obscenely cute sway of his body and approached a two-handled, gray device situated in the center of the Vault's far wall. "…few can enter here to see this place. And even fewer live to make use of it. Consider you three very…very lucky…."

I bit my lip.

'Here comes the hitch.'

Yeah……

I nervously glanced at the guards.

They all had their hands to their holsters.

As if preparing for a sudden explosion.

A sudden explosion that they knew about.

That the Messenger knew about.

That Hull and Wildebeest may or may not have been oblivious to.

And that I was now suddenly and heart-racingly suspended in.

There was a stomping sound behind us.

Startled, Hull and Wildebeest immediately spun around.

I was a bit slower in rotating to glance out the entrance to the Vault.

Killer Croc marched up and stood—heaving—by Rexxin's side. His muscles were scraped and cut in a dozen places. Only by sheer brute strength did he suffer the fall from so high and survive my jump-kick. He curled his fingers and snarled…mostly at me. And yet—despite the sharp stinging sensation of his surprise entrance—he did not make a move to kill me. Or any of the other two. He simply stood his ground.

Like a good little soldier.

"I see…..they all made it here….without me….," Killer Croc sneered.

Anderson chuckled, running his hands over the gray device he stood before. "Oh, you were quite useful in the long run, my good lizard. You were the hardcore, raw violence that drove these three here. The briefcase is now in my hands, thanks to you. Thanks to them. Thanks to everything."

Wildebeest started to growl and clench his teeth.

Hull slowly turned and glared at Anderson. "So what have you concocted…?" he droned. "What is the trick that has all three of us screwed in the end? What plan have you worked out with your love-partner here?" He pointed at Killer Croc.

"Hresssssssh……"

I was shivering. I couldn't help it. I saw the signs of this setup from long ago. Mostly thanks to the Messenger. But even Hull seemed—however slightly and without admittance—to be somewhat in the dark about this revelation. And that scared me. It scared me to think that this perfect stranger suddenly knew a little less than he seemed built to facilitate.

Anderson merely smiled. "I'm not that brilliant of a man, Mr. Hull. Merely lucky." He gripped the gray device and turned around. He aimed it at us. "What truly brought you here is not so much my deceptiveness as it is your pathetic, stubborn wills. Here all three of you are…having braved death and beat-downs and expulsion to reach this destination. You are the only three crazy enough to have gone this far. And that can only mean one thing. You are collectively—yet uniquely motivated in undermining everything that my allies and I stand for. You seek to do that which will shatter the very foundation of the strongest criminal organization in this hemisphere. Dagger chose me in particular long, long ago to watch over this City. To set up a tournament that would attract you. To lure you in with the Herculean Vault. I had no clue until I saw you just who Dagger was concerned with. But I am quite sure he knew. And he was right. All along, he was right. Dagger's conspicuous enemies have gathered here. And it is now my job to do-away with you."

Wildebeest sneered.

Hull was silent.

Anderson whistled. He motioned with his head towards the far corner of the room.

Rexxin nodded. As Killer Croc and the other guards held us at bay, the red-headed security head marched across the vault—and to our collective fear—picked up the Key. The Key to Terra.

Wildebeest shook.

Hull's eyes narrowed.

My fists clenched.

Damn!

Anderson walked towards us with the device. "Take the Key, Rexxin. We'll be relocating it once these three are taken care of. Dagger no longer needs to be separated from it. It's done its job by staying here."

Hull eyed the device in Anderson's hand. He droned: "What is that? A newfangled sex toy?"

"Heheheheheh….unfortunately not," Anderson winked. "This…is the product of years of toil under Luthor's scientific funding. After many, many blueprints and technical specs were stolen from S.T.A.R. Labs, an exact duplicate of Superman's Phantom Zone Projector now rests within Triangular's grasp. And now I'll have the pleasure of testing it out on you three."

Wildebeest whinnied. His white eyes blinked wide, shocked.

Hull glared. "You think that thing will send us to the Phantom Zone……"

"Mmmmmhmmmm….it's a rather torturous place, according to the notes taken by Dr. Emil Hamilton. Impossibly strung up between dimensions. A surreality of chaos in and of itself. Once you three are in the Phantom Zone, you will know nothing but torment in limbo until Dagger or Luthor or any of the Gothamites of Triangular decide to drag you back into this world. And depending on how long we leisurely choose to take—heheheheh—I'm quite sure the torture will be succinct enough to break even the most iron wills among you. Eventually, Dagger's biggest enemies will become his most faithful servants."

'The Phantom Zone……hehehehehe—snkkkt!' the Messenger's voice crackled. 'People have such cute words for the Middleverse.'

I shivered.

'Stay strong, Noir. You're not alone.'

My black eyes darted around the white room full of enemies.

'You're not alone………'

"……."

"So was that your plan?" Hull seethed at Anderson in the meantime. "To summon Triangular's biggest conspiring enemies and suck us into the Phantom Zone so that we'd convert over to your infernal side?"

"I had no plan besides that which was given to me," Anderson cooed. "I merely just wanted to have fun on the side." His teeth showed in a gnashing hiss. "And oh what an unpleasant thing it was to find my heavenly domain in flames this evening…."

I gulped. He was glaring straight at me.

"How incessantly annoying that I have to preserve the one ruthless fighter here who was once a Titan….," Anderson growled. An evil smile. "I assure you, Mr. Snow-White, once you are ejected from the Hell awaiting for you….there's nothing that will hold you back from killing when Mr. Dagger and his successors tell you to."

I wanted to chop his head off then and there.

But I knew I wouldn't….

GRIP!

A scaly hand on my left shoulder.

I looked up.

A drooling Killer Croc loomed over me. "How about I just take a bite out of Jr.'s neck here? Hressssh….," he licked his sharp jaws and exhaled: "I don't like 'em anymore than you do, Pops."

"I hate to refuse torture….torture that bleeds, that is…," Anderson shrugged. He clicked a button on the Projector. He aimed the glowing device at us. Humming. "Still…running on Dagger's path….I shouldn't have to feel too bad." His eyes thinned from a wide, cheeky grin. "They say you can hear screaming through the portal if you concentrate hard enough."

"You know….not all of us are after the girl of stone…," Hull said.

Rexxin glance between the denim-clad-stranger and Anderson.

Wildebeest was shifting nervously, panicky.

Anderson chuckled. "Are you trying to make an excuse to escape your imprisonment?"

Hull slowly shook his head. "I'm simply telling you what to keep in mind when my blade's sinking into your throat."

FLASH!

Hull's Bluescythe appeared.

Guards shouted and trained laser-targeted pistols at his forehead.

Hull raised the blade. He angled it from afar at Anderson. He froze in such a position, red lights dancing all about him.

I panted, watching.

Wildebeest shuddered.

"Cute attempt to frighten me…," Anderson said. He stretched the Phantom Zone Projector out at full length. "…but I tend to like blades."

"You're really going to be liking mine, then…," Hull said. "…after I get what I came for."

"My good sir, you are outnumbered. How young and foolish can you be?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Hrmphh. You're worst than the former Titan there," Anderson breathed. "What is it with you youthful butt-kickers and your incessant belief in stopping something that is inevitable? The battle Triangular is having with the Parasite is none of your concern. You should have left Death be. Death is the only retribution for each and every one of us."

"The Reaper is but the beginning….," Hull spoke. "Even if the sky were to turn red…an aviary painted crimson….there're things to be feared in a bleeding earth. Terribly, cosmic, frightening things."

"You don't know fear…," Anderson fingered the Projector's trigger. "…not yet."

'Now for the fun part……'

"?" I leaned my head to the side.

FL-FLASH!

FLASH!

Two girls suddenly appeared on either side of Wildebeest with an unfolding of bright light.

Pulsade held out a shotgun in one hand and an uzzi in the other. She trained the shotgun at Anderson's skull and the uzzi at the guards.

"Allright! Freeze! The first bloke who moves loses something his mummy gave 'em!"

Naturally, at least two guards gasped, aimed their guns at the two girls, and pulled at the trigger.

Jinx saw them. "HAAAA!" She launched a wave of pink.

P-POW! The two pistols exploded from the hex. The thugs gripped their wrists and winced.

Killer Croc snarled and marched towards the two.

CHIIIIING! I held a smoking Myrkblade to his neck.

The reptilian mutant froze, suddenly sweating.

Guards around me planted pistols and uzzis into the back of their neck.

GRIP! GRIP!

Wildebeest held two of the very same gunmen's necks with his meaty fists. They gasped and sputtered.

Rexxin shouted an order and aimed a gun at Wildebeest in one hand while carrying the Key in the other.

SHVVVV-CLACK!

Bluescythe stopped at the base of Rexxin's throat.

Rexxin sweat.

Hull glared, holding his sword out at the security leader's throat while guns were trained on him along with the Phantom Zone Projector.

Heated, sweaty silence.

The room had suddenly become a nervously quiet cobweb of Pulsade aiming guns at guards and Anderson who was aiming the projector at Hull who had his Bluescythe trained on Rexxin's neck who had his men aiming at Wildebeest who was gripping two thugs who were threatening me who was about to rip Killer Croc's neck apart who was preparing to charge Jinx who was keeping the guns and bullets at bay with her illuminating, pink hex.

I glanced through my goggles at Jinx.

Jinx's cat eyes darted across the way at Wildebeest.

Wildebeest looked at Rexxin.

Rexxin eyed Pulsade wearily.

Pulsade's eyes narrowed on Killer Croc.

Killer Croc's mucous green eyes trained on Hull.

Hull kept glaring at Anderson.

Anderson took a deep breath in the middle of the standoff inside the claustrophobic, white Vault and uttered: "All right." He smiled calmly. "So…it begs the question." He glanced over liquidly at Jinx and Pulsade. "Who in the beautiful blazes are you two?"

"Enough with the gallivanting about, you bloody pillock!" Pulsade hissed. "Now have your salmon-headed sod over there hand over the Key or else it's sixes and sevens for the whole lot of you!"

Killer Croc slurred. "Err…..huh?"

"That's British for 'you're all screwed if you don't cough over the key to Terra'!" Jinx cackled. Her hands glowed a brighter pink with emphasis.

Wildebeest snorted.

Rexxin hissed, sweating onto Bluescythe's metal while he kept his one gun outstretched. "This is a trap! Some stupid freaks have been following these three the whole time! Probably some rejects from H.I.V.E.!"

"You bite your tongue…," Pulsade hissed. "Or I'll rip it out for you."

"Okay, who ordered the psycho bitches from Hell!" Killer Croc hissed.

I intensified the warbling smoke at the end of my sharp sword, frowning at Croc.

"So you want the Key too?" Anderson looked aside at the blonde assassin and pink sorceress amidst the shaking, tense weapon 'exchange'. "Dear madame, the infamous lady of stone is far within Dagger's grasp. Not even these three could have had any chance of retrieving her."

Wildebeest sneered.

"We'll decide that for ourselves!" Jinx frowned. "Now unless you want your yucky guts splattered all over that yuckier robe of yours, you're gonna give us what we want!"

I saw the key in Rexxin's hands. I imagined the throwing distance between it and Jinx and Pulsade and Wildebeest. I bit my lip and—for a second—contemplated a mad teleport across the room full of weapon toting standoffers to grab the key

"Hresssssh….the Boss is not gonna be down with this!" Killer Croc sneered, his green eyes glancing down at my blade against his neck. "Come on…we can take these losers!"

"Shut up…," Rexxin panted against Bluescythe.

"Your move, man! Shoot the blonde and I'll bite that little pink pixie's head off—"

"I said shut up, you god damn freak! Jesus!" Rexxin panted. "Don't you punk kids know who you're screwing with! Dagger is going to be roasting your ovaries over an open fire if you so much as think that you can—"

"Dagger is a mere man. And trailing his pathetic arse is something far more Deadly than even his dark arts can counter…," Pulsade glared. She kept aiming her guns unshakingly at her targets. "The Parasite is far more dangerous than the proverbial intestine we're all marinating in. You think this is a powder keg waiting to go off? None of us are prepared—even in the slightest—to face the Destruction of Red Aviary."

"Red Aviary!"

"The fudge is that! Hresssh…."

"You speak of myths, child…," Anderson frowned finally. "I find it amusing that you are all so delusional. It'll be a pleasure to toss you into the torturous zone along with these other wastes of breath."

"You go ahead and do that, pal!" Jinx squealed. "Ever been castrated with your own, dislodged teeth before? It's quite a noble experience. By the whim of Hecate, maybe I can give you a little sampler!"

"Rghhh!"

"Sir, we have to do something…"

"Quiet, Rexxin, Quiet…."

"I am so going to bite your little estrogen heads off!"

"Why, you're an upstart lizard-shagger, aren't you? Give it your best shot, mate. I'll give you my best shot. Clean through your bloomin' spine."

"Sir, we have to take them out now."

"I'm quite aware of that, Rexxin. I'm quite aware."

"Listen, you stupid-heads! We just want the Key! Give it to Wildebeest, and we'll leave like good little girls and their farming cow!"

"If you just think that Anderson would hand that over and jeopardize all of Pompeii and Triangular too—"

"You have nothing to think of, Yank. Your head will be off soon if you don't shut up."

"Rghhhressssh! I'm going to tear you all apart! I swear to Jehosophat!"

"No, you're not! You there! Give us the bloody Key!"

"Even if you took the key, girl, the rest of my forces in this building would eradicate you."

"Nuh uh! Pulsade could kill all of them! Isn't that right, Pulsade?"

"Jinx…a little more concentration on the fisticuffs here…."

"On the count of three, sir, I'm giving my men the order to open fire."

"Rexxin…."

"One—"

"Your life is as good as over, punk!"

"Two!"

"You frickin' idiot! I've got a sword to my throat! You've got a sword to your throat!"

"Three—"

A clearing throat.

Everyone was silent.

They all looked over at the one who made the utterance.

Hull still had his exotic sword trained at Rexxin's nervous throat. He glared at everyone with hard blue eyes and said: "I can tell that the rest of you will gladly kill yourselves for that Key. I, on the other hand, am here for something entirely different."

Killer Croc blinked. "You want something else from the Vault?"

"Ehh?" Jinx sweatdropped.

"Naturally…," Hull said. "And seeing how nobody is yet threatening anyone about it, I feel it is high time I raise the stakes a little."

I sweated nervously as I watched him flex his free arm out and flick his wrist.

FLASH!

Beep-Beep-Beep!

A black cylinder the size of a mayonnaise jar rested in the palm of Hull's hand. It blinked all along the length of its dull-dark body. A computerized ticking sound came from it.

"This….," Hull said gracefully as he held the device for all to see. "…is a compressed, carbonite explosion. It's not big enough to take out an entire building, but I assure you it can and will incinerate an entire room."

There was a collective shudder through all of us. I in particular had a hard time holding onto my sword. A shiver flew up my spine at the sound and sight of carbonite, and I thought of…

Robin……

"I've been keeping it in secret storage inside myself until now," he said. "While you're all killing each other for the Key, I'll swiftly kill everyone entirely if I don't get what I want. How's that for a proposal?"

Rexxin sneered.

Killer Croc blinked.

Pulsade's eyes narrowed as she muttered: "Always the upstart one. H.I.V.E. merely magnified what was in you, Michael."

"I'm not Michael anymore….," Hull muttered. "And soon….we will all be dead."

He let there be a fit of silence.

Then Hull finished with a growling voice: "Give…me…what…I…want…."

"What is it that you want, punk!" Killer Croc hissed.

Hull motioned with his head over at the velvety satchel with the Catholic cross on it. "You give it. I take it. I leave. The rest of you can do whatever the Hell you want with each other. But—to be honest—fighting amongst yourselves will more than likely preserve more lives than ever refusing me. This is your situation. I give you ten seconds to consider it."

"You freakin' selfish son of a—" Rexxin sweated.

"That item you seek is too priceless," Anderson frowned. "Even for you."

"You've got three seconds now," Hull hissed.

"Give it to him!" Jinx squealed. "Give it to him already!"

Wildebeest grumbled.

"Calm down, Jinx….," Pulsade hissed.

"One second…," Hull sneered.

Everyone shivered.

I charged up smoke and contemplated dashing towards Hull instead.

Anderson fingered the button on the Phantom Zone projector.

"For the love of God! Someone do something!"

ZAAAT!

A green flash of light inside the Vault.

I blinked.

What? Ah jeez……

"Well hello there!" the Messenger waved. He sat cross-legged and petite on a white counter to the far side of the Vault. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything!" he happily bubbled.

Jinx blinked her cat eyes.

Hull paused in the middle of his destructive threat. He looked over at the Messenger with thin, inquisitive eyes.

I bit my lip.

"Okay…now who in the Hell are you!" Rexxin shuddered.

"I'm the Hell in a good mood, do you know why?"

"…….."

"Cause I'm gonna be leaving this stupid City soon. I and my pal Wyldecarde there! But first, I gotta take care of something first." He cleared his throat and looked over. "Hey there! Handsome!"

I craned my neck.

The Messenger giggled. "Not you…"

I blushed.

"The other handsome!"

Killer Croc blinked. "Hressh?"

"Wanna show you something…," and with that, the Messenger whipped out a small, metal briefcase. "Look what I found in your boss' cubbyhole when you weren't there!" He opened the briefcase.

And Killer Croc gasped. His green eyes wide. His entire body shaking.

There were two normal slots inside the briefcase for green-colored syringes to go. But those two slots were quite evidently—as observed by everyone in that room—empty of all Dragonflare.

"It's gone…."

Anderson's lips parted. "How did!"

"It's gone…….," Killer Croc's razor sharp teeth showed.

Rexxin panted. "Uhm…..not good."

Croc's eyes flickered green. He hissed and started to shake all over in a biological rage. "What….d-did you…do with it!"

"I…I…," Anderson looked like the ghost had left him. With a pale expression and a shaking of the Projector in his grasp, he looked Rexxin's way. "….I-I thought I had that locked up in my safe!"

"It wasn't in the Vault, sir! Someone must have gotten to it!"

"Hressssssssh….," Killer Croc started to convulse and twitch in violent bloodlust. "You….ch-cheated me…..I want that stuff. I want that stuff NOW!"

Anderson was breathless.

The Messenger smiled. He clapped the briefcase closed and leaned back casually on his hands. "Well, now that that's over with. Who's for lunch? I hear that there's this great place for a Cuban sandwich just south of the strip joints—"

"HRESSSSSH-RED! Give it back to me! Give it back!"

"Croc, get a hold of yourself!" Rexxin panted. "For God's sake, this is not the place for—"

"RRSSSSSH!" Killer Croc meatedly backhanded me in the chest.

THWUMP!

I fell with Myrkblade through the streams of guns' laser targeting.

Holding my breath.

This is it

"Jinx! Ground 'em!" Pulsade shouted.

"HAAAA!" Pink streams flew.

Killer Croc dove at Anderson.

The pink energy hit the ground and caused two guards to fall.

Three others fired. BL-BLAM!

From the floor, I madly slashed Myrkblade up with a field of smoke and deflected the shots. CL-CLANG!

Wildebeest grunted and tossed the thugs in his grasp at Killer Croc.

WHAM! All of them collided in mid-air and slid into Anderson.

"OOF!" Anderson fell down hard.

The Projector hit the floor. CL-CLANK! ZZZZZZZT! A bright stream of hot-gray energy surged across the room and enveloped three guards at once.

"AAAAAAAAAAA" ZWOOOOSH! In a bright, blinding pulse they were projected torturously into the Phantom Zone.

Pulsade let out a shout and dove across the floor of the Vault. She fired with her uzzi and shotgun in mid-air.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Four guards fell down bloodily, their bodies being pelted all over with lead spray.

Rexxin screamed.

Hull gritted his teeth and shoved the man forward—THWUMP!—into Wildebeest.

The security head and bovine warrior went falling.

The key fell out of Rexxin's grasp and slid across the floor.

Jinx and I gasped and dove for it—colliding into each other. "OOF!" "!" We collapsed on the floor under a ricocheting rain of bullet shell fragments.

BL-BLAM! RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Priceless paintings and technical devices on translucent stands all around were shot to shreds. The walls of the Vault formed dirty bullet holes.

Hull slid over to the velvet bag. He picked it up, hoisted it over his shoulder, and swiftly tossed the carbonite explosive across the room.

THWOOOSH!

The Messenger smiled and leap-frogged off the side of the Vault. "I got it!" He dove for the carbonite.

Beep-Beep-Beeeeeeep!

Just as the fiery explosion went off, the Messenger gripped its shattering shell and swallowed it up with a green teleport.

ZAAAT!

SHWUP!

He was gone.

My mouth exploded in a sharp gasp.

Messenger!

Killer Croc got up, snarled, and gripped Pulsade from behind.

Pulsade dropped her weapons and struggled in the huge reptile's muscular grasp.

"Leslie!" Jinx shouted. She jumped up to her booted feet and formed a blade of hex energy. CHIIIING! "Let her go, you creep!"

"Hressssh! R-Red!" he prepared to bite down into her shoulder.

"No!"

Pulsade gritted her teeth and held out hot, glowing hands. "Lights out, everyone! Lights out!"

I gasped and clamped my hands over my goggles.

FLASSSSSSSSH!

No manner of shutting or blocking my solid black eyes could ever perfectly spare me from the tormenting brightness that Pulsade could produce.

I knelt on the ground, panting. Smelling the rusted scent of blood and smoking lead rising up all around the small, heated room. I kept myself blinded, summoning the smoke energy to feel about the room and 'see' with my spatial sense.

The Messenger……

He………He……

I forced myself to concentrate.

I stretched a metal hand out.

With shifting waves of smoke.

I felt the bodies on the floor.

Some living.

Most dead.

I sensed Rexxin. He was beating. Living. But unconscious. I felt around the floor with smoke senses for the Key. But I couldn't find it.

And…

I couldn't find Anderson either.

There was a colliding sound. Like muscle against muscle. Fist against skin. I heard a further scuffle, then an interchange of Killer Croc hissing and Wildebeest snorting and I knew that they were duking it out.

And…

Hull?

Where was he?

GRIP!

Someone or something was tugging my arm.

A dainty, desperate grasp.

"!" I exhaled and found myself being dragged to my feet and out of the Vault.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

And soon, I felt it was safe to open my eyes.

So I did so, and through my goggles I saw Jinx pulling me to the side of Anderson's office.

She looked at me with desperate, pink optics and wrung her frilled hands. "He took off with it! I couldn't stop him!"

I panted.

Who?

Hull with that bag?

But why would we need to

"Anderson! That stupid baka's got the Key! He ran off with it!"

I heard fighting sounds.

I looked behind me and saw Wildebeest and Killer Croc locking limbs and going at it inside the Vault.

I gripped Myrkblade and tried to blur over to help the bovine warrior

Jinx gripped my shoulder. "No! You gotta help us!"

I looked at her.

My black eyes narrowed under my goggles.

I mouthed: 'Why?'

"Cuz….cuz…j-just because! Pulsade went running around after Anderson, but she has no clue where he is! Neither do I! If any of us….ANY of us want to see Terra getting out of Dagger's hands, we gotta help each other out! Who cares if what we intend to do with the key once we get there!"

I shuddered…but nodded.

This whole damn weak has been one existential romp right after another.

I took a deep breath.

A shiver ran up my metal limb.

But how can I do anything now?

He……

He died, didn't he?

ZAAT!

The Messenger appeared to my side. Dusting his hands off. "Whew…almost had my mutation burned out of me," a wink of his asian eye. "Not to mention a few good hairs singed."

I looked at him. I gasped and smiled wide.

"Yaak!" Jinx jumped back. "Dammit, just who are you already!"

"Hehehehe. Silly lesbian, trivia is for kids." He looked over at me. "Sorry about the sudden Croc-harassing. That whole debacle in the Vault was only going to end up in flames anyways and I was bored so—"

THWUMP!

I hugged him.

The Messenger's eyes bugged. He smirked and patted my back: "Yeah, I know. You love me. But for homophobia's sake, Noir, I suggest you save it for a certain blonde girl of stone. Providing you or I poison Beast Boy first."

I stumbled back, cheeks red. I swallowed and smiled a 'thank you'.

I've seen too many deaths lately. God help me……

"Uhmmmm," Jinx blinked at the two of us.

The Messenger glanced over at her. "'Uhmmm' what? He's on this floor still, ya know."

Jinx gasped. "Anderson?"

"No, Balkie. Who do you think I'm talking about!" he looked at me. "I suggest you go catch him. He does—kinda sorta—ya know….have the KEY!"

I nodded. I twirled Myrkblade and blurred out of the room.

"Hey!" Jinx hissed and ran after me in a pink streak. "Wait up!"

The Messenger folded his arms, shook his head, and smirked. "They grow up so fast and die so..so…" A pause. "Aw heck. Forget the 'die' part."

A smacking sound.

He looked over, arms folded. "Wuh oh." ZAAT! He disappeared just as Killer Croc flew through his position and slammed into the carpeted floor.

"NNNNNGH!" Wildebeest leapt up high and flew down on the reptilian freak with a heavy fist. WHAM!

"HRESSSSSH!"

WHAM! WHAM! POW!

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Anderson ran through the hallways.

Panting.

Sweating.

His robe was disheveled.

His half-graying hair was waving every which way.

There was utter chaos and loss splashing over his face.

And yet, there was the incessant little twinge.

The curve of his furthest lip that somehow urged him on.

Hobbling through the hallways of Pompeii.

He clutched to his chest the Key to Terra.

Heavily breathing.

He reached a pair of metal doors and pressed a touchpad.

Beep-Beep-Beep!

CHT-TUNK!

Schwisssh!

The doors opened.

He hobbled in.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

I ran down the hallway first, feeling with my spatial sense.

Eyes thin and concentrated behind my goggles.

My blurred legs carried us through the interior of Pompeii's upper levels.

Searching…searching…

For scampering feet. A shivering body. A sluggish soul.

Any sign of Anderson's body.

I suddenly felt four shapes run down from around the curve in the hallway towards us. But none of them were Anderson.

"There!"

"Freeze!"

"Move, and you're dead!"

Four thugs.

I took a deep breath and teleported forward—FWOOOSH! SLASH! I solidified with an upswing of Myrkblade.

THWACK! A breathless guard went sailing back through a wooden door. CRASH!

The other three aimed their guns at me from up close.

BL-BLAM! BANG! BANG!

I knelt and twirled my sword, deflecting. CL-CL-CLANK!

They shifted position and aimed at me again.

"HAAAAA!" SWOOOOSH! Jinx sailed in with a jabbing, pink blade of hex.

CH-CHIIING! She severed two pistols in the guards' grasp.

They shuddered and stumbled back.

Jinx gritted her Cheshire teeth, spun, and flew an acrobatic boot up in a sideways swipe.

WH-WHAP! She slapped the cheek of one thug with her foot and coconutted his head against the skull of the man beside him. Both fell as the fourth and final guard aimed at Jinx's chest.

BLAM!

Jinx vaulted up with a pink pulse and clung magically to the ceiling.

I dove forward.

Jinx reached a hand down.

I grabbed it with a titanium hand, swung on her grip, and deftly kicked the sole of my boot into the thug's sternum. THWAP!

The man fell back. "Nnngh!"

Three more thugs ran in from the distant elevator and stood around the fallen guard's body. They aimed their weapons at us and fired.

BL-BLAM! BANG!

I dodged two bullets, swung Myrkblade, and knocked a third back at the three.

SWIIISH-PING! One gun was deflected out of the centermost thug's grasp.

"Nnnngh!" Jinx dove down from the ceiling, flipped, planted her feet on my shoulders, and vaulted forward in a steady dive with both hands flinging hex. "HAAAAA!" FL-FL-FL-FL-FLASH!

The pink strobes pelted the two men on either side of the centermost thug. Their bodies ragdolled in the air from the repetitive blows of the hex, and then they collapsed.

The last man pulled out a spare pistol and loaded it.

Jinx landed from her dive and proceeded immediately to cartwheel, flip, and gymnastically vault her body towards the remaining lackey.

He aimed at gun at her just as the two converged.

Jinx performed a hand-plant at the last second, bent her upside down legs forward, and gripped the man by his neck.

THAP!

He choked for breath.

Jinx nimbly bent her legs forward again, hoisting the man by his neck over her body and back down the hallway

SWOOOOSH—WHAM! And into the blow of my charging, titanium fist.

"Ughhh—" WHUMP! The man collapsed to the floor.

Jinx flipped up to her feet.

I gripped Myrkblade, taking a deep breath.

She looked at me.

I looked at her.

She nodded.

I nodded.

"Let's keep moving…."

FWOOOOOSH!

We both blurred down the hallway in pink and black streaks.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

WHAM! Wildebeest's fist flew into Killer Croc's chest.

Grunting, the huge horned combatant gripped the reptile by the throat and flung him out of the Vault.

THWOOOOSH!

Killer Croc landed on his feet, slid backwards, and winced as he stopped.

STOMP!-STOMP!-STOMP!-STOMP!

Wildebeest charged.

Killer Croc crossed his arms.

WHAM! Wildebeest impacted Killer Croc and shoved him across the office.

Through a wall.

SMASH!

Through another room.

CRASH!

And through another wall into a security station.

Monitors and camera equipment flickered against the bodies of the two beasts as they exchanged meaty fists and butted heads and clawed and stabbed at each other.

"HRESSSHA!" Croc pounced on Wildbeest's back and prepared to bite into his neck.

Wildebeest grunted, gripped the mutant's rib cages, and tossed him over his shoulder.

Croc landed back against a network of computer cables and monitors.

Wildebeest charged.

Snarling, Killer Croc yanked a monitor off a desk via its fiberoptics and whipped it mercilessly into Wildebeest's snout. "HAAAH!" CRACK!

Wildebeest skidded to a stop, rubbing his snout painfully.

Croc lunged at him.

Wildebeest snorted and performed a last minute uppercut.

WHACK!

Croc flew up.

Hi the ceiling—THUNK!—and came crashing down into a solid wall of computer mainframes.

CRACK!

ZZZZZZZZT!

The electronic innards sparked all over Killer Croc, shocking him.

The freak's muscles contorted and his scaly skin burned. He let out a long, guttural scream and slumped down to his knees—groaning.

THWUMP!

He was down for the count.

Lying face-first to the floor and trailing smoke.

Wildebeest grunted….took a deep breath, and turned around to stomp out of the room.

He grinded some dust onto Killer Croc with the soles of his feet as he did so.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

WHURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-CHTUNG!

KLAK-KLAK!

The huge metal doors opened to the four-story, hidden chamber of dark gray inside the top portion of Pompeii.

Anderson breathlessly hobbled in.

He limped past the glass displays of trophies.

Stolen items.

Priceless rarities from around the world.

The half-graying man stumbled to a stop.

Shivering all over.

He hugged the Key to his chest.

His eyes trailed….trailed…and trailed the room.

Until they came to rest on one thing.

One huge, hulking thing in particular.

"…….," Anderson grinned. With a breath, he pocketed the Key into his robe and awkwardly climbed a thin set of metal ladders.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

"HAAAA!" THWACK! FL-FLASH! WHAM!

Jinx was plowing her way through a thick guard of gunmen. They quickly collapsed across the length of the Pompeii hallway in the wake of her fateful might.

In the meantime, I ran straight ahead to a door at a dead end. Double doors. Metal.

I rammed my elbow into it.

WHAP!

It failed to budge.

I gritted my teeth.

I rammed again.

WHAM!

Nothing.

Come on, dammit! Now's not the time to be stubborn!

CHIIIING! I raised Myrkblade. I squinted my goggled eyes. I stabbed down directly between the touching frames of the doors.

CRACK!

I strained and pushed and cut with the sword. I pumped murk into it, trying to force the two panels open.

Straining…

Come on……come on……

"Ghost Boy! Hurry up!" Jinx shouted in the middle of her fight far behind me. "Get that door open before we lose the old fart!"

I hissed.

Struggling with Myrkblade against the panels.

I'm……trying!

I finally yanked Myrkblade back. I considered punching through the friggin' thing with my metal wrist when

FWOOOSH!

The doors opened on their own.

I stared directly into the next chamber.

And—

FLASH!

Green light.

"………….," I blinked. I suddenly realized I was sitting with my butt on the floor. I tried to get up, but I was horribly…horribly dizzy.

I winced and all but collapsed on the ground.

"Ghost Boy! Nnngh!" WHAP!

"UGH!"

I planted a hand on my forehead. I took a deep breath. And—just like that—the dizziness was gone.

I wearily stood up, shaking my head. Breathing easily.

The Hell was that?

I gazed into the room beyond.

Where the doors had opened on their own.

The green light was gone.

My lips parted.

The Messenger?

THWUMP! A final guard fell to the ground.

Jinx ran to my side, panting. Her short pink hair laced with sweat bulbs. "Good job getting the door open!"

I blinked at her.

"Uh….yeah."

"Come on!" she ran down the hallway.

I awkwardly joined her.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Jinx and I found the huge metal doors of the Hangar open.

We both ran in, surrounding ourselves in the dark gray haze of the interior.

We spun around, looking every which way.

I lifted my goggles momentarily and glared at the darkest corners.

There was no exit. No opened doors. No other way to get through the room save for how we entered.

"It's a d-dead end!" Jinx panted. "He had to have come in here, right?"

I slipped my goggles back on. I took a deep breath. I tried using spatial sense.

"Dang it, where is the numskull!" Jinx hissed and raised her fists cutely. "I am SOOOO going to kick his fanny for this and—"

She paused.

"?" I suddenly realized why.

There was a strong scent of fuel in the air. Mind numbing. Dizzying. And soon after that—

fffffffffffffffFFFFFHRVVVVVVVEEEEEEE!

A deafening sound of jet engines.

"…….."

Jinx and I slowly turned.

And looked.

At the Harrier Jet.

"Ahhhh….Hecate damn…."

I bit my lip.

The room heated up to an intense friction.

The Harrier Jet was lifting up.

Its landing gear retracting.

Its cockpit full.

The aircraft pivoted with a hideous hiss and trained its nose at us.

Its wings chock full of armaments and missiles and machine guns.

Just like we—or I—remembered it having back during the 'tour'.

The silly little photo atop the table in the Shepherd Plain ranch.

Freaki' A……

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Inside the cockpit, a robed Anderson was strapped in.

His hands flew over the controls and sticks of the vehicle with fluid grace.

Like a dozen little things washing up to him on the shores of natural memory.

He seethed, his eyes glaring.

The liquid smile of his returned sporadically in a heaving manner.

"Only I know who truly rules the roost…."

He clicked a few buttons.

Flipped some controls.

Readied the machine guns.

"….I have proven time and time again that death is merely a toy to me…."

He gripped the sticks.

He trained the targeting system on the pink and dark teens.

"…and the lives of insolent little tools of the Underworld are but dust on my wings…."

His teeth showed.

His eyes flared.

"….and I will not let you steal the roost away from me. Heheheheheheh. No….N-No. My Cousin was weak. He went down because he refused to get his hands dirty."

His fingers floated over the red buttons on either stick.

His voice hissed outward and bounced against the glass, inner-'egg' of the cockpit.

The Key in his pocket rattled.

"Heheheheheh! I am about to get so….so very dirty! Heheheheh. Give me pleasure! Give me PLEASURE!"

And he jammed the buttons down.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Jinx shrieked.

I took a breath and blurred into her.

P-P-P-PING!

Heavy caliber bullets exploded violently in the metal floor and wall where we once stood.

I dove with Jinx onto a stretch of floor beyond.

The screamingly loud Harrier rotate and pivoted about, its guns firing a streak after our tails.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

I forced Jinx to her feet as we ran around the circumference of the hidden hanger.

P-P-P-P-PING! The bullets trailed. CL-CL-CLANG! They ricocheted off metal bulkheads.

Glass displays of trophies and precious items shattered and exploded helplessly from the burning onslaught of bullets.

CRASH!

SHATTER!

CR-CRINK!

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

"Heheheheheheheh!" Anderson jammed on the controls.

He leaned over.

Hyperventilating.

His eyes round and sheen on the side-sockets with sweat.

"Fly apart, my children! FLY APART!"

He jerked on the controls, jamming the buttons again.

The whole cockpit shook.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Glass and shattered metal fell all around us.

Inexplicably, I tripped on a fallen shard and landed hard on the metal floor.

WHOMP!

Jinx gasped.

The bullets streamed out way heatedly through the air.

She planted her feet in the ground behind me, gritted her teeth, and glowed her eyes a hot pink as she shot forth her arms. "HAAAAAAAAAA!"

I winced.

FWOOOOOSH! The pink hex parted the incoming stream of bullets. FLASH!

The heavy caliber parted ways and exploded on either side of us. A few of them ricocheted off the back walls and bounced their way back to the Harrier Jet by sheer 'luck'.

CL-CL-CLANG!

PING!

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

"Nnngh!" Anderson bounced around in the cockpit.

One eye squinted closed, he seethed and flipped open the transparent cover to another red button. "Let me smell your roasting, succulent meat!"

Click.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

CH-CHTUNK!

A missile on the right wing loaded into place.

Jinx's cat eyes widened and her body deflated. "Aww phooie…."

I gasped, jumped up with a pulse of murk, and grabbed the sorceress.

PHWOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

The missile flew at us across the claustrophobic interior.

I hoisted Jinx up to her feet and blurred the two of us off towards a far corner—

POW!

Flames erupted across the hangar.

The Harrier wobbled, its right wing contacting the floor once and sending sparks flying.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

Anderson shook again in his cockpit.

He gasped.

His eyes twitched at the bright plume of fire just beyond his cockpit and jet's nose.

As if in horror at what he had done.

"It is all crumbling….m-my beautiful roost…," he murmured.

An angry fire built into his eyes.

And just as quickly as the fury was there, it was replaced with a panicky emotion.

"I….I still have the Key…"

He fingered the tool in his pocket.

His lips shook and quivered like a random sanitarium patient.

"As long as I have the Key….it'll all be okay. I'll just…g-give it to Dagger….yes….y-yes!"

He whipped out a remote.

He aimed it at the hangar's ceiling through the cockpit.

Teeth gritting.

Sweating.

"He'll make it all better. He'll understand! These damn freaks have taken everything away! It's their fault. Not m-mine! I can get it all back. All of it! Heheheheh….all of it BACK!"

Click.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

Above the closed-in flames and flickering lights.

Above the shattered debris and wrecked Hangar Floor.

Red lights started to strobe red and rotate.

A loud buzzing sound filled the already deafening chamber.

And slowly, the Hangar ceiling above began to split….and divide…

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Pulsade perched atop an antenna on the rooftop of the Pompeii casino.

High above the glittering night visage of Vegas, she scanned the horizon with high-tech binoculars.

Her teeth hissed and she constantly uttered in a breathy tone:

"Bugger….Bugger all…..Damn it…."

She lowered the binoculars.

She frowned.

"Where is he!"

STOMP!

Blinking, Pulsade looked down from the antenna. Her platinum wavy hair danced in the breeze.

Wildebeest had climbed up from the edge of the rooftop. He marched towards her with a slight limp.

"Killer Croc handled?"

"Nnngh…," Wildebeest shrugged as if to say 'more or less'.

"This is all going to Hell in a hand basket," she seethed. She looked out again with her binoculars. "I can't find a bloody sign of Anderson anywhere. For all I know, he could have had an exit route made underground for him by Triangular."

Wildebeest grunted, his fists clenched.

"I swear…this night couldn't possibly get any bloomin' worse—"

CRKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!

"……….," Pulsade blinked. She glanced down with thin, sapphire eyes.

"Nrghh?" Wildebeest made a face. He looked beneath his feet and snorted in surprise.

The entire rooftop was dividing in two. Like a giant, hairline fracture. With a shake and a loud, mechanical whurrrrr….the rooftop to the Pompeii casino building opened up to reveal the flaming Hangar Bay just beneath it.

The antenna Pulsade was perched on shook violently.

The girl grunted and tried to keep hold.

In the meantime, Wildebeest was charging over from the sliding 'rooftop'.

Pulsade lost her grip. She fell with a gasp

CLUTCH! Wildebeest caught her, leapt, and perched himself on the very edge of the rooftop. He carefully set Pulsade down.

The blonde assassin got her bearing and looked up with suspicious, squinted eyes. "Well, if this isn't just cheery…"

fffffffffffffffFFFFFHRVVVVVVVEEEEEEE!

The Harrier Jet lifted up into the glittering, Las Vegas Night. Its jets thrusted with a constant exhaust. Its nose and wing wobbled in the air from the technological acrobatics.

Pulsade raised a hand. She charged up a sphere of light. She took a deep breath and launched it at the cockpit.

FWOOOOSH-FLASH!

The light exploded harmlessly on the inside of the craft, and it read to Pulsade via invisible streams of light energy the contours and the details of the person housed inside.

And she gasped as she 'saw' him. "It's that bloody Anderson sod! And he has the Key!"

Wildebeest snarled. He made a running charge

Pulsade reached a hand towards him, shouting: "NO! Stop, you big oaf!"

SWOOOOSH-CLAMP!

Wildebeest grabbed onto the wing and pounded his fists into the Harrier Jet's shell.

The craft veered violently to the left in its hover.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

"Augh!" Anderson shook inside.

He glared out the cockpit at the horned warrior to his left.

He snarled and calibrated by pivoting the Harrier's hovering wings.

THW-THWUMP! Wildebeest could be seen flopping about on the outside of the craft. Grabbing a desperate hold and attempting to dent the metal with pure, brute force.

"Nnngh….," Anderson growled. "I will not let you freaks ruin everything! Not now! Not ever!"

And he prepared to switch the Harrier jet into forward motion

FLASH!

A bright light illuminated the interior of the cockpit.

"AAAAAUGH!" Anderson clutched a hand over his eyes, nearly blinded.

The light grew brighter and brighter, raising the temperature inside the jet.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Pulsade panted.

She gripped her right wrist with a left hand and flexed her right fingers.

A steady, golden beam of light flew from her limb and shone inside the glass bubble of the cockpit like a torch.

The jet wobbled more and more as Wildebeest took advantage of the distracted pilot and tried to pry himself into where Anderson resided.

"Bugger all….," Pulsade sweated and clenched her teeth amidst the strain of focusing her powers so. "Get him out of the sardine can already!"

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Inside the Hangar—besides the flickering flames—Jinx and I lay on the ground.

Safe.

And rather awkwardly entwined.

Jinx panted against me from the diving collapse. She swallowed and murmured as she stared off into space: "Okay….I think I wet myself."

I winced.

Yeah. Uh huh. Thanks.

WHUMP!

"Oof!"

I shoved her off me.

I jumped up to my feet, jumped through a flickering wall of flames, and stood in the center of the hangar.

Panting, I stared up directly and found starlight.

Among other things….

fffffffffffffffFFFFFHRVVVVVVVEEEEEEE!

The Harrier Jet spun in the air, a clinging Wildebeest on its wing and a desperate Pulsade blinding the pilot inside.

FWOOOSH!

Jinx streaked over and came to a pink-trailing stop beside me. "Yeow! Those flames are hot! So where'd the old fart fly off to?" She blinked her cat eyes. She looked straight up. She gasped. "Hecate! Wildebeest!" Another gasp. "Leslie! Omigod, she's gonna strain herself unconscious!"

I took a deep breath.

You know, I don't hate you half as much as I used to……

But would you please shut the hell up?

CHIIING! I gripped Myrkblade and leapt up with a pulse of murk. I bounced off the walls of the hangar, flipped, and blurred my way to the rooftop.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

"Nnngh….mmmff….," Anderson struggled against the blinding, heated light.

He reached a hand across the cockpit and jammed a finger over a launch button.

Beep-Beep-Beep!

PFFTOOOOOOO!

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

A small rocket soared through the air.

"Leslie!" a voice shrieked from below.

Pulsade's eyes widened amidst her flash-lighting strain.

The projectile was heading straight for her.

She cut off the energy and jumped at the last second—

SHWOOOOOSH!-POW!

"Nnngh!" her body was launched from the nearby explosion.

WHUMP! I grabbed her by the waist with a hooking arm. I set her down on a piece of solid rooftop.

Jinx blurred up and knelt by her side. "Leslie! Leslie! You okay!"

"Nnngh….I'm frickin' sick of explosions….."

"Don't ever put your pretty skull into that kind of suicidal trouble again!" the pink sorceress scolded.

Pulsade pointed a weak arm. "Tell that to the cow…"

"Huh?" Jinx blinked. She looked up and over. "Whoah, shit."

"NNNGH!" Wildebeest flailed as the jet finally tossed him off. THWUMP! He landed with a thud on the other side of the still-solid rooftop that even forced my knees to wobble.

The Harrier Jet pivoted around, faced North, and switched to its rear thrust engines. It started to speed off.

"It's getting away!" Jinx shouted.

Wildebeest snarled. He stomped over, ripped an A/C unit out from the rooftop, and tossed it like a hardball at the back of the Harrier.

Just as the jet rocketed off—CLANK!

The metal box hit it.

The jet was forcibly tilted down.

SHOOOOOOOOOM!

It took a swift descent along the northern wall of Pompeii.

CHIIIING!

I gripped Myrkblade and approached the edge.

A desperate Jinx stood in my way. "Wait a second, are you nuts! That's a Harrier Jet, Ghost Boy! You can't take on a Harrier Jet!"

"…..," I looked at her. A beat. I shrugged. I shoved her aside, blurred, twirled Myrkblade, and dove madly over the edge.

The girls gaped.

Wildebeest blinked.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

THWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!

I dove…dove….dove….

Down the face of Pompeii.

My body streaked down past the rows of glass windows.

Head first.

Towards the glittering landscape.

The thruster fire of the Harrier Jet.

I narrowed my black eyes under my goggles.

I spread my arms out as the wind kicked at my long black hair.

And just as Anderson started to angle the jet up and out towards the horizon of Las Vegas

SWOOOOSH—CLAMP!

I stuck Myrkblade into the wing of the craft. I dug the smoking sword in, swung around, and perched atop the shell of the craft. With a single breath, I whipped out a fan of razor-sharp playing cards and flung them at the cockpit window of the steel beast I was riding.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

CL-CL-CLANK!

Anderson looked up at the cracked part of the cockpit.

He saw a dark swordsman on the other side.

He gasped.

"You!"

He snarled and jerked hard on the controls.

"Damn you!"

SHHHHHHH!

T-T-T-T-T-T-

fffffffffffffffFFFFFHRVVVVVVVEEEEEEE!

The aircraft barreled right.

I gritted my teeth and clung desperately to the metal wing of the craft.

The glittering world spun around me.

The noise and the lights.

Vegas Hell.

Anderson pulled us out of the roll.

He dove the jet down in a negative arc.

SWOOOOOOOOSH!

We burned through the air towards the buildings of Las Vegas.

Westward.

We skirted over the top of the monorail.

Over buildings and antennas and glittering spires.

I clung hard to the wing, wincing.

SWOOOOSH!

A steeple appeared in the distance.

A miniature Eiffel Tower.

The Paris Hotel and Casino.

The craft banked loudly to the side and jolted up and down in a wobbly format.

I grunted and lost my grip.

FWOOOOSH!

I flailed in the air.

I pulsed murk in my legs.

I flipped.

Descended.

And—THWUMP!

Landed in a desperate perch in the middle of the 'Eiffel Tower'.

I panted and looked off towards the sky, expecting to see the Key leave me forever with the burning escape of the Harrier Jet.

But that didn't happen.

I shivered and gulped as I saw the heavily armed jet bend madly around in the air, sail back at me, and switch back to its vertical hovering thrusters. The craft leveled off at a hundred feet away. 'Staring' directly at me.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Anderson gripped the controls.

Panting.

Heaving.

But the grin came back to him in its usual, liquid grace.

He stared at the swordsman clinging to the tower opposite him.

"It was you…..," he purred. A chuckle. "Heheheheheh! It was you! Never mind the pyrokinetic freak in the dungeon…it was YOU who stole my precious girl-toys away! Heheheheh….I bet you are sooooo proud. I bet you are just BUBBLING inside…."

He fingered the launch buttons.

He hissed: "I should have known better. A former Titan. A goody-goody two shoes. There's only one place where your guts deserve to hang. I'll see you roast in HELL before this night is through!"

He jammed his finger over the buttons.

"Haaaaa ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

PFFFTOOOO!

PFFFFFTOOOO!

T-T-T-T-T-T-

My black eyes bulged.

Two red-blinking missiles flew directly at me.

I took a deep breath and kicked off the tower—

POW! BLAM!

Eiffel shattered in flames and black debris.

I plummeted and landed on the ground in a cushion of smoke.

Flaming shrapnel flew and bathed the scale model Arc and nearby fountains. The streets burned black from the blaze and nearby cars on The Strip swerved to a stop in horror.

I panted.

fffffffffffffffFFFFFHRVVVVVVVEEEEEEE!

I looked up.

The Harrier Jet burst through the flames.

…and came right at me.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

My whole body flinched.

Shit!

P-P-P-P-P-PING!

Potholes exploded in the ground in a trail at me.

I turned, blurred, and streaked across Las Vegas Boulevard.

The Jet burned after me.

Its bullets shattered the asphalt. Splintered palm trees apart. Exploded a parked car or two in its path—BOOM!-POW!—and followed the heels of my smoking feet.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!

I blurred over to the Bellagio. With the scale of this chase the way it was, I suddenly saw the curvature of the huge, towering hotel as a part of the 'ground'. I streaked over water and concrete and reached the building, upon which I blurred in a heavy turn vertically across its concave surface.

The Harrier Jet bent along with me.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Windows and building faces of the Bellagio beneath my feet exploded from the projectile punishment.

CRK-CRK-CRK-CRK-CRKKKKKK!

I gritted my teeth, reached the end of the building, and side-flipped off in a huge leap that send me smoking back towards Las Vegas Boulevard.

THWOOOOSH-Plant!

I landed on the asphalt and streaked north along The Strip.

And the Harrier was at my heels.

fffffffffffffffFFFFFHRVVVVVVVEEEEEEE!

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Pavement exploded from the pelting caliber all around me.

I held my breath and teleported left and right in the middle of my sprint to avoid the blasts.

As I passed Caesar's Palace, my path was obstructed by the collapsed shells of damaged and discarded vehicles from the Intergang chase hours ago. These aluminum bodies were quickly ripped to shreds by the relentless Harrier's arsenal behind my back.

CRASH! SHATTER! POW!

Aluminum shrapnel rained on me.

I gripped Myrkblade tightly and urged my aching self faster.

I looked over my blurred shoulder.

I could almost see Anderson's face through the cockpit.

Laughing maniacally.

A prince with the last ounce of his rich kingdom throwing a fiery tantrum.

I frowned.

I'd let him crash and burn if only he didn't have the key……

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

The bullets splashed and exploded closer to my rear.

I took a deep breath and streaked left over an intersection.

The Mirage appeared before me on the West Side of the Strip. The huge, synthetic volcano boiled with red light.

The Harrier Jet closed in on me from behind.

Pedestrians shrieked at the sight and ran every which way.

Emergency vehicles covering the damage from earlier screeched with higher levels of sirens and crashed into each other.

SWOOOOOSH!

I streaked past.

fffffffffffffffFFFFFHRVVVVVVVEEEEEEE!

The Harrier Jet pursued.

The thrust and afterburn of the jet forced palm trees to rip out of their roots and cars to turn over.

CRUNCH! CRKKKK! CRASH!

I approached the Mirage. The 'volcano'. The pocket of water surrounding it.

PHOOOOOOOOOSH!

From behind me

"!"

A missile.

I took a deep breath and leapt over the fence and towards the volcano just as it 'erupted' with hot, tall splashes of red-illuminated water.

SPLOOOSH!

And then the muscle hit dead-center.

BOOOOOOOOOM!

The landmark of the Mirage exploded in ironic, billowing flames.

Pedestrians nearby shrieked and ran from the blaze.

Cars swerved opposite from which they came.

The Harrier Jet came to a burning stop in mid-air, hovering with venting thrusters just barely in front of the tall plume of fire coming from the 'Volcano'.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

"Haaaa ha ha ha ha ha!" Anderson shook all over, laughing his head off.

He grinned and shook and twitched as he looked at the beautiful blaze.

"Roast…..," he purred. "Hehehehehe! Roast, you pathetic waste of guts! Hehehehehehe!"

And then

SWOOOOSH!

The flames parted.

Anderson gasped.

A plume of steam materialized into a leaping swordsman.

Snarling, I flew straight over the jet's nose with a downward swipe of Myrkblade.

CRUNCH!

The wooden sword ate its way into the cockpit.

Spider web cracks formed in the glass.

I perched on the jet's nose and stabbed down repeatedly.

CRKKK! CRKKKKKK! CLANK!

"Noooooo!" Anderson shouted.

He sweated.

He panicked.

He switched the jet to forward thrust and pulled back hard on the sticks.

FWOOOOOOSH!

T-T-T-T-T-T-

I gasped and held onto the jet for dear life as we climbed, climbed, climbed into the cold Nevada air.

Freezing winds kicked at my hair and clothes.

I shivered all over, using a smoking Myrkblade and a ring of titanium fingers alone to cling onto the craft.

Below us, Las Vegas turned into a black board pierced by glittering lights all over.

Like a piece of fool's gold held before a candle in the dark.

The jet banked around, spun, and plunged back down towards the gaping cityside.

I shuddered.

Okay……

Noir versus the Harrier Jet round two.

I lifted my titanium hand—hung by the hilt of Myrkblade—and jabbed my prosthetic back into the metal skin of the craft.

CRACK!

I ripped my metal way in and squirmed my fingers around, trying to damage something…some integral part of the craft….something that would bring it down.

But as I soon discovered, Anderson was bringing the craft down for me.

SWOOOOOOSH! We plummeted towards something tall and stone-like.

I looked up.

I gasped.

The Stratosphere……

Anderson jerked on the controls.

FWOOOSH!

The Harrier Jet flew sideways with my flailing body aimed at the concrete-and-steel stalk of the large tower.

I took a deep breath, summoned murk, and teleported to the wing of the plane just as we grazed the neck of the Stratosphere at three hundred-plus miles an hour.

SCRAAAAPE!

Anderson cursed muffledly inside.

FWOOOSH!

He evened the jet.

He dove straight down.

fffffffffffffffFFFFFHRVVVVVVVEEEEEEE!

I held on for dear life.

The g-force and winds tried to peel me off.

The jet reached street level. It swingspan occupied three-fourths of the side streets lanes as we rocketed towards Downtown Las Vegas. The tops of cars and vans and buses were burned to a crisp.

And then—telephone wires.

SWOOOOSH!

The Harrier dipped down to a stretch of open roadway till its belly nearly scraped the asphalt.

A dozen strings of black, electric wire flew at me like garrotes.

I swiftly pulsed Myrkblade with smoke, 'straddled' the cockpit on my knees, and twirled the sword in front of me.

THWACK!—THWACK!—THWACK!—THWACK!—THWACK!

I severed each black wire as I came to them. The sheer separation of forces by my Black Balance kept the electricity from surging through my sword and into me.

And then

THWOOOSH!

A bright white thing, thicker than the electric wires.

A banner.

I tensed. I held my breath and leapt up

WOOOOOSH!

The white banner screamed past between me and the jet.

And before I could even descend, our throttling bodies reached an intersection.

The Harrier Jet started to swerve madly left.

"!" As I came down, I stabbed Myrkblade out and dug it smokingly into the upturned wing of the jet.

CLANK!

YANK!

The Harrier turned and madly burned down the street at the second floor level.

My feet flailed beneath me as I hung onto my blade that was stuck into the wing. I kicked my feet as they flew into the buildingside and ran across the heatedly-blurring vertical surface before kicking off, twirling on Myrkblade, and perching once again on the body of the jet.

The afterburn and sonic sweep of the Harrier caused rows upon rows of windows to burst and explode behind us. The flying shards of glass melted from the heated exhaust.

Anderson evened the planed out, rose up, dipped down, rolled again, and did everything in the expert-pilot's book he could think of to shake me off. All the while, trench-like rows of building fronts and neon lights blurred past either side of us.

I looked into the cockpit.

Anderson was glaring at me.

I glared back.

And then I saw him gasp in horror and grip the controls tightly.

"?"

Looking in front of us, I realized why.

The Freemont Experience.

The Old Strip of Downtown Las Vegas, now enclosed in a huge 'tunnel' of overarching plasma screens.

We were headed straight towards it.

Oh no……

No no no…

Not even you're that insane!

He snarled and pivoted the Harrier sideways.

fffffffffffffffFFFFFHRVVVVVVVEEEEEEE!

I flailed and grabbed onto the upper wing for dear life…halfway down its length.

And we rocketed into the 'tunnel'.

SWOOOOOOOOSH!

The upper, left wing of the Harrier Jet ate into the plasma screen ceiling while the lower right wing scraped into the paneled slabs of the closed-in tourist street.

SCRAAAAA-AAAA-AAAAAAAPE!

Sparks flew from both contact points. Red hot embers showered all around us. And the antique neon lights glittered into my goggles and blinded me. The flickering plasma ceiling. The lights. The shattering, melting lights. The poles holding up the ceiling nearly clipping me and the top/bottom of the Harrier apart as we squeezed, squeezed, squeezed through the 'tunnel' faster than cometfire.

FW-FW-FW-FWOOSH!

A bright light.

I looked straight ahead with thin eyes.

My lips parted.

The dangling, neon leg of Glitter Gulch's Vegas Viki loomed ahead of us. Of me.

"!" I finally vaulted up off the wing in the blurring tunnel.

The Harrier Jet's wing severed madly through the neon limb.

CRACK!

Sparks flew.

Flames erupted.

I sailed through the air, plummeted across Freemont Street, and found my feet connecting with the wall of the Pioneer Casino. In half a second I outran the Harrier Jet and its pursuing cloud of flame and neon shards. I jumped off the building face, dove straight over the waving hand of a neon cowboy, and reached out in time to grab back onto the Harrier Jet as it swooped by. The antique buildings exploded in neon shards and flame behind us.

PHOOOOOOOM!

I clung to the harrier jet as we billowed through the tunnel and exploded out the other side.

Exiting the flaming Freemont.

fffffffffffffffFFFFFHRVVVVVVVEEEEEEE!

I lost my sweaty grip.

Swiiiish!

I flew off the jet, twirled in the air, and planted on a curved building front of waving, neon light patterns.

Panting, I looked up.

The Harrier Jet spun around. It arched up high, dove, and came back down at me in the middle of the glittering street.

I clung to Myrkblade, standing on the neon facings. Holding my breath.

The Jet hovered to a slow descent and fired at me—RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

I gritted my teeth for an instant, but then blurred away

CL-CL-CL-CL-CLACK! Bullets exploded in the building.

The Harrier hovered in pursuit.

I ran atop the blazing neon lights, jumping and flipping onto multiple casino fronts of identical, glowing stature.

All the while the Harrier fired.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

The neon walls beneath my feet flashed and exploded into glass fountains.

Pedestrians everywhere were screaming and fleeing.

Cars swerved into pillars and building fronts, crunching to bits.

I faced a tall, glittering crest of neon lights on a street corner. I ran straight towards it and blurred up the facing.

The Harrier Jet fired a missile.

PHOOOOOOSH!

I leapt off the top of the neon lights and backflipped high into the air.

The missile struck the neon facing beneath me.

POW!

Fire and glass rose to meet me in slow motion.

Upside down, I spread my arms out, closed my eyes, concentrated

PHWOOOOOSH!

The flames ate up into me.

I took a breath and converted into smoke form. I traveled into the flames, coiled around the plume, and as another burst of fire erupted outward—I launched myself straight at the Harrier Jet with Myrkblade swinging.

SWIIIIISH!

Time resumed normal speed.

Anderson was too slow to react.

I flew into the front of the craft and slashed Myrkblade down at its nose in a smoke-solidifying punch.

THWACK!

The hulking jet literally tipped forward in mid over.

I planted my feet on the cockpit, blurred up to the tail, grabbed the metal fin, flipped around, avoided the heat of the thrust, dangled, and gave myself perfect view of the missiles hidden beneath the shadowing wings.

Sc-Scrkk!

I produced a fan of playing cards.

A mean curve to my Wyldecarde lips.

Turn your head and cough, handsome.

SWIIIIIISH!

I flung one card each into a missile on either side of the Harrier.

POW! P-POW!

The whole plane shook from the proximity explosion. The engine started to smoke. Anderson inside flailed about. He desperately lifted the craft on its thrusters towards the sky.

Dangling, I snarled.

Oh no you don't!

I flipped up to the top of the plane.

As we accelerated and burned south through the air of Vegas, I managed to struggled the backbone of the craft and resumed stabbing into the cockpit.

I snarled mutely with my effort. Doing anything I could to get at that Key. To rip the damn shell open.

All the while, the jet lurched and shook with its flight over the glittering desertscape. I had wounded the big bird. Its days were numbered. The issue was trying to keep Anderson from killing the both of us…or at least getting the Key from him before he died.

I really didn't care anymore.

I stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed—

CLANK! CRKKKK! CRACK!

Anderson inside was flurrying his hands madly at the controls.

He was hyperventilating.

Seething.

And then…

Something cold, bright, and blue illuminated off his cracked cockpit.

Panting into the winds, I looked up.

And I saw a very familiar sight…howbeit blinding.

Luxor……

fffffffffffffffFFFFFHRVVVVVVVEEEEEEE!

We soared straight towards the pyramid. Straight towards its summit. The glowing, bright beacon of a top.

What the Hell does he think he's doing?

I didn't wait to find out.

I pulsed a heavy wave of smoke into my blade and stabbed it into the metal body of the bird.

I finally started to cut and carve into the pilot's compartment.

Air hissed in and out amidst the tumult.

I strained, gritting my teeth.

Go……join……the HIND!

Then Anderson dipped the jet down.

SWOOOOSH!

Towards the tip.

I gasped

Anderson jerked at the controls.

The Harrier rolled away at the last second, but not without a slight contacting jolt

CL-CLANK!

I was thrown off the jet. WHUMP! I landed on the glass slope of the Luxor pyramid. I slid and slid and slid, desperately trying to produce friction with my footing and keep my from careening into the ground. Finally, I encased my legs in murk and managed to perch steadily on the West Face of the sloping pyramid. I stood up, panting.

The HIND pivoted around, hovering. Wobbly. Smoking.

I panted, gripping Myrkblade. Bruised. Red in a few place from the heat. My goggles were cracked and my hair was a tangled mess, free of a few metal ponytail holders.

We faced off…one last time.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Anderson panted….panted….panted….panted….

And sneered.

He clutched tighter to the sticks and fingered the red buttons.

"I don't care what happens anymore. The world was not supposed to be this way. MY WORLD! I spent so many years to get to where I am. And to have you strip it all down in an instant!"

He leaned forward.

Teeth showing.

Hissing the words that he knew or didn't know I could not hear.

"As long as I destroy you, you little shit, this day will be worth the waste of breath it took to embrace!"

He jerked forward at the controls and slammed the red buttons down.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

The Harrier Jet came on the slow, charging attack.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

I bravely held my ground, teleporting into smoke form to avoid the bullets that streamed through me and shattered into the hotel rooms behind my heels.

PHOOOOOSH! A missile launched.

I twirled Myrkblade up—THW-THWISH—CLANK! I deflected the missile up into the air.

PHOOOOOOO-OOOOOSH! Another.

SWISH-CLANK! Teeth gritting, I knocked the other one away two.

Both went spiraling to the courtyards on either side of us, exploding into brilliant flames that light the night.

Finally, the Harrier picked up speed. Nose first, it surged towards me on a homicidal path.

I held Myrkblade back. Snarling. Smoke billowing out from under my goggles and wrists.

Give me the god damn KEY!

fffffffffffffffFFFFFHRVVVVVVVEEEEEEE!

I could see Anderson's screaming face.

And then…nothing but metal.

I charged and charged and charged and shook all over….and released

FWOOOOSH!

forward in smoke form.

I teleported straight through the engine thrusters.

SCHWUMP!

A cold hard pause

POW!

I exploded out the rear side of the thrusters, solidifying into flesh. Trailing smoke, I plummeted through the air, rolled, and landed in a collapsing stumble onto the ground below. Breathing deeply.

In the meantime, the inside engines of the charging Harrier Jet had been totally, utterly demolished from my smoking 'passage'. The inner workings of the metal shell began to implode on themselves. A gasping, horrified Anderson banged desperately away at the controls…but nothing could change the fact that his huge, pride bird—given to him by Luthor—was now flightless.

But it was speedless.

CLUNK! It impacted the glass surface of the Luxor pyramid.

SCRKKKKKKKKKK!

It slid up, up, up the face.

Sending sparks flying.

THWOMP!

It sailed over the illuminated tip—crackingly shorting it out—and flipped. The Harrier Jet then landed chaotically on its back, slid down the East side of the pyramid, plummeted off the side, tumbled over the ground, and came to a crashing…smoking halt against the side of the huge Sphinx replica.

CRKKKKK!

And…..

Everything stopped.

Silence, save for the hissing of hot metal and the distant warbles of hundreds upon hundreds of emergency vehicles tending to the torn City of Lights.

Anderson was stuck beneath the hulking aircraft. The cockpit was shattered, and he grunted and he strained and he sobbed in his futile effort to get out.

Until a smoking hand snaked in, gripped him by the shoulder, and yanked his smoking figure out from underneath.

"Yaagh!"

I lifted Anderson up by a metal hand.

Frowning.

Holding Myrkblade in the other.

He struggled and shook and dangled in my grasp.

"Nnngh! You little piece of filth! What could possibly….POSSIBLY be so important that you would do this to me! That you would need to break into my vault, ruin my life, and steal all that Triangular gave me!"

I glared. My black eyes narrowed under my goggles.

"You selfish, pathetic, punk! I want it all back! I want it all back now—"

WHAM!

I slammed him down to the ground…with my knee oh-so-conveniently positioned between his plummeting legs.

He wheezed and cringed all over.

WHUMP!

I dropped him like a used tissue to the ground.

He curled up and coughed. Tears rolled from his eyes. "Nnnghh! I'll rip you open…I'LL RIP YOU OPEN FROM THE BLOODY CENTER OUT—"

THWACK! I kicked him yet again. In the exact same spot.

He wheezed, whimpered, and was silent.

I spat.

Take a cold shower, you slimey son of a bitch.

CHIIIING!

I sheathed Myrkblade, took a long….calming….breath….and knelt down to reach into his robe's pocket.

I picked forth the key.

I stood up, looking it over.

My black eyes round under my goggles.

A gentle wind rushed down over the charred area and fallen Harrier.

And I thought of the cold Bay.

The Tower.

And four helpless friends needing a lost egg returned to them.

And that was enough to make me realized that—amidst all this mayhem and Destruction—there was a purpose.

Now……just to find the door……

I closed my flesh fingers around the key, and turned towards Las Vegas Boulevard—

FL-FLASH!

Pulsade.

Jinx.

I blinked. Standings till.

"Cheerio, Mr. Noir…," Pulsade nodded. Cl-Click! She aimed a pistol at my forehead. "Hand it over."

"……..," I glared.

"Yes…..the…uhm….th-the ugly part…," Jinx simpered and rubbed her neck with a frilled hand. "We all knew it had to come to this."

"Hand it over, lad…," Pulsade droned. It was lacking her usual bitterness. She and I both knew that this was a job she needed to get done. For her sake, at least… "Red Aviary will creep up on you and everything Balanced in this world if you don't give us the Key to Terra."

I only gripped harder to the key.

Jinx bit her lip. Nervous.

Pulsade took a breath and squeezed her finger around the trigger. "Give it up now….it's two against one. Not even the Harrier you downed was that dire a situation you're now in."

I exhaled.

'Snkkkt' (in my ear)

My eyebrows raised.

'Pfft! It's not 'two against one'!'

My lips parted.

ZAAAAT!

"!" Pulsade's head looked to her left.

FLASH!—ZZZZZZT! A blindlingly bright taser slammed into her ribcage.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaa!" she convulsed and dropped to the ground. Smoking. Numb.

"Leslie!" Jinx shrieked.

The Messenger stood with a sparkling cylinder in his hand. He smiled and waved. "Heheh. How's that for a 'divine spark'!"

I smiled awkwardly.

"You…..," Jinx charged up pink hex in her hands and snarled at the asian teen. "What business have you ever had in Counter-Red Aviary's affairs! Just who are you! What brings you here to constantly rub your annoying ego in our faces!"

"The same reason you handcuffed yourself to Noir one month ago!" he examined his nails, grinning. "He's a regular, handsome guy!" He looked at me. "Ain't that right, Noir?"

I gave him the bird.

"Heh heh heh…."

Jinx seethed: "Are you trying to say that you're gay?"

"Nope," he held his arms cutely behind his back and winked. "I'm trying to say that you're screwed. But only if you persist in getting in Noir's way."

"We want the best for this world! What Noir's doing is suicidal! Red Aviary will catch up with him and every other superhero!"

"Correction…," the Messenger pointed. "What Noir is doing is courageously reckless, which is the least that can be said about you four and your conspiring, bloody ways of dancing around the criminal Underworld! Let a fellow Titan save a fellow Titan. It's the only formula that can work right now."

"I swear to Hecate," Jinx shook her pink head. "You're so full of—"

"Jinx!" a wincing Pulsade hissed from where she lay on the ground. "Take him out!"

"HAAAA!" Jinx flew at the Messenger with a bladed hex of pink.

SWIIIIISH!

I gasped.

But the asian teen suddenly doubled back and coiled his body up.

And as the serrated Jinx reached him—

ZAAAAT!

He flickered with a green light and suddenly I saw him on the other side of Jinx with his fist stretched out like a stone-hard karate move.

Jinx froze. Her whole body seemed to shake for but a second before she collapsed like a dead ragdoll on the floor.

THWUMP!

"…..," I blinked.

"Jinx? Jinx!" Pulsade murmured.

"Nnngh…c-can't….move….," Jinx's cat eyes blinked wide.

Pulsade snarled up at the Messenger. "What did you do to her, you bloody sod!"

The Messenger straightened up and flexed his muscles. Grinning. "Why….I simply vibrated her spinal cord. The easiest way to get to a solution is to let the solution charge through you, I always say. Well…er….I-I guess I never say that, but you get my point." He winked. Cleared his throat. Pointed at the grounded sorceress. "She'll be fine. But the paralysis will last for two days. Maybe four. I suggest you stock up on diapers a little early."

Jinx blinked. "D-Diapers?"

Pulsade growled and tried desperately to get up on aching, electrified muscles. "You can't do this to us! Not after all we've been through!"

"Oh, but we already did," the Messenger bowed and spoke. "You see Counter-Red Aviary was doomed to failure from the start. But fret not. I can already see that you girls and your hairy and not-so-hairy boyfriends will come into the play of things at another time. You just gotta respect the fact that…." He pointed at me. "…God kinda sorta has someone else selected as the leading role."

I simpered.

"Who the bloody hell are you then?" Pulsade sneered. "The chorus?"

"You better believe it, lady. Ta-ta. Don't let the asphalt bugs bite." He turned around and placed a hand on my shoulder. Leading me away. "Once around the park then, Thames?"

I smirked, nodded, and strolled away with him.

"Don't you walk away, Wyldecarde! Don't you do this! Red Aviary will consume you! You hear me, Wyldecarde! He will consume you!"

We left earshot of the catastrophe…especially Pulsade's yelling voice.

The Messenger glanced at me. "So….what do you think?"

I took a deep breath.

I think……

I bravely slipped my goggles off.

I tossed them into a nearby gutter and sighed.

With a smile.

I think I'm no longer Wyldecarde for the week……

"That's a fancy looking key you've got there," He smirked and pointed.

I held the prized item up. The trophy of my Las Vegas success.

Heh……

"I suppose now it's time to grab us a statue…," the Messenger said.

I smiled at him, leaning my head to the side with curious black eyes.

He took his arm off my shoulder and shrugged: "Why….unless you don't want me to go with you, I don't have to! It's not like there's anything else blocking up my schedule save for a boring lecture back at home regarding how excitingly depressing my dimension should be when it really isn't and—"

I held a hand up, rolled my black eyes, and gave him a thumb's up.

He smiled. "I'm only more than happy to help…" He bowed. "A Titan…a swordsman….a gothic, southern belle…" He glanced up at me curiously. "You don't fall under the latter, do you?"

I snickered breathily and shook my head.

"Ah! But of course…..there has to be something keeping me excited about my hometown reality," he shrugged. "I do way too much things in this dimension," he sighed. He smirked at me and suddenly held up a training bra in his fingers. "Guess what Jinx didn't quit!"

My lips parted. I doubled over in a fit of mute laughter.

"Heheheheheheh!"

I clutched a metal hand over my mouth and shook my head.

The Messenger flung the article behind him into a pair of bushes and shrugged. "Hey! Don't look at me! I don't grab 'em…I merely just run right through 'em! Heheheheh!"

Hahahahaha!

He winked and pointed dramatically outward: "TO THE BOY CAVE!"

To the Boy Cave!

He disappeared in a green flash as I blurred off.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

On a lone building across the expanse of Las Vegas.

Wildebeest climbed up and hobbled tiredly across the cold, windy rooftop.

The glittering gulch around him echoed the sounds of emergency sirens and honking, anxious motorists.

The bovine warrior merely snorted and entered the tiny rooftop shack that was Counter-Red Aviary's hideout.

But as he did so, he let loose a grunt of curiosity.

He flipped a light on.

With white eyes thin, the beast stared across the interior of the shack.

It was empty, save for the teammates' equipment.

There was no blonde assassin.

No pink sorceress.

And—as Wildebeest worriedly noted—there was no little blonde computer hacker with his happy green eyes…

"Nnngh?"

T-T-T-T-T-T-

An hour later, emergency crews and squad cars gathered around the horrendous wreck at the Luxor Hotel.

Pedestrians, workers, and tourists alike formed a solid line around the closed off area.

Everyone wondered at the sight of a crashed Harrier Jet lying upside down besides the Sphinx.

Police squabbled and forced the people back.

Helicopters with bright light beams hovered over the scene, converging on the chaos.

Observing, reporting, documenting….

A limousine pulled up to a stop outside the ring of confusion. The middle compartment's window pulled down.

Rexxin gazed out, his scarred face sporting a new bruise from the Vault scuffle. He stared out of the vehicle at the emergency sight and squinted his eyes.

A beat.

"Mr. Anderson….," he murmured. A beat. "He's gone…."

Indeed, the robed figure was missing from the crashed site. And there were no police officers engaged in arresting anyone. Nor did the ambulances house any injured/dead bodies.

Rexxin blinked. "Did someone…..t-take him?"

T-T-T-T-T-T-

As sirens and warbling noise filled the air, a panting Pulsade pulled a limp Jinx into a nearby alleyway between casinos. Light from a few distant hotels and hovering helicopters filtered down into the cold, wet ravine of brick and concrete.

Pulsade knelt down and leaned Jinx up against a wall.

Jinx couldn't move anything below her head. She murmured: "This is so pathetic. Leslie, I'm so sorry. I hate being useless and making you drag me around…"

Pulsade checked Jinx's body signs. "Well…," she breathed, still panting. "It's not like it's any different from what I normally do."

"Ohhhh….," Jinx pouted, gazing numbly off towards the alleyway shadows. "…that's so cruel of you."

The blonde assassin looked Jinx straight in the cat-eyes. "That was meant as a joke…."

Jinx blinked. "A joke?"

"Mmmhmmm…," Pulsade rubbed Jinx's arms. "That's all the last few days have been…," she looked off with a sigh through her nostrils. "One big…worthless joke…."

Jinx gulped. She strained to move her pupils to the corners of her eyes and look at her partner. "It's all my fault. If I'd just sensed that green-flashy-asian kid and done something to knock his lights out, we wouldn't be—"

"Shhh….no, Jinx," Pulsade insisted. "It is not because of you that we failed."

"But what was it?" Jinx murmured. Her pink eyes seemed a bit moist. She sniffed like a little child. "You. Me. Wildebeest. 'J'. We all worked so hard. Noir even helped us with the security disk that got us exploring the rest of H.I.V.E.'s crumbling bases. And all just to end up here? A month later alone in some cold, decrepit alleyway?"

"You have to admit…," Pulsade tried to smile. It came out more like a wince. "It is slightly romantic."

"Romantic…heh….," Jinx did her paralyzed best to roll her eyes. "If this is your idea of 'romantic', Leslie…I'm in it for the long haul."

"Heheh…"

"But still…was it all for nothing?" Jinx whispered. "Were the fates wrong? What if this is all just a big joke and Red Aviary doesn't even exist?"

"He exists all right," said a deep voice.

Jinx gasped.

"!" Pulsade stood up and fingered an uzzi at her side.

"…..," Hull stood in the middle of the alleyway fifteen feet away. A purple satchel hung over his shoulder. Bluescythe was in his right hand. He stared at the two girls with cold, hard eyes of blue. "And Red Aviary exists all the more now that Mr. Noir is at the lead of things."

Pulsade blinked. "M-Michael?"

Jinx frowned. "Hey, is it that Hulk creep?"

"Hull."

"Leslie. Quick. Tilt my face in that direction."

Pulsade nervously lowered a hand and did so.

Jinx stuck her tongue out at Hull.

Hull's eyes narrowed.

Pulsade let go and Jinx's cranium flopped back to where it was staring.

"What do you want….?" Pulsade hissed. "To gloat?" She fingered the uzzi some more. "It's more than bloody obvious that you were on the swordsman's side the entire time."

"You'd be amazed how similar we are in that respect."

"We're not similar at all, Michael….," Pulsade grumbled. "And we never were…."

Silence.

Jinx blinked at the alleyway walls, her eyes searching the furthest corner of her sockets that might allow her but a glimpse of the two former H.I.V.E. students.

Hull took a deep breath. "No…perhaps not." FLASH! The sword disappeared as he was suddenly unarmed. "But you and I are commonly unaligned with any single force."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Simple…," Hull treaded gently through the alleyway towards the two girls. "Are we evil? Or are we bad? You're an assassin, Pulsade. You kill to get the job done. Jinx…you may be clean now, but you've shown a far greater disrespect for life in the past."

"Watch it, poopyhead!"

"And I…..," Hulsade gestured with a silver thumb. "….I think I don't need an examination for you to get the analogy here."

"Imagine that I'm clueless…," Pulsade grunted. "What are you trying to say?"

"Red Aviary is not about who is good or who is bad. But rather, it is about who wants to maintain a balance. A balance that insists that life and death alternate accordingly. But as of late…a Parasite to the system has formed. And he'll do everything in his interests to tilt that balance over to Destruction and total Destruction. That's where paradoxes like us come in. And maybe it takes a little bit of Death to fight Death itself back."

"……," Pulsade stared.

Hull came to a stop, he dangled the velvet bag before him before disappearing it into his energy core. He flexed his fingers and stood up straight. Harmless. "Let Noir have this war, girls. With his Balance, he's the soundest thing we have battling Red Aviary."

"Why are you here?" Pulsade asked. "Why, Michael? Why are you sticking your nose into Red Aviary when you obviously have your heart set on bigger, much more obscure things?"

"Where there's obscurity, there is chaos. And where there is chaos, there is danger for all Balance." Hull bowed his head some. "Who am I to tell you that times of great confusion requires strategic operatives?"

"…….."

"Red Aviary is coming to pass. You two did your part. You pointed Noir along his path. Soon, I too will have to do my part. But it won't be about pointing Noir on his path. But rather….the whole world will be involved."

Jinx murmured: "The whole w-world?"

"Gaia Incarnate. Gaia Imploded. One or the other….it remains to be seen," he turned and walked away. "Until we meet again."

Pulsade took one step and called out after him: "And just what are we supposed to do now!"

Hull came to a stop. He looked over his shoulder with a squinting eye. "You're asking me?"

Pulsade swallowed. "I'd ask my own Mum if she was still alive…."

Jinx bit her lip.

Hull shrugged his shoulder. "True….I maintained that Noir would get to Tara Markov first. I even told him that before this chaos finally resulted with something. And I still believe that Noir will be the first to get to Miss Markov. But…." He turned and looked at them fully once more. "…there is one thing I didn't tell him."

"What's that?" Pulsade asked.

"It may be up to him to free Terra. But he won't be the one to nurture her come time of the Gaia Sphere."

"……"

"Don't be despondent. You two girls are far more important than you can possibly imagine." And he left. Blending into the shadows.

"……….huh…..," Jinx murmured.

"Wh-What?" Pulsade remarked.

"The world is full of them."

"Hmmm?"

"Crackpots."

"Oh…."

A beat.

Their bodies and their breaths lingered in the alleyway.

Pulsade knelt down and slipped her arms under Jinx's shoulders.

The pink sorceress grunted: "I agree…it's about time we returned to the home baseerm….Leslie?"

The blonde assassin wasn't carrying Jinx. She was hugging her. Holding the paralyzed, petite witch close to her chest. Resting a hand in her pink hair.

Sighing……

Jinx murmured, suddenly concerned. "Leslie….is e-everything okay?"

Pulsade took a deep breath and leaned her chin atop Jinx's cranium. "I dunno, Jean…," she murmured. "I have no answers anymore….."

"You did all you could, Leslie. We'll make it out of this defeat! M-Maybe we can track Noir down and somehow catch up with him in time to get—"

"It's not the defeat that I'm thinking about….," Pulsade whispered. "Somehow….I think I'm more scared of the triumph we'll one day see."

"S-Scared? You, Leslie?"

"Shhh…..," Pulsade closed her eyes and held Jinx close from behind. A nightly gust of wind kicked at her blonde strands. "Just stay with me for now, Jean. Be still….."

"………," Jinx simpered. Her eyes wet. "I-I think that's doable…." She smiled some, but it faded. She relaxed in the other girl's arms.

Both ladies stayed that way…softly hidden in the alleyway's darkness.

Absorbing a world temporarily lacking of red.

T-T-T-T-T-T-

Inside the abandoned construction site, I leaned back against a rusted table with the key in my grasp.

The Messenger squatted atop the table behind me. He had a little glow-light on his bulky watch which he was aiming over my shoulder to illuminate the Key in my grasp.

The Key….

I fingered the object all over with metal and flesh digits. I looked for a switch. An activation device. A button. Anything to make the Key work.

"Glover gave you the message, right?" said the Messenger. "About the Key being able to point you in the right direction and all that jazz?"

I smirked somewhat.

If you're trying to make me nervous, stop. Las Vegas is practically burning around us. Not that I mind.

God, I hate this City……

In one way or another, I was eager to get out of there. I worked harder to find an answer to the device. But—for all I knew—Terra could have been located in Las Vegas as well. And finding her could be a matter of walking across the street and opening a random manhole cover.

Or…..perhaps….

Terra was across the world. In some Gibraltan Fortress near Spain. Guarded by ungodly amounts of armaments and armed guards all working for Dagger and Triangular.

I sighed….

"Keep it cool, Noir…," the Messenger patted my shoulder. "The fact that you've made it all this way on your own proves something."

I paused and glanced at him with a sarcastic face.

"What!" He smirked. "You too have done it on your own! So what if I helped a little?" A beat. "Or Hull, or 'J', or the late Glover….god rest his ticker tape…"

I smiled.

"Because I know for a fact that you are alone, Noir," he said. "You're alone…so long as the Titans aren't nearby."

I sighed depressingly at that.

My hands paused as my mind floated back to the Tower.

And then the briefest flashes of a monument's ivory cape.

Robin's effigy against a cloudy sky.

I bit my lip.

I was going to right everything.

I was going to bring justice back to this crummy world.

I was going to help sew shut the gaping wound in my friends' heart.

Terra……

It all comes full circle to Terra.

She turned to stone, and in her place I came. And in her place Slade used me to make that wound in my friends' heart deeper.

And in Terra's place—like her—I saved the Titans.

And in Robin's place, I shall give the Titans back a teammember.

A teammember they hated and loved and all around wondered in awe at.

And—as Hull dictates—she's the last of her Earthly kind this side of the universe.

There is much, much purpose in that.

Thank you, Messenger, for trying to console me.

But……

I'm not alone.

This is but the world clicking in motion to save itself.

I suddenly realized something.

I placed my fingers at strategic points around the key.

I concentrated.

I short murk into it.

Andfiddling around with the inside of the device, I found the switch.

And—with murking fingers—I pushed it.

Click.

Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep.

"Houston, we have an alarm block."

I blinked as the Messenger leaned over my shoulder.

Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep.

"Or…..," he smirked. "….we have a time bomb?"

I glared back at him.

Not funny.

Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep.

He pointed, his eyes on the Key. "Try waving it around a little."

I made a face.

"Trust me!" he cutely smiled.

I groaned mutely and aimed the Key at different spots in the room.

At first, I didn't notice a difference.

The he did.

"Wait! Stop! Keep aiming it right there."

I did so.

The beeping continued.

What's the difference?

"Listen carefully…."

I did so. And soon I realized…

The beeping had intensified.

Beep!Beep!Beep!Beep!Beep!

"Try left a little…."

So I pivoted.

Beep!Beep!Beep!Beep!Beep!

"Now just a tad bit more…."

I pivoted.

Beep!Beep!Beep!Beeeeeeeeeeeep-Click!

A tiny LCD screen on the Key popped open, displaying digits.

"There!" the Messenger jumped down off the table. "That's it! That's the direction Terra's in!"

I blinked.

Direction!

I looked where I was pointing.

And I judged….

"Northwest…," the Messenger said, reading off some sort of digital compass built into his watch. He stuck one hand into his sweatjacket's pouch and gestured with the other. "Terra is somewhere northwest of here. And if I'm right…" He stumbled over and read the LCD screen of the device in my hand. "Ah-HA! The number of miles away her housing chamber is located! And according to those numbers, she must be located at……" The Messenger blinked.

I looked at him curiously.

"Oh no…..hahahahahaha….oh nooooooooo….heheheheheheheh!" he stumbled back as if 'shot' and wrapped a hand over his laughing face's forehead. "That's so hysterically perfect! Oh nooooo ho ho ho ho ho! Ha ha ha!"

I looked at him, panting. I mouthed: 'What?'

"Just tooooooo hilarious!" he hugged himself and spun to a stop against a wall, facing me.

'What!'

He smirked at me. "Well, Noir. You tell me." A wink. "What other place in Nevada northwest of Las Vegas is always the stereotypically, cliché spot to hide something of conspiratorial value?"

"………."

"Especially when such uber-ambiguous demigods like Dagger and Triangular are involved?"

"…….."

He smiled at me.

And…

I got it.

My mouth hung open.

Cl-Clank!

I dropped the Key.

Oh no……

"Hehehehe….oh yes!"

Oh no………

He giggled like mad and hugged himself against the wall of the place.

No no no no no no no NO!

I cupped metal and flesh hands over my black eyes and moaned mutely.

How far must this crazy adventure go!

The Messenger cleared his throat, kicked off the wall, and marched across the abandoned construction site. "Pack your bags, Noir….we're going on a road trip!"

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

In the meantime, Anderson was being dragged somewhere.

He noticed it when he looked beneath him and saw the floor moving.

He saw the floor moving because his eyes had opened.

And he was now awake.

"Nnngh!" he struggled and realized he was dangling from someone's gnarled grasped, being led somewhere inside a carpeted, dark interior. "Wh-Where am I?" the disheveled, robed man murmured. He glanced up. He gasped: "You!"

"…..," Killer Croc glared down at the Pompeii owner he was dragging. His scaley skin was bruised and burned in a few places form his last scuffle with Wildebeest. And furthermore, the green bloodlust was gone from his eyes. Returning to the surface of the freak's face was the angry expression of an abused thug. The all-too-familiar look of someone who was horribly, irreversibly pissed off. "There's been a call from Dagger," he hissed. "Things have hit the crapper here. My Boss from Gotham needs to see you."

"Your Boss?" Anderson murmured. A beat. He suddenly and explosively gasped. "Him! You mean he's HERE!"

Killer Croc nodded, continuing to drag Anderson down the hallway.

"N-No….NO!" Anderson struggled. "Let me go! Let go of me this instant, you pathetic freak!"

"I'm not your puppet anymore….," Killer Croc hissed. "You stopped giving me the good stuff, remembered?"

"I….I-I…."

"Now it's time for my Boss to give you some good stuff of his own…," the reptilian man growled. He kicked open a door, breaking his way into a darklit antichamber where a couple of well-suited mobster-like thugs waited with tommy guns in hand. "….in good 'ol Gotham frankness. The direct way is always the best way to deal with things. Especially involving sniveling jerks who waste away a good casino when they have one in their hand!"

"But Pompeii isn't lost! I can save Pompeii!" Anderson frowned. "Look, I got Luthor his god damn computer cylinder from Intergang! Don't I deserve some respect!"

"Tell that to my Boss' face…," Killer Croc said. He reached the crooked wooden door to a huge room and chuckled. "Hopefully for you…you'll choose the good one."

Anderson shuddered.

CREEEEAK!

Killer Croc hoisted the door open and

FWOOOSH!

Tossed Anderson inside.

WHUMP!

"Ooof!" Anderson landed in a splash of tossed hair and rumpled robe.

Killer Croc and a few armed thugs marched in and stood quietly behind the fallen man.

Anderson struggled to his knees, wincing all over.

He looked around the room and gasped.

It was really two rooms. Or so it seemed. The interior had been split ruggedly down the middle. On the left side was a clean cut, spotlessly furnished library. On the right side, everything had been tossed, torn, tattered. Furniture lay in splinters and the ground was randomly spotted and soiled. There was a frighteningly solid line dividing the chaos from the order. Anderson knelt on one end of it…a knee both on the good side and on the bad. Following the line into the darkness with his eyes, Anderson saw a figure sitting in the shadows. His face obscured. His left hand flicking something up and down constantly in the air. Something small, metallic, reflective.

A gnarled voice echoed out from the shadowed side of the dichotomous chamber. Whispery, hoarse, and subtly bitter: "Jacob Anderson…Las Vegas' pretty boy. How goes the village? Is it under lava, yet?"

Anderson trembled on his knees: "L-Look….there was a mole! Three moles! Two girls and some Asian kid! They ruined everything at the last second! And that blasted young lad in denim with the carbonite of his. And the former Titan—"

"You should have expected all eventualities, Anderson. Luthor gave you the money to build Pompeii. Dagger gave you the edge to build it. And I gave you the men to run it….."

The figure stood up. He slowly walked out from the shadowed chair, a foot marching on either side of the dividing line. A black pantleg. And a white pantleg. A coin flipping….flipping….flipping….

In a leathery-blue hand.

"There are over a dozen former Gothemites lying dead in that blasted hotel of yours. Money you could have spent on better armaments and security around the Vault has instead been wasted away on lavish fighting tournaments and melting torture chambers. What should have been a clean-cut and simple operation to preserve Dagger's operation has instead turned into a farce that has given away—single handedly—some of the criminal underworld's most valued possessions to the enemy. Do you expect me to be pleased with this, Mr. Anderson? I am most….most annoyed. And when I'm annoyed, Triangular gets bothered."

Anderson shivered. His head tilted up as the man's face came into the scant light.

Followed by another face, blue and mutated.

"We are all unique and separate….," Two-Face said. His left side glaring. His right side cool, collected. He flipped the coin again and again and again and—Caught it. Snap! "…we are a whole. We function separately, and yet for the same purpose. If my sniveling lackeys can't do the job for me, then I falter. And when I falter, the rest of Triangular falters. And when the rest of Triangular falters…." His normal and mutated eye glared. "…Red Aviary comes to pick at us like a god damn vulture."

"Please….I can make it better…."

"No…," Two-Face shook his head. "You can't."

Cl-Click!

Two-Face whipped a magnum out.

Anderson gasped. His knees wobbled.

"I've been told that you're a man who loves death, Mr. Anderson….," the Gotham villain cocked the pistol. "Your love of tournaments and insatiable appetite for torture shows that you are most at home with bloodshed." He aimed the barrel of the gun at the man's shivering forehead. "Would I truly….truly be punishing you if I let you become the product of your own obsession?"

Anderson murmured: "P-Please…..please….." There was a wet spot on the divided carpet directly beneath the shivering man's legs.

Two-Face hoarsely breathed: "No…No….it is not in my place to decide whether or not you are truly still useful to me and my allies…."

Anderson's lips quivered.

"Let us let fate have its say….," Two-Face lifted the coin into view. It showed a solid 'heads'. "Good side says you live to be pushed into some menial job where Luthor, Dagger, and I don't have to look at your blood-sucking face." He spun the coin around and showed a 'heads' with violent, jagged slashes all across the metal surface. "Bad side says I decorate my thinking room with your pretty brains."

Anderson froze.

Two-Face lifted the coin up in his blue hand.

He flipped it.

The coin spun.

Glinting.

Anderson watched his life rise up, spin, fall, and land on the floor.

THWOMP!

Two-Face's shoe stomped over it.

Anderson gulped.

A beat.

Two-Face drew his heel back.

It landed with the solid face up.

"Looks like the good side wins….," Two-Face whisperingly declared.

Anderson let out a huge breath. "Whew….."

Plant!

The barrel of Two-Face's magnum rested between Anderson's eyes.

"But there's just one thing…"

Anderson gasped. He looked up.

Two-Face coolly glared. "Today's 'Opposite Day'….."

A smooth finger pulled the trigger.

And Anderson screamed: "NOOOOOOO"

BANG!

The thugs in the back with their tommy guns blinked.

But Killer Croc watched unhindered. And he grinned a mutated smile.

Two Face waved the smoking gun around, and pocketed it. He adjusted his jacket and turned sideways to the good half of the room.

"Cart his carcass away….dump him out in the middle of the desert. Let the cops find him. It's better to have them scared than anything…"

The thugs nodded. They picked up the carcass of a robed figure and dragged it out of the room. A red streak traced over the dividing line.

Killer Croc marched forward.

Two-Face looked at him. His mutated eye glared. "Well?" he hoarsely uttered. "You back with us, Scales?"

Killer Croc smiled. "In and out of the cesspool. Bein' on that Dragonflare stuff almost feels like being back in the swamp. Only….less mosquitoes."

"…….," Two-Face turned his good side towards the reptile. "You're lame."

"Hresh….."

"Where's the cylinder headed?"

"The guys back at Pompeii have it ready to send to Luthor."

"Go ahead and have it sent."

Killer Croc gestured: "Shouldn't we wait for Dagger to do his part?"

Two-Face shook his halves. "It's just as well. I've been in contact with the man. He should have the goods sent to Metropolis soon anyways. It'll be close enough to a dual shipment."

"You think Dagger got anything worthwhile out of the bitch?" Croc grinned.

"The hell that I know….and the hell that I care for that matter…," Two-Face marched back over to his shadowed chair. "We are old things, Scales. Gotham City will crumble to ashes some day. Even the Riddler and the Joker must feel it. Rupert Thorne has fallen by the wayside. The Penguin is a shriveled shadow of what he once was. The criminals despots that once shook the world are now nothing but bureaucratic wastes of oxygen diluting their fear through grapevines and pies in the sky."

He turned around.

He slumped down in his chair.

His faces hidden.

He flipped the coin and continued speaking: "All we can do now is team up with pathetic 'Triangulars' while on the run from something so Deadly that we can't even stop it. It's the worst way of going out to pasture I ever imagined. And something deep and rotten inside of me is laughing."

"Heh. You? Rotten? That's a laugh," Killer Croc folded his meaty arms.

"Your sarcasm suits you well. I hope you're smiling like a good crocodile when Red Aviary slits your throat as well as mine."

"Hehehehehehressssh…."

A deep breath, Two-Face spoke: "Bring news to Rexxin. He's being promoted. He'll be running things at Pompeii while all of this shit in Las Vegas is sorted out."

"What about you, Boss?"

"I'm going back to Gotham."

"So soon? The hot stuff is in Metroplis now!"

"True that, but this holocaust here in Vegas has proved to me something," Two-Face flipped the coin in the shadows. "Red Aviary may be close on our tails….but a few upstart punks are a lot closer. And this is all trailing back to Dagger's lovely job in the Titans' City. I feel like we may be a lot closer to Destruction than we might think. And I need to go back to Gotham to start preparing for things."

"Like what?"

"Gotham City….something big is going to happen there. I can feel lit. Like the cold ringing sound of a quarter on a metal floor. It's time that we prepared. I'm going back to Gotham to check on Mr. Wesker and Mr. Hagen. So soon after the Arkham breakout, and things are already starting to fall to pieces. I want my plane prepared in the morning."

"Yeah, yeah…I hear you….and what about what I want in all this?"

The coin-flipping paused.

A beat.

Two-Face's hoarse voice: "A face-to-face meeting with Red Aviary?"

Killer Croc palmed his fist. "Yesssssssss….."

"…………….hrmph……do whatever you want once Dagger's plans come full swing."

"Grrrreat….," Killer Croc smirked, turned, and marched out of the room.

Once the reptile was gone, the coin started to flip in the dark again.

"I can't think of a better way for you to die……..ya stupid suitcase."

T-T-T-T-T-T-

November 21, 2004.

10:33 am

Rachel, Nevada

T-T-T-T-T-T-

A pleasant old lady at the sales counter of a small restaurant smiled and handed a family their credit receipt.

"Thank you! Have a nice day! Thanks for joining us!"

A bell to the front door of the place ringed a couple of times.

The sounds of plates and dinnerware and eating patrons could be heard in a gentle ambiance in the distance.

The walls and booths and ceiling of the place were decorated cutely from head to toe with toy flying saucers, alien portraits, newspaper clippings about UFOs, and other galactic trinkets. A juke box in the corner of the place was playing 'Flying Purple People Eaters'.

The woman looked up as two bottles of water and some granola bars were placed on the counter.

"That all?" she smiled neighborly. "You sure you don't want to hang around and eat something warm with us today?"

I smiled gently. I slowly shook my head and mouthed: 'no'.

"Well, all-right then. That'll be 6.27 please."

I fished into my jacket pocket. I wore a casual pair of jeans, a white shirt underneath, a baseball cap, and the usual backpack on my shoulders. A harmonica rested in my back pocket.

"You good at playing that thing?" the woman asked, gesturing towards the mouth organ.

I smiled and waved my hand side-to-side as if to say 'somewhat'.

I fished out the cash and handed it to her.

She bagged my drinks and snacks and handed the change back to me. "You have a good day!"

I pleasantly mouthed: 'Keep it'. And walked out the door.

"Heheheh…okay then. Take care, now!"

D-Ding!

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

In the hot, desert sun…I walked to the edge of the parking lot of the Little A'Le'Inn.

I reached back and zipped the plastic bag of foodstuffs into my backpack.

A bus poured out of the parking lot, honking. Kicking up dust as silly tourists inside waved and whistled at me.

I smiled and waved back at them.

They vanished along the desert vastness.

Silence….

I took a deep breath.

I reached into my pocket.

I pulled out a note that my friend had scribbled on.

My shaded black eyes read it.

'Dear Noir,'

'Meet me out by the Black Mailbox.'

'Sincerely, Noir.'

'P.S.: Try and keep cool.'

"……"

I pocketed the note away and stared southward along the desert horizon.

Past the Coyote Summit.

Beyond the 'Extraterrestrial Highway'.

Towards the rise in the earth where—beyond—I knew lay 'Bald Mountain' and the forbidden land hidden beneath it.

Area 51.